Republished from "A Tenderfoot In Southern California" a delightful collection of letters by Mina Deana Halsey, written in 1908 and now in public domain.
Don't Take Any Winter Clothes
When I came out to California, Bill, some blamed idiot who knew it all, advised me what to bring.
He said -- (and I'll bet my old pair of suspenders he never saw California) says he,
"Don't take any winter clothes out there with you, its such a hot country you wont need 'em".
Wall, I didnt, and by gum, I like froze to death.
All I had in that blamed trunk of mine was some peek-a-boo underwear and drop sitched stockings.
I wore a summer suit and a straw hat out on the train, to keep cool, and was snow bound on the way to Los Angeles, and frost bitten, by gum, after I got here. It sure was a cold night when we pulled in, and as the train was four or five hours late, I footed it uptown, to a hotel.
I didn't put up at Mr. Alexandria's or the Van Noose, as I heard on the train they charged you extra to blow your nose, if you stopped there. So I found a room on Main Street (which is nothing to be proud of) and the landlady hollered after me, as I went up the stairs, not to blow out the gas.
By gum, I was so stiff with the cold, I kept it burning all night to melt the icicles I knew must be hanging to the end of my nose. There was only one measley pair of summer blankets on that bed, and the pillows were so small, I came blamed near losing 'em in my ear before morning.
I went to bed with all my clothes on, and the rest of the night I laid there and shook with cold until I jarred the bed, and some fellar who had a room under mine, pounded on the ceiling, and told me to make less noise up there.
Wall, I couldnt help it -- the slats in the old bed were loose and rattled, anyway.