Post #7 - May 19-20, 1941 A Token Gift and War Games

May 19, 1941

6:15 P.M.

Angel—

Surprise! Surprise!—or did you expect it? I wanted to be sure that there was something for you in this delivery of mail.

I haven’t much to report, Sir. After your departure I help Mom “clean up.” I changed into my green sports suit & went to the club with Jakie & Eddie. A few boys were playing ping-pong & Jakie & Eddie joined in. Having nothing to do, I just sat myself down & read a few magazines. While there I took the words of “Everything Happens to Me” in shorthand. It’s a very nice song. I like it. We left early and I was in bed by 10:30.

Arose at 7:45. Off to work. I don’t know whether to call it work because, for the first time, I didn’t have a single, solitary thing to do, except to answer the phone.

Mr. Jaffe (the lucky so & so) bought a ticket to a charity dance & won a free trip to Atlantic City—a weekend at the Ritz-Carlton—all expenses paid. Imagine! Boy, is that guy lucky! He asked me how you were & whether you had been in & various other things. He must have been feeling good for shortly after he had returned from lunch he called me in & said “Evelyn, here’s something for you. I saw it while I was out to lunch & thought you might like it.”

It’s a pin—a replica of your garrison cap that opens up like a locket. A small circular picture fits inside. He said “Now you can have a reminder of your husband with you all the time.” I thought it was a nice gesture on his part. Mom thinks the pin is adorable & wants me to buy her one. She also thought it was very nice of him to give it to me.

I called my mom & had a long talk with her. She will send you a letter shortly. Everyone at home sends their best regards. My father saw an automobile accident take place last night and helped to get the injured woman to the hospital—all of which prompted my mother to have me send you this warning. Be careful—at all times.

I really don’t know what to write. Nothing much has happened. I hope these few incidents aren’t uninteresting. I write these things just for the sake of writing to you, sweet.

If you find you are getting low on funds near the end of the week, don’t borrow, just write, & I’ll send you what you need. I still can spare a few more dollars, so don’t be afraid to ask for it. I want you to have it. I want you to have everything you need.

How’s the heartburn? How was the trip back? If you’re not too busy, dear, try to write to

Your loving wife,

“Ev”

P.S. I tried to send you a kiss but it didn’t come out so good.

P.P.S. I love you.

I think this one is better.

May 20, 1941

6:30 P.M.

My dear hubby:

How are your tootsies? I hope that hike wasn’t too tiresome. Honest, sweet, I think I can feel it too, believe it or not.

I almost mailed my previous letter without a stamp. I asked Harriet to walk me over to the mail fox and she noticed it. I didn’t do very much last night. Harriet & I kept each other company. Mom called the Browns. They had unexpected company from Baltimore Sunday so they stayed home. They were sorry that they could not see you, but will do their best to be here next time you are in. Sidney was also home. I was told to forward best wishes from all.

I called Mark today. I told him to stop around. I’ll also ask him to stop over some week-end when you are home. I’ll explain your circumstances to him and have him drop you a line every once in awhile. He was glad to get some word of your whereabouts. I thought it was a good idea to call him and arrange something in this manner. I hope I have’t gone against your wishes by doing this.

How are the chances for getting leave this weekend?

I did the funniest thing last night. I woke up, patted your mother’s arm & said “Are you alright dear.” I didn’t realize what I had done until I arose in the morning. Were you alright last night?

I have my Aunt Gussie a break & called her. She was more than surprised to hear from me. In act, everything I told her was a surprise. Here, again, I was told to forward best wishes.

I found the enclosed penny coming home from work. I am sending it to you—for luck. Hold on to it.

Mom received a card from the Customs House telling her to be there on May 26th as they want to help her obtain her citizenship papers.

It’s wonderful—the way I skip from one thing to another. I sit down to write—but find it difficult to make my letters interesting. I just jot down whatever enters my mind. I hope these “tidbits” will help to “brighten” your day. If you can take it, I can dish it out.

All’s well that ends well, so I am going to end this so-called letter with all my love to the swellest guy in the world.

“Ev”

Tuesday May 20 -7.30

My Dear Evelyn,

Received your most welcome letter. Don't ever suggest that your letters are uninteresting. They are always that. Even if they weren't, they'd still be the brightest spot of the day, Remember that!

