June 18, 1941
My leber un tyarer Phil,
A letter from you is the best tonic a doctor could recommend for a bad case of the blues. This was no exception. If you could see my expression as I eagerly tear open the envelope to get to the precious contents of your letter, you would not hesitate for a moment to fill the pages. Incidentally, how do you like the salutation. It was Mom's brainstorm. Can you make it out? Some spelling! Mom says it's about the best one she could think of offhand. I rather like it. And now to more important? things. Mr. O'Connor was here last night and Jack and I supplied all the information necessary to fill out the F.H.A. forms.
Mr. O'Connor suggested that I mail you a blank form and have you fill it out. Realizing it would take too long before you would return it, Jack and I helped Mr. O'Connor fill it out. He asked whether or not you carried insurance, the amount, your place of employment, your boss's name, how long you have been employed by the same firm, etc. to mention a few of the many questions. He said the only way we could have the application for the house passed was to say that Jack was already 21 since it was only a matter of months before he would actually be 21. He said that they wouldn't check on the age. He must be 21 in order for the contract to be valid. I also signed a paper permitting them to investigate my bank account, so keep your fingers crossed, sweet, and maybe everything will turn out in our favor. I've been kept so busy at work these past few days that I hardly have time to sneeze. No kidding. Talking about interruptions—Lena just walked in. I wrote the first 2-1/2 pages of this letter at 6:50. It is now 8:30. We were talking about apartments, marriage, etc. She's going to have a large wedding at the Savoy Plaza. She's goin’ crazy trying to find a suitable apartment. I'm goin’ crazy trying to think up things to write. I'm going up to visit my folks tomorrow night. Jakie is going to escort me. He'll stop off at Yvette's, however. Then when we have to go home he'll pick me up, so I won't have to go home alone. Since all good things must come to an end, let me finish by saying that the home fire is kept burning by
P.S. In other words, I love you very much, sweet.
P.P.S. I must add that the family feels just the way I do.
June 19, 1941
My dear sweetheart,
I was greatly pained to hear that my letter failed to reach you on Tuesday. I realize only too well how worried you must have been. I could kick myself for letting you down after promising faithfully that I wouldn't. Actually, I didn't, but the fact that I mailed my letter so late is equally as bad. I hope that the arrival of three letters (Mon. Tues. & Wed.) from me will ease your feelings and erase any doubt that I would fail you. I wouldn't let you down for the world. Even if I couldn't write, I would have Jakie or someone communicate with you to keep you informed. My Aunt Susie from Redding (good old Aunt Susie) came to visit me this morning. As a result, I was a little late in getting off to work. On my way out (it was 8:48) I collided with the postman, who handed me your letter. This very rarely happens, because I must leave the house at 8:35 or 8:40 in order to be at work on time. Consequently, I do not receive your letters until I return from work in the evening. I am writing this in my lunch hour since I'm going to visit my folks tonight and want to make certain that this letter is on its way early enough to reach you tomorrow. Honest, sweet, I'm so very, very sorry. From now on I'll be sure to have my letters in the mail early. Ethel, Al, and Paul were over last night. They inquired about your cold (which I'm glad to hear is O.K.) and asked me to forward their very best regards. Tante Shush is going to keep Mr. Chase company on his return to N.Y. this evening. She has an ulterior motive. She's going to attend Rose’s wedding, which, incidentally, is on the books for this Sunday. By the way, how is your bicarbonate holding out? If you need any, let me know and I’ll send some along. Same goes for money. Did you get Lil’s package? I can hardly believe it!!! We're married three months today. Gosh! Just an old married couple. In the meantime, baby, don't worry. I won't let you down. I love you, sweet, and let me know if there is a possibility of your seeing “your better half.”
P.S. How did you like the fight? or didn't you hear it. I thought Conn was pretty darn good.
P.P.S. Regards and love from all.
P.P.P.S. I'm enclosing two postcards. They may come in handy.
Thursday June 19
As you can see by the date line, I don't have much time to write. I've been busy every moment since we got back from our day and a half on the combat range. Everything is finally cleaned up and I can write with a clear head. Your letters of the 16th & 17th, which I received on the field yesterday, were like manna from heaven, especially since the arrival of the belated message of the 16th lifted a load off my mind. We spent the night in pup-tents and did we have fun,—like hell!! I never spent such a miserable night in my life. We slept on the ground with only the thickness of a blanket to offset the damp, cold, hard ground. The blanket that was supposed to keep us warm definitely did not serve the purpose. This morning for the first time I was actually eager to get up. My squad fired yesterday, so we spent the day lolling under the shade trees and catching up on our sleep, while the rest of the company finished firing. Then we marched seven of the hottest miles we've yet experienced back to the barracks, arriving shortly after six P.M. After bathing, shaving, eating, etc. I still had to clean my rifle, draw my third pair of shoes and sundry other small tasks. Tomorrow we have another full day's maneuver and it also promises to be a “honey.” You're not going to like the following, sweet, but then neither do I—and what can we do about it? The latest word is that we leave for Va. Monday for a two-weeks maneuver and won't get back ’til July 2. I hope to be in on the 4th. Please, baby, although this may be hard to take, keep your chin up. Your peace of mind is my happiness (these are not empty words) and as long as I know you are taking my prolonged absence with some degree of equanimity, I'll try not to let that empty feeling get the best of me. Keep writing, as our mail will be forwarded. As to my keeping you posted; I'm not so sure I'll get the opportunity to write, but you can depend on it, sweet, that I won't permit the smallest opportunity to pass. About O’Conner, I won't be able to do a thing until I see you. You might, however, write “Aeronautics” and tell them “I'm in the Army now”; to continue sending the magazine and that I'll settle with them as soon as I get out. I have to cut it short now as the lights are going out very shortly. Remember, baby, don't let anything wipe that smile from your face. Will you do that for me? Kiss Mom for me—my love to all. So long, Chippie, and may your happiness be in proportion to the love I bear you.
Your loving husband,