Post #304 - February 24, 1944 The German Measles Clear in 24 Hours and Tolerance is the Most Sadly Neglected Tenet in the World Today and A V-Mail to Jack Paller and A Letter from Len and Lee Nerenberg

 

February 24, 1944 

Darling Mine, 

Adele's rash cleared completely overnight and the doctor gave me permission to take her out of bed. The German Measles clear in 24 hours and that's what happened. I guess you think I'm sore—oh yeh! He told me to keep her in the house for four days and then I can take her out. Today the weather was lovelier than ever, warm, sunny, breezy and downright beautiful. Gosh but I wanted to go out! I received 3 pieces of mail—your v-mail of the 14th, Jack N.’s lovely letter, and a letter from Milt. Milt expects this weekend to be his last home—he's going over any day now, as most of his division has left already. Jack N. decided he wanted an overseas hat and a pair of gloves instead of a shirt. I don't know when I'll be able to shop, but when I do I'll get you a hat, too. He's doing photography again. That reminds me—Ruth managed to get me another roll film. I'm saving it for the warmer weather to have clearer snaps. 

Adele's appetite is very poor and consequently she is pounds lighter. I wouldn't want her to lose any more weight for as she grows it is taken up in the height. I kept her in bed in the morning, let her walk around the room in early afternoon, and brought her down for dinner. Time for all my love and adoration, baby. 

Your Eve 

February 24, 1944

Dearest Chippie, 

No mail today for a change—and I'm almost relieved, because it gave me a chance to catch up with my correspondence. I just completed three V-mails to Ruthie, Seymour and Jack. I still have to answer Phil, Jack S., Jack N. and Eddie, so you see, I'm still way behind. 

Today I have no letter of yours beside me to help me gather my thoughts, but on the other hand, it gives me an opportunity to tell you something of myself and my activities, such as they are, of the past few days. 

Really, on reflection, there isn't much to tell. “Business” has been pretty dull, and the pictures at the theater being way below par, I hardly stir from the hut in the evenings. Occasionally, when I happen to get hungry after a supperless day, I stroll down the road to the Snack Bar. There, I’ll chew the rag with boys awhile over coffee and sandwiches, loaf around in the lounge about a half-hour or so listening to records and leafing through magazines. I don't stay more because the “jive” records and the “swoon crooners” make me intolerably homesick. When this happens, I head back to the hut, where, after warming up at the fire, I settle down on my bunk to write the daily letter. This goes on night after night with hardly a break to vary the monotony. Occasionally there is a “break,” but it's of such a nature that I wouldn't be permitted to put the details in a letter. Too, there are other things about our operations, the actual aspect of the field, the number of planes, etc., that I would like to tell you about, but all these come under the heading of “forbidden topics,” maybe, though, it's a good thing I can't enlarge on these subjects. After all, I'll have to have something to talk about when I get home—some blessed day. 

As to the more mundane aspects of my present existence, I can truthfully say that I rarely felt better, physically. My appetite at lunchtime, which is the only meal I eat consistently (breakfast never, supper sometimes) is simply enormous. If Mom could see the quantity of food I consume at that one meal she’d be astounded. Living quarters, as I've already told you, are comfortable and designed to meet our minimum needs. Luxuries, in this respect, there are none, naturally. Time, i.e., spare time, isn't too plentiful either, in spite of our comparatively easy routine. Every day is “Monday,” and we make no concessions whatever to Sunday. The high spots in a rather drab existence for most of us, are letters from home, packages from home, pass or furlough, or a particularly encouraging item of “war news.” The main pre-occupation of all the G.I.’s is what, in their more refine moments, they are pleased to call “batting the breeze,” but more commonly referred to by a vulgar term which doesn't bear repetition here. The subjects that come under discussion are as varied as the vagaries of life itself, and are debated with a like variety of emphasis and vehemence. A “discussion” may be anything from a quiet exposition of opinion and an equally quiet assent to a conceited conception, and a violent argument—or anything in between. Surprisingly (or is it?) whatever the topics of discussion through the bulk of the evening, they invariably lead up to that ever-intriguing and indefatigable “subject” that forms the “common ground” of Man and Woman. (That's the “nicest” way I am capable of putting it)—and truth to tell, I can't conceive of a more entertaining topic. The boys as a rule, aren’t the least but squeamish about rehashing their “adventures” in the most minute detail; indeed, they never enjoy themselves better than when they can recount a particularly lurid story to a group of invariably interested listeners. You are probably wondering what part I play in these little tableaux. Frankly, I talk and expostulate probably more than anyone in the hut—up to a point. When it (the conversation) gets around to the “ultimate subject,” I am forced to shut up and listen. Not that I am such a prude that I would disdain to talk in like vein—not a bit of it! The simple truth is I am way out of my class in that particular league. Any story I might tell in that connection would be an insipid thing, indeed, in such company, ’cause some of the boys, although years younger than I, have really “gotten around.” Sometimes, when things are oppressingly quiet in the hut, and most of the guys are in an introspective mood, I’ll deliberately “pick” an argument. My chief foil among the guys is McFarlin, so, when “in the mood” to stir things up a little, I simply park myself beside Mac, and in the most aggravating tone I can muster, say “Well, Mac, Whaddya think you know?” That does it! From then ’til “lights out” there is plenty of give and take with everyone “putting his oar in.” Once the lights are out, the talk dies quickly, and the hut is quiet except for an occasional snore or someone mumbling in his sleep. Sometimes, one of the fellows comes in late after a night of imbibing—and a little (sometimes a lot) the worse for wear. Invariably, such a one will suffer a misadventure in the small hours of the morning. The next morning, he is the target for unmerciful, ribbing. He is scorned, taunted, condemned, and insulted by guys who, more often than not, have been guilty of the same misdemeanor more times than once. This latter “activity” is by way of being the favorite sport around here. Everyone, me included, takes a savage delight in heaping coals of fire on a “sinner's” head. The “sinner,” on the other hand, will assume an exaggerated attitude of outraged innocence. Anyone not in the “know” would be tremendously impressed with our deadly serious miens, our blasphemous. flaying of the offender, and the equally blasphemous defense of the persecuted one. Inwardly, though, we're having ourselves one helluva good time, and laughing at ourselves and each other. 