It was very nice of Mr. Jaffe to give you such an appropriate gift. Convey my gratitude for his thoughtfulness, will you, Ev? Maybe someday soon I'll provide that little picture. The trip back here was uneventful and comfortable. We arrived with ten minutes to spare. Yesterday went pretty much as usual after Retreat (5 o'clock). So I wrote a long letter to Mark, since I had promised to do so before I left, and never quite found the time. Lil contributed a letter to "the cause.” She sounded somewhat nervous and distracted, but it was good to hear from her just the same. She is the one person beside you, my sweet, who has taken the trouble to write. If you see her, tell her I appreciate her thoughtfulness in writing to me. Maybe I'll find time to drop her a line soon. Tell her for me that the best thing she could do is - go home. Today was different to say the least. We were called on to repulse an enemy attack on Laurel (Harry knows where it is) - At eight o'clock A.M. we joined the column which, believe it or not, stretched seven and a half miles. So - we marched five minutes and stopped five minutes from eight to three thirty in the P.M. It was pretty tough work as it was very hot and we suffered a little because we were allowed only the water in our canteens, which was insufficient in the high temperature. About half past one the whole company fell out along the sides of the road and grabbed an hour's shuteye before we were called on to continue the march. Anyhow, we were pretty lucky, because the advance columns broke up the attacking forces and occupied our objectives, so we weren’t needed in the battle at all - being the reserve force. Consequently, we were sent back. Altogether we marched about eight miles - and believe me, those bar-racks looked mighty sweet when we returned, hot and tired and dusty and very, very thirsty. There was a great rush for the showers. After Retreat I took my bath and felt immediately refreshed. Right now - I'm feeling pretty good. I've already applied for week-end leave and expect to come in this week on the train (at reduced rate). I have $ 3.50 left of the $5.00 and I don't think it will be quite enough. So - if you can spare it - you might send me a coupla bucks. Why don't you call Sam's girl friend, Ev, and get acquainted - her number is Gra. 4658. Her name is Edna Glaser. She's expecting a call. Please write tomorrow, sweet. My love to everyone - kiss Mom for me - you know, I'm rather proud of Mom. I think you understand why. So long, sweet.

Your lovin' husband
Phil

Post #6 - May 13 & 14, 1941 A Mother’s Day Party and the Tribulations of Basic Training

May 13, 1941

6:30 P.M.

My dearest Phil:

Two weeks gone—50 more to go. Not too bad. How are you feeling & how was the trip back? Don’t bother to write me, if you are coming in this week-end.

I suppose you are wondering if you have time, what has happened these past 48 hours. When the bus left, Marcelle’s brother drove me home. I ate and got “fixed up.” Mom, Jakie & I went up to Jake’s club for the Mother’s Day affair. It was very nice. Upon entering we were given a fresh white carnation. (The boys asked me if they should consider me a mother). By the way, I looked exceptionally well and all the fellows asked Jake where he met me. He told them that I was “just his sister-in-law.” The boys gave an impromptu show (rehearsed a half hour) which wasn’t bad. It made us laugh and, believe me, it was what we all needed. After the show card tables were set up and Jake & I got a few ladies together at one of the tables with Mom & she had a lovely time. Ice-cream, cake, pretzels, soda & other refreshments were served. There was dancing, so I danced with Jakie. I felt like a child. All the girls up there must be at least 21 and over. Eddie’s date (Harriet) was crazy about my blue sheer dress and she thought it was very different & expensive. Was she surprised. I also wore my white fur jacket.

We left at 10:45, taking a block of ice-cream with us. We put the ice-cream into a glass & poured Pepsi Cola over it. It made a delicious ice-cream soda. Try it sometime.

Monday night Mom wanted to go to the movies, so Mom, Jakie, Harriet Greitzer, & I went to see “The Lady Eve.” It was a very light, entertaining comedy. I think you might like it. Everyone but Mom did.

My cold continues to “hang on.” This morning, when I arrived at the office, I blew my nose slightly. All of a sudden blood gushed forth. It was a very violent nose bleed—something I have never had before. I probably irritated the tissues or membranes by blowing my nose so often. It’s nothing to worry about.

Incidentally, on our way to the movies, we past a hat store. In the window there was a striking white felt hat perched at a daring angle on the mannequin’s (is that how it’s spelled) head. It is a military style with a dashing & very fluffy black feather arranged so that it practically resembles a drum majorette’s. It cost just $1.98, so I bought it. It’s a “killer.” Wait till you see it on me.

