Dear Oots,
It’s about midnight Sunday.
My wife has gone East on a music deal.
Our capable Norwegian help has left for
Norway and my son Craig is in Rockford
sparking his girl. My daughters are all
married and away and here I am. I have
pulled the dog up next to me, we are
ready to read Shaw’s Julius Caesar
and see how things were back then.
Jackie my youngest and her husband
are in England on a rotary scholarship and
have just had their first child. She is
a writer of parts, with one published
book paying royalties and another ready
to go. The two older girls have their
families and husbands. Patsy’s husband
came to me before the wedding and
said “I am worried about getting married”
“What’s the trouble” I said “I’m wondering
if I can take care of Patsy I’ve only $4000
saved” My grunt of relief hit my shoes, I said
“Louie, I know who I am going to live with in
my old age” Ron continues this letter with chat
about their frat intiation. “We were naked on
the floor, corn sprinkled on us and they let in
chickens!” “We also had to climb the fire
escape with a mouthful of water and spit it on
the common room fire!”
“Well, great and foolish days…!”
Jackie finds this letter and looks up the
odd first name, “Oots” which was popular
German name in the early 1900s.
Enough for now, of Ron’s late-night gems.
Jacqueline Jackson
This article appears in November 5-11, 2026.
