NAWSA GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE IRWIN, Inez H., 1944-46 New Year Greetings Just to tell you, Maud, that the statement you suggested was signed and sent to Mrs Stantial and that another was placed in my own copy of Angels and Amazons Love Inez Perhaps I'll see you at Mrs Catt's birthday party. With friendly thoughts and all best wishes for a Happy New Year Jan 3, 1944 "AUTUMNAL SPLENDOR"—Adapted from a late Ming dynasty painting by an unidentified artist. [?] the Metropolitan Museum [] UNITED CHINA RELIEF, 1796 Broadway, New York. Greetings December 12, 1944 My dear dear Maud: How pleasant to respond to your Christmas greetings on a card of the same Chinese vintage. That is, I believe, one of our admirations-in-common —a love for the Chinese people. How sorry I am to hear that you have not been well. I suppose your experience is like mine—that every month some part of the physical machinery shows suddenly the effect of seventy years plus of wear and tear. I can endure it for myself, although I add hastily not with saintly resignation, but I do resent it's happening to you. But there it is—as the British say. Bill Irwin is extremely well and has in prospect a pleasant experience. Years and years ago he saw many times in San Francisco, at the Chinese theatre, a Chinese play, six hundred years old, called Pi-pa-ke (Lute Song) the Hamlet of Chinese literature. Years ago he finally found a French translation Twenty years ago Sidney Howard and he made an adaptation of it for the American stage. Michael Myerberg has accepted it and says that he will produce it in the fall. Anyway contracts have been signed and advances paid. All these years, the Ms has been kicking around Broadway. We are birds of too long an experience to believe that a play is really on until the curtain falls on the first act. But again, as the British say, there it is. My papers are all in disorder, in that some are in Scituate and some here. But I've got to get at them soon and if there's anything available I'll send it to you. I have made a codicil to my will, leaving my Bronteania and all books by and about women to Radcliffe. If I have any other documents of interest, I'll dump them on our alma mater too. As good a year to you as this war will permit. Love! Inez 240, WEST ELEVENTH STREET---NEW YORK, 14---NOVEMBER 3, 1945 Dearest Maud: The project of writing to you has been floating nebulously in my mind for about a month. And then, receiving a picture from that charming Mrs. Stantial of you and her and me, standing together in front of the old suffrage wagon on the Radcliffe campus, suddenly brought it to a focus. Ordinarily it does not take long for me to do anything I must do, especially when I want very much to do it. But for the first time in my life, outside forces have beaten me to pancake height. I recite them, so that you may know and partly because you will so perfectly understand! 1 Bill Irwin had another heart attack early in the summer. He was flat on his back for three weeks, could sit up for one, could thereafter, get onto his feet, but could not for [a] another month climb stairs ( we slept all this time in my big downstairs living-room at Scituate) There was no nurse to be had and so for the first time in my life, I did an important stretch of nursing. My hours were from seven in the morning until ten at night and lucky I was that my sleep was not broken. Nevertheless and somehow, God, he only knows how, I finished one book and wrote the first draft of a second. I was reasonably tired when I finished that doublet, but I counted on having all September in which to rest. 2 But early in September, Michael Myerberg, who is putting on Bill's play, LUTE SONG, wrote that he would like him back in New York by 2 September 10. My house in Scituate has fourteen rooms, four bath rooms, an attic and cellar. In our old age, Daisy and I take two weeks to the closing of it, sending Clara, our maid, ahead to clean the New York house. We close a house exquisitely doing an adequate amount of work each day. This time we did it in five days. Maud how I worked! Never so fast of so hard as Daisy, but always as fast and as hard as my bulk would permit. When we got to New York, Bill discovered -- as we both suspected he would -- that there was no need whatever of him at that moment. 3 I had let the New York house to a relative. I had left it in perfect condition for her. I expected naturally that she would leave it in good condition for me. It was a hog-pen. Immediately Daisy and I gave Clara her two weeks' vacation and we set to work to clean this house. It was the straw that nearly broke the camel's back. I have never been so tired in my life. I went to bed every night at nine at the latest --- preferably at half past eight. 