All day long I try to picture you—where you are & what you are doing at that particular moment. Monday night I sat alone in the parlor from 7:30 to 8:30 thinking about you. That’s probably why Mom suggested the movies.

I’m looking forward to seeing you this week-end. If you can’t make it, let me know as soon as possible & I will come to see you. I love you sweet. Always remember that. I still have that frightened feeling. I guess I always will—while there’s a week between us. Everyone sends their love.

Your Chippie—“Ev”

May 14, 1941 5:50 P.M.

Dearest Evelyn,

No doubt you'll be surprised to hear from me again so soon, but I find that my mind is more at ease when I know there is a letter on the way to you. Moreover, it may encourage you to write more often. The occasional letter I receive from you is the bright spot in an otherwise drudging day. We receive mail twice a day, and al- though I may receive a letter in the morning, when the afternoon mail is given out, I hope against hope that there may be one for me. I know it's silly, but still I feel let down when there's none for me. Your letter, which I received this morning was more welcome than you'll ever know. Was glad to hear that you enjoyed yourself at the B.A.J. party. Tell Jackie I appreciate the way he is taking care of you and Mom. That hat must be a "lulu". I can't wait to see it. By the way, how's Harry behaving? And how is the budget working out? Does Mom have hough money for the week? To all appearances, I won't be able to send much of anything in the way of money, unless I give up coming home week-ends. I hope I don't have to, as looking forward to the week-end at home is all that keeps me going. Besides, after the 13 week training period here, I don't think I'll be able to get home at all for the next for 5 months. So please bear with me, sweet, if I spend my money for train fares. I'm asking leave every week-end while I can still get home—there will come a day when I'll no longer be able to. Of course, there will be week-end now and then when I won't be able to get leave, but that can't be helped. On those occasions, you might visit me. Yesterday was a killer. We had our first bayonet drill and practiced throwing grenades in addition to our regular drill, exercise & instruction. When we got back to barracks, I was pretty well exhausted. But that wasn't all. Immediately after chow (when we were supposed to be off) an order came through. We had to rush like hell to pack (Blankets, raincoat, toilet articles, underwear, etc.) for a bivouac and hike. We were told we were to start at 6.30, but at 5.45 we were called out. Luckily, I had a premonition and was fully packed. Most of the fellows were about half through, but they had to turnout anyhow. They managed somehow to throw their stuff together and get out, but when they were called on to march "on the double," you should have seen the conglomeration of stuff strewn over the ground. The rest of us had our hands full picking it up and getting it back to the owner. Finally after marching about a mile, we parked on a large flat and fell to pitching our tents. We had to unpack all the materials we had so painstakingly packed just a half hour before. By the time we finished pitching texts (2 men in each) and laying out our under-wear, gas masks, toilet articles, etc, etc., it was dark. Then some officers inspected the layout and we got busy tearing down the tents and packing them and the rest of the stuff. By that time it was pitch dark. We assembled and stood waiting for perhaps 20 minutes. Then we began to march. Can you picture it? There we were in a darkness so deep you could only see the man in front of you; tired as hell, dusty, and generally miserable. The darkness was so complete that every few minutes I banged into the man in front of me whenever he stopped. The man to my rear bumped me and so on down the line. So - we marched what seemed an interminable time. Finally—about 10.30 P.M. we arrived at barracks completely knocked out. What a day!! I thought it would never end. By the time I pushed myself between the sheets, it was about 11, We were awakened at 5 A.M, and we were a bunch of dead ducks. All day today I had to push myself to do anything at all—I felt so weary. It was even an effort to sit and listen to the instructors. I would gladly have given a month's pay to have been able to lie down and sleep. But—all's well that ends well. Today we at least have the evening to ourselves. I'm feeling better now—except for a sore left arm, (the last shot was the given us today) thank God! After finishing this I’m going to take a shower and hit the hay. I expect to be home this week-end, baby, so keep your chin up and show everybody how pretty you smile. Please write at every opportunity, sweet, I love to hear from you and I love you. Spread it around to the rest of the family will you, sweet? There's certainly enough to go around. Just save some for your ever-lovin' spouse

Phil

Post #5 - May 8, 1941 Planning a Family Visit to Ft. Meade, MD

May 8, 1941

7:10 P.M.

Dearest Phil:

Why haven’t you written? We are all worried about you. You should at least drop us a card so that we would know that everything is O.K. We don’t know what to think.

