8 Brookside Avenue
Pelham 65, New York
A/C W. Judson Clark
Just got all parked in my little old hospital bed. Had to wait for hours because they forgot all about me.
Honey, I love you so. Last night after we left you Mother & I went to some restaurant and as soon as we got there they played “Making Believe.” Lord, I’m so lonesome & miss you so much.
Gee, honey, I love you so.
Just ran out of ink. I hope that you’ll be able to read this, hon—I know that pencil smears.
Mother just managed to get me some more ink. They’re trying to starve me to death here, honey. The nurses are walking down the hall with trays of food but they won’t bring me any.
Still haven’t seen the doctor so haven’t any idea when they’ll operate or anything.
Gee darling it was so hard to leave you yesterday. I miss you so, honey. It’s terrific!
You looked so adorable last night. Of course you always do but I just couldn’t believe that you were leaving for the old South. I actually expect to see you next weekend the way I used to.
Golly, honey, who ever would have thought on that first night when you called me that we would get engaged and be married before another year.
Everything happened so fast but it doesn’t seem that way at all. It seems as we’d always gone around together in a way. As though there’d never been another boy that I went out with. (There goes my English again).
Sweetheart, I don’t know how to write you really. There are so many millions of things that I want to tell you but somehow I just can’t find the words for. The only thing I can say is I love you. That seems so inadequate. I want to tell you how very much I love you, honey, but there just aren’t words enough.
All the way down to this dump (hope the nurses can’t read) I thought about you and getting married & how wonderful things will be.
Just think, next time you’re home we’ll be married. Golly, that sounds marvelous. Wish you were coming home this weekend.
Wonder if you’ll get tight that night. Suppose some of the fellers get home & want you to have a few drinks with them. Just don’t get too tight. That will be too important a night.
Honey, this week sure changed me. Remember how I wanted to get tight at the reception. Well, you’ve certainly changed my mind about that & everything. You can’t imagine how I felt before but now everything is wonderful.
Some intern just came in and took my blood pressure. I hope they don’t say anything to mother about it’s [sic] being low. I almost drove him crazy telling him all the things I had when I was a kid.
They’re arguing now about whether I’m going to be operated on at one or not. What a place. They were all set to prepare me for the operation & I kept trying to tell them that I hadn’t even seen a doctor yet. It’s a madhouse. Don’t know when the doctor’s coming but it’s three minutes of one & they have me scheduled to be operated on at one. Oh, well, nothing ever happens to me.
This is really some place. They brought me up to the sixth floor and left me sitting in a waiting room. Said they’d be right back. That right back turned out to be three quarters of an hour & finally I said something to one of the nurses who was roaming around. She had forgotten all about me. Great place.
Golly, honey, I hope that they don’t give me ether because there’s no telling what I’ll say. That would be bad!
Called Woody today & she hadn’t mailed the letter. I hope she remembers to today because that has to pay part of the doctor’s bill.
Honey, I miss you so much. It sure has been perfect being with you so much. This was an almost perfect week. There was only one thing it needed to be complete. Of course you wouldn’t know what that was. We really should have gotten married, Sweetheart. It was so wonderful to be with you almost every minute.
Can you imagine what we’ll be like after we’re married? It will really be pityful [sic] then. We certainly won’t have any friends. Maybe we’ll change but I sure hope not.
You’re still on the train, now, darling. Gee, I wish you were here with me.
Honey, everything was so nice this week. It was almost as though we were married. It was the funniest feeling that night at Nanny’s when we got lost and went to New York, remember[?] To come upstairs with you & be staying at the same house—It will be so nice to be married. Nice is putting it rather mildly. But think how convenient it’s going to be. People won’t have to worry about conventions any more.
Gee, honey this isn’t the type of letter I planned to write you. This certainly isn’t a very romantic atmosphere to write in but I sure love you.
I hate to leave you last night. It was so awful to go home without you. And this morning it was even worse when you weren’t there to kiss me as soon as I woke up. That was awful. That was such a beautiful way to wake up at your house. I love you so, honey.
Gee, being married to you is going to be the most wonderful thing that ever happened. It would have to be because you’re the most wonderful man in the whole world.
Honestly, Judd, whenever I think of any of the other boys I ever went out with I wonder how I ever lived without you. You have everything I’ve ever admired in a man and more. Besides being so darned good looking & so nice & manish [sic] you’re so[,] I guess[,] versatile is the word—maybe convertable [sic]. Anyway, honey, you’re just perfect. Of course you’re stubborn but I love you more for it. You’re nice and tall. Just exactly right and sensative [sic] and sweet & thoughtful. You’re a musician and a marvelous one at that. Wish I could tell you how much I admire you & respect you. As long as I’ve known you I’ve [crossed-out word] you (wrong word) idolized [you] and you’ve been my ideal (my secret love).
Honey, guess what—since the last line I’ve had my tonsils out!
The nurse came & said the doctor wanted to look at me & they got me all bandaged up in those hospital rags & before I know it my tonsils were out. I feel fine. My writing is a little shaky because they have so much junk on the table.
Honey, it’s so funny—my mouth feels as though I had millions of marbles & about four times it’s [sic] normal size. The whole thing didn’t take more than ten minutes. It was all very disappointing.
You know in the movies how it’s all so dramatic—well, the movies are crazy. This wasn’t. He sat me in a chair. Well, first of all, there was a lovely build up. The nurse came in & dressed me in real sanitary stuff. You could almost feel the germlessness. So then she wrapped my feet in big booties. All white and tied a rag around my hair. It was all nice & dramatic because they were hurrying like a movie & I couldn’t get the back of the thing buttoned—more fun.
Then a guy came with a wheelchair & wrapped me in a white sheet—sarong style. Then they threw me in the wheel chair cause the sarong was so tight around me [sic] knees. Well, he pushed me down the hall & I felt real sharp & like I was impressing everyone with the seriousness of my condition. We rode up to the seventh floor and there were loads of rooms with tables in them & lights over them & instruments hanging all around.
Well, that was fine. I began to feel mighty important and sorry for myself. Thinking how glad I was he was only going to look at my throat. Well, I got into his office after passing about five rooms with all the tables & gagets [sic] in them. It had a chair like the dentist’s office and they put me in it. The doctor was nice. There was a nurse with a thing around her nose & mouth. That all added to the impression. So far it was all good. He looks down my throat & says it’s not bad—inflamed or anything.
So he gets out the huge needle. Honestly, honey it was miles long & stabs my throat with it. He jabed [sic] around half a dozen times & I was chatting merrily away to him about whether it was going to hurt or not. Then he told me to listen that my voice would go away. It did & you should hear me. I’m much worse than Kenneth ever was. Honestly, hon, it’s a riot. I began to laugh & he had to laugh with me.
Well, it’s beginning to hurt like the devil now. Have to stop writing now.
Recommended CitationSix Clark, Dorothy A., "Letter Written by Dorothy A. Six Clark to William Judson Clark Dated January 3, 1945" (1945). Clark, Dorothy Audrey Six and William Judson. Paper 150.