I don't know how all this will strike you, Chippie, but aside from the amusement we derive from certain aspects of our Army life, I know we are all learning valuable lessons in human nature and human behavior. Most important, we learn to respect the other fellow's point-of-view on every basic subject. My own personal opinion is that tolerance is the most sadly neglected tenet in the world today. The Army, all unwittingly, in forcing groups of men to live together, has done much to eradicate the biggest obstacle in the course of human progress—intolerance. In many respects, this war will prove a beneficent factor in the history of civilization. I daresay I will have reason to point out the truth of this even in our time. 

All the foregoing just about “cleans up” everything I have to say for now. Except, of course, that I love you above everything, my Evvie, and if I took the pains to tell you in detail everything that my love for you embraces and signifies, and makes significant—well, I should never finish writing. Tell our sweet little Adele (my own punkin), how her daddy adores her and how he will spare no effort to make life sweet for her. Tell her that her dad's every thought and action is prompted by his love for his two girls and God willing will someday tender more concrete evidence of that love than his daily letters signed

Your Phil 

P.S. My love to all. 

February 24, 1944 

Dear Long-pants,

Owing to recently received information and in respect to your present stature, I hereby forswear the appellation of “short-pants” and apply the more apt cognomen you see above. 

Seriously, Jack, I was more than surprised at your rapid development. I was positively dumbfounded. With your added height and weight you shouldn't have any trouble at all making the varsity teams this year. Best of luck! 

Yours is the kind of letter I love to get, because I don't have to think twice about what to write. I simply answer all your questions: 

No, we, i.e., I do not indulge in any form of athletics whatever, unless you include stud poker in that category. Yes, I finally managed to meet Eddie in London. He looks O.K. No, I don't think he got any taller. No, neither did I (and have a care who you're calling “shrimp”—I don't draw the line at 5" 10-1/2" and can still make a certain second string center wish he were inches taller and pounds heavier!) Judging the English “beauties” by our standards, I would say—not nearly! No, I haven't seen any of the famous Hollywood stars—except in the movies (and I see all of them). So far, the only person I knew back in the States that I have met in the ETO is Eddie—but I'm still hoping to contact the others whom I know are “over here.” Yes, I hear quite a few of the “popular songs”—but not the very latest. Thanks for your offer in this connection, Jack, but they make me homesick and I'd rather not hear them for that reason. I manage to follow the sports news pretty closely, thanks to the “Stars and Stripes,”—and thanks again. 

Well, Big boy, I trust I have answered all your questions to your satisfaction. Don't hesitate to send along a fresh batch. I promise to answer promptly. Keep punchin’, Jackson. Give my love to all. Wishing you all the best. I am 

Affectionately, 
Brother Phil

February 24, 1944 

Dear Strongin family, 

How’re you all? Yep this is me Lee writing from way down south in Tenn. 

We received your lovely letter Eve and sure were glad to hear from you. You remember me Eve I'm the other half of Len. I know I should write more often, but will make up for it when the war is over by seeing you more often. 

Gee, we sure would like to see your sweet little girl (or should I say big). She must be the cutest thing. 

I'm glad to hear Phil is fine. Give him our best rewards and say we'll be seeing him soon when this war is over. I headed the letter Strongin family, although I'm writing mainly to you Eve. 

Len and I are just fine here and are slowly but surely getting used to it down here, although we can't complain and I won't. 

I'm not working here, for I can't get a job that's half decent, so I manage on my allotment and Len’s pay fairly well. We live in the outskirts of town, it's really beautiful here, just like the country and all the homes are brand new. We have a beautiful room in the home of two sisters whose husbands are in the army and they both have babies, both boys, one is 4 months old and the other is 7 months old. They are just the cutest things, especially the one who is 4 months, he's so chubby and sweet, I can just eat him up. 

I’m able to cook all my meals in, so that helps a lot. I'm with the girls all afternoon and we go places together and make our meals together. Len comes home every evening for supper and sleeps home every night and is up 5:30 every morning except Sunday, which is his day off. You can see from this that we have no kick coming, not right now anyway. 

Eve, I'm still the same Lee, maybe a little fatter and older, but still the same. Len has gained about 20 pounds and really looks swell. He looked pretty bad after his mom died and so did I, but somehow he picked up a bit and I'm picking up slowly but surely. I guess I'll never be fat or much fatter than I am now anyway. 

How is Mrs. Strongin feeling? Fine we hope. 

How is Goldie and Harry. They'll be having a family soon, I've heard. Lots of luck to you, Goldie. 

Eve I guess I've finally run out of words, so I'll just have to close this letter. I hope you can read this alright. There is so much that I want to say and it's hard for me to put it in writing. I get so excited, but I guess this will do. 

Our best Love and Regards to you all 

Love, 
Len and Len. 

Post #303 - February 23, 1944 Adele has German Measles and Our Whole Future Together Will be Influenced by Our Knowledge that Separation is an Unnatural and Depressing State for Us

 

February 23, 1944. 

Phil, dearest,

Your two letters of Feb. 16th reached me this morning and need I say how I enjoy receiving and reading mail from you. I, too, was surprised at the length of Phil's letter. What a guy!? I still don't like him. 

