Angel Flying on the Ground: Letters of a Gentleman's Pursuit

By Courtney Jo Barr and Richard G. Clark

"On that hot July afternoon in 1939, I was playing a pinball machine in Hennicks when I looked up and saw a tall, blue-eyed, ash-blonde come up the steps. I did not know who she was, but I had to find out. I know that there is not supposed to be such a thing as love at first sight, but I was the exception to the rule...Fortunately or u

• Language: English
• Publisher: Courtney Barr
• Release date: May 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781736573877

Book preview

“When was the last time you read these letters? Tell me your memories as you read these stories, Grandma.”

I would LOVE to have been blessed to have had this conversation. Why did I never?

Growing up, the family all kind of knew about the letters, yet their existence didn’t really reveal themselves until 2005 when I flew from Maryland to Columbus, Ohio, for a visit. While there, my Aunt invited me to drive out to Grove City to see what items of Grandmas I might like to keep in her memory. Turns out, I was the very last relative to visit before the donation cycle was to start, and so a lot of our grandparents’ items had been sifted through and grabbed up.

It was perfect, actually.

I found lovely, low-ball Santa glasses, which I use daily; tall 1970s green, hand-blown glass that as a little girl, my pinky would make suction sounds in the pock marks on the sides when I took a sip. Then there’s the infamous 1970s yellow ashtray with memories of Grandpa's many cigarettes, plus other miscellaneous useful, historical kitchen items.

As I walked into the den—or second bedroom where I used to sleep during my visits—I was immediately drawn to her small, brown desk. This is the desk where she wrote letters, did her finances, and kept her life organized. Next to her desk was a small, round table. True to my curious nature, I lifted the blueish tablecloth, and there sitting peacefully on the cross stand underneath the table, sat a plain white box. A sudden energy pulsated through my body, like little Angel goose bumps. Both my Aunt and I were in awe to see three orderly rows of WWII-era love letters tied in string, peeking out from under white tissue paper. There they were, patiently waiting for me to discover them, no doubt.

Decades later, I joyfully bring our grandfather's loving words into the light to share with my family, friends, and the world.

These now eighty-one-year-old string-tied, organized letters laid dormant until January of 2020, when I decided this is the year. Serendipitously, I had no idea it was also the 75th Anniversary of the end of the WWII European Theatre.

To know I am the only one who has read these since my grandma last did is humbling. I can’t help but wonder, How many times did Grandma reread these in her lifetime?

I have laughed at my Grandpa's words, cried at his antics, shook my head at some of the phrases, but realize too, this was all written eight decades past: a much different time.

As you read along, it is my true hope you also laugh, cry, and shake your head in appreciation of how life moved then, how societal norms were just plain different. Family goals were local, simple, and uncomplicated. I am proud that 80 years ago, my grandma, Evelyn Lucille Stark, knew how to change a tire, was a college graduate in 1939, and had the precipitous wherewithal to save these letters for all of us to enjoy. She waited three years before she told Grandpa she loved him. She stayed true to her independence and values first, like she didn’t even want to marry until age 25. She married at 24, and as you’ll discover when you read the letters, Grandpa’s love was hard to ignore. He saw in her, as do I, a truly wonderful woman, whom in my opinion, serves as an excellent example of what it means to be a matriarch.

My grandpa is affectionately remembered for his colorful language—I’m amused his phrases could be applied to regular clean English vernacular words as well. Some of the new words I learned were: betimes, weather eye on, pizen, studes, bangtails, hutments, and boon companion. Words that again bring us back to a different era.

For purposes of the title to this work—and as a tribute to the woman Grandpa loved dearly, Angel Flying on the Ground, is inspired by one of the letters where Grandpa addressed her as so. There are other allegories he used that might make you smile:

I’d marry you tomorrow standing naked in a snowstorm.

You’re the center of every castle.

If you want the moon, I’ll try and get a step ladder someplace, and climb after it for you.

