I intend to post almost daily, and in roughly chronological order, the thousands of pages of daily love letters that my parents sent to each other during WWII and any other documents that pertain to these letters..
Sweetheart, we had sunshine and rain at the same time today, which helped to drop the high temperatures a bit. I was supposed to enclose some snaps in the letter I wrote yesterday, but Ruth promised to send them along in her letter.
Mr. First (the notary a few doors away) asked me to come in and type a letter for him after giving it to me in shorthand. I was there only a short while and he gave me fifty cents for my trouble. He asked me if I would like to do a little of typing at home. Would I? I've been looking for that type of work for a long time, preferring to stay at home and do it at my leisure.
I didn't work for Miss Hahn last week as I said I would on account of Jack’s illness. He's fine once more and I'm working a half day for Miss Hahn tomorrow.
Goldie went to the doctor yesterday and his guess is the boy. She started her ninth month on May 10th and the doc says she can have it any day after that date.
I learned how to play gin rummy last night after writing to you. I thought it was sumpin’—boy was I disappointed. It's just like plain rummy.
One of Betty's relatives, a marine, who has been stationed in Newfoundland for over 16 months, came in on furlough today, his first furlough after being in the Marines for over three and a half years. Can you imagine how this family felt? He had plenty of say and I was a most interested listener. I wouldn't mind listening to you for a few years—if only I could! Oh, darling, when will that be???
Adele slept through the entire night without a break, and I never cease to be grateful for that. She doesn't want to stay in her walker anymore. She prefers to walk alone. I have to force her to hold my hand when she gets too ambitious and we walk together all around block. She likes to stop at Feldman's and look at the rabbits he keeps for tests, etc. She gets terribly excited and makes a big to do about them.
I washed and pressed this morning, sewed and did a few little things. I haven't made much progress with Adele’s sweater, but hope to get it finished within the next week or so.
After writing so much yesterday, I'm having a helluva time getting this page filled. So, if’n you don't mind, baby mine, I'll send along all my love, a hug and kiss (that goes for all your girls) and a reminder that I'm keeping “our” date regularly.
Your Eve
May 8, 1944
Dearest Phil,
I worked six and a half hours for Miss Hahn and she would like to have me again a week from this Thursday. I'm going to use this money to buy myself some dresses and shoes, both of which I definitely need. My brown flatties are ready for the junk heap having cracked on one side. I have hopes of getting downtown shortly. Here’s hopin’!
Adele does the following: Cries when asked to cry, laughs when asked to laugh. She says a-pul for apple, which I scrape and give her at times. This evening while I was eating, she “went” all over herself and the playpen (I keep her in it in the house even though it is broke—the floor is uneven, sinking down in the middle) and I couldn't help being mad at her. I interrupted my meal long enough to clean up the mess and had to bring her down again sans shoes. She wanted to pull off her socks and I kept telling her not to. When she insisted, I smacked her hand. A few seconds later I was eating a slice of fresh pineapple (Petey works in this line and sends home loads of goods for Betty, who, in turn, passes some of it onto us, thereby saving us quite a bit of money) and Adele wanted a piece. Naturally, I gave it to her. Well, honey, she lit up like candle when she saw I wasn't mad anymore and clapped her hands for joy. Fresh pineapple—yum, yum, yum! Afterwards we all gathered in the living room, where Adele tried to make somersaults (I helped her) and put her socks back on. She tried and tried and tried—in vain. Then she yelled, momma! She enjoys a piggy back and got a real ride on my back this evening. You guessed it, sweet. I'm tired—that knocks me out like anything. I let her get good and dirty, so she looked good and clean when I threw her in the tub and scrubbed her. Right after the bath she waits til I bring up her glass of “wow-wow” and sits down quietly in a corner of the crib to drink it. Then she has to “sis” and then she finally puts her head down and her rear goes up. All kids sleep that way.
Mom had a Jewish letter from Jack today, the first one with his new rating on the return address.
I finished knitting the back of Adele's white sweater after writing to you last night. I hope to do a bit of knitting before I go to bed this evening. It's much cooler today and a welcome relief from the unseasonable hot weather we've been having. I wore my black spring coat and, believe it or not, sweet, I need a new one. It's very shabby and I don't feel dressed in it. If I can pick up a bargain like my last one, I'll buy a coat. If not, well, you can pick it.
You “have” it, sweet, and me too. Haven't I told you that I love you? No? Well, whaddya know! Guess I’d better do so right now! Put your ear a little closer—I want to whisper it to you, baby. On second thought, I don't mind shouting it to the wide, great world. I LOVE YOU, PHIL, DEAR AND AM
Haven't written for some time and want to give the pen a break. Before anything, I want you to know that I didn't write yesterday 'cause I was exhausted by evening, took a shower, washed my hair and “hit the sack.” I did something I've never done before—I washed my hair, but didn't set it. Tonight it looks exactly the way you would want it to look—long, (hanging on my shoulders) very fluffy, shiny, wavy and thick. It's up in front (my ears showing) in a high pompadour. By the way, dear, I've been thinking of taking a permanent and wondered if you would like my hair shorter. Gloria took a feather bob and I'm anxious to see it. Goldie intends to cut her hair when…
Page 2 is missing.
…or snack bar cost? Just curious about the prices charged for food.
I did a lot of heavy work yesterday. Among other things, I housecleaned and rearranged “our” room. I had Adele’s crib behind the door for the winter and changed it, putting it back near the window, as it was when you were home last summer. Gosh, Phil, dear, that was over nine months ago! It seems ages and ages and ages! Personally, sweet, I think we've got another nine to go, and perhaps a bit more. I have every hope of being with you next year about this time. Think I'm pessimistic?