You spoke of your dreams—if perhaps I should walk in the door of the hut, how you'd react? If I could tell you how many times I've thought and dreamed and planned something very similar in my mind, you'd never believe it. I thought of sneaking up behind you and covering your eyes with my hands and letting you guess who was there. I'm sure you’d know it was me, even if you couldn't believe I was actually there. No, I guess we never did take up much room in bed and wouldn't mind spending a night on that cot with you—the closer—the better. Right now I feel as if I could creep right inside you. Oh, Phil, my need of your presence is very great at this moment and I'm doing my best, or shall I say “next” to best by writing. 

This morning, Adele’s face seemed clearer. I took her down, gave her breakfast (she ate very little‚ and brought her up again. I sat her on the toddy and let her watch me wash a few pieces. When I finished, I put her back in bed and preceded to dress. Mom walked in and started to make a fuss about Adele's face. Her face had gotten redder and blotchier and when I examined her body, I discovered it, too, was rashy. I couldn't believe my eyes, for a few minutes ago she had been perfectly clear. I called my mother and she said she wasn't positive it was measles as it is usually accompanied by running nose and eyes. I called Dr. Gayl and his diagnosis, German Measles! Yup! Christ, was I disgusted. For two weeks now, Adele has been ailing and I had hoped to get her out into the air, to say nothing of myself. She has to be kept in bed for at least a week to ten days in a darkened room (I have the blinds tightly drawn) and does not need specialized care. Just so she is kept in bed, warm, and away from drafts, she'll be alright. She can eat anything providing she wants it. She has to be kept busy playing or occupied with something and that's where the trouble comes in. She doesn't stay interested in anything for more than a few minutes at a time. She is pretty good considering all. Her face is sort of swollen, her eyes small and her skin reddish in spots. Her lips are chapped from the fever and a constant chewing of the lips. Babies chew their lips a lot when teething. I just recalled something. I know wearing Adele got these measles. From Gloria. How? I'll explain. Gloria was last here she had come from Ann’s and Arny had just come down with German Measles. A baby never gets anything unless transmitted by germs and that's how she got it. I remember, at the time, that I was frightened as Gloria had been playing with Adele and didn't tell us about Arny til the following day. It's contagious to a great degree, and the doc said I could go out, but to keep away from children and vice versa. I have to go to register this afternoon, or rather, to straighten out my registration. I'll be 22 and still haven't voted. 

I had planned to go downtown today with Sarah as one of the stores is having a large clearance sale of sport coats and dresses. Oh, well, next time. Besides, I had thought I would have money over this month, but no such luck. Every month it is something else. I am being interrupted after each sentence to pick up Adele's rubber ball, which she keeps throwing on the floor and wants me to pick up. Guess she aims to keep me occupied, too. It works both ways. 

I'm using the rose hamper as a desk and my vanity bench as a seat. 

I had an argument with Harry this morning, or you might call it a debate. He says no one will go near his baby and I told him he was nuts. He doesn't think I should even let Sarah and Betty near her and I reminded him that while his kid may have the fatherly affection babies crave, my baby was doing without it and I would not deprive her of the love and adoration showered on her wholeheartedly by Sarah Petey, Betty and Lou. Frankly, I think he's jealous and if he isn't, he is nuts. I always said the same, but I'll be God darn if it can be practiced without stepping on everyone's toes. I used to think Goldie different and find she and Harry are perfectly mated. They both have screwy ideas about people. They don't like crowds, as we don't, but the tiniest things about people annoy both of them. Goldie doesn't feel very good about being in the same house with a contagious disease and I don't blame her a bit. There are plenty of things that annoy them, after all, who wants to put up with somebody else’s baby? However, I've put up with plenty, too (I won't go into details), and if I can take it, I don't see why they can't. 

Harry’s pay after taxes plus 10% for bonds is deducted, is now approximately $33. Mom told me that she expects me to help them out now, (as if she had to tell me). Harry has been playing the ponies daily with Goldie's knowledge. Now, though, I doubt he'll be able to manage it. 

I expect my big check on Mar. 1 and have told Mom that I will give her the whole $60 to clear our debt for once and for all. She wants me to pay it in small amounts monthly and save the large amount, but I can't see it. I'm tired of owing money and she'll have to take the full amount. Once that is paid we’ll be in the clear and I'm going to celebrate. It's about time! Yipee! Now we have an opportunity to save and know the money is ours. After paying Adele's policy (Mar. or Apr.) $54, we’ll be in the clear for the year. Do you mind if I shout “Yipee’ again? I guess not. 

Betty doesn't think Adele got the measles through Glo. She says that a doc once told her that it is not passed indirectly. You must come in contact with the diseased person to catch it. I'm gettin’ all bawled up. I give up. You try to figure it out. 

I registered and now (I'm wearing that word out) I can vote. I called Dot to tell her about Adele. She wasn't at her mothers and Naomi was telling me that Dot will put her bedroom set in storage, sell out to her mother-in-law and moved back to her mother. 

Did I tell you Betty got a nice new job for an electrical house on South St. at $28 per five days from 9 to 5? Today they let her go at 3:45—they didn't have enough work for a whole day. They are swell to her and she is saving her entire salary. 

Sarah went downtown and looked for a coat for me. The ones I had seen advertised were reduced from $40 to $15 and she said there wasn't a one left. They must have been good buys. 

Adele is sleeping soundly, and I intend to do the same shortly. My mom is going to wash Adele’s larger things, sheets, blankets, etc. and I have to hang them. I don't have large washes since I trained Adele. She “does” in the potty and that saves panties. I usually have two pairs of panties to wash at the end of the day, a shirt, sleepers and whatever else she had been wearing during the day. Ruth gave Adele a little red pocketbook she had around the house. Adele calls it a “pobook.” Adele calls a drink of any sort a “wow-wow” due to the scotty dogs on her glass. This morning when she woke (6:30), she said “Momma—wow-wow.” Translated, “Momma—give me a drink.” Ain't it wonderful the way they make you understand and vice versa? 