Grandma is a real Angel now, flying in the air (And believe me, she’s near too.). As Grandpa so eloquently stated in his writing . . . Life goes on as it has a habit of doing.

Courtney Jo Barr

Disclaimer: Please keep in mind that as I typed my grandfather’s handwritten letters, I strived to type them exactly as he had originally written them. However, a number of minor punctuation changes have been made, just as a way of making the letters a bit easier to read for a modern audience.

1939-1940The typed version of this letter follows for ease of reading.

Postmarked Grove City, Ohio—December 20, 1939

Dear Evelyn,

It seems to me as though God and all the elements of nature and of luck have come to the conclusion that they are going to make it as difficult as they can for me to even have a chance to go with you. I thought the competition was keen enough without them entering in. However, it just goes to bear out the point that geographical factors control one’s destiny as much as anything else. Oh how I wish you either lived in Columbus or else went to State, or both. All of which means that I am awfully sorry I couldn’t come up. I am probably much sorrier than you are, because Evelyn, I have been looking forward to seeing you, and dating you ever since I saw you last. Just when it seemed that my luck had changed a little, everything happened. It got icy, Trego broke an axle coming home from Columbus, mother got her back up and ruled me off—so far as our car was concerned, and I spent another evening at home—cursing softly, and conjuring up images of you. Forgive me, won’t you please, Evelyn?

About Sunday night—New Years Eve–

We are going to double with Bob Anderson and June Laird.

We are going to go formal.

You and I—and probably them—are going to go out for dinner—never mind where—I’m sure you’ll like it.

After which we are going either to a night club, a hotel, or else to the Dale.

I will be in Sunbury for you about 7:30 pm, Sunday evening.

If you want to stay all night at the Clark residence the invitation is extended for now—and for always. You are always welcome. If not, it doesn’t matter. We will return to Sunbury in good order.

Be prepared to enjoy yourself, because I’m almost sure that you will. Don’t worry about drinking, there’ll be none—or at any rate very, very, little.

I hope you’ll have no obligations to any thing which has been proposed. If I could have seen you, we could have talked it all over. As it is—all I could do was plan. Particularly, I hope you don’t mind going formal. It doesn’t matter to me, but June Laird wanted to, and I thought maybe you would too. If you don’t—call me—and we won’t, but I made an inspection of my tux this morning and found it to be in good shape, so I’m all set if you are.

Now for one little bit of news. Do you think you would mind writing letters to me in Columbus? Unless something unforeseen comes up, we’re going to move into a very nice apartment up in Olentangy Village, this will take place on or about the 12th of January. One thing I like about it is that you will only be 25 minutes away from me.

Well Evelyn, barring flood, snow a foot thick and drifting, much more ice, accidents, or death I’ll be up Sunday at 7:30.

Love—‘til then—and always,

Dick

The typed version of this letter follows for ease of reading.

Postmarked Grove City, Ohio—January 13, 1940

Sunday evening

Dear Evelyn,

Here we are at the end of a week and the beginning of a new one. Time certainly passes swiftly. Since I last wrote, I haven’t done anything very much. I’ve read a couple of books, I’ve taught school, I’ve begun to make changes—laying the foundation for next year’s classes. Also—oh wonder of wonders—I’ve been thinking. My thoughts for no very good reason seem to revolve around the problem of what’s happening or is likely to happen, to America. Maybe you won’t be interested, but here are the conclusions I’ve reached:

In 1942 and ’43 we are going to have a greater period of prosperity than America has ever seen. There will be full employment, high prices, easy credit, and everything that makes up a boom period. All this will be brought about by the Defense Program, which of course must be paid for by all of us through taxation. We will be able to make those payments as long as the war lasts; when the war is over, if England wins we will immediately cease our tremendous arms—spending program, which soon will result in depression. Or, if Germany wins, we will continue our program until we no longer have money enough to pay for it.