Ruth gave me two cottons that are too small for her and a pair of shorts (one piece blouse and shorts—blue & white). One dress is a lemon yellow piqué and I'm wearing it this evening. It's the type you…
Page 4 is missing.
…and white checked piqué, with alternating bands of the green and white check and plain white to make up a full skirt. The top part is also checked and is finished off with a white yoke. I doubt very much if I'll get any use out of it, as I'm not comfortable in it.
It was warm, but windy today. I performed only necessary duties this morning, planning to walk to Broad Street with Adele. I promised Sarah I would get her a few things at the H & H retail store (and restaurant) at Broad and Rockland. I decided, however, to stop first at Fay’s and say hello to Morris, who came in at 4:30 A.M. Friday. It so happened that he was driving (he has his brother's car at his disposal during his furlough) to Broad and Erie to stop at a ration board for something or other. Knowing Adele’s love of cars, I parked myself in the car and off we went to Broad St. Fay was busy with the baby and couldn't go along. Don't get any ideas (green-eyed monster take notice) as he has the same jealous disposition. You fellas ought to get together.
He watched Adele while I paid our telephone bill and shopped at H & H, whereupon we headed for the ration board. Adele sat and waited for him in the car. She had a helluva good time trying all the gadgets and sundry. When we returned, they invited me to go along to Ellie’s house just for a short visit, and I accepted. I returned home long enough to feed Adele and give Sarah her packages. I wish, sweet, that you could see the way Adele's face lights up when she enters a car and while she is riding. She's in heaven and looks it. Wouldn't mind looking that way myself, baby, how's about coming “home”? (I'm in a devilish mood tonight—darn it). You, sweetness, are fast asleep at this very moment. Where was I? Oh yes, the visit to Ellie’s was short and sweet. We got back about 12:30 and Adele went to sleep. When she awoke I trekked up to 5th and Olney to return the proofs. A sailor and his bride came in while we (Adele and I) were there and we were showered with the rice they attempted to shake off. Adele began to paw the bride's bouquet and they obliged by letting her smell it. That kid is a mess to take any place! She gets into everything! I stopped at a shoe store to try on a pair of red baby doll play shoes (ankle strap). They look well on my feet, but I didn't care for the shoes. They were $3.r5 and had “tissue paper” soles. No wonder play shoes aren't rationed! Next I stopped at a dress store which carries larger sizes hoping to get Mom something for Mother's Day. I couldn't buy as they would not allow returns. I saw something nice for myself (small size 14). I tried it on only to find it wasn't such a “small size 14.” Adele wouldn't stay in the walker, so I let her stroll about the store. She found a piece of tissue (used to wrap dresses) and began to “wipe” herself, thinking it was toilet paper. She had everyone in stitches. Oh, another item—no more playpen. Yep, the floor cracked and it's a wreck. My dad shall attempt to repair it tomorrow. I usually kept the playpen on the landing (where the bench is) and Adele played quietly alone for short intervals. Adele hasn't been sleeping much of late and I've got that “tired” feeling once more. I gather from your letters that your routine is light and not at all strenuous. I'm glad one of “us” doesn't have to “beat his brains” out to keep going. There are two things I intend to do a lot of when Adele gets older and the war is over—sleep til all hours and go out often. I’ve done very little of both for the past two yearsl Adele has a name for everyone as follows:
Sarah—ar-ah
Petey—pip
Lou—oof
Betty—ba
Mom—bu ba or Mom for grandmom
Goldie—do do
Harry—har-ra
Ruth—ruf
Jack—jack or dack
other things:
pretzel—preh
bunny—ba
car—ca
She uses the ah or eh sound at will, so I can’t be exacting. She nods “yes” every time she is asked whether or not she would like some Pepsi. Try and get the glass away from her once her hands grasp it! Man, she's strong! She goes over to the radio, turns it on and begins to dance and sing. She loves her bath. When I place her on the floor and finish drying her, I tell her to bend her head forward (so that I may spray her back with talcum) and she does so promptly. She leans back on me for the same procedure in front. She enjoys this and eagerly awaits til I get the powder can and give the order. Adele tries to fool me by yelling “sis” only to have me pick her up and she makes me plenty mad at times. She gets terribly annoying, at times, by crying in a moan-like voice or repeating the word “momma” til I feel I'll “plotz.” When I want to take her upstairs for the night, she shakes her hand (forefinger protruding) and says a very definite “nu nu nu” or “no, no no.” I'm glad you liked that snap I sent along. I believe Ruth has two more that were made at the same time and I'll send them with this in the morning.
Think I've had my say dearest, (don't you?) and rather than bore you with an account of my deep and everlasting love and admiration of you, my Phil, my ever-growing love and want of you sexually, not to mention physically, mentally, morally and spiritually, I am and remain
Your Eve
6 May 1944
Ev, darling,
A very dull day, with hardly anything doing worth noting. But I shall try, as per usual, to make a fairly readable letter of it.
