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..
Today your letter of the 20th arrived. I realize how hard it is to write everyday and if you can't - you can't. I don't blame you for wanting to get away from it for a while, cause I'm awfully tired keeping up with my terrific correspondence. I wish to God I could stop writing letters tomorrow. It's gotten to a point where I actually hate to write. I've passed up many an evening's entertainment in favor of writing to you, but now with the extremely warm weather ahead I may skip, as I've said before. I shall try, as you, to write as close to daily as possible.
The Wolfs sound nice. So you helped Rita with the dishes, eh! If only you knew how much I could use your help! Don't worry, honey, I don't have any ideas about it that I didn't have before.
Looking after Goldie and the baby is a big job and I've again lost my taste for having a baby. Not that I've changed my mind - I just feel as though I do not, nor will I, have strength for it for a long time to come. Phil, the one thing I want to do most when you do come home is to go somewhere and simply rest for a few weeks. My job is a sort of blessing - it's a pleasure of the kind I never expected to feel since having Adele. I actually get tiring sitting on my fanny - imagine! I do make up for it when I'm home, so now I have a more balanced day. I can't wait til Goldie gets on her feet, for then things will be easier all around.
I forgot to tell you that Dr. Grossman, (Diana's doctor) said Adele is much bigger than most two year olds and a well built child for her age. I haven't had an opportunity to call about her feet yet, as I'm kept too busy in the morning, what with the making of formula, etc. Sometimes she walks so straight I think I'm dreaming the whole thing.
Ethel took a large bungalow at Browns Mills again this year (not the same place) at a cost of $40. ($400). She's invited Mom to spend most of the summer with her and Mom will probably go as soon as Goldie gets on her feet. They had a letter from Harry today their first letter since the invasion, and he was in on it. He said that he is back in England and resting and everything is fine.
I bought Harry and Goldie a scale as a gift, that I got from Mr. Bellet's place. Mr. Bellet hasn't told me the price as yet, though I think it will be around $4.50. I suppose I'll give them $5 in cash to finish off the gift. I'm waiting til I hear from you.
I was contemplating today that it will soon be a year we have been separated. I think I've changed a bit in that year. I can't say exactly how, but I feel that I've changed somewhat. I know that when you do come back, all this will be like a dream, or, rather, a nightmare. You were right when you said it would be from a year and a half to two years. It will be. Yet I feel that we've past the worse part of it. That, however, remains to be seen.
Shirley Anopolsky hasn't called about the Reese setup as yet and I'll wait til she does before bothering her further.
Betty is moving on Friday and I can't help wondering how Adele will act when she sees strange people on the porch next door. After all she practically climbs over to the other porch and it will be a radical change for her. It should prove interesting Adele sings herself to sleep at times with this: "Uh, a, uh a, baby, uh, a uh, a da-dee, uh a uh a mommy" Her sleeping is good again (I'm almost afraid to say it for fear it will change again) and I'm getting a bit of rest. Last night I hit the hay immediately after writing to you, sweet, and that was 10:30. I slept like a ton of brick all night til 6:30. I feel better today than I've felt all week and my appetite is beginning to pick up again.
Goldie had a letter from her grandfather and he is going to visit her around July 4th. Goldie has received numerous other lovely gifts for Diana, a comb and brush set, another robe and slippers, $3 in cash from her landlady in Washington, a blanket, etc.
I had a v-mail from Milt and he thinks it's just possible that he'll be able to see our Jack. Did I tell you that our Jack met up with a fellow he used to play ball with (I think his name is Greenberg) and who is stationed right near him?
I owe so many letters that I just get tired thinking about it. I received two letters from Seymour and have yet to reply. I'll be sure to get one off this week sometime.
There isn't much else to say, honey, except what I'd like most to be doing to you at this moment. And rather than bore you with the details (are you kiddin'!) I’ll sign off after leaving you soundly hugged and kissed.
Your Eve
P. S. Maxie Brown is in England, too.
28 June 1944
Dearest Darling,
Your V-mail of 12 June just arrived, two days after I received your letter of the 16th and your V-mail of the 17th. However, I did learn something new from it. Three things in fact: (1) Tony's 13-day furlough (2) About the snaps of Adele with Richy (do I get to see them?) (3) That Mom received my letter. This is the one you wrote while sitting in Betty's rocking-chair in the driveway. From the uniformity of the writing, I would say that that's a pretty good pen you just acquired. I can't tell you how glad I am, Sweet, that you find your work no undue hardship. Why don't you tell me more about it? I'd like to know, for instance, what your work consists of, what the office looks like, what files you have and what your routine is. You forgot, incidentally, to tell me what you wore to work on the 16th and 17th.
Wasn’t so busy today after all. As I told you yesterday, I intended to start on the Company History today. However, because this involves going out to the Tech site, where our shops are located, and because it was either raining, or threatening to, all day, I decided to let it ride until tomorrow
Soon as to finish this, I’m going to change into my "class A's", and ride down to the Aero club to watch the jitter-bugs do their stuff at the regular Wednesday night dance. Wish I could take you with me, Chippie, so I wouldn’t just have to sit around and watch, Somehow, I never had any desire to dance with any of the gals I've ever seen there. There's another reason for my reluctance to do so, which I won't set down here. However, that won't lessen my enjoyment in the watching. Guess I'm just unselfish enough to enjoy watching the others having a good time. If I remember, I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow.
