LET THE SUNSHINE IN

After graduating from high school in 1967, I left Sultan, Washington, to work at the St. Regis Lumber Company in Libby, Montana [see Cicada]. My brother Paul drove me all the way there, stopping only for gas along the way, drinking cokes through the night so its caffeine would help keep us awake.

The job was promised me by mail, but Paul didn’t want to leave me two states away from home until we found a place for me to stay. We found a rooming house in Libby, belonging to an old, fat lady, and after renting me a room there, Paul left.

I was fascinated with having a place of my own--a private room--and I kept the window curtains closed to be sure of my privacy. In the darkened room I listened to my music, including the album “Sonny and Cher and Friends,” which I didn’t especially like.

As time went by, I didn’t realize the depressing situation I had set up for myself, until one day the landlady, finding my door ajar, came trudging into my room without knocking. She looked around, sighed in disgust, then walked over and threw open all the curtains, practically blinding me with the light. Then she walked out, without a word.

Suddenly the room glowed. The pictures were bright. The bedspread was pretty, the paint on the walls cheery. That old woman taught me a great lesson that day without saying anything. Privacy is a good thing, but it’s a better thing to let the sunshine in.


_____
For the complete contents of the Butter Rum Cartoon, click here.