The morning passed quickly because there were a few things that required my attention. After dinner, on getting back to the Orderly Room, I felt a chill. Because the weather was none too warm, and I had walked to the mess-hall and back—a distance of perhaps a mile, I attributed it to that. By 2:00 o'clock, though, I was acutely uncomfortable, getting colder by the minute, and I thought I'd better do something about it. Sgt. Castellano was close by, so I left the Orderly Room to him and went to my hut, where I bundled up under a coupla blankets and took a nap. I slept about 2-1/2 hours and awoke feeling normal again. I was, moreover, hungry; so I walked with Red to the mess-hall, where we supped on grilled frankfurters, baked beans, chocolate pudding, and coffee. The Base Theater finally got hold of a new projector. Having finished supper, with Reds latest and oddest “affairre de fille” as the sole topic of conversation, we decided to give the new projector the “once over.” Did I ever tell you that he was a projectionist in civilian life, among his other occupations, which number among them farming, upholstering, furniture manufacturing and repairing, and working in an air-craft factory? It’s no wonder he is handy at everything he turns his hand to. How unlike the mug you chose to marry!—Anyway, to get back to the subject—the picture was a class “C” affair with The Andrews Sisters, Harriet Hilliard (she never looked better), Mitch Ayres and his band, and a very personable young leading man to share with H. Hilliard the job of providing the romantics. I noted his name, but forgot it. I imagine he'll change it anyway once he starts to “go places,” and he will, undoubtedly. His present moniker isn't consistent with the best Hollywood tradition as applied to romantic lead players. The title—“Swingtime Johnny.” The Andrews Sisters are highly entertaining, as usual, if you like them and I dote on them. For the first time, Maxine, the one in the middle, reminded me strongly of Dottie. Something about her mugging—I think. The comedy was spontaneous in spots and “manufactured” in others. On the whole, though, a picture impossible to be bored with—if your taste runs to swing music and can-can. For my part, I'll settle for either of the two; both made it just doubly entertaining. The projector, by the way, is a great improvement over the former one. The picture was clear and undistorted, and the sound perfect!
On the way back to “Power River,” we stopped at the Snack Bar for coffee and cake. A G.I. played gypsy music on the ever-present piano—interspersed with some Mexican and Spanish tangos and boleros. I don't think, Chippie, that I need to tell you how much I enjoyed this impromptu entertainment.
Back in the hut, I got out the Stevens Chocolates and passed them around among several fellows who happened to be there, taking good care, I can assure you, that I got more than my share. The boxed chocolates, cookies, etc. are more or less “public property,” as far as I'm concerned, and I give away about half of it, but the candy bars are “private stock” and are strictly treated as such.
The boys are starting a game of poker, but they already have their limit of seven players, so I don't imagine I'll get into it for a while yet, or as long as it takes for a guy to go broke. So far this month, I'm holding my own—plus some of the other fellows!
There was no mail for me today, so this about winds up this particular letter.
I'll say good-night for now, Sweet, with all my love to you and the punkin. Keep well, my darlings, and never doubt the eventual return of your husband and father—
Phil
P.S. Love to all.
P.P.S. Not such a dull day after all—in retrospect.
We're having regular summer weather—too darn hot as far as I'm concerned. The temperature has been in the 80s for the past few days. I was supposed to work for Miss Hahn this morning, but my brother Jack became ill suddenly and my mom had to take him to the doctor. He has been running a temperature of 102° and probably has the grippe. I had to postpone my trip to Miss Hahn but intend to go tomorrow. If everything is O.K. Instead, I did lots of housework, cleaning the porch windows, woodwork, floor, cleaning the downstairs in general, same for the upstairs and even managed to squeeze in a bit of knitting. Oh yes, I started Adele’s white sweater and the back is almost done. Yesterday, I found time to catch up with my correspondence by writing to the Benises, Milt, Syd and Gloria. I'm all caught up for a change.
Adele has taken such a fancy to cars that she becomes unmanageable if I do not let her sit in a car she chances to see. She loves “Cas.” When Phil took us for a ride on the boulevard and chanced to stop the car for a light or such, Adele made a swaying motion, as if to push the car onward. Well, Daddy, guess you’d better buy us a car. I love cars too, if that means anything. Adele wore a green and white polka dot blouse, yellow overalls, green socks, white shoes this morning. This afternoon she wore that thin pink, rose-sprayed dress Tant Bosh gave her last year and which was much too large last season. Tonight, for the first time, I have discarded her sleepers in favor of the seersucker pajamas, which are quite attractive.
I don't think I told you that Miriam Brown has been trying to become pregnant since she had the miss. When she visited us, she didn't know whether or not she was, and I understand she took a Rabbit Test. She still doesn't know and I guess we won't know till she knows, eh?
Harry says there is plenty of work to be done on his new job and hopes to lose some weight. Goldie's brother returned home this evening, after a three day visit. He played with Adele a great deal and she enjoyed his company.
Adele has a tendency towards spitefulness, and this invariably leads to a licking. She also has a tendency towards being pigeon-toed (her right foot) which fault sometimes persists in children til they lose their baby creases. I intend to have Dr. Gayl look her over in the near future and if there is anything to be done, I'll do it. I'm not worried, so don't you be. Natalie was like that til she was seven years old and there was nothing that could be done about it.
I'm terribly tired this evening and would like very much to relax, but I can't. I must first wash some crib sheets as I haven't a clean one and my mother is unable to find the time to wash for me. Guess that brings us to the end of another day, honey, and here I am right on your lap. I love you, baby!
Your Eve
5 May 1944
Dearest Darling,
I had intended to write last night, but I became involved in a little game of chance and played til very late. This, by the way is “last night's” letter—don't let the date confuse you. Tonight I will write for today, and the date-line will still read as above.
