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Terry Writes from Florida.

DeFuniak, Fla.
Feb. 13, 1923

Through the prevarications of the sender or the
misconstruction of the receiver, an erroneous report
went forth that the writer had been seriously ill and
much sympathy had been manifested by our Ohio friends.
We appreciate this very much but have to say that the
nurse has not considered the matter a very serious one,
for three fairly good meals per day have been doled out
to me and I have walked over town once or twice every
day. To tell the truth, soon after being here a touch of
the "flu" took an abode in my proptoplasm and developed
into a bad cough, and though I am much improved, the
ragged edges still remain and a hopeful condition is at
present much enjoyed.

When I closed the faucet to shut off the former draining
from the literary tought, I was speaking of the merits
and demerits of the auto condition here. Like every
other community the abuses and not the uses are
questionable. A large share of the users are not able to
own and operate their cars and as a result obligations
are contracted that in many cases impoverish, but the
people get comforts and pleasures out of them and I'm
not going to be envious but rather congratulatory.

Occasionally some one stops at our mansion and takes us
for a little while around this barren patch of God's
vineyard and gives us a view of how poverty and
contentment can mix and produce results, so I am not
disposed to begrudge the good neighbor any gratification
he might enjoy with the company of his distinguished
guest.

I am not slow to note the advancement these facilities
have wrought, and I find the Ford and the Stanrard Oil
Co. have largely contributed to the advance in local
wealth, which has been sorely needed.

The Standard people have a supply station surpassing the
one in Clyde. The telephone company has a new and
creditable building for their exclusive use, the masons
have their own temple, and there is now being
constructed a large garage, but-but "dead" is the cry
from a commercial standpoint.

The trains come and go but drop no tourists.
There are few strangers within our gates.
The sun still shines upon the just and unjust.
The people are clever and sociable and we rather enjoy
being here.

Mrs. Terry is in the social swim and is trying to have
me rock the boat, but I haven't ambition enough to rock
a baby or start a wavelet.

The Methodist folks are ambitious and the minister tried
hard to find and bring out our metal, but his magnet
deosn't seem to work on copper. He is a little runt but
has a good mouth and a head full of prolific ideas. We
like him very much. He has a pull on all members at home
and transients can't claim much of his attention. He
lives in a free parsonage with free electric lights and
water, and for pin money he gets $2500 salary.

The African is much in evidence and in style and
habitual demeanor he rivals the Saxons. Here the race
equality is everywhere manifest. To illustrate:  This
morning I was standing in the door of a jewelry store
store taking note of passing events, when a big negro
came from one way and the recently appointed postmaster
from the other, and the twain met in my front. At that
conjunction they mingled their fumes from their
respective facial appertures as commoners, exhaled from
a filthy old tobacco pipe, supposedly for my benefit; as
you know I am fond of it. I said, said I, "That is
quality," and so said to the proprietor of the store who
assured me he never had any use for tobacco. I thanked
God for one exception in favor of my race but what's the
use of such suggestions: They will do it and darky has
just as good a right to be filthy as a white man, and
may outdo him in persoanl appearance. If I don't like it
I have the privilege to go off by myself and sit down.
Exercising this personal liberty, or, in other words,
"Take the medicine and go," I went to my own
room,wrapped myself in my Pharisaical robe and
congratulated myself that I was not like many other
folks and better in habitual conduct than this man, but
why? "I was a sinner and Christ made me whole."

S. M. Terry
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