Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, September 5 1947

It seems as if I must have dreamed all night long, one after another, and all full of interest. There were moments when I saw things to paint that seemed marvelously vital to me, but unfortunately, I can scarcely recall them—one a windy day in a southern town, something about a general store—another the changing of rain to snow in late winter.; A. In New York, visiting F.R.—in a restaurant he came over to me and said he had not much money on hand, but he had sold a small picture that morning and would give me the check for that. Later, he suggested I get my bags and go to the station and get on the train & go to sleep. We were on the fourth floor of a building and the bags were taken down on a separate elevator. When I got down & outdoors, I thought I saw F walking down the street with the bags, and ran after him. It turned out to be someone else, however. I went back and saw my bags by the curb. F was not around. The elevator operator a tall girl came over and putting out her hand said “That will be a dollar, please”—When I protested she said that was the price established by her union. I put a dollar up on the bags, at this moment F came up & I told him the situation. “That’s preposterous,” he said “20 cents is enough”—However, he too handed over a dollar. When I saw that, I retrieved my dollar which was now heavily coated with dust, as if it had lain there for weeks. . . . . . .