April 20, 1944
Darling Sweetheart,
Had a letter from our Jack today and he says he has a surprise in store for us but is saving it til he is positively sure. He thought he aroused my curiosity, but he didn't. Naturally, I know what it is—stripes. He sounded “hep” for he has been in the army for quite some time and hasn't been given as much as the PFC. I have an idea he made Cpl. or Sgt.
I worked part of the day for Miss Hahn (six hours) and picked up the stationery I had ordered for several people. Goldie ordered white paper with blue printing. Fay ordered blue people paper with blue printing. I paid your insurance and a milk bill for Adele. Al called for the carriage and I'm still waiting for my dad's boss to get the kind I want. If he doesn't get it soon, I'll have to go downtown to shop for one.
I think I've spoken of Sarah's sister-in-law Rose on occasion. Well, sweet, Adele is deathly afraid of her and cries every time she chances to see her. She (Adele) has us all puzzled for Rose has never done anything to scare her or hurt her in any way. She loves the kid and feels badly about. We got her to kiss Rose twice this evening after much persuasion and then Adele wanted to get as far away from her as possible. I simply cannot understand it. The same thing used to happen with Teresa Frommer (Flora's mother) and Adele gradually got used to her. Rose wears glasses and we thought that might be it, yet Adele goes to anyone else wearing glasses. Even if she doesn't see Rose for two weeks, she remembers her well and fears her. I can't figure it out—can you?
You could feel traces of summer in the weather today and the desire to see and be with you grows ever stronger. Did you ever stop to think that April 29th will be exactly two years you've been in the U.S. Army? That's one year more than you’ve been with me and I sincerely wish I was counting the other way. This is my third v-mail this week and I'm using it more frequently, hoping my mail to you will become more regular. I wrote a long typewritten letter last night, but I guess you won't get that til a week after this arrives, according to your claims.
I’m four days late and very anxious to get it over with. I had a funny headache most of the day.
Goldie sometimes does the cooking, under mom supervision, and is a mighty fine cook. Boy, is Harry happy about that! After all, you know Harry. Did I say he was going to watch his diet—what diet! The doctor did give him some pills to decrease his appetite and I'm just awaitin’.
I'm going straight to bed and I heartily wish that I could cuddle close you and whisper my love for you in your ear in our very own bed. Guess you'll have to be satisfied with
Your Eve
til you get me personally. YEAH MAN!
20 April 1944
My Own, (I can be “different,” too)
CQ tonight, and because I haven't received any mail from you today or yesterday and having answered your last batch of mail yesterday—I have to make a “fresh start,” as it were. This leaves me no alternative but to tell you what goes on here (for a change). I have two sheets like this, and I have promised myself, and you, that I will fill them before I hit the hay. (Hope I don't have to resort to the effective but unsatisfactory expedient of writing “I love you” a few hundred times at the end in order to get some sleep—you follow me?)
Let's see now—I am, as per usual, in very good health, even though I'm pretty “soft.” The food here (I only eat one meal a day now—at midday) is even better than it was at the last base. Yesterday we had real, honest-to-goodness hamburger, and was it good! To go with—crisp french fries, and creamed peas. For dessert—sliced canned peaches—and, of course, b & b and coffee—no, cocoa. We had coffee today to top off a delicious meal of ham, stewed raisins in sauce (don't ask me what kind), baked beans, diced carrots (don't get any ideas, dear) and vanilla corn-starch pudding. I might mention that we now have music with our meals (yeah!) There is a real, honest-to-goodness juke-box right in the center of the mess hall and the guys keep it going full blast. “‘A’ Train” gets most of the business, but “The Dreamer” does O.K., too. I've heard a lot and read a lot about “Mairzy Doats,” but I have still to hear it. Tell Ruthie (while I think of it) that she can choose between Frank Sinatra and me. (Am I sticking my neck out!) Few things have ever disgusted me as much as the “Sinatra Swooners.” Where was I? In the mess-hall? Well, I'm just about through with that. I will be when I've told you that we are eating out of our mess kits now. Of course, everyone much prefers plates, but so long as they keep putting good food into the mess-kits, I, for one, won't complain. Too, one must take into consideration the humanitarian angle involved. You see, when we eat out of our mess kits, the K.P.’s have a few thousand dishes less to contend with. (I hate to waste all this space, but—new paragraph.)
Yesterday, after work, I walked to the Aero Club for a snack of a coupla sandwiches, a sweet roll, and a cuppa coffee. The Aero Club is also larger than the one at the old base. It contains the following sections: Lounge (easy chairs, papers, magazines, and radio-phono combination), reading and writing room (sh-h-h!), card room, and an immense Snack Bar which, when cleared of tables and chairs, serves as a hall for dancing. When there is a dance, the trucks go out to the surrounding towns and pick up the girls. Special Service takes care of all this. There was a dance last night, but I didn't attend. I was in “fatigues”—and while I might have enjoyed watching the jitterbugs, I didn't relish the idea of the long tramp back to the hut to change into class “A”’s for the occasion. Instead, I went to the Base Theatre. The projector and sound here are just slightly better than the one at the previous station. The picture was one of the “Lone Wolf” series with Warren William—“Passport to Suez.” As you know, I can find something to enjoy in any picture and I'm never bored by the worst class “C” drama they can throw my way. There was nothing outstanding about it, but I managed to stay interested—and so killed the evening.
Today, outside of typing a few notices for the bulletin board and preparing a reimbursement form to be submitted to the Finance Office, which I gave the once over this morning, there was very little work. I read a bit of “Time,” “Newsweek” and “Esquire.” I learned a little from all three, and so the day passed—.
Now I am alone in the Orderly Room—my bunker is in readiness; I have checked the blackout of the huts in the area; asked the operator to give me a ring at 4:30 A.M. (when I have to wake the K.P.’s), and I'm looking forward to “hitting the sack” (as you say, I would say).
I have had very little trouble with this particular letter. It hasn't taken me quite 45 minutes to get this far and I still have plenty of space in which to tell you that although I can't keep our “date” tonight (I expect to be sound asleep by 11 o'clock (5 o'clock where you are—and I would love to be), I will say that sleeping or awakening, whether I'm beside you, or an ocean removed, I am and always shall be
Your Phil
P.S. My dearest love to Adele—and all.