Seems to me I promised in my last to answer yours of the 15th. On reading it over, however, I find it is mostly about your reactions to the C. P. proofs, and I already have given you my opinions on the subject. Then there are a coupla paragraphs about your routine (and Adele's)—about your grandmother's gift to Adele (more surprises!)—and that week-end trip to England you are having hallucinations about. I don't doubt that commercial airlines are planning such excursions, and the price of $50.00 maybe within the bounds of reason, but (and I hardly think it's plausible) even if it were possible for you to make the trip—you wouldn’t; believe me! You are positively correct in assuming that I would be dead set against the idea. Moreover, in spite of your over-dramatic insistence that you would grasp the opportunity 'cause you think it would kill you to pass it up, I would make very certain that you would have no incentive to make the trip, I would simply refuse to meet you—even if I could (and the chances are I couldn't). Don't for a moment put it in the same category with the Columbus visit. The issues involved are entirely different. Since you know I would forbid it, you must also know the reasons I have to justify my attitude, so I won't bore you with them. Besides, as you say, it's probably “poppycock,” and really nothing to squabble about. I only mention it because you specifically asked if I would agree to your making the trip. Darling, you are so typically feminine—I won't embarrass you here by telling you why—I'll just be masculine—and tease you along by making you wonder what I have in mind. Needless to say, I am terrifically flattered by your offer to cross the Atlantic in a plane for the mere privilege of spending a day or two with me. On the face of it, one might not consider your conduct remarkable, but when I remember your fear of planes, and the water, and the importance of $50.00 in your bank-roll—well, I can't help feeling a little awed by your willingness to undertake so daring an adventure. Knowing full well your brashness, and your unswerving persistence when you go after something you want very much, I shudder to think what the outcome might be if it were in any way possible for you to follow your inclinations. At the same time, I’m no little bit thrilled by the mere thought that you mean what you say. Thanks a million for the compliment, Baby. You may take it for granted that your devotion is returned in full measure, 'cause I would go to the very gates of Hell for your sweet sake. To end our little discussion, though, permit me to point out that I would no more ask you to cross the sea for my sake, than you would ask me to go to Hell for yours. Nuff said?
The mail yesterday brought me your letter of the 27th (with Mrs. Benis’ enclosed and Ruth’s of the 17th.
Poor Mrs. Toppy! I feel for her—and all the rest of the family. It brings home full force the realization that we have been very lucky thus far. If you ever feel you have cause for complaint, remember, as I often do, that while I sit here on my fanny in the Orderly Room, Americans all over the world are suffering and fighting and dying. It is because this is never far from my mind that I have no patience with gripers (or “bitchers”), as we call them in the Army.
I was very glad to hear that you finally got around to see Lil. It was most considerate of her to send you home via taxi. The large bunny she got for the punkin must be a beaut. I'm never very much surprised at Lil’s “affaires d’amour” because, emotionally, she is the most unstable person I know. While I would deplore her conduct and designs in regard to her newest “friend” in anyone else, I think you were most wise, Chippie, in condoning her behavior and intentions. Everything considered, she would be no less than a fool to act in any way other than she has decided. Don't make the mistake, Sweet, of telling her my views in the matter, at least not as I have worded it, or reasoned it. I expect to hear from her shortly and would not be too greatly surprised if she confided in me—or even asked my opinion as she did yours. In that case, I will tell her what I have told you, but without mentioning those things which I know would wound her sensitive feelings.
Chippie, there is one subject which recurs from time to time in your letters that is most irritating to me. Whenever you have occasion to refer to Harry and Goldie or some of our friends or relatives who have had the good (?) fortune to stay out of the service, and especially when you speak of their opportunities to “stow it away” (meaning money), your envy of them sticks out in every word. What’s more, you take no pains to hide this feeling, which is most unworthy of you and something I find it impossible to condone. In this instance, you choose to make Harry, Fay, and Anne your points of argument. You claim that you have to “hand it to him,” presumably for the fact that he obtained a better-paying job with Freihofer’s than he had at the Signal Corps. I must say that I'm not a bit proud that he did so. Working for the Signal Corps he at least was directly aiding the war effort, infinitesimal as that aid might be. I know your argument: he feels his first duty is to his wife and child, and if he can make more money at work, not connected with the war effort, it is his duty to take advantage of that fact. Nuts! If he was so exclusively occupied with saving money for that purpose, he certainly has a funny way of showing it. You know the inconsistencies involved better than I do and because you do, I’m even less proud of you for having the bad taste to hold him up as an example to me. In this case, you'll forgive me if I don't appear to be even a little bit flattered. You’ll also understand why I refuse absolutely to consider him a model of something-or-other that, it appears, you would have me emulate. Perhaps I'm attributing thoughts to you other than your words seem to imply, but the basic truth that you admire a course of action which I consider petty and grasping, cannot be overlooked. I would welcome any clarification or justification of your viewpoint as regards this, Chippie. As for Fay and Anne—well, I just don't begin to understand you. Tell me if I'm wrong—You mention the fact that they both receive financial aid from their parents; that they buy lovely clothes; that they go to expensive shows, etc.; and that “they have their allotments to themselves,” which, you beg me to guess, they are “stowing away.” What, may I be so presumptuous as to ask, are you trying to imply? That you are being “cheated” out of all the privileges they enjoy? If so, are your new fur coat and suit and top-coat, if you bought nothing else, so “un-lovely”? Or do you envy them the fact that their hard-working (no work is easy) parents supply them the “essentials” so that they may spend part of their allotments on “lovely