4 After we got it in perfect condition, the painters whom we had begged entreated and besought to come and had completely given up, appeared and painted the walls and woodwork of the drawing (room)-floor. More confusion, More fatigue. But I continued to go to bed early and I feel like a fighting-cock now. What a problem housework is! I have thought a great deal about it over the years, for I hate it, myself, as I find most women do. My only solution is that everybody in the family must do it---men, women and children. I hope that you have had a good summer and that the winter stretches fair and clear before you. 3 What I am writing you for particularly---more then my constant desire to hear from you---is to ask a favor. You know that I have put you in a book (ANGEL ISLAND) and a story (RAILROADS! MOUNTAINS!) Now I want to put you in another book. You said once, when I asked your permission, "Use me in any way even if it is uncomplimentary" But this is something yet again. I want to make you a murderess, no less---quite a determined and cruel multi-murderer. You willl be perfect of course with your honey-blonde, cool, chaste chiselled (damn it, is it chiseled or chiselled, I never can learn) beauty and your serenity and ladyhood. It is possible that if any of your friends read my mysteries they might recognize you. And doubtless with explosive indignation. But somehow I depend on your sense of humor to know how apposite for my intention is your outside appearance and how much I shall enjoy transforming your inside capabilities. I have read a lot of Shakspere lately. God, how that boy could write! On the whole, nobody has ever excited me so much as Shakspere. Sometimes I cannot stand the direful tremble into which the great sonorous beauty of his phrasing throws me----and I have to put the book down. After him Jane Austen most. And then all the Brontës--- the whole damn caboodle of them. And then - tremendously the Diary of Samuel Pepys - the unexpurgated one which I bought in London. A few books that I have read recently have much interested me--- entertained me too. G.B. STERN has written her autobiography in an utterly original and thrilling pattern, in three books; MONOGRAM; ANOTHER PART OF THE FOREST; TRUMPET VOLUNTARY. I recommend them. Sheila Kaye-Smith has written of her experiences turning herself into a cook in this last war. KITCHEN FUGUE is extremely interesting too, although not nearly so gay or colorful as the Stern books. The two ladies have collaborated on a book, SPEAKING OF JANE AUSTEN, they both being Janites. I read it with the result that immediately I read all Jane Austen for the I-dont-know-how-manyeth time. That book's rather fun too. I am sending things all the time to the Radcliffe Archives. A friend of more than fifty years standing----an actress----made her debut at the Boston Museum. She wrote from Hollywood asking me if I would like her diary kept for the first few years of her acting. I told her I would give it to Radcliffe. Grace Atwell, appearing first in A Parisian Romance with Richard Mansfield. Mrs. Cronkite was very enthusiastic about it in a thank-you letter and she added that, just last year, a Radcliffe girl wrote her thesis on the Boston Museum. It shows the value of the archives. What a treasure-trove this personal narrative would have been to her! A Scituate friend had given me a charming daguerreotype of Lucy Larcom and one of her most intimate friend, taken when they were both in Wheaton Seminary. With my friend's permission and in her name, I gave them to Radcliffe. Last I presented them with----Mrs. Cronkite said they'd like them--- twenty years of Christmas cards--many of them from famous people in all walks of life. Next I will give them---she says she'd like them too---a small collection of very old valentines which Will Irwin has sent me, raking the city of New York to find them. They are no longer to be got. Many are very big and very complicated with paper lace, colored pictures, sugary verse, all this opening out on several levels. All my books about or by women go to Radcliffe at my death. Here! here! here! enough is enough! Always with love Inez 240, West Eleventh Street New York 14 N.Y. November 10, 1945 Dearest Maud: Your letter came this morning and I hasten to tell you how distressed both Bill and I were with the news in it, but how happy at the reassuring outcome. I cannot bear to think of your truly exquisite nose being submitted to so much treatment. It will amuse you to hear, I know, that that nose has always been a topic of debate between Will Irwin and me. He admires it as much as I do. But that has not had anything to do with the dispute. It happens that he has always admired Loretta Young's looks. So have I. There has been no possible focus for argument there. But when he says that Loretta Young's nose is like yours, I immediately see red and go haywire. I insist that her nose is slightly fat [flat] at the end, whereas yours is as chiselled as though cut by a fairy sculptor with the most minnikin of tools [knives]. And so it goes. "I assure you, Bill, that-----" "But, Inez, I have studied Maud's nose ever since I met her-----" Finally I say, "Do you suppose YOU cann tell ME anything about Maud Park's nose when for one whole hour for one year in Kittredge's Chaucer course, I studied it three times a week." Of course, do with my books anything on earth