I think the worst part of the ailment is over. Once the rash comes out, the patient is on the road to recovery. Cmon’ sumpin!” It was lovely today and I think I'm getting spring fever a little ahead of time. Oh, mister, what I wouldn't do to you right this minute! Want to know what I do—well I’d—but no—that would be telling. I'm an awful tease—or am I? Today I was thinking of the “next one” and going through all this again and I must admit I was leery. I'm sure, though, that is mostly due to my lack of you, sweet. However, I'm positive that I won't be interested for a good many years. I want a good long earned rest before I do another thing. 

Guess the Clare Pruett picture will have to wait, much as I hate to say it. By the way, what are you going to do with the proofs of Wolpe’s pictures? I suggest you keep the proofs and we let it go with that. I think the proofs are worth the $2 deposit I gave. Let's wait and see how Clare Pruett’s are. 

Lou got me a new supply of air-mail envelopes and says he will be able to get them for me whenever I want them. It seems they are sending most of them overseas. Which reminds me—it's next to impossible to get Wrigley's chewing gum as most of it is going overseas, too. 

Say, this is turning into a real longie. Getting better by the day—or haven't you noticed? I have to sit upstairs with Adele and can't sit idle. I'm glad of an opportunity to write to you and not have to rush. 

I love you, baby mine, and miss you so keenly. And now for a long, tender kiss, Phil dear and a fond good-night 

Your ever-lovin’ 
Eve 
P.S. Mom lit a glass for “Pop” and wants to know if you said kadish. 

February 23, 1944 

Ev, darling, 

No sooner had I finished typing yesterday's “longie” to you than the mail came in—and the Mail Orderly started throwing letters at me. They were yours of the 6th and 8th Feb., Seymour’s of the 7th, Jack S’s of the 26th Jan., and your Valentine (So you just had to spend that 10₵ after all!) But that's not all. This afternoon while I was in the process of transcribing the payroll, the mail came in again, and again I was deluged with letters. This time it was yours of the 10th and 11th Feb. and Jack P.’s and Ruthie's of the 7th. Which gives me a total of eight letters to answer and five correspondents to “get even” with—Not that I'm complaining, Sweet—far from it. I was merely pointing out the difficulty when mail arrives in bunches like that. It was swell of the “kids” (if I may call them that) to get together and write the nice long letters they did. Ruthie, especially, is a most prolific writer and I just can't keep up with her. However, I'm highly flattered and deeply grateful that they took time out from their busy lives for the sake of writing “brother” Phil (as they like to have it.) Well, Chippie, you have all seen to it that I have a prodigious lot of writing to do, so I better start right in and fulfill my obligations. Believe me, Ev, I can't think of a more satisfying way to spend an evening. I’ll leaf through your four recently arrived letters and write as they move me. Excuse me for a moment while I get the file. I have yours of the 6th in front of me, and a nice, long, intimate letter it is. You tell all about Adele's first trip to Uncle Nish and how you think we ought to get a car when I get home, and how you gave my three suits to your father (good riddance—and tell him to wear them well) and how you especially miss me on Sundays—(Sunday? What's that?), and a few other items that require no comment, except that I enjoyed knowing everything. I admire your preoccupation with the most commonplace details, Chippie. It's that gift that makes me forever eager for your next letter. I have no patience for that type of writing myself, but I love to read a letter in that vein, especially when it's all about you and all my loved ones. But then, there are darn few things that I ever liked that you didn't make it your business to cater to—and you know so well, my likes and dislikes, my darling. Your letter of the 8th starts right off with a bang! I mean your revelation that Richie is now in England. I have a hunch I'll be hearing from him shortly. If not, I'll contact him. Then you go on to say that Dot, Snuff and Harold were to spend that Sunday with you and Adele and how funny the “kids” are when they get together (bet you all had a swell time), and that you received V-mail from brother Jack, and that your mom finally got my letter (you're entirely welcome to the compliment, I'm sure)—and that you're happy to know that “Red is back with the Company.” All in one paragraph—mind you. In the next paragraph you inform me that you have been shopping for a coat (typical reaction of the typical spouse—What—again!?) but I guess you know—I’m a very untypical spouse, I'm a very untypical spouse, so I merely inquire—what kinda coat? Without meaning to discourage you in any way, I feel moved to request that you hold off with that for a while. I have a yen to shop with you for that particular item—and I wouldn't suggest that you wait if I didn't know you have a serviceable coat for any season or any contingency. The remainder of that particular letter is a minute, homey, and altogether endearing account of “your day.” I was particularly impressed with the ingenious way you bathe the punkin, and you paint a very lovely picture of the scene for me to visualize, but one thing made me wonder? Isn't it hard on your knees, Ev? 