clothes” or “expensive shows” or, even, so that they may “stow it away”? If this isn't your implication, then what, in heaven's name, is? If you do envy them their circumstances, then you do so alone. They are entirely welcome to all their “blessings”—for my part. Your very next sentence beats the hell out of me: “I don't really mind, for I have all my dreams wrapped up in you and ‘our’ future—.” No, Chippie, it won't do. If you really didn't mind, you would never have mentioned everything that preceded that statement. Or—if you did mention it at all, you would have written it quite differently. I know you do mind (though I don't think you should) very much, indeed. Michael Berry is the fact that although I was too disheartened to mention it at the. I've time you wrote pretty much the same thing on other occasions. It's as you claim, your dreams are wrapped up in our future. Why do you constantly harp? I hate to use the word, but it fits on other people's presence. I don't think I have ever been accused of being particularly obtuse, but I just don't get the connection. The give-away is the fact that, although I was too disheartened to mention it at the time, your wrote pretty much the same thing on other occasions. If, as you claim, your “dreams are wrapped up in ‘our’ future,” why do you constantly harp (I hate to use the word, but it fits) on other people’s “presents.” I don’t think I have ever been accused of being particularly obtuse—but I just don’t get the connection. Your obsession, if I may call it that, with “our future” and all your most intimate desires and hopes and dreams are deeply ingrained in me, Sweet; but again, you don't flatter me by repeating them. Why? Because if you gave me credit for average intelligence and good-faith, and believed my many professions that I will do the best I possibly can for my family, you would know that each repetition of what I knew (before you ever put it into words) is increasingly ambiguous. Your assertion that “our future has to be what I'm hoping, or I'll be terribly disillusioned and disappointed” has the ring of familiarity. But that isn't as important as the fact that you are being most unwise, Chippie, in voicing so drastic a sentiment. The pressure you are bringing to bear on me is terrific, if you only realized it, and I'm not thanking you for it. I think you care enough for me to be a little more unselfish in this respect. You think I'm making much do about nothing? Bear with me, then, while I explain why the “pressure is terrific”: You are saying, in effect, Phil, you must deliver all my dreams and hopes exactly as you know them to be, or else—The “or else” part is, according to your own admission, “disillusionment and disappointment,” two things I would spare you at any cost. Well? What am I supposed to answer to that? The only sufficient answer I can imagine could only be “Evelyn, I guarantee it.” Sorry, Baby, I can't guarantee it—I wish I could. If I said I could—I would be insulting your intelligence. Dreams and hopes, my darling, are fine things to have, but not if the failure of any of them is going to result in “disillusionment and disappointment.” I know it is impossible to be disillusioned if one has no illusions. The trouble with your thinking and feeling, Sweet, lies in the fact that you don't appreciate the difference between “illusion” and “dream” (or “hope,” which is practically synonymous). Anyone who harbors an illusion (especially where the future is concerned) is, flatly, a fool. If you don't agree, look up the meaning of the word (also disillusion). On the other hand, it is not only natural to dream (or hope) for the future—it is downright inevitable. The person who has no dreams for the future falls in one of two categories, (1) Insane (2) Dead. Even if the fault lies only in your unthinking choice of words, your meaning and intent are crystal clear, and however hard I try, I can't escape the feeling that you have offered me nothing less than an ultimatum. That may not have been your intent, but it is certainly the effect. I think you understand now why I “don't thank you for it.” To close the subject, which must be as distressing to you as it is disturbing to me, I want only to say a final word: Please, darling, for both our sakes, reconsider that statement. At least, for my edification, even if you mean it exactly as it stands, reword it so that I may count on you to be content with whatever my utmost efforts to make your dreams come true may produce. That, my darling, is the ultimate promise I can, in all good faith, make you. If you wish, I will promise you the world, but don't tell anyone about it. I hate to be laughed at. For my part, I ask only that you love me always, in spite of any deprivations or privations, the future may hold in store for us. If you, for your part, ask no more of me—that I can guarantee, and I here and now do so.
I am forwarding the “plan” for your comment and criticism. I cannot guarantee that I will build it (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) for you some day—I can only promise that I'll try like hell.
When all is said and done, one thing you can count on—come war or flood and famine; come hell or high water, I am your lover; your husband;
Your Phil
5 May 1944
My Dearest,
Three V-mails arrived this afternoon, so here I am again. The bulk of my beginning-of-the-month work is finished. “Business” was remarkably heavy this month. Believe it or not, the boys banked, or sent home, or bought War Bonds with, almost 50% of the total payroll. This, I don't have to tell you, is a remarkable record, and one which I don't expect to see duplicated soon again. In the “heat” of writing my earlier letter today, I completely forgot to mention a most important item. Two of your packages arrived yesterday. They were the “Oh Henrys and the three boxes of Stevens chocolates with the bag of Bond’s cookies. I can't thank you enough for them, Baby. I had just finished my last box of Chiclets yesterday, and was wondering how long it would be before those packages would begin coming through—when bingo! I figure if you could manage to send off a package every two weeks, I'll be well supplied. I'll try to remember to include requests at least that often. Now to the V-mail—.
The first one is dated 18 April. You were reading “Kings Row” and were reluctant to put it down long enough to write to me. I don't blame you a bit, Chippie. By the way, who is Renee in the book? I thought Parris’ childhood sweetheart was Cassie. I mean to read it someday. You were in a hurry to get started to Dot’s and didn't write much more of anything except that the punkin slept uninterruptedly through the night, which I'm almost glad to hear, knowing how much it means to you. The fact that she's eating more and drinking less milk doesn't seem unnatural to me. Seems to me it's a logical example of cause and effect.