In either case there will eventually—within the next ten years—be a depression greater than anything that has preceded it. Compared to it, the depression of the early thirties will look like rosy prosperity. Through an involved process, which I’ll explain to you when I see you, the government must either become bankrupt, or else tap the people to the point of revolution. The result of either of those eventualities will be a government different from anything we now have. Either it will be Communistic, Nazi, or some form of State Socialism. At any rate, our money, our government bonds, our negotiable securities will not be worth the paper they’re printed on, and the banks, wholesale and retail business, and industry as we now know it, will be wiped out completely. The only people who can be sure of security are Engineers, farmers, and professional people. The only secure investment—land. I’ve also figured out a way to make a tremendous profit from all of this, which I’ll bore you with when I see you. Which reminds me that I’ve probably bored you enough for now.

To change the subject to something considerably more personal, why haven’t you answered my last letter? Is it that you’ve been too busy, or have you been sick; or are you deciding that you shouldn’t write to me anymore? I expected to hear from you all last week, and when no letter was forthcoming, I got sadder and sadder, until Saturday I just about was unfit to live with. I was so downhearted that even my Plymouth just sort of drooped all over, out of sympathy for me. Anyway, I hope there’s nothing wrong, and I do wish you’d write to me, and I surely hope I can see you real soon. (I’m not hinting but I’d like to come to Sunbury or Crestline this coming week end, and see the girl I’d like to think I go with, do you suppose you could talk to her and see whether she’d like that?) I sure hope she would, because even though she doesn’t care so much about me, I love her like the very devil, and I miss not having her answer my letters, and I miss her smile, and her laugh, and voice, and lips, and everything that goes into the makeup of the most wonderful girl I’ve ever known, or ever will meet. So, if you are Evelyn Stark, will you tell her all this, and ask her to write once in a while, and to see me real often? I’m sure that if she knew all this she’d be willing to listen to the humble supplications of a very lonely, very sincere young feller’, and maybe respond to them a little anyways. What do you think?

Dick

This greeting card was originally typed by my grandfather, so I did not type it again.The typed version of this letter follows for ease of reading.The typed version of this letter follows for ease of reading.

Postmarked Columbus, Ohio—July 22, 1940

Sunday Evening

Dear Evelyn,

This is undoubtedly the hottest I’ve ever been in my life. Even the electric fan does little good. Well, I went to Marion Thursday, as I told you, and scared myself to death on the way home. I was in a hurry, and was driving pretty fast and every time I passed a car I’d speed up. That DeSoto goes from 65 to 85 so fast my heart almost fails me. While in Marion, I saw Jack Markwith, and we both concluded that he used to date an Alpha Gam by the name of Martha Swanson—at least he thinks she was an Alpha Gam. I also almost bought a ’32 DeSoto coupe, but decided to wait until I had money enough to put gas in it. It surely is bad to be poor, and I’m surely poor enough right now. Thursday night I listened to the Democratic convention until after Roosevelt finished his speech. Friday, Murray, Brooks and I played golf at the Army Depot course—I shot a 50 on the second nine—the best score I’ve ever made, if I can just keep hitting them like that I’ll soon break a hundred. I hit two or three 200 yd. drives, and was hitting ‘em 175 yds with your 2 iron. Then we ate and went swimming in the pool out there. Met the girls Brooks & Murray have been dating the last week or two—they’re not so good. Friday nite your friend Wolfe & I just messed around in Hennicks & went home about 10 o’clock. Saturday, I worked on my thesis until Wolfe & Brooks came up and then we went swimming in the Village pool. Saturday nite Emrich & I went to the show and saw Maryland—it was pretty good. Wolfe & Hopkins drove to DeGraff O. to see Margaret Ann Shawn. I think Wolfe goes for her—believe it or not. Today Wolfe & I went to Anderson’s and played Bridge with Bob & June. Tonite, I’m radioing, and writing you. So you see, I’ve been a good boy since you left.

