Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

97. all the rest of my family; much pleasant talk would be going on; a feeling of family security and well-being - suddenly all vanishes, the house is quiet and dark. Outside the phosphorescent-like glow of the bleached out grass glows vaguely beyond the black locusts - the insect chorus is throbbing full and strong – the feeling of death and isolation is frightful.

August 21, 1935-Wednesday–

     While waiting for a street car on Swan St. yesterday, several automobiles went by – it was almost noon: the hot sun pouring down. From the passing cars came an odor that at first mystified me - it belonged to the Past, but for a few moments I could not place it. All at once it came to me – the smell of hot iron-fillings mingled with human sweat, - the place : the third floor of the Mullins Co, Salem. – in the Summer of 1911- It all came back to me so vividly that I forgot where I was- the ceaseless roar of Tonneaus being pounded, mingled with the harsh rasping of files over the solder and steel, the hot August sun pouring thru the semi-opaque sky-lights overhead – sweat running off our chins in streams, dropping on the filings – Across a span of 24 years comes this odor, to re-create for me an almost forgotten experience.