My Day by Eleanor Roosevelt

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TULSA, Okla., Monday—We were awakened this morning by a most beautiful sunrise and I turned over and went to sleep again feeling much encouraged because yesterday's weather would not have made our drive to Muskogee late this afternoon a very pleasant one. We came over from Oklahoma City to Tulsa by train yesterday afternoon and it was raw and cold and windy.

We were met at the station by Mrs. Witt and the Mayor who very kindly accompanied us to the hotel, the Mayor pointing out that the thing which struck him most when he came here from Iowa many years ago, was the cleanliness of the buildings owing to the fact nobody burns coal, natural gas being available at such a low rate. They are all very proud of their city and the view from our windows is certainly very lovely. The Arkansas River seems to wind in and out of sand flats and all through the city there seem to be trees along the streets. A tower stands out not very far from here which reminds me somewhat of the Chrysler Building in New York City, and it seems curious to see the skyscrapers when in several places we have noticed the storm cellars into which people go when the wind becomes too unruly. I imagine that these are only needed when construction is rather flimsy and that the cities do not suffer in the way that houses do without any protection out on the plains.

I was much interested this morning to meet Mrs. Mabel Washbourne Anderson who showed me colored lithographs done from the paintings of her father and grandfather who were full-blooded Cherokee Indians, and whose portraits hung in the Capitol in Washington until they were burned. They certainly were most interesting and handsome men and I enjoyed talking to her about Cherokee history and am looking forward to reading the little book she left with me called "The Life of General Stand Watie," one of the only full-blooded Indians to be made a Brigadier-General in the Confederate Army.

I have just finished a little book called " Of Mice and Men" by John Steinbeck which a fellow communist Mr. Heywood Broun reviewed, in his column not long ago. My admiration for Mr. Broun leads me to want to look into anything which he praises and so I sent for the book to bring it away with me. It is beautifully written and a marvelous picture of the tragedy of loneliness. I could see the two men, one comes across their likes in many places not only in the West described in the book but in every part of the country. When I closed " Of Mice and Men" I could not help thinking how fortunate we are when we have real friends, people we can count on and turn to and who when we feel alone are always glad to see us. When we can add to our good fortune the possession of a home of our own no matter how small, we should indeed be content!

E.R.
TMsd, AERP, FDRL