Jan. 2, 1945
Am starting this at work, as there is a lull and want to get off to an early start. I caught up even further on my correspondence, by getting off letters to Snuff and Maxie Brown. Now I owe Red a letter and then everyone will owe me a letter.
This afternoon, before getting to work, I stopped at the wholesaler for some handbags that Mr. Bellet had recommended on Saturday, His first comment was, "Why did you wait till after Xmas. I haven't much of a selection now and you'll have to take what's left, if you like it". He said I could have anything I wanted, and after showing me skeenteen bags I settled for only two - a nice black leather one for Mom and a copper colored leather envelope bag for me to go with my copper colored oxfords. Mom's bag is also an envelope bag, but it is a nicer style than mine. When you consider that I only had to pay $4 a piece for them and no tax (you don't pay a 20% tax when buying wholesale) I think I did pretty good. He told me he would have an entirely new selection in about a month, so I'll stop up at that time and see what I can get for my mom and something for me in a black bag.
As it is, this copper bag is one of the largest I've ever possessed. It's supposed to be genuine leather and sells for a few dollars more retail.
I have high hopes of hitting a "huge jackpot" upon my arrival home, for when you consider that the last letters received from you a few days ago were those of the 6, 7 and 9 Dec. then you know why. Do you realize, sweet, that in almost three weeks I've had but one mail consisting of but three letters! Now that's what I call bad, especially for my morale.
You know, honey, Mom finally owned up that the best thing I could ever have done was go back to work. When I’m home from work and must keep Adele at 4906, it works on everyone's nerves, but mostly mine. Adele was a regular little demon yesterday and I wound up giving her a good licking. Adele tried to smack Diana twice, in her childish way, which, naturally, made Goldie very nervous. I can't blame her for I would be nervous under like circumstances. Adele simply would not listen to reason and I took her upstairs and made her play in her crib, Mom said if I were home all the time, between Adele and Diana she would go crazy. I haven't suggested my plan to give up the place as yet, for several reasons. The settlement of my grandmother's estate seems to be muddled up again. I want everything to be smooth once I go back, and that, especially. Secondly, there is the possibility that Harry may be drafted, if the new ruling is any criterion. All 4-Fs are scheduled to be called up again in an effort to show this nation this is a total war. I'm waiting until I feel the moment is right, even if it does mean a few months, So if I don't mention the subject, you'll understand. With Goldie giving a lift, Mom has nothing to do but prepare the dinner and wash the dishes and so is more or less taking life easy. The doctor has advised her not to poke her nose out of the house all winter in an effort to keep her from becoming ill, as she generally does each winter.
Upon arriving home, I found nothing but my check. Need I add how disappointed I am? Mom liked the bag and was quite surprised to receive a gift; why, I don't know. The enclosed sheet shows Adele's recent scribblings. She wrote the "Daddy" with my help. Good night, Sweetheart, I adore you so much! I wish very much that I'll at least hear from you tomorrow. And now I want to draw you so close and hug and kiss you - that's better. I love you dearly, Phil.
3 January 1945
Quite a few months have gone by since I last typed a letter to you, but because I am CQ tonight (the typewriter being at my disposal, therefore), and because I am now sufficiently proficient on the machine to make better time than I would writing longhand, I thought I'd, well, you know --
Today, a very busy one for me, brought me your letter of 11 December. It contained, beside your letter of course, Carmella's picture and Spike's V-mail Xmas greeting. Carmella (I wonder how old she is now?) is not pretty, I agree, but I think the picture doesn't flatter her. Of course, dearest one, I'm send ing it back "immediately." (far be it from me to ignore the vehemence of your command, or to risk arousing your ire by disregarding it!!).
There was also a very friendly V-mail from Gloria, dated 26 December. I'll have to make a special effort to answer her soon. - Which reminds me that I have still to answer Dot’s and Snuffy's letters. I'll try to find the time for that, too, one of these days. It must be difficult for you to understand, Chippie, why I have so little time to spare for correspondence, but such, you may take my word for it, is the case. If I have time to dash off a letter to you each night I count myself fortunate, no kiddin'! I still have to find a spare hour or so to answer Mom's letter. Until I do, though, give her my best love.
Your letter today is a mixture of happy news and unhappy news. In the latter category are the details of the circumstances surrounding Betty's death. Poor Sol, whet he must be suffering! - Not to mention all the Gutkins and Genshafts and Brands. I was considering writing to Max and Frada and Anne, but I just couldn't bring myself to a task that would, in all likelihood, bring a resurgence of their grief. I'm hoping they will understand and condone my silence.