I’ve been figuring up how much it will cost me to live during the next year, and the monthly figures astounded me a little. I’m not going to be able to save nearly as much as I ought—the most I can possibly save is around 300 dollars. It surely costs a lot to live, and I never realized it before. Do you want to see my budget? O.K. Maybe you can show me where I can cut down.

Salary over 12 month period with teachers retirement taken out—$104 per month

Chart of my grandmother’s salary and budget.

I surely hope I can do something about this. I’ve suggested to mom that we move to some place where the rent is less. You know though one thing astounds me—two can live almost as cheaply as one. For example, assuming purely for the sake of argument that you and I were married we would live in Grove City & the budget would be something like this:

Chart of my grandmother’s salary and budget for 2 instead of 1 person.

This is only $40 more per month than the other figure, and again my estimates are darned high. But on $120, a month we could live pretty darned well. The only catch is—I don’t make $120, a month, but it won’t be long before I will be. Then too, I know I can always get a summer job, which will make the picture look a lot brighter. Those figures represent a pretty high standard of living too, I’m not exactly trying to sell you on the idea, but I’ll bet you can’t figure out a much better budget, can you? Who started this anyways?

Honey, I’ll sure be glad to have you back once more. The moon has been very lovely this week, and every time I look at it, it makes me feel so very lonely. How I should like to be sitting in your porch swing with you, looking at the moon, listening to the chirp of the crickets; being overcome by the quietness of the country, and by the loneliness of the spell you cast over me—or perhaps the spell God casts over us. I wish I were with you tonite in Michigan looking out over the shimmering reflection of the moon on the cool water, and perhaps being like the mouse—nibbling a bit at the delicacy of your nose, and ears, and perhaps sampling the sweetness of your lips. Give me a drag on that before you throw it away Clark! Oh, you’d better quit drinking that stuff Clark, it’s pizen!

By the way, a year ago yesterday I asked you to go to hear Artie Shaw with me. I’ll bet you didn’t expect to still be dating me, did you? I was hoping from the first that we could get along. I’m still hoping, but I never was that lucky. This letter was interrupted here while Tom White, Wolfe, and I went for a ride to cool off. Wolfe said he wished he had a date tonite—I think he must be changing. White is painting a bridge just outside of Delaware on the way to Sunbury.

Wolfe, Hopkins, White, Julian and myself are all going to be orphans next week end. Our folks are all going to be away. We’re planning an all night poker session Friday night. You’d better get home and rescue me. By the way, have you decided yet when I get to see you? Is it to be Saturday, Sunday, Monday or when? Not to mention how if it’s Saturday or Sunday. Personally, I think it would be a good idea for you to come down and cook Sunday dinner for me; but if it’s this hot, I wouldn’t want you to.

Well honey, it’s about a quarter till eleven, and time for all good little boys to be in bed. So write P.D.Q please and love me and think and dream of me a little, because you have all my love, and all my thoughts and dreams.

Dick

The typed version of this letter follows for ease of reading.

Postmarked Columbus, Ohio—August 27, 1940

Tuesday

Dear Evelyn,

Mother got home today and just about the first thing she asked me was whether or not I had invited you down over Friday night. When I told her that I had, she said that she had been forced to change her plans about leaving for over Labor Day, and must leave early Saturday morning instead of late Saturday afternoon, or Sunday morning as she had intended, because the other people who are going—the ones she was with in Kentucky—have to leave then. God only knows why! So she said she would call the whole trip off in order to stay home and entertain us. Although I’d just as soon she would, I couldn’t very well tell her to, so I told her we would make other plans and for her to go ahead and go Saturday morning.

She wants you to come down Friday, and she wants to take us out for either lunch or dinner at the Maramour, and it’s all right with her about Saturday. But she says that if she goes away Saturday morning she doesn’t think you’d better stay here Friday night—and I can’t figure that one out either.

I still want us to have the kind of week end we have planned, and we still can, but we’ve got to figure out what we’re going to do about