I have wonderful news. The Browns just called & said that they would take Mom & I down to see  you Sunday. We told them about the Wymans and they probably felt sorry for us. At any rate, sweet, we’ll be on our way at about 8, Uncle Nish, Tante Bosh, Bea, Milton, Mom & myself.

I called the Greyhound Bus Lines & it costs $3.15 to go directly to Ft. Meade. The train trip costs $2.75 & then you take a bus, which amounts to more, to get to Fort Meade. It’s rather expensive. The whole family could go for the same money, if we had a car. I think soldiers are entitled to a reduction, so it would be cheaper for you to come home, if & when you can.

I had a surprise visit from Lena Tucker & her beau, Heshy. They were engaged & are going to be married Aug. 31. They plan to take an apartment around here.

We are going (I just sneezed) to have company this week-end in the form of Mr. & Mrs. M. Gutkin & Mr. & Mrs. (Anne) Carl Fuhr. They are coming in on Sat. at 1 o’clock.

I forgot to mention in my last letter that my mother “hit” again for two cents.

Your Mom just interrupted me. She says that you should answer immediately so that we can be sure about Sunday—whether everything is alright the way we plan it. We will definitely be there Sunday, unless you write to the contrary.

Jack has been seeing quite a bit of Evette & makes no secret of his feelings for her. He says she actually told him that she likes him, very much. Maybe, huh?

Harry has been acting a little better of late. He says he will be afraid to go near you when you get back—you’ll be so strong & powerful.

Mom is her usual self. Just worries all the time.

Maybe if you wrote her just a few lines she would feel better. (She claims she’s jealous that you are all mine now.) Are you? Gee, I miss you, baby. It seems like a year since I last saw you. Every day, in some way I remember  you. I am either quoting you or imitating you or sumpin’. You seem to be in my blood.

I hope my letters aren’t boring as very little happens around here for me to write about. But, at least I write. Please, dear, even if it is just a card, but write + (shorthand period)

Love from,

Your wife,

“Ev.”

P.S. Everybody has been asking about you.

Post #4 - May 5, 1941 Evelyn’s Normal Life With Family & Friends During Philip’s Initial Training

Monday, May 5

7:00 P.M.

Dear Sweetheart:

“I hardly know how to start this letter.” The pen I am using is lousy, to say the least. (The  one my mother gave you). All I can really do is to repeat what you wrote in your lengthy & very, very interesting letter. I miss you terribly. You are at least kept busy, but I am not, not even at work. All I do the whole day through is think of you. (A poet, even if I have to say so myself). I never could lie about my feelings (especially to you) so I won’t now. I cried & cried & cried & cried. Mom never saw me crying, only Jackie. I didn’t sob, I just cried softly. That is how I spent Tuesday. How I ever got through the day I’ll never know (damn pen), but I did. Tuesday evening I came home, all tuckered out. Mom & I got dressed & decided to go to the movies. We stopped at the Wyman’s & never did quite make the movies, even though we wanted to go every night last week. Wednesday morning I woke up expecting to see you beside me. You can probably imagine how disappointed I felt. I was empty all over & didn’t eat a thing all week. I am now down to 110, but since the good news that you were to be stationed nearby came, I have begun to pick up weight & resume a normal life. Wednesday night Harry, Mom & I took a ride up to North Philly to pick up Tante Shush & Rae, who were at Ethel’s. They dropped me off at 8th St. & I visited my folks & Helen. They picked me up later in the evening & so to bed.

Thursday night I didn’t do a thing except sit, which also goes for Friday. When I received your cards, they made me feel even bluer. I couldn’t help but feel that you were homesick & lonesome.

Ann was surprised to learn that you were in the Army. You should see Ann’s place. They had parlor set covers & curtains made to match & the place looks like a palace. I went to the drugstore with Ann & while there I met Mickey’s sister, who suggested I stop over. As both Helen & Ann were going out & I didn’t want to be alone, I went over. I found out (from her mother, whom I chatted with for a while) that Mickey just recently got a job in a chiropodist’s office as a nurse for $18. Some people have all the luck. I left Mickey’s at 9:30 & went home, but all the kids & my mother were out, so I started for home. Earlier in the evening I telephoned home & said I would come home that evening, but didn’t say when. Your mother went to the Brown’s with the rest of the family. Sidney was in & the Brown’s were taking him to New York Sunday, so everyone went there Sat. night. I got home at 10:30 & was in the house all alone until 12:00 when Mom came home. I just can’t tell you how lonely I felt because I can’t find words descriptive enough. Mom trys [sic] hard not to leave me alone & I do likewise. We have been getting alone [sic along] swell & enjoy each other’s company. (This pen is really awful, it just scratchs [sic]). We went right to bed. I got up about 12:00 on Sunday & helped Mom about the house until 3:00 when Bob, Lena, Yale, my sister & the kids came. (We put the covers on the set, but they don’t help very much).