The second V-mail is that of 26 April. You say, to begin with, that my letter of the 20th answered your query as to the food at the new base. Good thing I anticipated you, 'cause I have still to receive your letter containing your query. That was quite an outfit you bought for the punkin, and I heartily approve your plan to keep me posted via snapshots. Which reminds me—Do I get any of those C.P. pictures? Since you will probably have only one of each pose made, you will, no doubt, be reluctant to part with any of them. I won't press you for them at this time, but I may ask for one of each of you as some future date. For the time being, I have a clear image of what the proofs look like in my mind's eye, but when the image begins to fade with time, I may importune you for the pictures. Does that arrangement suit you, Chippie? The 26th was the night you visited Lil, and I learned the details before I ever read of your attention to do so. That's the mail for you! You say you voted in the primary elections, but you neglected to tell me how you voted. Seems to me you promised to inform me, but if you think it's none of my business, just forget I asked about it. You were up most of the night with Adele. I was wondering how you intend to cope with that problem if and when you go back to work.
Your V-mail of the 28th informs me that you got another box of Milky Ways for me. Good deal! What's this about the $5.00 Jack sent me? It's the first I heard about it, and the reason puzzles me. Since you've already spent it, I see no need for your taking it out of your allotment check just to send it to me. At the moment, I'm free of debt and a coupla pounds to the good, so I don't need it. Besides $5.00 over here is as easily spent and no more thought of than a dollar bill at home. You might even better appreciate the disparity if I told you that I have often won or lost that much in one hand of poker. I'm curious to know why Jack sent it, though.
Too bad Seymour couldn’t get into the Navy. In the Army “physicals,” they don't measure legs—they just count ’em.
Today is Friday. Monday is my day off and I intend to go into London for the first time in over five weeks to see a coupla shows and take a Turkish bath. It's been quite awhile since I wrote to Limey, but as yet I have not heard from him. Eddie owes me a letter, too. Which reminds me that I owe Mom a letter. Tell her I'll write within the next few days. Give her my love.
My best love to the punkin. To you, Sweet, the fullest measure of my devotion. I'll be seeing you at 5 in the easy chair! My love to all.
Ever, Your Phil
P.S. Please send candy.
May 4, 1944
Hello Phil,
Well your last 2 letters pleased me as I explained in the last v-mail with the super special request. Now, there is no mistaking the clarity of your expressing your desire for confectionary. I can’t within simulate the excellent style and superbly superb manner of taking advantage of the space offered in a V-mail that you can obtain, but I am scribbling them off to you in a hurry. ? ? ? received epistle from you rate an immediate reply.
As for us, I know the Post Education Plan for soldiers is still in the bill stage and is not quite definite. I will check with Serviceman’s Services and let you know. The candy, alas, is also not quite a definite fact—I just have priority in the next shipment of Hershey Bars that my girl friend who works for wholesale ? will get some (what sentence structure). I hope to get it soon and ship it out to you immediately.
Now for the matter of Jack’s snaps in New Guinea, a background. I have ordered a set for you and expect them this following Wednesday.
That settles all the questions. I believe when all the pending matters are concluded—(e.g. obtaining candy bars and snaps) I’ll pass them on to you.
Imagine my surprise when the mailman handed me two letters this morning after receiving two letters yesterday! They were your v-mail of April 25 and air-mail of April 28. Why was it necessary for you to have a reclassification interview? Will it affect your present status in any way? You asked me what sort of the house I would like and do I have any ideas? Well, sweet, I don't rightly care as long as it is modernly equipped, easy on the eye and saves labor—I'll leave that all up to you. Perhaps I could help were I able to see the plans and we'll get together on that some day. You work it your way now and I'll join you later.
Harry accepted a job at the New Logan Bakery on 11th and Louden as a driver at $60.00 per week. My mother told him about the job and he inquired, but they had hired someone, who proved unsatisfactory. He took Harry's name—in case—so Harry is in. The hours are from 3 A.M. to 12 in the afternoon, six days a week, with only 31 stops in all, which is good as far as deliveries go. He'll get about $52 clear, with all deductions made. He's talking about buying a car, doing this and that, and the other thing. Goldie is elated. Do you think I'll ever feel that good about something very similar? I always hoped that we could have an income of at least $60 per week, and I'm hereby setting that goal for us. When we reach it, we’ll have our next baby, but not before. I should have said—when you reach it.
There was also a letter from Gloria with the news that Jack is now Cpl. She, too, is elated with the promotion. The Strongins are beginning to get somewhere in the world, and it's about time. Gloria says she’ll be in Philly May 12. She mentioned your latest letter. Yes, I think she can appreciate the “devilIsh” vein. Dot, like me, may not seem sensitive, but is—terrifically.
Al's brother Seymour is making a large catered dinner for the entire family and Ethel and Al want to attend. Ethel asked me whether I would care for Stuart the entire day, so that they might go. Naturally, I assured her that I would. Rae will also be home, but is afraid to undertake the job for the day, and Ethel isn't so sure she'd like to leave him with her. She feels I know more about babies, being freshly educated, and would feel more confident leaving him to my care. The dinner is scheduled for May 21. I'll take Adele with me and between Rae and me we’ll manage. I expect to visit Ethel on Saturday with Adele and give her the sweater set. She says she has some nice buttons and not to bother buying them. I think I'm going to buy a pair of overalls to sort of finish off our gift.