In reading over your letter of the 10th, I I note a few instances where comment is called for. First, about birthday and anniversary gifts. I hardly know how to say it, Sweet, but the fact is, I don't see how I'm going to manage either. I remember asking you what you would like, but fool that I am, I neglected to put aside some money for that purpose and now I find myself in the unenviable position of “Indian-giver.” I won't be so presumptuous as to ask forgiveness—I don't feel I deserve it, but, if it's any consolation to you, I want you to know that my reneging in this instance, unintentional as it was, is as humiliating for me, as it must be disappointing for you. The fact that it is impractical for me to buy your gifts here in England does not alter the fact that I could have withheld some of that last check I sent you and sent it off separately as your birthday present, but aside from the “sentimental” angle, there is no difference, really, and you have suffered no material loss through my dereliction, but knowing the importance you place by such things, I feel I have failed you. I am very sorry, Baby, believe me. You may be wondering what’s to prevent me from sending you the gift out of February's pay. The sad truth is—I'm not only broke—I'm in debt, and it'll take the major part of my pay to settle. I'm not only broke, I'm in debt and it'll take the major part of my pay to settle those debts. What hurts most of all is my inability to send you the customary monthly check. Those $19 I left myself at the beginning of the month disappeared in two nights of cards. Then, I was forced to borrow in order to keep my date with Ed on the 5th. When Ed couldn't make it, he set a new date: the 17th, and rather than disappoint him, I made another loan. Don't for a minute, Chippie, think that I consider the money ill spent. Under the same circumstances—I’d do it again. But the unpleasant fact remains—I'm strapped, broke, flat, and busted. In short, I don't have any money, nor will I have until the end of March. Please don't be angry with me, Ev, ’cause it really couldn't be helped. In the final analysis, perhaps it's all for the best, 'cause I didn't especially care for the idea of your buying those zircons or that aqua suit without me. I don't mind it when you buy “essentials” such as the gray suit, or if you take advantage of opportunities of the moment, as you did when you bought the fur coat, and if you should buy those much needed dresses, I'd be delighted, but those items which you don't need now are not missed in the waiting, so please hold off with them until I am in a position to help you in your selection. Don't deprive me of the fun I always had when we went shopping for your clothes. I'll be more than grateful if you accede to my wishes in this matter, darling. 

I'm glad you finally thought to inform me about the heater. Glad, too, that it's giving such excellent service. 

Everyone seems to be happy at the prospect of seeing Dad in a new job—and none more so than me. Hope it's not a “false alarm” like those other “prospects.” 

The first paragraph of your latest letter—11th Feb., hits a particularly sore spot. You ask for a “stripe” as an anniversary gift from me to you. Sorry, Sweetheart, but you should have asked for something within reason—like the moon, for instance. You see, Baby, we are plagued with a pesky thing known to all G.I.’s as the “T/O.” Well, according to that, and it's immutable, your loving husband has all the stripes that are coming to him. I think, as you probably do, that it is a pity that so rigid a check is put on a man's initiative (which is essentially a flexible quantity), but there it is and I see no point in batting my head against the “T/O.” So, just as I have, so will you have to become resigned to the fact that that I am at the very top of my particular little ladder.  

The second paragraph expresses your gratification that “her majesty” has reached the point where she prefers to do her a-b-l-u-t-i-o-n-s in the bathroom rather than in her bed—as formerly”—(and what the devil do you think ablutions imply, besides washing?) I'm sure she never washed in bed in her most unthinking moments! 

You seem concerned, Chippie, with our income tax form (at least, I gather you have such a form). Since we are filing a joint return (or are we?), I see no reason why you can't fill it out. If you have no patience with it, just send it along to me and I'll take a crack at it. If I fail to solve the puzzle, I'll put the pesky thing where no one will be bothered with it. Besides, we need paper to start the fire with. In answering the “allotment form” for Mom, I can only say that if your figures confused the interested parties nearly as much as they did me, then you have nothing to worry about, 'cause they'll probably give it up as a bad job and toss it in the nearest waste-basket, and Mom will continue to receive her allotment as heretofore. 

The closing paragraph of your letter was especially gratifying for me, for it revealed that you do have an appreciation for the future compensations our long separation will have for us both I'm glad your mind is mature enough to grasp the fact that our whole future together will be influenced by our knowledge that separation is an unnatural and depressing state for us. We will have learned that our happiness is only to be found in each other, and we shall therefore look for it there, thus ensuring a basic need of one for the other—the requisite for a real union and a happy one. I, for one, think the loneliness and heartache and discomfiture engendered by our separation will be amply compensated by a heightened appreciation of each other and home and security for the rest of our lives. I know you will agree, darling, you already have—in essence. A good-night kiss for each of my adored “Chippies”—my love to all. 

Ever, 
Your Phil 

Post #302 - February 22, 1944 Dr. Gayl Moved to Elkins Park Today and The Familiar and Attractive Front of My Home and Yours, Baby, is Very Good to Look Upon and A Letter From Jack Strongin in New Guinea

 

February 22, 1944

My Own, 

Out of v-mail and not having much to say am resorting to this stationery. Adele’s temperature was normal all day and generally she is vastly improved. Her gums must pain terribly, as she got blotchy (a few reddish spots on her face—a teething rash) and was cranky beyond management. I made her take two naps, which helped immensely. When I put her to sleep the second time about 1:30, I was so dead tired that I flopped across the bed and slept soundly for two whole hours. Adele had rested fairly well during the night, giving me a chance to catch up on my rest during the day. She was unusually trying hence the tiredness. I awoke feeling totally rested and wide awake for the first time in a few weeks. It rained all day and was dark and dreary. I did a lot of cleaning and little things. The house looks neat and clean. 

The politicians have arranged to register voters in their various sections tomorrow and I hope to straighten out my registration once and for all. Mom and Goldie will register, too. 

Doctor Gayl moved to Elkins Park today. He had moved his offices earlier and now has changed his residence. 

Goldie gave me the enclosed prayer and if you insert the correct sex where necessary, you'll find it very beautiful—or so I think. 

Al had a tooth pulled and had a hemorrhage that is keeping him in bed two days. There was no delivery of mail today and I'm looking forward to tomorrow's mail. I love you, my precious Phil!

Your Eve

February 22, 1944

My Own Darling, 

Yesterday afternoon, just as I was finishing up my work for the day, your two letters of the 2-3 and 4 February arrived—together with Jack N’s of 25 January. All three letters were delectable in the extreme. So gratifying where they, in fact, that I spent the rest of the evening reading and re-reading them. Then, too, there were the 16 snapshots to be considered—and re-considered—and re-re-reconsidered, etc. Altogether, I think I have a pretty good excuse for not writing last night, eh, Chippie?