The "happy" news, thank God, is more plentiful. I was delighted to learn that you received a "stack" of my mail. If my letters mean as much to you as yours do to me, then I'm sure they must have made you feel pretty good. And if you, my sweet, feel pretty good about anything whatever, well, I feel pretty good just knowing about it - ketch? Your mention of my letter about my meeting with Harry W. reminds me that I have still to hear from him. I don't even know where he is anymore! Let me know as soon as you have word of him, will you, Baby?
So my precious daughter calls her daddy by his first name, eh? Being merely her mother, darling, I wouldn't expect you to be able to appreciate what a real thrill that bit of news is for yours very lovingly. Truth to tell, I had been wondering whether her education had gotten that far along. It's heartening to be thus reassured that it has. Incidentally, Sweet, is my "little girl", as you now choose to call her, aware of her dad's own nickname for her? I may be wrong, but I feel that it will be quite a few years before I will feel like calling her anything but “punkin". So, if she is ignorant of this, I think it might be a good idea to acquaint her (by means best known to you) with my designs on her dignity. I think it only fair to warn her so that she may give some thought to defending a true lady's most precious possession - her dignity. You must admit, Chippie, that the appellation I choose to call her by is a serious deterrent on any designs she may have towards sophistication. Perhaps that is the real reason for my desire to know her as my “punkin". I think that subconsciously, or instinctively, I dread the day when she will be old enough to convincingly wear the mantle of reserved sophistication because that happenstance suggests to my all too impressionable mind that I will be excluded from her thoughts and confidences, and the mere thought of such an eventuality depresses me beyond my power to explain to you. But I didn't mean to go morbid on you, Baby - it's just another confession of some of the screwy thoughts that your hubby is heir to at odd moments. As to that your suggestion that she is no longer a baby, but that the best I can hope for is that she will one day be "my little girl", allow me to put your mind at ease, darling. The plain truth is (and you must have suspected it) that I much prefer "my little girl" to "my baby". As a matter of fact (and this may surprise you) I don't remember ever wanting or even visualizing a "baby girl"! What I adored and hoped to reproduce was the image of Barbara as a little girl between the ages of two and five years. I don't even remember what Barbara looked like at eight months or a year! So you see, Chippie, shameful as it may seem in your eyes, I wanted å "baby girl" only because she would one day be "my little girl". I'm not sure that this isn't an altogether selfish viewpoint, but at any rate, if you were tormenting yourself with regrets that I saw very little of my "baby", you may feel much better that I feel as I do. Furthermore, I am supremely confident that I will see and know "my little girl" long before she grows out of that category. While I'm on the subject, I want you to know, Sweet, that I'm awaiting the punkin's next picture with the greatest impatience,
Almost forgot to tell you that this is my first letter of the New Year, honey, and why I couldn't write on either the 1st or 2nd. Come to think of it, I didn't write on the 31st Dec. either. The 31st was New Year's Eve (as if you didn't know.) Klein had been pestering me all day to go to the party at the Dee's, to which we had both been invited, but I hadn't committed myself, 'cause I didn't have a fresh uniform to wear. We stopped in at the Aero Club for a snack, and Klein called the Dees on the phone to tender our regrets. While he was phoning, Sgt. Murphy happened along. I was talking with him when Klein came back - all excited. It seemed that the Dees insisted that we come out, and that there was plenty to eat and drink. Anyhow, to make a long story short, I reconsidered, asked the all-too-willing Sgt. to come along, and put in a call for a cab to take us to town. Unfortunately, all the cabs were "booked" up 'til 1:30 A.M., so we decided to sweat out a ride at the gate. Luckily, we hadn't been waiting fifteen minutes when a cab pulled in to discharge some passengers. It was a lovely night, clear and cold and moonlit. The frost, in some places, was so heavy that it looked like snow in the moonlight. Arrived at the Dees', we were met (and how!) by an English soldier, drunk as a lord, and demanding to know if we were "lantsmen" and generally making a great fuss over us and a nuisance of himself. Inside, where Dave Dee met us at the door with a shot of whiskey apiece, there was another English soldier, two ATS girls, Mr. and Mrs. Dee, Fay, Harry, the professors, Mr. and Mrs. Marks, Mr. Dee's niece, who had come up from London, and his mother. There was a great to-do when we came in. Everyone pressed drinks on us, and Sgt. Murphy was lionized. We were going to have our little joke by introducing him as Sgt. Cohen, and we had talked about it on the way, but trust your absent-minded hubby to give the game away by introducing him by his right name! However, Murph got a helluva lot more attention as the good-looking Irishman that he is than he could ever have received otherwise. Everyone put himself out to be nice