you want. I like to think of them as moldering in your local library. I had forgotten that I made you a murderess once. It was in a story called THE MURDERESS and your first name was Malo. It was a very sweet little number. Malo had murdered somebody----an importunate lover, I think. Another swain, whose love had turned to hate, was a secret gazer-upon this engaging deed. He hoarded the body somewhere and kept sending her pieces of it by express until she went insane I think. However that will not interfere with my writing the novel. The story was published years ago. The magazine, which printed it, has long ceased to function. It had no circulation anywhere anyway. Probably nobody read it. This is quite a different story And this present Maud-Park-murderess is going to be much more chic and distinguée. I'll send you a copy when and if it is written and published. At seventy-two years of age, I, too, am beginning to take stock of things and get ready for that great move which is death. Every thing that I can send to the Radcliffe Archives is going there. I am sending letters back to correspondents of many years' standing. Long ago, I made a list of what was to be done with my personal possessions. I have always wanted to live forever you know, dear friend. But somehow the invention of the atomic bomb reonciles me to Death. I cannot seem mentally to cope with that problem and the situation fills me with horror. I wish I could summon up the faintest film of a belief in a future life. But I cant. Occasionally I do reflect that birth is rather a marvellous thing; death might also be marvellous. Anyway I've had a lot, not the least of which is your friendship. I value it so much that I want to continue it. Love always, Inez March 6, 1946 Dear Maud: I was overjoyed to read your postal. That little wheel in my heart, which had slowed down, but occasionally spurted into speed, has come to a complete stop. I finished a book today. Otherwise this would be a letter, but I'll write a letter later. Love Inez New York Mar 6 5 PM 1946 Give Red Cross War Funds Inez Haynes Irwin 240 West Eleventh Street New York 14, N. Y. Maud Wood Park 14 Surf Road Cape Cottage Maine Box 056 Inez Haynes Irwin 240 West Eleventh Street New York 14, N. Y. Dear Maud: I am overcome by your letter. I shall welcome with joy, wonderment and curiosity any token of that circumnavigatory trek of yours. Put please don't rob other loving and devoted friends for Inez March 19 1946 New York, N.Y. Mar 19 630 PM 1946 Maud Wood Park 14 Surf Road Cape Cottage Maine Box 056 1249 Globularia cordifolia - Herzblätirige Kugelblume Globulaire a feuilles cordées - Heartleaved Globularia March 25, 1946 The wonder-box arrived safely Wednesday of last week. More than anything on Earth, it seems to me, I have wanted to write you a letter. But immediately I fell ill with a cold involving so dire a sore throat that I have been unable to do anything but pray for death, The letter will come soon dear Maud. As Ever Inez New York, N. Y. Mar 25 430 PM 1946 GIVE RED CROSS WAR FUND Maud Wood Park Box 056 Cape Cottage Maine Inez Haynes Irwin 240 West 11th Street New York 14. N. Y. April 5, 1946 Maud, my dear: First of all, I will write about two things that I may forget if I get myself started on the wonder-box. I have accepted the invitation of President Jordan of Radcliffe to speak "of the part women played in this country prior to 1920" on May first in Longfellow Hall. I accepted the invitation, although I admitted to him that I did know whether I was more thrilled by the privilege or terrified by the responsibility. I shall go over to Boston on Tuesday April 30, accepting what Dr. Jordan calls" the overnight hospitality of one of the college guest rooms." I hope that you will manage things so that you do not have to see or speak to anyone before four o'clock on May first. I know how exhausting the whole thing will be to you with files of faces, strings of chatter and the pull on one's emotions that reunion brings. Also I am enclosing an article which Will Irwin wrote on order for one of the minor women's magazines. It is the cut-out copy they sent to him. As he mentions you in it, not in regard to any of your Amazonian activity I think it will entertain you to read what he says. I apologise again for being so long in acknowledging your lovely around-the-world tokens. What happened was that I contracted what appears to have been a severe streptacoccus sore throat( I hope that's the way one spells it, but I am not sure*) My physician prescribed *and I don't give a damn 2 some capsules which, obediently, I took every three hours. What every physician knows, Bill Irwin tells me, and hates to have most laymen learn, is that opium is a swift cure for colds. These capsules had codeine in them. For days and days I slept day and night. The cold disappeared very soon, but the effect of the codeine was long-lasting. Dizziness and torpor were my main symptoms. I could do nothing but sleep. Today, for the first time, my head feels clear. I do not take well to narcotics of any kind and much as I