About the snapshots: No mere are words of mine, can tell you or make you appreciate how very welcome they were (and are). As pictures, I agree with you that they left much to be desired. You didn't say who took them, but I presume it was Pete. I want to thank the person responsible for all the trouble he took on my behalf and I want him to know that I appreciate his good intentions, but I think he would make better pictures if he reckoned with the glare of the sun, looked out for bad shadows and held the camera just a little steadier when snapping. As I said before, sweet, the pictures as such are pretty poor; but as a reflection of you and all my dear ones in your present circumstances and environment, and as yardstick by which to measure the progress and development of the punkin, they left very little to find fault with. I thought everyone looked in the pink. Evidently, rationing has had very little effect on any of you. The punkin is very sweet and beautiful in most of the snaps, and it did her daddy's proud heart good to see how well-formed she is, and how fair of face and mien, and how she stands on her own sturdy little legs. My Chippie looks very smart, indeed in her new attire. The fur coat is just as I pictured it—and very good looking. The suit is very natty and most becoming. As far as I can see (but I must admit—not very clearly) you look very well, my darling, and on the whole, taking everything into consideration, I am very, very proud of you and the punkin. It is difficult, from the pictures, to distinguish clearly just how Mom is looking these days, but her well-loved features are readily recognizable and brought a warm response in my heart. Harry and Goldie look fit and ready for anything. It just struck me (and I don't mean to be facetious), that they're certainly a couple of “solid citizens” and shouldn't experience any difficulty whatever in their coming ordeal. Let’s hope the newcomer turns out to be another “solid citizen.” Somehow I just can't picture them producing anything but a boy. As a matter of fact, if I get an announcement reading, “it's a girl,” I'll have a hell of a time getting myself to believe it. Gloria, the only other member of the family I haven't mentioned, was very sweet and demure in her “little girl” dress. I don't know why the neighbors failed to get their pictures taken, but I spotted Betty and Sarah in the background, and Natalie, of course, posed with Adele. “Nanna” is certainly getting to be a very attractive young miss, and her added poundage is becoming. Last, but far from unimportant, is 4906. The familiar and attractive front of my home and yours, baby, is very good to look upon after these many months, and many's the time I wished myself there. 

I should have known you would remember St. Valentine's Day, sweetheart, and I feel a fool for having forgotten it myself. Then, to make matters worse, I implied in my last letter that Ruthie had remembered where you had forgotten. My humble apologies, Chippie, for having so misjudged you. As for my own defection, I can only say that I remind you each day that you are my one and only “valentine.” In answer to your clever little verse: 

I've read much better poetry, 

—With “meter,” “rhyme” and “symmetry” 

I've heard more honeyed words than thine 

—Still, you are my valentine. 

Your intention of buying a gold bracelet for the punkin reminds me of something I had in mind a while back, but forgot to communicate to you. I was thinking that for very little cost you could have my school ring melted down and made into a “baby” ring. The school ring (as such) doesn't mean much to me and I really wouldn't miss it, especially since I've grown accustomed to being without it. You might get an estimate and let me know the particulars. By the way, I still don't know what, if anything, I bought her for her birthday. My plexiglas watch crystal for your and Snuffy’s information, like Bon-Ami “hasn't scratched yet.” That color combination you have selected for Mom’s sweater is very attractive. (I can just picture it.) 

You ask me again if your letters to me are censored. I've already advised you that they are not—so if you have anything real “fresh” to say, don't be bashful. 

Jack's letter of the 25th January is a masterpiece of sympathetic writing. Evidently, he was deeply moved by your reception. As for my being jealous of Jack, I am happy to report that I feel no vestige of that unhappy emotion on his account. What I said before in that connection, though, still holds true, so please be careful, will you baby? I will say that I envy Jack the rare privilege of having you confide your tears to his shoulder, but the knowledge that they were shared in my behalf is even more gratifying and I don't mind confessing that the contemplation of the little tableau brought a lump to my throat, too. I can't make up my mind whether we're blessed or cursed with the gift of sentimentality, but certainly it is that that quality in us engenders a host of conflicting emotions. I say “we” because I place myself in the category of sentimentalists together with you and Jack. 

Since I returned from London the other day, I haven't done anything out of the ordinary run-of-the-mill chores. My work in the Orderly Room is keeping me increasingly busy, but once in awhile I catch up with my work and I have an hour or so to kill. That's how come I'm able to not walk. An hour or so to “kill.” That's how come I'm able to knock off a letter of this size. 

You want to know if I care for Tuna or Sardines, etc. Ordinarily, yes, but under the circumstances—no. You see, in order to really enjoy something like that, I'd have to procure mayonnaise, bread, etc. and that's a little out of the question. Really, Ev, I miss those things very little. We are uncommonly well fed here, and now that we are getting ice cream regularly (every Tuesday), I don't want for a thing as far as food goes. Of course, the shortage of chocolate candy is still acute, and I, for one, rarely get my fill of it. So next time you send off a package, don't waste any space whatever that will hold even a lick of some sort of chocolate. If you really want to earn my undying gratitude, you could do so by sending me a box of Milky Ways, Mars bars, Oh Henry, or something of the sort. Plain chocolate, such as those large Hershey bars or Nestle's are especially welcome. You needn't worry your pretty head anymore when you are trying to decide what to put in a package for me. Just send any of the above as frequently and as copiously as you possibly can. You can advise all the other interested parties to that effect. If there is anything at all which I cannot obtain over here, I will ask for it specifically. Finally, remember that it takes some six or seven weeks for packages to get here, so mail early and often. I thank you! 