Harry is taking Morrie (Goldie’s brother) to a baseball game this afternoon. He worked for a few hours this morning and likes the route. I'm writing this during Adele's afternoon nap. She's been sleeping wonderfully and I’m as pleased as punch. Room for a fond and affectionate “I love you, my dearest,” from
Your Eve
May 3, 1944
Dear Phil:
Thanks for that V-mail I was so fortunate to get. Phil, you seem to do quite your bit, but according to your letter you are well rewarded with time off—from time to time. Phil, I’d give quite a bit to experience a day or so in London. It sure must be exciting. Tell me, Phil, is it like being in another world? I really don't know, but are the English much different than we are? Their ways, etc.? Most of the pictures I've seen of English girls and men show them on the slim side—is that true?
In your next letter you can send me an essay on the English. I’ll bet you could write a pip.
Incidentally, I had the extreme pleasure of taking your darling daughter and wife for a ride on the boulevard. Adele seemed in extreme ecstasy. I've never seen a more satisfied look on her face. We stopped at Reardon’s and had hot dogs and Cokes— Adele seemed to like the soda. She was given a high chair, and was treated just like an extra special guest,—that she was. Unfortunately, your mother couldn't come along—she had to prepare supper for the family.
Phil, I am now known as the S & S sign company. You see, Phil, we (another guy and myself) were given all the PX sign work. They order quite a bit of work from time to time. Our first order amounted to $80.00, which was quite a help—in addition to the $20 army pay I draw. We were given a place to work—the material we had to buy. You see, Phil, it looks like I'll get rich before my grandfather, even in the army. So far, so good, but this is all too good to last. As long as it does, all well and good.
At this writing, all your beloved ones are all well, thank God—. The hand is getting tired and besides I’d better get back to camp and sleep; I happen to be writing this from Washington. Well kid, let's hope this letter brings us closer to victory.
Received your air-mail letters of April 26 and 27 (meant for the 28th) along with the check from Sharp and Dohme in the amount of $3.45. I like the idea of you planning “our” home and it should be sumpin’. I only hope it materializes and in the not too distant future. You know, sweet, no matter how tired or letter-weary I may feel, I ease the tension with a few words to you. If, perchance I should happen to skip writing a day, it bothers me and I feel as though I hadn't been with you that particular day. I do love you so much, Phil!
I cashed my check at the bank and deposited the one from S & D along with $10 of my check, bringing our total up to $140.00. I have $475 in bonds (maturity value) and when I get the two bonds due us from your pay we’ll have that much more. That, dear one, is the up-to-the-minute statement of our present financial outlook. Not bad—not good—but better than it has been for a long time, which makes it sumpin’. Which reminds me, Miss Hahn called and wants me to work for her this Thursday. I have $30 on hand, but have a few outstanding expenses during the month that will eat that up. I still owe $10.49 for the pictures and I want to get that carriage, if and when they come in. I have to get a bottle of cod liver oil ($2.29) and some personal things for myself, not to mention a pair of shoes.
I saw “Lost Angel” as I had planned and it can best be described by the word “cutie.” I enjoyed it immensely. Goldie’s brother “popped” in on us shortly after I had completed writing to you (last night), having promised to visit Goldie before leaving for the Navy. He was rejected in his hometown but enlisted and was accepted in New York. Today he was 18 and we have a lovely birthday cake, which we are going to eat shortly, accompanied by ice-cream. I think I would give you my whole portion—if only you’d come home.
The “ubiquitous” Adele (I knew that one all along) looked lovely this day, decked out in her new bonnet, powder blue overalls, blue and white jersey, and her blue sweater. I went to Broad St. with Anne to do some shopping. We have a new system. I can't go shopping with Adele unless I have someplace to put the package, so I give Anne Adele's walker and take her carriage. In that way the kids get a change (Adele likes the carriage—for a change) and I am able to shop alone. I take Adele into the self-service market, put her in the top basket of the carriages they have for the groceries and put my items in the bottom basket. Keeps her interested and I am able to get something accomplished. Wish you could go along, baby.
I blocked and boxed Stuart’s sweater (it's complete except for the buttons, which I am not able to obtain—I want pearl ones) and put stiffening (Fay gave it to me) in the shoulders of my red sweater. Dot called—Snuff’s appeal for deferment was rejected and he'll positively leave this month. Guess I'm finished, but not with you. LOOK OUT—here comes
Your EVE
1 May 1944
My darling Ev,
The sun shines more brightly, the skies are bluer, and the grass is greener—all because of your two letters just arrived. They are especially cheering because they both contained pictures. More about that later. First, I want to get the “local” news written.
Last night, after a very busy day, I headed for the Base Theater where the USO was presenting a show titled “Loop The Loop.” Like all the other titles of these shows, it was meaningless. However, the show itself was one of the best I have seen to date. There were only six performers, but they all counted for plenty of entertaining. First on the bill was the inevitable M.C. This one was a guy out of Pittsburgh by the name of Lee Simmons. He had a fine understanding of the type of humor the G.I.’s would go for, and he smeared it on thick. As an example of the type of humor, I offer this impromptu bit that had belly-laugh appeal for the assembled mob (me, too, no doubt).
Mary had a little watch (no, you haven't heard this version yet, I'll bet.)
She swallowed it one day
The doctor gave her castor oil
To pass the time away (ha! ha!—but wait!)
But castor oil just wouldn't do
The time she could not pass—
And if you want to know the time
Just look up Mary’s uncle—
He's got a watch!