hate and fear pain, I'll endure an amount, unusual to my degree of cowardice rather than use any drug. But Daisy and I went through the contents of your box with the greatest zest, interest and pleasure. I cannot remember any time in my life---except at Christmas----when I have received so many lovely and interesting things. I don't know where to begin in order to thank you. But perhaps I'll start with the post cards, for one of them contained a precious detail---a picture of you. That was the English postcard and how I studied it, how I wondered about it! The groom with the horse interested me. Why was he there? It is a lovely picture of you---slim and chiselled and young. The photograph of the market-place in Singapore quite spelled me. I examined every figure in it several times with my little (Woolworth's) magnifying-glass. They are all interesting, but there was a boy back- to, in the foreground, who was quite beautiful in figure. I kept thinking those thoughts that sometimes inundate us as we look at old group pictures. What kind of lives were those people living then? Where are they now? Which of them have died? Why did they live anyway? And why does anybody live? Next I think I'll have to tell you how beautiful I consider the mandarin 3 coat. I have always loved Chinese clothes and at one period in my life, I wore Chinese coats for evening wraps all the time. I had skirts and short coats for indoors wear If they were obtainable and I could afford them, I think I would adopt them as regular uniform in the house in my old age. They are so comfortable and so perfect for the bulging figures of women, who, like myself, (it's all glandular of course; no diet helps me at all) gain steadily in bulk as they grow older. This one of your choosing is very beautiful. I shall try always to wear it over white. How perfect to receive my guests in the biggish summer tea which I am meditating for Scituate. It is so long since we have entertained on anything but the meagerest, wartime-rationed scale that I yearn, exhausting as it will be, to invite all my Plymouth County friends for one afternoon of reunion. [*Did you notice that the detail in the eight side panels is all different*] The silver things next. The silver box from Siam which I note with great interest is part of a betel-set, is very beautiful, I think. Boxes have always fascinated me. i have never collected them, but I have kept carefully those that have come my way. I may possess as many as twenty. Boxes are so potential, so connotative, Often I think when I open one of my tiny treasures, I shall find something in it. I never have of course, although I recall for encouragement that Hope came out of Pandora's box; but the sensation of a pleasant anticpation is very delightful Not only is the silver spoon from Burma beautiful, but I shall find it immediately and utilitarianly useful. i have no proper sugar-spoon---God knows I have not needed one during the war. I mean for granulated sugar. It lies now---your spoon---beside my silver sugar bowl on a mahogany table in my dining-room and it looks lovely there. I have always 4 enjoyed peacocks----especially after one Sunday afternoon in First World War Paris when Bill and I went to the Jardin des Plantes and saw at least a score of them walking about in an enclosure, furling and unfurling their fans. The sun turned their colors to liquid And the little pin from Syria will be a delight to me. Of course at this moment everyone wears silver jewelry. Not that that would make any difference to me. I have never bothered about what people were wearing. But i love silver and I like little pins. This will be extremely useful. I was much entertained by the twinkling little carved-fan hair ornament from Japan. You may be sure it will deck out these graying tresses many and many a time. That metal cigarette box from Korea is simply stunning, I think. For some reason or another, I like intensely decorations on metals and in fabrics too, of a geometrical design (Perhaps you know that I have been collecting Bronteanna for years. Only books about the Brontës. Of course I could not afford manuscripts or letters. In one book, I found a record of Emily Bronte (of whom we know so pitifully little) that shopping with Charlotte and Anne in Bradford, she chose dress goods of a white background with a figure in lavender of thunder and lightning(I suppose cumulus clouds and zigzag bolts.) Wasn't that like her? "How could, Emily Brontë keep a wild hawk in a cage?" Daisy once said to me. "She was a wild hawk herself." An amazing comment, I consider.) But to return to the pewter box---it is covered with the most interesting geometrical designs. I delight in it every time I look at it. It contains cigarettes now of course and is will always be extremely useful to us. 5 Silver---the Egyptian scarf next. How glad I am to have that. I had two once---white with silver and black with silver. Where are the they now? I have no idea. I have often thought of them with regret. It delights me to have a black one---I preferred the black---pop back into my