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Page 42
George, I want to thank you for being willing to say just what
you knew and saw about my having any money on me at the time of
the accident, because by reason of what you saw and knew, I just
had to have two $1 bills and some other money in a bill or bills.
Those facts helped write the enclosed letter to Benson. Then too,
you know how a jury goes in a hotel run-in with somebody who
isn't worth much, or anything. You don't have a chance. Same way
with a hospital or a railroad. It's too bad it is that way, but
it is.
And now Mrs. Cunningham.. . . I don't know what was the matter
with my mental processes last Tuesday noon when I was in the
hotel and called you. I knew I was going straight in to eat with
Ike--I'd much rather have eaten with you--but I never thought of
asking you to come along and break bread with me. And now listen
how I thereby missed an opportunity to advance my social
standing. When I got in, there was our Labor-loving Democratic
State Chairman feeding his brother and some other "loyal
Democratic worker" off of our famous 2% Club money, over on one
side, and John Frenzel over in the corner feeding himself off of
usurious interest money he had wrangled out of some unfortunate
borrower. We'll cut out the Organized Labor-loving State Chairman
and get to Frenzel, who is somebody--as a man and every other way
including a whale of a good Banker with a whale of a good Bank.
Now just suppose I had been escorting you into the dining
room--you and your stately and dignified walk and manner, and
Frenzel had looked up through a cigarette smoke fog. He wouldn't
have believed his eyes. He'd have said to himself: "My G--, that
can't be her with Andy Durham from that little jerk water bank
down in Russellville. Yes it is, sure as I'm of German
extraction! W-e-l-l, next time he comes in my place I'll not have
the police lead him out like I wanted to do last time he was in.
I'll bring him right back behind the rail to my desk and get
better acquainted with him. He just has to be somebody--although
he sure doesn't look it, and I'd never have guessed it."
See what an opportunity I missed if I could have had you along
I'll never do it again, even if I have to pay for a rum sour or
whatever it is you get to go with your meals.
As ever,
August 10, 1939
John C. Benson, Superintendent
Methodist Episcopal Hospital
Indianapolis, Indiana
My dear John:
. . . Your adjustment offer on my hospital bill, under the
circumstances, would seem fair to any disinterested person. You
offered to reduce the bill by $24.35, and I insisted my loss was
either $27 or $32, not knowing which myself--which looks rather
bad on its face, for me.
But John, as sure as Meharry Hall is in the middle campus, and
the Democrats are God's chosen, some low fellow (I'd ordinarily
use a four-word combination we use and thoroughly understand over
at Russellville to characterize certain men folks) there at your
hospital rifled my clothes--and got either $27 or $32 in bills.
The last thing I did before leaving Mooresville the night of the
accident was to pull out my modest roll and give Doc White a $5
bill, and he gave me back two $1 bills, that I folded with the
others and then put in my little watch, or ticket pocket, in the
upper front part of my britches. Mr. George Cunningham, manager
of the Claypool Hotel, saw that, and so did Doc White of
Mooresville, I think. Then Mr. Cunningham and his wife and I got
in his car, Mr. Cunningham in the front seat driving, and Mrs.
Cunningham and I in back, and went direct to your place. Mr.
Cunningham couldn't have robbed me, and wouldn't have if he could
(there's some wording for you); it would be heresy to think Mrs.
C. would (if you know her); anybody would have to be a hell of a
sight worse off than I was to go broadcasting $1 bills enroute to
a place like yours, knowing full well if he had any sense at all
that if he stayed there a week he'd have to mortgage the back 40
to get paid out. So that last theory is plumb out. And all that
remains is the aforesaid "low fellow."
The weak spot in my whole story is expecting the other fellow to
believe me, and me alone as to just how much I had in money. I
don't like to be in that position. I wouldn't want the other
fellow to expect me to take his word for what he had. That's
something like our railroad troubles. I've been attorney here for
the New York Central since about 1916. In all that time we've
never killed any live stock that wasn't a thoroughbred. All
railroad attorneys get used to that and expect it. So four or
five years ago the Springfield, Ill., Division of the B & O that
runs through my farm at Russellville (and whose trains on that
particular division run more by the compass than on the rails)
killed my registered Hereford bull with one of its passenger
trains. I knew their General Attorney at Cincinnati quite well,
so I wrote him the facts and ended by saying, "and as is usual in
railroad cases, he was a thoroughbred." Right back came his
answer: "Your thoroughbred bull has nothing on us. We want you to
distinctly understand ours is a thoroughbred train". But he paid
me on a thoroughbred basis.
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