That's about all I can think of to write for now, Baby, so you'll have to excuse me this time. Au revoir, my darling. My fondest remembrances to Miss Adele Bara Strongin. (Don't think me silly for writing the name out. I can't explain why the sight and sound of the thrills me so, but it does.) My love and kindest regards to the family, and our friends, respectively. I adore you, Mrs. Strongin (I like that, too.)
Ever- lovingly,
Your Phil
June 27, 1944
Dear Phil
It was really wonderful hearing from you. As you can see by the address my folks and I are vacationing out here in Brighton. I see a great deal of Hal and his wife Frances. Do you know her? and ? Chase. ? I haven’t heard from you in so long. I have received your letter as it was forwarded to me from the Browns. I can’t understand why Jack doesn’t get in touch with you. We haven’t heard from him in five weeks and to-day we received a letter dated June 12th. He said a cousin of ours got there by the name of Ben ? not ? son but he’s another cousin by that name. Jack and he are very good friends and was he excited. I get mail from Carl every day and he’s fine and can’t wait for Victory. That goes for you and everybody else. Max Chase was up in Phila. and he says everything is fine out there. Evelyn looks very well and don’t you worry about her candy. I hear your daughter is the spittin’ image of you. You should be a proud Daddy. We expect George in on leave this week ? My Ma and Pa send their best to you and can’t wait to see you back on good old U.S.A. soil in a secure ? I’ll have to say so long for now.
I was sorry to have to cut yesterday's letter short, but I'm sure you would have preferred to have me take in the movie. I enjoyed "Cover Girl" with R. Hayworth and G. Kelly. Mom was a little disappointed, having expected too much. I think you saw it a long time ago. I was very tired and almost fell asleep at the movies. I didn't get to bed til 12, so I'm fairly tired again. Adele, though, slept like a little top and I slept good, if only for seven hours. One more hour would have made a lot of difference.
Today I received your letter of June 14th, the one in which you mention visiting Evelyn. I'm glad you've made friends with such nice people and that you aren't so lonely anymore. I guess you know by now that June 14th was a big day for us, too. You write so in nicely, honey, giving every detail. Sometimes I wish I could write that way, for there is so much I know I could tell you. I could, if I were able to write for a few hours, without these constant interruptions.
If ever you hear some one call "da-dee" it's Adele, for she calls you many times. I'm of the opinion that she knows you exist and is looking forward to seeing you. When I ask her if she wants daddy to come home, she gives out with a quick "yes." Ann and Tony familiarized the baby with Tony by getting him to understand that his picture and him were one and the same. I feel sure she'll know you or get to know you almost instantaneously. Come on oh happy day!
Adele says such things as dish, water, ears, eyes, chin, nose, toes, knees, in fact she knows the name of every part of her body up to her curls. I keep working on the phrase "I love you, or I love daddy or mommy" and I expect her to be able to say it most any day now. I couldn't even begin to describe the cute tricks and habits she has. Most everyone, on one occasion or another, has said that her every action and move is "cute".
Yesterday we had company for dinner - Pauline (who has changed and has won the admiration and friendship of all, even yours truly) Sam, Phil and Em. Believe it or not, Uncle Sam gave H & G a five dollar bill as a gift. That's really sumpin' for him Phil raved and raved and raved and raved about your letter. In the evening they left early and Mom and I went to the movies.
This morning Goldie's baby doctor called to see Diana. While he was here I questioned him in connection with Adele's feet. His offhand observation was that she was slightly knock-kneed due to her chubbiness and it was also causing her to walk slightly pigeon-toed. She is kind of chubby near the knees as you will note in her snaps and it's just possible that when the chubbiness disappears she will walk perfectly straight. He, however, refused to be quoted on that, saying he would rather examine her thoroughly before giving an exact opinion. He says she is definitely not bow-legged, as I first thought. He says he can take care of it if it is only that. You may wonder why I don't go right to a doctor. The only trouble is that there are very few good men about and that I may have lots of trouble getting a convenient appointment, as they are rushed to death these days. Rest assured, though, that I shall take care of it and I'm sure, in my heart, that it isn't any thing to get excited about.
Here's a bit of interesting news - Hilda and Dave were married on June 18th at the Broadwood. They had a regular formal wedding that was arranged in no time. They are on their honeymoon in the Poconos. They didn't have a chance to call anyone but the immediate family.
Remember you said that the Wolfs have a relative here in Philly by the name of Reese. Well, (and I couldn't believe it was possible) I think they are related to Shirley Anapolsky. How? Well, do you remember the night Max Reese, (Shirley's husband now) drove us down to see Hilda and Dave? Well, I think the people you mention are her husband's relatives cause she seemed familiar with the name and the antique business. She said she would call her in-laws tomorrow and let me know for sure. I called her this evening to make sure.
And now, dearly beloved, I'm going to sign off in a hurry, cause I have a splitting headache and am most anxious to get to bed. I love you dearly nevertheless and I'm sure my headache would disappear in a flash if you could only take me in your arms. I miss you so much!
I didn't write for the past two days and it's all due to Diana Jean, who requires lots of attention, and has been keeping us all on our toes. I was so tired Fri. & Sat. that my mind refused to function properly. I still have lots to do, but it can wait until I feel completely rested.
