longing with which Harry Truman already regarded Bess Wallace in those words. He told the Nolands that he had asked Bess if he could call on her again, and the answer had been an offhand yes. The Nolands were forthwith warned that they were going to see a good deal of Cousin Harry from now on.
But Independence was at least a four-hour trip one way from Grandview in a buggy, and the train connections were bad. Harry had to walk a mile from the farm to Grandview and wait for a Kansas City and Southern train, which was invariably late and did not take him directly to Independence. He had to walk a mile and a half along the tracks to the Kansas City terminal of the streetcars. As an alternative, he could drive the Truman family buggy into nearby Dodson, where he could catch an interurban streetcar, which required a transfer to another streetcar in Kansas City to get to Independence. Either way, the trip seldom took less than two hours. Inevitably – and to our great fortune - Harry and Bess began to communicate through the mails.
The first few letters have been lost, but by the end of December 1910, Bess had begun saving his letters, a good sign, although Harry did not know it. I doubt if he ever found out how many of his letters Bess saved over the years. Everyone, including me, was astonished to discover some 1,600 letters from him, as well as hundreds more from Madge Gates Wallace, Mary Paxton, and other correspondents in the attic at 219 North Delaware Street after Bess Wallace Truman died. Included in this unique historical treasure trove, which is the foundation of this book, are hundreds of letters from Bess to these same correspondents.
Harry’s first surviving letter revealed that they were exchanging favorite novels and that Bess had issued Harry an invitation to visit over the Christmas holidays. But he sadly informed her that it was out of the question.
Nothing would please me better than to come to see you during the holidays or any other time for the matter of that, but Papa broke his leg the other day and I am chief nurse, next to my mother, besides being farm boss now. So you see I’ll be somewhat closely confined for some time to come. I hope you’ll let the invitation be a standing one though and I shall avail myself of it at the very first opportunity. . . .
We haven’t quite got over the excitement yet. A horse pulled a big beam over on him in the barn. We were so glad he wasn’t killed we didn’t know what to do.
If you see fit to let me hear from you sometimes, I shall certainly appreciate it. Farm life as an everyday affair is not generally exciting. Wishing you and all of you the very happiest New Year, I am
Very Sincerely
Harry S. Truman
It is clear that Harry Truman was aware of the challenge he faced in his pursuit of Bess Wallace’s affection. In school, the distance between them had been social. Now the gap had been widened, not only geographically but psychologically. By going back to the farm, he had activated the classic conflict between town and country that was bred into every member of the Independence upper class.
Let there be no misunderstanding about Harry Truman’s status. He was a farmer, as thoroughly and completely as any American who has ever dug a plow into the fertile soil of Missouri. On the Youngs’ 600 acres - a square mile of land - he and his father and brother Vivian were raising corn, wheat, and oats, as well as Black-Angus cattle and Hampshire hogs. As far as John Truman was concerned, it was a seven-day-a-week job, fifty-two weeks a year. He demanded as much work from his sons as he extracted from the hired hands, who frequently quit in exasperation at his sharp tongue and minimal wages. He expected his sons to be out on a gang plow wrestling a four-horse team across the fields each day at 5:00 a.m. If the furrows Harry plowed were not straight, “I heard about it from my father for the next year,” he said. “When it rained and we couldn’t plow or
But Independence was at least a four-hour trip one way from Grandview in a buggy, and the train connections were bad. Harry had to walk a mile from the farm to Grandview and wait for a Kansas City and Southern train, which was invariably late and did not take him directly to Independence. He had to walk a mile and a half along the tracks to the Kansas City terminal of the streetcars. As an alternative, he could drive the Truman family buggy into nearby Dodson, where he could catch an interurban streetcar, which required a transfer to another streetcar in Kansas City to get to Independence. Either way, the trip seldom took less than two hours. Inevitably – and to our great fortune - Harry and Bess began to communicate through the mails.
The first few letters have been lost, but by the end of December 1910, Bess had begun saving his letters, a good sign, although Harry did not know it. I doubt if he ever found out how many of his letters Bess saved over the years. Everyone, including me, was astonished to discover some 1,600 letters from him, as well as hundreds more from Madge Gates Wallace, Mary Paxton, and other correspondents in the attic at 219 North Delaware Street after Bess Wallace Truman died. Included in this unique historical treasure trove, which is the foundation of this book, are hundreds of letters from Bess to these same correspondents.
Harry’s first surviving letter revealed that they were exchanging favorite novels and that Bess had issued Harry an invitation to visit over the Christmas holidays. But he sadly informed her that it was out of the question.
Nothing would please me better than to come to see you during the holidays or any other time for the matter of that, but Papa broke his leg the other day and I am chief nurse, next to my mother, besides being farm boss now. So you see I’ll be somewhat closely confined for some time to come. I hope you’ll let the invitation be a standing one though and I shall avail myself of it at the very first opportunity. . . .
We haven’t quite got over the excitement yet. A horse pulled a big beam over on him in the barn. We were so glad he wasn’t killed we didn’t know what to do.
If you see fit to let me hear from you sometimes, I shall certainly appreciate it. Farm life as an everyday affair is not generally exciting. Wishing you and all of you the very happiest New Year, I am
Very Sincerely
Harry S. Truman
It is clear that Harry Truman was aware of the challenge he faced in his pursuit of Bess Wallace’s affection. In school, the distance between them had been social. Now the gap had been widened, not only geographically but psychologically. By going back to the farm, he had activated the classic conflict between town and country that was bred into every member of the Independence upper class.
Let there be no misunderstanding about Harry Truman’s status. He was a farmer, as thoroughly and completely as any American who has ever dug a plow into the fertile soil of Missouri. On the Youngs’ 600 acres - a square mile of land - he and his father and brother Vivian were raising corn, wheat, and oats, as well as Black-Angus cattle and Hampshire hogs. As far as John Truman was concerned, it was a seven-day-a-week job, fifty-two weeks a year. He demanded as much work from his sons as he extracted from the hired hands, who frequently quit in exasperation at his sharp tongue and minimal wages. He expected his sons to be out on a gang plow wrestling a four-horse team across the fields each day at 5:00 a.m. If the furrows Harry plowed were not straight, “I heard about it from my father for the next year,” he said. “When it rained and we couldn’t plow or
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