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Page 41
After inquiring of about every policeman in New York where 171
Madison Avenue was, my trusty grip and I eventually came to your
door. . . And say! You folks aren't wasting the stockholders'
money on any elaborate waiting-room. There she was, 6 by 12,
three chairs, one settee, one high-up electric fan doing a noble
job stirring up that hot 7th floor atmosphere, three Sawmill
journals and a 2 x 2 peep-hole, like the ticket window of the B&O
R.R. here at Russellville, my old home town. The grip and I both
got in, but every place I tried to set it down it looked like it
would take up the space for a second customer if he happened to
come in just then.
A girl looked through the ticket window at us--especially the
grip--and I realized my mistake. I had the knowledge that John
Dillinger was raised about 30 miles southeast of here, and that
he had sometimes carried grips, and that maybe she had gotten us
confused. She asked what I wanted. I told her I wanted to
transfer some stock and wanted to see the head of the Legal
Department. She told me she could take care of the stock
transfer. I started to explain, and she started to explain, so we
both explained. Finally, either due to the altitude or the heat,
or something, I was supplementing the fan with the new $7.50
panama I had just bought at Macy's in order to get a New York
label to show my admiring friends when I got home, and I begged
her to just let me see some official of the Company. She
relented, and a first class fellow came forth, not to the peep-
hole, but right to where the grip and I were. I started to
explain, and he started to explain, so we both explained. By that
time I had the hat synchronized with the fan. Eventually, he got
my idea--but the President was out, the Vice-Presidents were on
vacation, and the attorney might get in around 3:30 p.m. or he
might not, and would I wait or go out and come back later. If so,
he would do his best to get a conference for me. I told him if I
got out, I'd never find my way back, and that I would wait.
By that time my curiosity was at a maximum and I was wild to get
on the other side of that ticket window, because I knew the place
had to be lousy with red leather chairs, air-conditioning, ice
water bottles, Chinese rugs and baled-up currency.
All things must come to an end. In due course I passed the
forbidding door and was ushered into your office--after first
having my grip taken away from me and deposited at the peep-hole
girl's desk. And that grip is an inoffensive grip. In fact, it
was given me by the members of the Legislature one time when I
was the alleged Floor-Leader of what was then God's Chosen
Minority--the Senate Democrats. Since I left, they--the
Democrats--have perked-up and now have a big majority themselves.
But, to be serious, I want to thank you for the way you handled
my case. You certainly know how to size up a situation quickly. I
realize big Corporations must use all reasonable precautions when
it comes to transferring stock, etcs., but there's reason in all
things. You have been almost more than fair in your demands. You
are not our conception of what a New Yorker is, and especially a
New York attorney. Why, my-God, man! We've always been taught to
first come to a full stop before going up the ramp at Grand
Central Station, and sew our modest currency rolls on the inside
of our underwear.
I hereby extend you an invitation to come out and rabbit hunt
with me this Fall, with the reservation that you furnish your own
blister medicine and liniment. I'll furnish all board, bed, guns,
dogs and ammunition.
Again, I thank you.
Very Respectfully
THE HOSPITAL NEEDS A CHECK-UP.
The following two letters relate to Pap's experience at losing
more money than he had counted on during a visit to the hospital.
August 10, 1939
My dear Mr. & Mrs. Cunningham:
You are probably slightly interested in knowing how I came out in
my run-in with the Methodist Hospital over my hospital bill and
some money I lost. I am therefore enclosing Benson's letter to me
and a copy of one I just mailed him.
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