I have so much to say that I don't know where to start. Well, Friday afternoon Goldie and Diana came home. Goldie isn't feeling so well; she's having a terrible time sitting at all or even laying. She must have had quite a few stitches and the pain is terrific. She tends to the baby, but nevertheless Mom and I are kept busy every moment. Friday night—let’s start with Fri. morning. I washed, scrubbed and cleaned the house. Then off to work. (I'm thankful for an opportunity to sit on my fanny for a few hours). In the evening I had supper, bathed Adele and put her to bed. Betty had made Diana's formula before I got home, which saved me the job. Shortly before 10 P. M. I oiled and bathed Diana and changed her clothes. I didn't actually bathe her, sweet, I sponged her. I think she looks like Harry and will be another Strongin baby. She's very small and very skinny, but I think she'll be a quite a cute kid someday. She's not as white and pink as Adele was—she's darker complexioned. She has tiny black hairs and a tendency to frown, at which time she wrinkles up her brows. She gives us a big smile every now and then.
Undoubtedly you're most anxious to know what Adele thought of her. Well, dear, Adele didn't even make a fuss about her. She merely called her a doll and imitated a baby crying. However, she imitates perfectly every move Diana makes. If Diana chances to raise her arm, Adele follows suit. So much for the H. Strongins.
Sat. morning I went to work, as usual. During the course of the morning Mom called to tell me to stop at Freda's place and pick up some diapers that were on order for Goldie. I was a half hour late for work, but nevertheless I left a half hour before the usual time in order to get to Freda's (Harris) place before they closed. She works for Sol Levy, who sells baby things and novelties, at 1011 Filbert. While there I decided to inquire about a rag dolly for Adele. Sure enough they had but one rag doll that was the thing I had in mind. It retails for $4, but I got it for $2. The whole things is made of rag and is very attractive. The doll has some blonde curls and is wearing a bright red bonnet and pinafore. The rest of the body, except the face, is made of a red, white and yellow material. It was raining all morning, though it did stop from time to time. When I left Freda's place I walked over to 10th St. and then decided to take the 47 at 9th St. When I reached 9th I walked one black north. I had to wait for the trolley and there was a nice dress store on the corner. A rack of dresses caught my eye. They were reduced from $3.99 to $2.99. To make a long story short, yours very lovingly bought herself a pretty navy blue, white flowered pinafore with ruffles that run from the waist in front to the waist in back. It can be worn without a blouse and that's really why I bought it. The store also had many wool suits and spring coats reduced, but I saw a car coming and was anxious to get home. I'll get a good dress when your check arrives.
When I got home (drenched to the skin) I changed and brought Adele over from my mother's. I played with her a while and then washed a whole cellar of clothes. My mother's washing machine broke down and it's costing her some $50 to have it repaired. It amounted to a whole cellar, cause I also washed Diana's diapers, etc. As soon as I get home on Sats. my mother dashes down to her mother's place. What hectic lives we lead!
I don't think I mentioned that on Fri. your letters of June 13th and 15th came through and I'm really up-to-date now. I'm sorry you didn't like my D-Day report, honey, but I do know that I wasn't in a writing mood that evening and perhaps I didn't say all the things I meant to. I can't truthfully say and I was excited—I wasn't. It was a sort of anti-climax for me, as I knew it would happen when your mail failed to arrive. Besides that I knew it would take place in France. I had read a v-mail that someone had sent to Mr. First and in it he had said the following, "I am going to ----- classes, so that when we land I can talk to the ------ girls." The only words that would fit were French and France and it was a dead give away. Everyone, without a question was relieved that it had finally started, but, as I've said before, most people were aware of the price we would be called upon to pay and this more or less sobered them.
The bookkeeper in our place is most interesting and I'm a most tolerant audience. The other people in our place don't have time to listen to him, but whenever he talks I'm all ears. Phil, he actually went to school with Hitler, was tortured by the Nazis by having his fingers and toes broken and—I could go on and tell you many things he has told me. He told us that he is 57 years old, but I never would have guessed it. He is an Austrian Jew.
Last night after I had bathed and put Adele to sleep I started to press her many things. Dot called and I learned that Snuff was not taken again this time. It seems that they must call you within 90 days after your physical or they can't take you until you've had another physical. So—Snuff has to take another physical and wait to be called again. Lucky ain't he!
I don't know if I've told you or not, that Mom is still under Dr. Fischbach's care. She is sticking to a strict diet and has lost some weight. He is a wonderful doctor, young and good-looking in the bargain and married. He is so pleasant and takes his time at each visit. He has hopes of helping Mom's feet and legs. What's more, she's actually sticking to the diet, which is sumpin' for her.
When the doctor called last night I got to talking with him and asked him about Adele's feet. He told me to definitely look into it now, as 19 months is time enough. He recommended me to the same specialist Lil mentioned, but said that the doctor likes to make a fuss about everything little thing and that it would run me into a lot of money. He said they are very busy and there aren't many around. Dr. F. knows Dr. Rosenzsweig well, having interned with him. Betty gave me another idea. She told me to call the Red Cross and ask them what they could do for me in this respect. After all, servicemen’s wives and children are entitled to such care. I don't like the idea of starting up with the Red Cross, but I do intend to call them and inquire. If nothing can be done in that direction, then I'll go to Dr. Lefkoe. I may use the check you sent for that purpose, instead of getting a dress and shoes for Adele. I'll let you know what I plan to do later in the week, after I've called the Red Cross.