life. They are perfect when one needs something over the shoulder ---not much, just a shadow of something. The batik pillow cover from Java and the wool embroidered table-cover from Darjeeling will make fine pillow-covers for the Gloucester hammock on my piazza in Scituate. It looks so shabby now and I am hoping that this summer, I can freshen it up. These will help The collection of wooden things entertain me vastly. You will gather that I enjoy the products of most arts and crafts. I think I do. I found the two little wooden salt dishes and the single crude little spoon from Norway most amusing. The carved wooden bread plate from Sweden shall hang in my bedroom in Scituate. Somehow I like wood against the wood of my walls. And there is something about the small covered wooden box from Russia---the one with the view of the Kremlin enameled on it---that especially pleases me. I shall put that with a collection of littles that have come to me in various ways which I keep behind glass on shelves in Scituate. The last tresure to arrive was the strip of silken, yellow embroidery from Turkey---the which you tell me Moslem men twist round the bottom of their red fezes. It's very beautiful in coloring and the day after it arrived, I wore it like a flat scarf about my neck, hanging straight down on both sides to my waist, confined by a narrow belt. But I shan't 6 wear it again. I shall stream it across one of my old, almost pale-gold colored maple tables in Scituate. The picture of the lake near Helsinfors stands on my mantel. I love and admire Finland, although I have never been there. How sorry I am for that dauntless little country. I look at this lake and wonder if Finland will survive the slow throttling of Russia. It is very silly to say thank you after I have enumerated all these lovely things. But I will say instead that I had the greatest fun unpacking and examining them, enjoying their beauty, or picturesqueness, or strangeness, or charm. It exhausts me to think what a chore the going through those trunks must have been, what an effort to assemble their contents, to decide where they were to go, to do up the packages, to take them to the post-office, to get them weighed, stamped and insured. Nobody appreciates more bitingly than I all the labor those processes involved because packages are going out from this house all the time. Of the getting of boxes, brown paper, stout string, there is no end. I have gone imaginatively with you through every effort of this warm, generous impulse of yours. The winter has been an interesting one, but not so easy as most, for I have twice had unpleasant bouts of illness. Not serious, nor protracted, but a little energy-eating in their results. Still by some hook or crook, two books are in prospect and I am looking forward to writing another this summer. LUTE SONG has made a very interesting interlude in our lives. It is still doing well. Bill goes to the theatre every other night and to at least one matinee a week. Yet he seems to be in the pink. I am so glad that this lovely things has 7 happened to him. He saw the play first in his youth in the Chinese Theatre in Chinatown, San Francisco and all these year, he has hoped to make an adaptation for the American stage. It is done and it constitutes a kind of pretty, new florish to a life devoted to the writing of many kinds of things. I have read some amazing books BRIDESHEAD REVISITED by Evelyn Waugh. E.W. is a member of the intermediate sex. He is a great artist. His book conserns itself with people of his own ilk and it is extraordinarily well-done. Depressing of course----as is Remarque's ARCH OF TRIUMPH. But that, too, I think, is a very fine piece of work. You would, I am sure, like THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF WILLIAM ALLEN WHITE---it is so warm and rich and glowing a slice out of the heart of America. I think you would enjoy the politics in it. Ordinarily politics bore me, but his did not. "The Crack Up," all bout F. Scott Fitsgerald is interesting to a writer, but not important. THE SHELLEY LEGEND is extremely interesting to anyone. New letters and data of various sorts seem to prove Mary Shelley considerable of a damn fool. Anyway it seems quite certain that she made several dabbles in free love after marrying Shelley---of course he was always straying off the matrimonial reservation and encouraged her in her kittenish sallies. Both were jealous of course. But no more now. I dont wont to KILL you with fatigue. I'll see you May first and in the meantime all my love and all my best wishes for quiet rest, dear Maud, so that Radcliffe party wont tire you. As ever, Inez INEZ HAYNES IRWIN 240 WEST 11TH STREET NEW YORK 14, N.Y. April 15, 1946 Dearest Maud: I received your letter a few days ago. I am horrified to find how you have crowded your meagre time and your limited strength with engagements. You cannot do all those things---you CANNOT. As for myself, I have had to change my plans. I had meant to leave here for Cambridge on Tuesday, April 30, the night before the grand event and leave the next day on