The snapshots, while they serve admirably to allay my hunger for the sight of you and the cherub and the family, do not fill or lessen my desire for a real picture. In short, when do I get that Clare Pruett picture? You have been putting me off for two months now, Ev, and I feel I have a right to be impatient for some concrete evidence of your good intentions. Now—how's about it? 

And now it's time for supper and that ever-lovin’ ICE CREAM. Hope it's chocolate tonight. 

A hasty “au revoir,” my darling, and a lingering kiss for you. A great big hug for the punkin—and my love to all. 

Your adoring 

Phil 

February 22, 1944

My dear G.I. Brother,

Received your letter in which you gave me somewhat of a reprimand for not writing you a lengthy letter. I can assure you, dear brother o mine, that it's no fault of mine. I wrote you a long epistle, in detail, a little over a month ago, and it was one of my best compositions. However, it is quite possible that it was lost. After all, anything could happen to it between here and where you are stationed. I'm presuming that that letter will not reach you, so will tell you in this piece of scribe just what is cooking here in tropical Guinea. My outfit is a detachment of Headquarter Company. We have a very nice area and our tents, although not luxurious, are quite comfortable. There are four G.I.’s to each tent. All tents are uniform. The furnishings consist of four canvas cots with mattress and two blankets, four improvised foot lockers, table (center of tent), Gasoline lamp, and a wash stand at the rear of the tent. All tents have wooden floors and mosquito nets over every bunk. 

We are able to obtain from the supply room, Bomb sprays (insecticide) and insect repellent whenever needed. You can be sure that we take every precaution to avert getting Malaria. At every dinner we have an officer check to see that all the boys take their atabrine. We have Revelie every morning (excluding Sundays) at 5:25 A.M. and breakfast at 6:00 A.M. Breakfast usually consists of cold storage eggs, bacon, stewed fruit and coffee. Some days we have pancakes. After breakfast, we prepare our tents for inspection. By that time it is 7:30 A.M. and we go to our respective jobs. I was a P.X. warehouse man up until a few days ago and now I'm doing office work for P.X. supplies. I can't tell you just what type of clerical work it is, for it is quite confidential. We quit work at 4:30 P.M. (one hour off for lunch) and chow at 5 P.M. Sometimes we have extra duty after dinner. Usually my leisure moments are from 6 P.M. to 11 P.M. At 6 P.M. I go down to the stream to bathe and take a swim after which, I write letters and all my time after writing is spent sketching portraits of the fellows here, going to shows, playing table tennis, and making souvenirs from discarded shells and Aussie coins. Lights go out at 10 P.M. and so ends a day in New Guinea. The chow here is excellent considering the conditions here. We usually have ice cream and pie (your favorite dish) on Sundays. The climate is tropical, hot during the day, and cool evenings. Cleanliness is absolutely necessary in this part of the world, where diseases are plenty. We kid around with the natives, but close contact with them is taboo as they are a diseased ridden lot. Here are a few native words and translations: Kai Kai (pronounced Ky Ky) for food, Mary, when referring to a girlfriend or wife and Pom Pom for intercourse. The natives here practice polygamy, for they can have more than one wife. One wife costing them 1 pig. They are very friendly and have a great hatred for Japs. They’d just as soon kill a Jap as to look at him. The natives are doing a good share of the work here and are certainly doing their part to get this darn war over with with our side victorious. It is not rare to see members wearing G.I. apparel. Just the other day I saw a native use a G.I. overseas cap for a handbag. 

Oh yes, Phil, the natives are of the Fuzzy Wuzzy type. They are called “Fuzzy Wuzzies,” for they have long fuzzy hair. Here's a rough sketch of one. 

In my next letter I will make a good sketch in pencil. I can't send you any sketches as I give them to the fellows who pose for them. So far I have made about 30 sketches of the fellows here (one hour sketches) and certainly have improved. I visited a battlefield and honestly, Phil, the booys had a very difficult job driving the Japs out sometime ago. The jungle is very dense and you can't see what is ten feet ahead of you and realizing the Jap were expertly camouflaged, they had to fight an unseen enemy. It's really tough fighting in this type of terrain, but the infantry is doing an excellent job under adverse conditions. Hoping that this letter will satisfy you, I remain 

Your Loving “Kid” Brother

Pvt Jack

P.S. I'm enclosing our Newspaper, “The Guinea Gold” 

Post #301 - February 21, 1944 Dr. Gayl Only Charged Me $2 Instead of the Usual #3 per Home Visit

 

February 21, 1944

 

My dearest sweetheart, 

I did well today. Received three letters from you, sweet, those of 10 and 11 Feb. and v-mail of the 12th, also, a letter from Syd, one from brother Ed and one from Gloria. 

I have very little comment to make on your letters, sweet. They were a great source of relaxation and contentment and made me feel all warm inside. “Turn over please.” (I'll hit you!) I called Dot to straighten her out on the letter situation. Snuff got his 1-A on Saturday, so it won't be long now. Harold hasn't been well either. Having the same trouble as Adele. 

Last night Adele’s fever soared to 103° and I decided to call Doctor Gayl first thing in the morning. I have him come to the house to examine her. This morning her temperature was 101-1/2. I woke the Doc at 7:45 and he said he would be here sometime during the morning. I had a terrible night, getting up every hour and a half or so. Guess I don't have to tell you how I felt this morning. Nevertheless, the Doc came about 11:30. Adele’s temp. had dropped to 99°—or just about normal. He asked me to bring her down. He hadn't seen her for almost 3 months and his comments were as follows: “My, but she's grown and so nicely, too. She's just right now (meaning weight. He dislikes chubby babies—that is—overly chubby as Adele once was). And she is so pretty! Your daddy just ought to see you now.” He couldn't stop raving. His diagnosis: Teething (very bad—all gums swollen to almost double) and a cold. He said the fever usually accompanies such difficult teething, and that I must accustom myself to the idea. (I am—but I called the Doc to satisfy everyone else.) He said it would be a few days before she is normal and I'll have to “string along.” He only charged me $2 instead of the usual $3 per home visit. He advised me to follow my present course of treatment: cough syrup (it's a raspberry mixture that she likes), nose drops, aspirin, niter, to rub her gums, and an enema when needed. Adele looked at him and said “hm,” as if to say “who the deuce are you?” 