Adele has been sleeping fairly well, and has been behaving well, which all makes me very happy. Her legs and feet aren't that bad, but the idea that they aren't just so annoys me. However, it isn't going to annoy me much longer,
Honey, I just wish you could see your little girl. She's a regular darling, and her efforts at speech has improved by leaps and bounds. She drinks from a glass by herself (even gets insulted if I help her) and is making good progress eating alone. I put the food on her little spoon (she calls it a "poon") and she holds it very daintily between the forefinger and thumb of her right hand and then she shoves it into her mouth. For the first time since Adele was born, I'm actually beginning to enjoy her. I'm looking forward to this winter with great anticipation. When a child nears 2 yrs. they have passed the danger stage and the stage of minute care. And—I hope that maybe her daddy will rejoin us! Adele's hair is getting long and I can no longer make a curl in the center as I did before. Instead of making a curl, I twirl her remaining hair (after making a part on either side of her head) on top once, put a little beret in to hold it, and then arrange the rest into little curls. I merely fluff out the sides.
I learned today that Mayer Taylor came home the other night, having completed 50 missions. He will have a 30 days furlough. I saw him and he looks grand. It set me to wondering how you looked and when I'd see you. Phil, I'm sorry if I seemed selfish to you cause I worried about your safety, but what did you expect? Remember, I do love you and you are my husband ! I have a brother there too and I was worried for him, too. Sure I feel sorry about all the boys—my heart goes out to each and every one. A flash has come over the radio that Cherbourg has fallen and that today was an exceptionally bad one for Berlin.
I have much more to say, honey, but I hope you'll forgive me if I cut this short. Mom and I want to take in a movie, even though we are both very tired. It's about a month since I last went to a movie and there's a good picture playing—Cover Girl.
See you tomorrow, darling, but in the meantime I leave you with this thought—I love you deeply, baby and am
Your Eve
25–26 June 1944
Dearest Eve,
The double-date above is copied from your practice when you haven't had the opportunity to write the night before the morning after. Of course—you can't mind!
First, the reason I didn't write yesterday: I was just busy enough during the day to prevent it. In the evening I went with Klein on the Officers’ liberty run. There was no mail from you or anyone else to be answered, and Klein had been asking me if I wanted to meet some new friends he had made at the “bris.” It was a lovely evening, perfect for a ride to town—so I went along. The “bris” was a pretty “rough” affair according to Klein. Everyone got potted. Bert got sick watching the circumcision and, generally, a very merry time was had by all. Klien, who is no novice at the art of drinking is still feeling the after-effects. So you can imagine what a prodigious amount of “the hard stuff” they must have put away. On the whole, I was pretty lucky that I couldn't get out that night. (There's no telling what your usually well-behaved hubby might have done at such an affair!!?) After taking in a movie “We're in the Army Now” with Jimmy Durante, Phil Silvers, Jane Wyman and others, which was a very fast-moving and, at times, hilariously funny comedy—we went visiting.
The first people I met were a nice quiet couple in their middle thirties. They have a daughter of 14 months, whom I didn't get to see ’cause she was asleep. The wife’s sister, who looks about twenty-five, is on the stoutish side, and has a husband in the Canadian Army, lives with them in their small apartment behind their beauty-parlor, which seems to be very well equipped for this part of the country. They were very congenial and I enjoyed the half-hour we spent there.
Then we went to see the “Dees.” They have a rather large dress factory. A rather large apartment has been built into one wing of the factory. I don't know how many people are in the family. I only met the two Messrs. Dee and their wives. It was a rather odd scene we walked in on. Seated on the two place davenport was one of the brothers and his wife. At their feet lay a large mongrel of chow and collie derivation. They were talking to an American T/5, who sat in a chair opposite them and scratched the ears of a beautiful German police dog. His name is Bob—(the G.I., not the dog.) In another corner of the room, sat the other brother, quietly listening to the conversation without participating and absently stroking the long black fur of a cute Persian kitten. His wife sat in the other corner of the room. Perhaps the most surprising feature of the little tableau, was the profusion of musical instruments in evidence. In one corner was a shiny black instrument with piano keys. It looked like a spinet, only I couldn't perceive any space for the strings. When, puzzling over it a while, I asked what it was, they all looked surprised and said, “a piano, of course.” (Next time I'll take a good look—I still don't know where in hell the strings could be!) Lying beside the piano on the floor were two Mexican “bean shakers.” (I don't know the right name for them—but you know what I mean.) In the opposite corner, carelessly strewn about, lay an accordion, a guitar, a mandolin, and, I think, a banjo. Seems the whole family is musically inclined. The next time I visit, I hope to hear them play. When they learned I could play the violin, they promised to borrow one for me. They are a very lively bunch, have a great liking for fun of any kind (and jitterbugging in particular—can you imagine?), and promise to be the happiest acquaintances I have yet made. They are all in their late thirties, and all big and stout, except for one of the wives. It must be a picnic to see the four of them jitterbugging! I'm looking forward to my next visit with them.
Your letter of 16 June, containing the latest snaps of Adele and your V-mail of 17–18 June just arrived.
I agree with you, Sweet, that the punkin looks mighty “cute” and that she does look much older than her nineteen months. Yes, she looks every bit of three years old. What a delicious little bundle she is. But on one point I do not agree. She definitely does not have the short, bowed, “Strongin” legs. Maybe I'm crazy, but while I admit they are slightly bowed, (although not nearly as much as they looked in pictures taken just after she started to walk), they seem exceptionally long to me, in relation to her over-all height. As a matter of fact, these pictures reassured me rather than otherwise. I'm sure you need have no cause for alarm, Chippie. Her legs will be as straight and as lovely as your own. I'm convinced of it! I'm glad you think those two large curls on her forehead are cute—I don't. But then I never did care for curls at their prettiest. She is sweet, though, curls or no curls, and I'd give the world to be allowed to hold her—just once. Don't be too sure that I won't see her before her second birthday, either. There may be things brewing that you and I know nothing about or, to be more exact, things of which you know nothing, but which I have a hint of. I must warn you, Chippie, not to build any roseate dreams on this last. I just mean to point out that I can imagine circumstances that would allow me to be home for the punkin’s second birthday. So don't despair of such a possibility just yet, darling.
