art by Cher Jiang

Yale Station: Letters of Love
March 14, 1947 Friday pm My Darling, You've spoiled me. Have got into the habit of expecting a letter from you every day -- and didn't get one today -- see what happens when we get used to luxury? That’s not a hint -- I know you have so many things to do -- like me. So I have to console myself with reading your older letters -- (very good reading, too) -- they're something of classics to me -- my documents, and very valuable. Haven't much time -- although it’s late, have to go over to Davenport College, where Clifford lives, and go over our circuits on paper -- a four hour examination tomorrow, Feel especially close to you today for some reason -- and it’s a rainy day. Funny how things connect in one's mind. I like rainy days, especially -- they seem to slow things down in some way -- but there are a hundred reasons why I like them. And, now, anything pleasant reminds me of you. (As if I needed to be reminded!) Your little pictures here, in front of me, are the finest things I have -- are very beautiful -- but I have to turn them against the wall to get any work done -- the stimulation is too powerful. George Niebank came in the other night. He's "running" for election to the University Council and wanted me to manage his "campaign". He took one look at your pictures and had to sit down -- from weakness in the knees. (I agreed to manage him). ----- Those people who are your parents interest me very much -- I would like to know what kind of people turn out small angels. In fact everything I know -- everything you have tried to ex- plain or hinted at -- about your family is sort of intriguing. I think if I met them, I'd get some new slants on human nature.
2) Very strange that people should be so alike in so many ways -- and yet so radieally different in a lot of others; that they should be able to intelligently communicate with one another for most purposes, and still understand one another so little. Perhaps its that they have no particular desire to understand, for one well knows that it's perfectly natural to be centered mostly in oneself, no matter how generous (by popular standards) he is. We go rushing by one another, noticing forms and not colors and tones. The poor human being throws away so much, and picks out so little (and the worst) for his use in all that's offered to him. We are too interested in the NOW -- not realizing that to- morrow's NOW will be good or bad according to this one day -- that a thousand future nows will dépend on today. I guess I'm quite an idealist -- to some people, but it occurs to me to be a great thing to know that you have left things so that, no matter how magnificent (happy) your life was, the next one who comes will find things better -- find less puzzlement -- find things more clearly understandable -- feel like a greater creature, being able to uinderstand much more than we. May I be syrupy for a minute, and quote a very favorite poem of mine (not mine -- by a fellow Drom goole, or something) -- I think it goes -- The Bridge Builder An old man, going a lone highway, Came at the evening, cold and gray, To a chasm, vast and deep and wide, Through which was flowing a sullen tide. The old man crossed in the twilight dim -- That sullen stream had no fears for him; But he turned, when he reached the other side, And built the bridge to span the tide. "Old man," said a fellow pilgrim near, "You are wasting strength in building here. Your journey will end with the ending days You never again must pass this way."

letters through April 17, 1947

  1. from another correspondent, January 6, 1947 (typed)
  2. from George to Emily, February 19, 1947 (handwritten)
  3. from George to Emily, February 21, 1947 (typed)
  4. from George to Emily, February 22, 1947 (typed)
  5. from George to Emily, February 23, 1947 (typed)
  6. from George to Emily, March 14, 1947 (typed) (current letter)
  7. from Emily to George, March 23, 1947 (typed)
  8. from Emily to George, March 24, 1947 (typed)
  9. from Emily to George, March 29, 1947 (typed)
  10. from George to Emily, April 5, 1947 (typed)
  11. from George to Emily, April 6, 1947 (typed)
  12. from George to Emily, April 7, 1947 (typed)
  13. from George to Emily, April 7, 1947 (typed)
  14. from George to Emily, April 7, 1947 (handwritten)
  15. from Emily to George, April 9, 1947 (handwritten)
  16. from George to Emily, April 10, 1947 (typed)
  17. from Emily to George, April 15, 1947 (handwritten)

Return to introduction.

Minnie Renzer Bostick (1881-1955), father of Glyn Bostick, Fort Worth, Texas, 1911.
Minnie Renzer Bostick and wife Lily, on the road near Childress, Texas, 1938.
Emily Greatrex in New York City, 1939.
Emily Greatrex (left) with her friend Millie Gonzales-Coto, 1939.
Glyn Bostick, San Francisco, March 21, 1942.
Emily Greatrex (upper left) helps decorate The New York Daily News office Christmas tree, 1942.
Emily Greatrex, age 23, July, 1944.
Emily Greatrex, November 13, 1944.
Clipping from The New York Daily News, January 6, 1947.
Emily Bostick with first child Chris, Long Island, New York, March 13, 1952.
Glyn Bostick arm wrestling with Diane and Chris, Syracuse, New York, March 25, 1959.
Glyn Bostick, posed portrait, Syracuse, New York, January 23, 1983.
Glyn Bostick U.S. passport photograph, June 14, 1990.
Glyn and Emily Bostick, Syracuse, New York, March, 1997.

Website by Studio Mulduzi.
Typewritten letters converted from image to text by FreeConvert.com, a free Optical Character Recognition tool.