JUNE 28, 1927
EDITORAda Landon
FINANCIERGoff and Goff Feed Co.

    Wednesday morning the crew at Idlewild were thrown into ecstasies of joy and excitement by the unexpected arrival of our brother John, and, later in the day, the advent of our brother-in-law Victor. The only thing to dampen our pleasure was the announcement from both of them of a necessarily early departure.
    Sunday, we had our first ballgame. The score was eight to two in favor of the Heavy Hitters. Spectators were reluctantly compelled to admit it was some game.
    The other day, great disturbance reigned in the Wilds. Screeks were heard; those people working in the fields came running to the house; chickens scattered in many directions. Some minutes elapsed before it was discovered what was the matter — George Goff cut a tooth.
    Chig’s picture in his ballsuit came and it certainly was good. The wonder reigns how he made that face!

    Mary writes that roommates are somewhat like a marriage in that one takes them for better or for worse – and she wonders if after all, there was so much to be provoked in Anne’s primping.

    Rain, lightening, and thunder have been in vogue for some time, but now the heat season is entered and is likely to remain for some time.
    Cotton hoeing is being done, but enthusiasm is low.
    The corn was finished and laid aside with many sighs of relief.
    Evenings now seem to be devoted to thoughts of the old Swimming Hole.

    To Name the Paper
    What is a pump without a handle? Nothing! That is the reason why we entered into the campaign of naming our paper with the zest of the most progressive farm hands. The effort of selecting a name from the many entered was a problem of heavy responsibility, but as the fittest must always survive over the weak, so Idlewild Idiocy put into the shadow such other suggestions as The Ramblebriar, Our Book of Knowledge, and The Idle Pen. For this reason, the paper now comes to you under its present effective title.


Good morning, Ruth, how sweet you look –
Your bath, your breakfast, some shady nook –
To play and play, then perhaps a book.
We’ll have a lady of you.

What, you bad child! You’ve spilled your gravy?
O, the imp! She’ll drive me crazy.
well, never mind, you hazy
We’ll yet make a lady of you.

To work! Let me make the bed in peace, child.
I’ll turn my back, I think she’s gone;
Twould indeed be sad to be wrong,
For we must make a lady of her.

Another glance sets me right –
Square in the feathers the imp did light.
O the child, she’ll drive me wild —
But we’ll make a lady of her.

Noon – and at the table, Sweet Ruth reigns.
To be well measured are her aims.
Little bites and dainty
She’s our little lady.

Night – “Now I lay me down to sleep
Pray the Lord my soul to keep –
“Bless Daddy, bless Ruby – brother too –
Bless the Kitty card and Uncle John –
A pause — “Bless ’em all – I’m getting tard –
Bless Chig — fer — he’s my pard –

Now asleep, and meek and mild –
Just a little angel elf –
She’s a lady all herself.


    Ah, the good old days! My dears, the day has been just about 100 degrees above 0, and yet an antique came to see us today clothed in a heavy pumpkin colored, long sleeved, dress which swished about her ankles in a manner such as to be aggravating. The idea was to conceal everything, but notwithstanding, a thick white petticoat would occasionally become visible. This weatherproof person sat with us all afternoon in the yard and, as she found the shade of the trees insufficient, Ada offered a newspaper which she held aloof over her head as I would an umbrella. But woe! The fashions of the past are as nothing to the follies of this generation. I, in my thin and brief clothes, laughed up my sleeve. At 2:30 o’clock I marched gaily to the ball dimaond, but though Rube and I won over Pet, Thelma, and Ada, with a score of 8 to 2, I returned to the house in a sad and broken state. My arms and shoulders were blistered to a raw ugly red; the skin was beginning to dislodge itself from my nose; my feet throbbed with pain. I sought relief in the hammock but no sooner had my back touched the wire and barrel staves, than I discovered that peace was unthinkable. I flung some pillows on the ground, sleep and rest claimed me. In conclusion — If the younger generation is going to the dogs, let God preserve His youth, since she has not had the sense to.

Commentary by Ted Tenny (Ada’s son)