Diana Jean, no doubt, was as unprepossessing as any baby of two days, and I'm not surprised that you hinted she wasn't exactly a beautiful baby. Neither, for that matter, was our Adele (at least, I couldn't find anything attractive about her after a like period), but that doesn't mean that she won't develop into every bit as pretty a child as our own punkin.
Was that a thousand dollar bond Goldie's father presented to the baby, or did you accidentally stick another zero into the figure? If it was as written, then I can only say it was a most generous gesture on his part; nor do I wonder that Harry is all excited about it—who wouldn't be?
Baby, I think I know pretty well what has been in your mind here of late, and that gift, if I know you, didn't do anything to ease the “strain,” shall I say? You must feel pretty deeply aggrieved at the way the world in general, and U.S. Army, in particular, has been treating you. I can understand this attitude in you, Honey. It is a typically feminine one. For my part, I'm very glad for Harry and Goldie and Diana Jean. Nor is there any tinge of envy or bitterness to mar my joy in their good fortune. For you see, I still consider myself the luckiest, most fortunate guy in the world. Worldly goods in themselves are of very little concern to me. When I lose the reasons for aspiring to plenitude in the way of material things, only then will I feel any vestige of unhappiness. I don't have to tell you what those reasons are, you know full well. Your thinly-veiled hint that “there are so many things that (you'd) rather save ’til you see (me)” speaks volumes in itself. It tells me that all my suspicions as to your mental outlook are correct. More, it tells me exactly what's biting you. There's hardly the need to read between the lines. Those “things” you would rather “save” to tell me in person are not news to me. If you only knew the indifference I feel for those incidents that invariably aggravate you, because you attach an importance to them out of all proportion to their actual capacity to affect our lives in any way, you might begin to understand my reluctance to make an issue of them, now or later. Your conscience is clear, I know, darling. You have ever done your utmost for the welfare and convenience of my mother, my brothers and their wives. No one knows that better than I, and I love you for it. The fact that any outward evidence of appreciation or gratitude on their part is not forthcoming, or that the insincerity of such expressions are proved by their subsequent behavior, does not alter the fact that irritating as all this may be, it reflects in no way on you. For this reason, if for no other, you should be impervious to any hurt they intentionally or unintentionally inflict by their inconsideration for you and your interests. Do you think for a moment, Chippie, that I am unaware of the psychological difficulties you have incurred since, and because of my leaving home? Or that I am unmindful of their effect on your thinking. Rest assured, Sweet, that even had you never as much as hinted at these things, I would have known, or at least felt, the “atmosphere” there at home. You see, I know pretty well the people involved, their situations and circumstances, and the potential points of differences and discontent. Thus it is not too difficult for me to imagine the character of your grievances. But, Ev dearest, this much I must impress on you. True it is that you are very sensitive to moral injustices that I would either be ignorant of, if I were the recipient, or disregard as unimportant. The difference between us in this respect is due to your feminine regard for those things which I, man-like, don’t care a damn about. This is all very indefinite (intentionally so), but I think you will concede that I have a pretty good grasp of the things you imply, even if I am ignorant of the details. I wish, sweetheart, that I could help you out in this direction, but I think you realize that under the circumstances I am without the means to do so. I can, however, leave this thought with you: When you consider that you are being ill or unfairly treated, or taking taken advantage of, try to make allowances for the frailty of character in others, and learn to avoid their mistakes; even to profit by them in your dealings with others. Be proud that you are considerate of others, regardless of their own petty jealousies and animosities, snd however you may be ill-used, it will lose its sting in the satisfaction of knowing that you were the better character, because you wouldn't stoop to a like measure.
Don't envy anything in anyone. I don't care at all for the type of person who is mortified at someone else's good fortune, and bitter because it didn’t accrue to his own lot. Rejoice wholeheartedly and without reservation in a friend's good luck, and wish for him the things in life that you find good. Beyond that, think not at all of your friends’ affairs. Reflect on your own blessings that you wouldn't trade for anything else in the world, and be properly grateful for them. Those who take their blessings for granted soon find that, all unknowingly, they have permitted them to slip through their fingers. (All this philosophizing, too, has been as broadly set forth as possible, but you know that I know to what specific cases I refer and that I comprehend your trends of thought. Tread most cautiously then, my Sweet, when you come to me for sympathy. Understanding I can always guarantee you, but be very sure that you yourself are blameless when you seek to condemn someone else. I say, if you are blameless—if your own conscious is clear, you will have no need either for understanding or consolation. I have already explained why.
Once more, I must ask to be excused for “sermonizing,” Baby, I can easily see how it may be distasteful to you. But it is as much a part of my duty as a husband to let you know how I feel about certain issues as it is your wifely prerogative to reject and disagree with my views. So much for that!
You express some concern about the German robot planes. The truth is, Chippie, there is about as much chance of getting hit by one of these hit-or-miss projectiles as there is by a bomb dropped accidentally by one of our own planes. In either case, we think very little of the possibilities, and I assure you, worry even less. Does that re-assure you, darling?