Before you say what you are about to say—let me remind you, dear, that it is a masculine prerogative (one of the few we have left) to recite vulgar ditties. Don’t delude yourself into thinking what’s O.K. for me is O.K. for you—not a bit of it! In other words—if there’s any “dirty” jokes etc. to be told—I'll do the telling. Catch?
Next were two kids who did a tap dance. One was a little too plump to be appealing, but the other half of the team was a real cutie—a blonde kid from the Bronx, who had all the curves in the right places and a face like Nan Grey’s to match. When there was a typical sun-tanned (unless the makeup fooled me), California gal, who looked like a blatant Hepburn and sang just a little too dramatically to be properly effective. She chose the wrong type of songs to do her strong, but short-ranged voice justice. At the end she sang two songs that suited her to a T (one a negro-Cuban number, the other a risqué ditty)—and these I enjoyed very much. Then there was an English girl, Ann Taylor, whose round-faced beauty reminded me instantly of Jeanette, who “heckled” the M.C. by reciting high-blown poetry, attempting a few steps of ballet dancing, and generally playing the dumb, sweet, innocent, young thing and very competently, too.
The next performer I recognized at once. I once, in writing of another show, described a G.I. drummer as copying the tricks of Jack Powell, remember? Well, here was Jack Powell, himself, in person, but not in the usual black-face. He was always a show-stopper back in the States—and the guys loved him. For some reason I cannot fully fathom, G.I.’s are partial to drummers, and since Powell is “tops” in his line, you can well imagine the reception he received. That, my Sweet, was “Loop the Loop.” I hope I have conveyed some part of the pleasure I derived from it.
After the show, I came back to the hut to find a card game going full blast. I decided to try my luck. Result: +$6.00 (for a change). We played pretty late—too late to even think of writing the letter I had somehow neglected all day. I went to bed promising myself (and you) that I would write “tomorrow” (for the 30th), but fate and the “Soldier’s Deposits” decreed otherwise. I was busy all day long and by the time I started this it got to be six o'clock. I had missed supper, but that's the rule rather than the exception. I interrupted this long enough to accompany Jurkovac to the Snack Bar for cupsa coffee, sandwiches, (we call them jam sandwiches regardless— two hunks of bread jammed together) and a hunk of ginger cake. Which all brings me to the important part of the letter—the pictures.
Just as you were, I was disappointed in the proofs at first look. But also like you, the more I considered them, the better I like them. You can well imagine how long and earnestly I have scanned them since they arrived. I am now prepared to give you my, well-considered opinion, for what it's worth. The following comments are purely my own evaluation, you understand, and are not to be construed as infallible or worthy by accepted standards. On the other hand, my own opinion of anything is all-important to me, however wrong it may seem in another's eyes. I'll deal with you first, Chippie, ’cause the issue is clear-cut. It may surprise you to learn that I was well-pleased with the one pose (that you thought was the better of the two). Why? Because (1) It is natural and unaffected and “unposed.” (2) It “looks” like you. (3) The smile is spontaneous and warms me “where I live.” (4) It is “you,” quiet and reserved, and, I think, faintly wistful, and a trifle, self-conscious. The other one I dislike in direct inverse proportion because it is the exact antithesis of the first. Specifically, (1) it doesn't look like you. (2) It is unnatural and frankly affected. (3) The smile is discernibly “forced” and “does” nothing to me. (4) It is definitely not “you”—it is a self-assured, even arrogant, gal that I don't even know. Odd, isn’t it, to what extent the camera can lie? As for the punkin, since I am not as well acquainted with her as you are, I bow to your judgment as to which of the three poses most resembles her. I will not dwell on that angle. I only know that she looks very sweet to me in all the proofs and I find it next to impossible to express a preference. She is, as you have always implied, a very sweet, appealing and lovely little girl, and that is plainly evident in all three pictures. Therefore, I suggest that you order a 5 x 7 of each. I hate to give up any one of them. You know what to do about yours, of course. I don't care especially for an 8 x 10 under the best circumstances, but if you must order on that basis, make the 8 x 10 the one of the punkin I have marked on the back. A 5 x 7 of you will do nicely. Thanks a million, Baby, for the trouble and expense you are going to to oblige me in this matter. Incidentally, if you want to get a true appreciation of the pictures, especially Adele’s, compare the finished product with Wolpe's work. I venture to guess that you will be very pleasantly surprised and gratified with the completed pictures. Hell, I'm sure of it.
The snap-shot is most commendable. You all look good (yes, even you, Chippie, and I’d think so even if I weren't nine months away from you), the quality of the print is good, and, on the whole, Mr. and Mrs. Paller have good 'cause to be proud of their good-looking children. If I weren't prejudiced against Ruth (Sinatra Swooner), I might be moved to say something very nice about the way she looks, but since I feel as I do about it, well—. Seymour looks to be about seven feet tall and he is really something for the girls to “swoon” over! The punkin looks very interested in what's going on, and faintly amused. You don't look as if you only had four hours’ sleep the night before. I think you look most attractive (and you know I'm not given to blarney), moreover, I like your “different” hair-do. It's most becoming.
I hope I have answered all your questions about the pictures, Sweet, ’cause it is just about time for lights out and I want to get this in the mail before I turn in. I'll answer your two letters tomorrow. And so—hasta mañana, my darling. “Seeing” you once again has been a thrilling experience for me, even if it did bring home to me with poignant force the great love I bear you. A special hug and kiss for Adele, than whom there is none sweeter or more delectable.