to him. Beer, Wine, and Gin was forced upon him faster than he could drink it. Mr. Marks even assayed to sing a chorus of “Irish Eyes", but forgot the words half-way through the piece. Mrs. Marks came through to uphold the honor of the family, though, by finishing it on the piano. Klein, of course, was his usual ebullient self. He "kitzled" "Faigele", made overtures to the rather fast-looking niece, sang jewish songs for the edification of the old lady, danced with everyone, or by himself, mugged all over the place, and thru it all managed to consume prodigious quantities of drinks. Your ever-lovin' hubby, in the meantime, was devoting himself to the many good things to eat. Nor did I for a moment neglect the beer and the wine. I've gotten drunk before on a lot less than I had this night, but for some inexplicable reason, the drinks had no effect whatever on me. Perhaps if I had imbibed some gin, I might have felt it, but if you remember, Chippie, I once had a very unhappy experience with that detestable brew, and the mere smell of it is enough to make me sick, so I wisely stuck to the beer and wine. Klein has the same trouble with gin, but he has no will-power, and he wound up a very, very sick G.I. Murphy, on the other hand, was a revelation! I, myself, brought him five stiff shots of gin, a coupla glasses of beer and wine, and everyone else took special pains to see that he always had a drink in hand. He must have drunk at least as much as Klein, and I was watching him closely, but he might just as well have been drinking water for all the effect it had on him! Well, Chippie, we certainly saw the old year out and the new one in in the prescribed tradition. At the stroke of twelve, we toasted each other in whatever was in our glass at the time, sang "Auld Lang Syne", and shook hands all 'round wishing everyone, a Happy New Year. Klein did the typical thing (for him). He kissed everyone, and by that I mean that he missed no one! When the girls came over to wish me a Happy New Year, I was almost in a panic lest one of them might get any bright ideas about kissing me. I knew that if one did the others would follow suit, and the prospect didn't appeal to me a little bit. Fortunately for me, though, they did nothing more aggressive than shake my hand and hold their heads so that I could kiss them easily if I were so minded. I just shook hands, wished them all a Happy New Year, and pretended not to notice that their lips were so accessible. Murphy adopted the same policy. If I know you, Sweet, you will say that I carried my prudishness a little too far on this occasion, but I abhor promiscuous kissing (always have), and I wasn't having any, thank you, if I could possibly wriggle out of it. The English soldiers and ATS girls took their leave soon afterward, and a little later Mr. and Mrs. Marks said their good-byes. About this time Murphy and I were having our hands full with Klein, who had passed out in the bathroom. The cabbie who brought us had promised to stop for us, but he never showed up. Later, when we had brought Klein around to the point where he could stand, we took off for the cab rank. There just wasn't a cab to be had. However, Klein has had plenty of experience with like stalemates, so when he advised us that our best bet was the police-station, we went without question. Two Bobbies were on duty when we got there. We explained the sityayshun and they told us to have a seat while they rassled up a cab. Within a half hour we were on our way back to base - and that was that! All in all, we had a damned good time. It goes without saying, of course, that I would far rather have spent the evening over an ice-cream soda with you, Baby, but under the circumstances I enjoyed myself far better then I expected.
The next day being New Year's Day, the company was off. Almost every one slept 'til dinner time. Dinner was a repetition of Xmas Dinner - turkey and all the trimmings, only better, 'cause this time the pumpkin pie was edible. In the afternoon, I played pinochle with two of my hut-mates. Supper was out of the question, so, feeling rather drowsy and lazy after the long pinochle session, I decided to take a nap until 7 o'clock, when I intended to get a letter off to you and then take in "Pin-up Girl" at the second show. You know the rest - it's an old story. Klein woke me at 8:00 to go to the movies with him. Nor would he take no for an answer when I told him I wanted to spend what was left of the night getting that letter off to you. I would be lieing (lying?) if I tried to pretend that I was entirely averse to going to the movies. I had missed "Pin-up Girl" the last time it played here, and I was rather looking forward to seeing it, but I must admit that I had to ignore the dictates of my conscience when I passed up writing to go to the movies. For that I must ask your forgiveness, Chippie. Would you feel any better about it if I told you that I enjoyed the picture very much? No, I don't suppose it would - - Maybe if I told you that I felt uneasy afterwards for depriving you of the letter - - No? Well, in that case I can only repeat that I'm sorry about the whole thing. Besides, I think you will agree that this "longie" kinda makes up for it, huh?
It's exactly 12:10 now, Baby, and I'm very tired and sleepy, so I'll say my fondest good-night at this point. I adore you, Ev dearest. A big hug and kiss for the punkin from her
P.S. Love to all.
P.S. Love to all.