Don't fret yourself, Mommy, that you couldn't reciprocate on the occasion of Father's Day. It is enough for me that I am kindly remembered. That much I feel I can count on.
Ethel’s idea that you will “present me with a son” after I get home is typical of her line of reasoning. I presume she feels that you owe it to me. That's silly, of course, but I just don't get the significance of your own remark at the time: “I said I wasn't sure, but it were a real long time since we got together—who knows?” Does that imply a lack of confidence in your own ability to reserve that decision to yourself— that resolutions arrived at in the cold light of reason will disappear in the fire of passions too long pent up? That's what it sounds like to me. Still, I know you better than to really believe that such might be the case. If your intention was to puzzle Ethel, and so evade the question, you couldn't have framed your answer better. The real meaning behind the remark certainly eludes me—unless it's the one I've guessed at. Would you care to enlighten me, Sweet?
The first paragraph of your V-mail informs me that you were readying a package of 5th Avenue bars for mailing. Glad to hear it, Honey, ’cause the Peanut Chews are rapidly becoming “all,” (as Red would say). Which reminds me that I haven't spoken of that worthy for some weeks now. That is because he has been on detached service with another company on the base here, and I see him but rarely as a consequence.
Sorry to learn that you weren't feeling well on the 18th. Waiting to hear that you snapped out of it O.K.
I'm wondering, Sweet, how you behaved in the midst of the recent festive doings at 4906, when your heart must have been over-full and your emotions stirred to such a pitch that you evince the desire, or need for, “a good cry.” I note that every time you were made aware of someone else's good fortune, you show a tendency to self-pity. You immediately start to talk “money.” As here: “Phil, I feel like a good cry. I've begun to realize how much of a break I've had when I found myself able to return to work. Someday, I'll tell you why, someday, when we can talk to each other.” That's what I love about you, Chippie, you're so subtle! At least you mean to be. I think I have already made it clear that I know what goes on there in spite of your very evident reluctance to name names. Envy is a thankless emotion at best, but when it has the power to cause you to feel a sense of personal affront, and to move you to self-pity, then I can only deplore your tendency to harbor it. Whether you choose to admit the fault or not, darling (it's not a nice thing I have charged you with), I know that I'm not misinterpreting the facts because I have noted the same reaction in you too often to be mistaken. In the spirit, then, in which it is given I want you to heed my advice to rid yourself of this emotion, which, if you don't recognize it for what it is, will cause you no end of unhappiness in time to come. It is a mean and selfish thing to live with and most unbecoming in one of your character and inherent fineness. Before you utter the instinctive protest, Baby, think long and hard and without bias of what I have said. Then tell me how you disagree and your reasons for begging to differ. I’d welcome a discussion on the subject, if it will help you straighten it out in your own mind. There are so many things that our minds are reluctant to put a name to. Writing about them imposes the necessity for naming them, and thus brings them into the light for examination, analysis, and correction. That is why I have such a clear insight to the workings of your mind, Baby. Your daily letters are an education that way. (Don’t let that prejudice you against writing, now!)
In conclusion, Baby mine (and it’s about time, don’t you think?), I want to reiterate my admonition to count your blessings (you have admitted to a few in the past), and to prize them above all things. Everything will then come right—you’ll see! I adore you, Ev, with a love born of mystery and increased by understanding. I never cease being mindful of, and grateful for, the fact that I am
Your loving husband,
Phil
P.S. My love to all.
P.P.S. The clipping proves that I am not the only guy in the world that thinks and feels that way.
P.P.P.S. I find it necessary to send this piece-meal. Hope they all reach you at once. Bye now!
Another routine day, mostly, and scarcely a thing of interest to tell you about. The weather has been lovely thru the greater part of June. Today was typical. The sun shone brightly, but without heat. The air is never quite still, and one becomes accustomed to seeing the red poppies swaying always in the constant breeze. The poppies strike me as being an apology for the wastefulness of men who let the tiniest piece of earth lie fallow. They adorn each uncultivated plot with their wind-blown redness. But before I wax poetic, I better get on with this.
For the second day, there was no mail. Oh yes, there was a D-Day midget edition of the “Bulletin", that Dottie was good enough to send along.