an evening train. But I have just come home from a trip to Boston, filling another speaking engagement. Daisy and I arrived in the Grand Central Station in the middle of the afternoon. Now the porters do not install you in a taxi as they used to to. They take your bags to the taxi entrance and leave you to fight for a cab. There were scores of people there and naturally the spoils went to the strongest, most active and clamorous. Daisy and I waited for close onto a half an hour before we could get a cab and then we had to share it with two sailors. I would not like to arrive in New York at midnight and have to go through that experience. I am therefore leaving New York on a nine o'clock train on WEDNESDAY, MAY FIRST, arriving in Boston about quarter to two and going directly to Radcliffe College. I will spend the night there, leaving about the middle of the afternoon for New York. Now LISTEN, WOMAN, you are to plan nothing in the way of a talk with me. You have enough [un]planned work to do and and you will have more unplanned work to do. It ALWAYS happens that way. If a little talk comes about naturally, we'll take advantage of it. Otherwise, NO. Please excuse all these capitals---I dislike their shrieking just as much you do. As for the National Woman's Party---I have planned to talk about a century of woman achievement, in reference especially to the early part of the Women's Rights movement and in regard to Susan, Elizabeth, Lucretia and Lucy. I did not plan to mention the National Woman's Party and so I did not plan to mention the National American Woman Suffrage Association. I could not----naturally I could not--- mention the latter and leave out the Party with which I fought and whose history I wrote. You may, if any such future situation comes up, depend on my affection, my consideration, my tact and my taste. You may have forgotten this, (although I did tell you of it---mainly to reassure you) but when the formal opening of your archives came, a reporter from the Boston Herald sought me out and asked me to give her an interview on the National Woman's Party. I refused to do it, although in any other circumstances, I would have conceived it a duty to make a statement of some sort. So go ahead and enjoy your party in peace, for I shall put no spokes in its wheel. Affectionately, Inez Inez Haynes Irwin Scituate Massachusetts August 27, 1946 Very dear Maud: Your letter is dated August 6 and I am ashamed that it has not been answered long before this. But I have been in the throes of ending a book and ending it under rather difficult circumstances. My beloved friend, Nina Heidelberger, died of cancer early in the summer. As soon as he could leave his laboratory, her husband, one of the greatest scientists in the world, Doctor Michael Heidelberger came to us for three weeks. That visit brought with it many certain duties and inevitable agonies. I will say here that the book in question is not the mystery story of which I spoke to you and of which you will be the wicked heroine. I wanted to think longer before I began that. I'm already to begin it now as soon as I am rested. I hear with great delight that you feel better. Oh how happy that makes me! It was indeed the greatest surprise to learn that you are going to sell your home in Maine. It seems to me however---from very imperfect evidence of course---to be the best possible move. For you should not be alone and if companioned, it should be by the most understanding and affectionate of people. Mrs. Stantial is all that; you will be independent but you will be conscious always of her hovering thought. And then, Massachusetts is, after all, your first home. You have 2 multitudes of friends there and you will sink comfortably back into a life you know so well. I am likely to go to Boston sometime during the winter. Last year, happily, I went twice. And when the time for that visit comes, I'll let you know as soon in advance as I know the date, myself, and you must come to luncheon, or dinner---or breakfast maybe---whatever meal is easiest for you, Dear Maud, my heart sings at the thought of this future nearness. As ever, your friend. Inez WA. 9-8921. INEZ HAYNES IRWIN 240 WEST ELEVENTH STREET NEW YORK CITY 14 [*1946*] Dearest Maud: Send me from time a word -- just a word-- as to how you feel. The Radcliffe Quarterly came this morning. There are [*My Sweet. Anyway you are going to wear a delicate pale blue chiffon evening gown, all frail knife plaitings and flat ruffles. Love! Inez*] some pictures – pleasantly nostalgic. I shall cut out the one of Hay House and paste it in my diary. A reading of the memorial notices of Bertha Scripture, Margaret Leonard and Molly Rand brought home to me with a sudden punch what an able crowd of women were our immediately pre and post contemporaries at Radcliffe. There seemed to have been no privates; all were officers. Love to you, my dear. I think of you a lot, for I'm thinking of you in the terms of a recent movie title – Murder Transcribed and reviewed by contributors participating in the By The People project at crowd.loc.gov.