When I put Adele to sleep (her afternoon nap), I dashed to Broad Street to mail your package. I couldn't find the time to mail it and made up my mind to do it today without fail. I'm almost out of air-mail envelopes and when I asked for them while at the P.O., I was told that they are not printed anymore and could only be obtained from those P.O.s that now have them on hand. From there I proceeded to the bank, whereupon I bought $100 bond with the $75. 

In a letter to the folks received today, Ed said that he would be unable to see you (you probably have heard from him yourself), and I doubt very much if he will continue to be stationed in England. His APO—230 is a new one to me. I never heard of an APR beginning with a two heretofore. 

Syd told of a terrific snowstorm they had had in Italy and said he still doesn't know how their tents survived it. I had asked him about a furlough to the States, as he has served over 18 months overseas and he has no hopes whatsoever. He told me not to believe what I see in the newspapers unless it is an act of Congress and then to be doubtful. 

Gloria wrote that Jack has some forty odd dollars to send her and is experiencing difficulty in sending it. He suggested to her that she withdraw some of their savings and buy herself a diamond ring. He sure is practical? I know Gloria saving her allotment $50 per month and all that she can manage from her $30 (clear) per week. Jack has promised send her money, too. She told me that the least they save is $100 per month, which isn't bad at all. I doubt, though, whether they have more than about $1200 and since they have to open house and want to have a child immediately, that won't go very far. I think Jack is still very young and dreamy, as even Glo said she thought it highly impractical at this time, not to mention the sky high prices on diamonds. 

Don't ask me why I write all this. You know why—it takes up room and makes a longie. Isn't that what you want? Incidentally, I'm glad you like the new stationery. Whaddya mean “ration you to one sheet a day”? Even if I run out of sheets and still have envelopes I can use plain white paper. I have almost 300 sheets and 150 envelopes on hand—three orders. I don't like to use it when I'm writing an unusually long letter, as it weighs too much out and the postage would be too high. Mom can’t understand why you want me to send so much candy when you know full well that you get a heartburn with each piece. 

Sorry to hear Red was back in the hospital and sincerely hope he is all well by the time this reaches you. England doesn't seem to agree with him as I see it. 

I'm wondering if you made the trip to London on the 17th, only to be disappointed once more, or whether Ed’s letter reached you before then. 

Men with two and three children are being pulled up in the draft of late and males  are becoming “mails only.” 

The weather was lovely today and if you smelled real hard you could smell Spring coming. It doesn't get dark until almost 8 and I find myself wanting you more each evening. As we near our 7th month of separation, I find it harder and harder to be alone. Since I saw Jack N., I've been “remembering” too often and it's more than I can take at times. I know that I will never accustom myself to be without you. How can I, when I'm part of you? I miss you more with each second, minute, hour, day, week, and month, and love you more deeply. Oh, Phil, darling, it hurts so much! Last year we wrote of our hopes to be together on our third anniversary and here we are further apart. I'm almost afraid to write in connection with our fourth, not so much that I'm afraid to hope, because I feel we won't. Perhaps we will be together in ’45 and I don't know what I'll do if we aren't. Phil——

This isn't going to do either of us any good, so I'll sign off now, sweet. I am 

Your Eve

February 21, 1944 

Dear Phil, 

I realize that I haven't written for some time, but you really must excuse the oversight. 

By now, you probably know that my family and I were out to see your family. I must confess once more that your daughter is really something to be proud of. Of course, as far as boys are concerned, my son is tops. 

We really had a very pleasant day. Adele wasn't quite herself as she is cutting teeth as Ev probably told you. 

My mother was up at my aunts in Oak Lane so she stopped over too. My cousin and his wife picked us up at 7:15 P.M. and took us to 36th and Market. 

The weather here has really been “sompin.” Last week we had snow and today it was like summer. I had the baby out on a sled and he really enjoyed himself. 

I'm waiting to get a fairly good picture of the baby to send you. The last two letters I received from you are dated Sept. 21st and Jan. 23rd. Nothing in between. I've just called my mother's and said you wrote 4. Page 2 letters in-between. Ev just called my mother’s and said you wrote four letters in between. 

Please Phil answer this letter right away and send me a request. I have about 14 boxes of gum and some candy to send you. Please let me know if there is anything else you need. 

You probably notice that I'm overdoing myself in this letter. I'm just getting into practice. Snuff received his 1-A and I want to get into the habit of newsy letters. 

The paper continuously has articles to write V-mail to the boys overseas and that is why you get them from me. Of course, if I have too much news for a V-mail, then I write regular mail. 

I must confess that neither Snuff or I was the least bit upset over his 1-A rating. We have been reconciled to this fact for so long that it was no shock. It will probably be a bigger shock to me after he leaves, as the thought of being alone cannot be realized until it is an actual fact. 

I wish you could see Harold. He really is precious. He has platinum blonde hair and blue eyes. Right now he has seven front teeth and two molars. He walks alone since he is 10 months old and has quite a vocabulary for one so young. He really is an alert youngster and picks up things very quickly. 

My thoughts of you are always such pleasant ones and I keep looking forward to the day when we have won this war and we will all be living normal lives once more. 

There really isn't much more I can tell you, as I lead a very uneventful life. 

Marcie is down in North Carolina with Bernie. She is going to remain with him as long as she can. 

Please answer soon and send me the request. 

As ever, 

Dot and Snuff