In the afternoon, having completed my work by 3:30, I left the Orderly Room to get some air and to stretch my legs a bit. I was walking down one of the paths, thinking about nothing in particular, when, bingo!—an idea struck me. So clearly was it perceived in that instant, that I immediately turned and went back to the Orderly Room to put it on paper. The whole thing is as inexplicable to me as it much be to you, Sweet, but the thing that puzzles me most is this: In that instant, that revelatory instant, I “saw" only the end of the incident I have set down, yet I was able to write it all from the beginning with hardly a pause to think of the prologue that fostered the denouement. I don't think it took me an hour to set it down, which is evidence of the completeness of the little scene in my own mind at the time of writing. I've let a few of the fellows read it, and they all reacted more or less enthusiastically. Sgt. Murphy even suggested submitting it to "Yank". Really, I’m at a loss for what to do with it. You see, it cannot be definitely placed in a specific category. It's certainly not a short story, or even a good short-short story. On the other hand I'm not particularly interested in submitting it to any editorial. A few of the fellows wanted to know what I mean to do with it. When I said "nothing, except maybe to send it home for my wife to read,” they wanted to know if that was why I wrote it. When I said no to that, they wanted to know why I did write it. I told them that it was just something that popped into my head unbidden, and liking the thought of it, I had put it down in writing. I'm afraid they neither believed nor understood that—and I can't very well blame them. Truly, as you may have gathered, darling, I’m not very clear about the whole thing in my own mind. One thing I am sure of, though, and that is that I must, someway, learn to write in a manner that will do credit to the things that are in my mind, especially these entirely spontaneous (even if they aren’t remarkable) spasms of “seeing" things. As you well know, darling, the phenomenon of “writing" or “reading” in my sleep is no longer new—it has happened too many times to be extraordinary. But it is only recently that these “flashes" have struck me in broad day-light, and complete consciousness. I have a theory about the whole business, but I won't go into that here. Suffice it to say that it is all very puzzling—and somehow, very wonderful. Anyhow, I am enclosing the fruits of my latest “visitation.” Although the incident is entirely imaginary I'd bet a pretty penny that it has actually happened (almost word for word) just as I have set it down. Next time you write to Jack N., send it along to him. It is the sort of thing he would appreciate. Tell him to return it, though, ’cause that and the original are the only two copies I have. You'll note that the first paragraph has been crossed out. That is, because, on second thought, the scene, while as true to life as anything I can imagine, is still not true of the majority of G.I.’s over here—(or if it is, I wouldn't want to be the one to point it out). It just struck me, Chippie, that on reading this, you'll be inclined to think i'm making much ado about literally nothing. Don't get me wrong. It's not the story itself that impresses me, but the strange circumstance of its conception. (Don't I find the damnedest things on which to waste my time, your time, and the Government's stationery and ink?)
Well, to get back to more mundane matters—because I was busy typing anyway, I agreed to take CQ until 11 o'clock for Sgt. Beppler. It is past that, now, and I'm wondering when he'll show. In the meantime, I'm way back there with you, my lovely. The mere remembrance of the feel of you in my arms, and me in your arms, is still enough to make my blood boil. As if that weren't enough, I must needs tantalize myself with remembrances of greater intimacies—whoa now! That's enough—! Seriously, though, Baby, it seems that the greatest (nay, the only) ambition I aspire to these days, is to hold you again, as I have in the past, in my long-desolate arms. The hunger I have for you, dearest one, has the quality of the hunger of a city-dweller for green vistas; the sewer-cleaners for the scent of roses, the blacksmith for the sweet song of violins; and more specifically, the male animal for his mate.
You will agree, my darling, that anything further I might say here would be in the nature of the grossest anti-climax. Therefore, I have no recourse for the moment but to kiss you good-night. I adore you, Ev (or had you gathered as much?). My tenderest love to my very own Adele. My love to all.
No mail today, and because nothing much happened today, I expect this will be a “shortie” (unless I happen to get "wound up" on something or other).
This morning, as I told you last night, I was supposed to make a trip with Lt. Toms. We were to start at nine o'clock. Eight o'clock found me all dolled up and ready to roll. I hung around the Orderly Room until Lt. Toms should call, or show up with a vehicle. At nine, he called to say there was a hitch in his plans, and that we would be delayed. It was 10:30 before I heard from him again. He came up to the Orderly Room to tell me that he had struck a snag—that the trip was cancelled for the time being. He promised, though, that we would make it within the next fifteen days. Needless to say, we were both very much let down. You see, Sweet, our way lay thru Stratford-Upon-Avon, which I don't have to tell you, is the birthplace and home of Shakespeare. One of our officers, Lt. Stultz, was there last week, and his enthusiasm for the loveliness of the "Shakespeare country,” and his description of the play he saw in the Memorial Theatre there, coupled with the fact that he loaned me a booklet describing the various things of interest to be found there; the life of Shakespeare; the origin and significance of the surrounding towns and hamlets, all made me want very much to visit the place. Lt. Toms, if anything, is fully as eager as I am to make the trip, and I'm sure he'll see to it that we manage it.
When I learned the trip was off, I changed back into my “working” clothes (my other O.D. uniform with field-jacket instead of blouse). The morning had been wasted preparing for the trip, waiting around, and changing clothes. Now it was lunch-time.
After lunch, I was called to the Finance Office to transcribe the pay-roll. Returning to the Orderly Room, I busied myself transcribing the payroll to the final copy (quadruplicate). This took the bulk of the afternoon.
This evening, the picture at the Base Theatre is Mae West in "Heats On "—one I don't care to see. So-o-o after I get near enough the bottom of this page to finish this in a dignified manner, I aim to grab some extra shut-eye that I missed out on last night on CQ. Look's like my letter to Mom will have to wait still another day.
My love to my niece's proud parents, and her grandmom.
I'm looking at the likenesses of my two adorable chippies smiling down at me from the shelf, and wishing very much that I could hold you both right now and show you (with motions) how very dear you are to me. Good night, my lovelies.
Your adoring dad and hubby Phil
June 23, 1944
Dear Phil:
Well here I am again. It seems to me that every time I sit down to write a letter, there is always one headed for “Cpl. Phil Strongin.”
I received your long letter of May 26th and I'm at a loss to explain it. First of all, there are five pages and on the fifth it ends in the middle of a word. There probably was another page, but I never got it.
There was a paragraph in your letter that I can't seem to make head or tail out of. I shall quote it for you and I would appreciate it if you would send me an answer pronto with an explanation. You have aroused my curiosity no end.
“If it weren't for the fear of being misunderstood, Dot, I would tell you of a curious experience, or rather an unprecedented and, seemingly, unwarranted emotion which was as definite as it was spontaneous, and as briefly experienced as it was inexplicable. This was back on Sansom Street, after I had known you but a few weeks. Almost, at the time, I could have sworn you were cognizant of the fleeting impulse—but lest I delude.... etc.”
I needn’t tell you that I shall be on pins and needles till I hear from you. I couldn't sleep last night thinking about it. You needn’t think I won't understand, as the friendship between us is such, (I think) that you needn’t fear any misunderstanding on my part or vice versa.
Now for some news on my doings. You probably received my letter written from Atlantic City telling you about our vacation. We really had a grand time and I won't waste your time by going through it all again.
Snuff leaves tomorrow and I'm amazed because I seem to be incapable of any pain at the thought of his going. I have lived through this moment innumerable times—each time his deferment was up. Maybe this is a good thing, because at least I can smile for his last days here. I shall shed my tears when he leaves, and you, being such a good friend will probably get the end of them on letters.
I really doubt it very much as you probably could use a broad shoulder to cry on yourself.
Spoke to Evvie last night and she apologized for not being able to come and say “so long” to Snuff. After all, what with working and Goldie coming home from the hospital today. I can readily understand the situation.
We have been spending these last two evenings home to give the relatives and friends an opportunities to say good-bye and good luck. “The war will be over soon and you'll be back home.” That's the usual wish for servicemen.
I must apologize for the way my letter is scrambled. That just gives you a picture of my mental state. I seem to be utterly mixed up in everything I do.
Hope to be able to send you some pictures of myself and the baby. Maybe before the war is over, huh?
Again, I must say that the news over here has really lifted the spirits of everyone here at home. The Jap fleet is out of hiding and we are really giving them a beating. Why do you think they came out of hiding?—Because they heard my wonderful husband was going into the Navy and they knew he would find them and knock hell out of them.
Enough of this nonsense and please let me hear from you soon. Please don't forget to let me know what you meant in your last letter.
As ever,
Dot
6-23-1944
Dear Phil:
Just received a letter from Ev and she tells me she has a letter for me from you. All I can say Phil, you sure take your time answering a very thoughtful cousin (that's me.) Phil, if I had to wait a few months or so, it would still be worth the thrill I get when it finally comes.
Phil, the news. I want to write about you probably heard from your beloved wife, Harry’s birth etc.; so you are so you see, Phil—my life at Belvoir isn't quite as eventful as yours.
There is really no camp news, except that I expect to leave Belvoir by the time this letter gets to you. The shed-house rumors have it that we're going to Ft. Custer to get M.P. training. As you probably know it is the M.P. R.T.C. (M.P. Replacement Training Center) Looks like I'll follow in Eddie's footsteps.
Phil, for some sentimental reason your mother wants me personally—to read your letter (to me) to her.
As long as her dear heart desires it, so shall her wish be fulfilled. That event will take place today.—My freedom starts at 5 P.M. tonight, and expect to be home at 9 P.M. After getting Emma, your home will be the first stop.
If Emma says it's a masterpiece of a letter, it must be. I really can't wait ’til I read it. Phil, I'll kiss your little one, and your mother, once for you and once for me—
PS. I'd kiss Ev for you, but maybe you wouldn’t like this and I'd hate to take chance hurting you.
Your loving cousin,
Phil
Page Missing
Begins with Page Two
you're about it, that she hasn't get answered my last letter.
My brief period of comparative inactivity will be ended tomorrow, 'cause I'll have to start compiling the Company History then. I'm hoping to make this one really worth-while. I have allowed myself five days for the job. It should be sufficient, even if I am sidetracked temporarily by other work.
Was reading the May “Esquire" when I chanced on a story by Milton Mazer, a doctor, Philadelphian, graduate of U. of P., now a lieutenant in the Medical Corps. It struck me he might be one of the Mazer boys who live across the driveway. On second thought, I'll send the clipping and his picture along. I'm curious.
I'm still waiting to hear from Lil. Has she recovered from her recent indisposition yet?
Does Jean ever write? How is Helen doing these days? What's new around the neighborhood—if any? How are the Frommers feeling these days? Is the punkin as fond of them as I am?
You said that Bob was singing at the Stork Club, but haven't told me anything since. I'd like to know how he's doing, what type of songs he is singing, to what accompaniment, etc. My love to the Liebermans next time you see them—and you still haven’t sent me their new address. Is "Link" still putting on weight? How are Barbara and Phyllis developing. I still don't believe Phyllis could possibly be prettier than "Bub."
You may tell Rae and Mickey for me that if they don't soon drop me a line, I'll change my mind about requesting them to send along some candy. (That oughta bring ’em around—don't you think?)
How is Paul behaving now that Stuart is the center of attraction? How often do Ben and Harry write? I haven't had an answer to my last letter to Limey, but am not surprised. He must be pretty busy these days.
How are Mom and Pop Paller getting along since he started on his new job? You must know, Chippie, how pleased I am that the cause for dissension between them has been eliminated.
Waiting to hear more about Diana Jean, Goldie, Harry, and company. Hope my letter to them was well-received.
Tell Dot her letter will follow soon. She has been kind in dropping me a line so frequently. Guess Snuff is really “in” this time. But I don't think it'll be too many months before he's home again. I don't have to ask you to keep in even closer touch with Dot, now that Snuff has gone, ’cause I know you will, anyway.
No questions about the punkin just a great big ache for her in my breast—And for you, too, my little—Chippie.