I hadn’t gotten dressed as I had expected to bathe first. I was wearing my green pajamas & my robe. Bob commented & he also did something which I never really thought he had “guts” enough to do. (I’ll explain when I see you.) Immediately after their arrival I bathed & dressed. Everyone left the house & went to the Wyman’s. I was alone again. That old feeling. A few moments later Bob walks in & says “Your old man is on the phone at Wyman’s.” I didn’t believe him but nevertheless I started over. Then he shouted, “Hurry up, what the h— do you think it is, it’s costing that guy a fortune.” So I ran like hell. Your voice was like a tonic. It made me feel good & I felt happy & contented for the first time in days. I wrote you a postcard Sunday night, but I don’t know if you’ll get it as the address was too general. Bob is getting a 1932 Studebaker, if his plans work out. When he does he promised me faithfully that he would take me down to see you. Jack was out in Upper Darby Sunday with the fellows & tells me that “our home” has attained a one-story height. We’ll probably have to make our selections for wallpaper, etc. shortly. I’m so happy about that, that I want to scream it from the rooftops. Gee, darling, if you were only home for good everything would be complete. I adore you, Phil. I just can’t wait until I can get myself encircled by your arms. Once I get you I don’t think I’ll ever let you free again. Sunday night Jack took me up to his club. (I hope you aren’t angry.) It’s very nice there. No one was there at the time but Eddie & another drip, who were playing ping-pong. Jack & I played all the popular recordings, played darts & played ping-pong. We even jitterbugged a little. Later in the evening (about 10:00) we went home & Mom, Jack & I each had a box of ice-cream. Umm was it delicious. I couldn’t help thinking about you, sweetheart. That was one time I would have gladly given  you some. Monday night after work I took your letter into the Wyman’s & read it to everybody, but there were certain parts which I omitted. It is now 8:10 & I am still writing. How come you are in the Infantry is what everyone keeps asking. Well, how come? Your mother was disappointed to learn this, but we talked her out of her bad feelings. Incidentally, both Harry’s were in Baltimore this past Sunday & nearly died when I told them that you were there. They even rode past Ft. Meade. They went to Baltimore to visit some friends. About my visiting you. I’ll come every week even if no one else does. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away from my hubby. I’m making plans to have the gang out Sunday & will let you know definitely before the week is up. I’ll write every day, even if it is just a card. I also heard ”Intermezzo” at the same time you did. I sort of felt you there & actually expected to see something to the effect in your letter. You never let me down, do you? I love you so much for it. You seem to touch the right spots,—if you know what I mean. You’ve certainly gone through plenty. You must feel like a real man now, Pvt. Strongin. Write every day, will you? I always look forward to receiving some mail when I get home from work. I’m glad you’ve made acquaintances. They will at least keep you busy. Mom, the boys, the Wymans, the Pallers & everybody sends their love. I’ve enclosed a print of my lips, until I can replace it with the real stuff. 

Lovingly yours,

“Ev”

Post #3 - May 12, 1941 - The Beginnings of Basic Training at Fort Meade, Maryland

May 12,—8 P.M.

My Dear Ev,

Bathed, shaved, and ready for bed, I am now at liberty to write, and believe me, after the dust and sun and toil of the day it feels swell to be fresh and clean and able to relax long enough to write. We rolled into camp about 11:30 and hit the hay immediately. One fellow was "short sheeted", which means that someone folded his bottom sheet in half. You can imagine his discomfiture when he tried to stretch out. For a few moments there was bedlam in the barracks, what with his cursing a blue streak and everyone else in stitches. Things finally quieted down and the last thing I remember was tucking my feet beneath the sheets. I must have fallen asleep before my head touched the pillow—I was really knocked-out. We were up at 5:15 (base time) and the same old grind was taken up once more. Rush like hell to get dressed in time for Reveille—rush to get “chow” before it was all gone—rush some more to get ready for the field-hike to the field-calisthenics, instruction on the B.A.R. (Browning automatic rifle)—extended order drill—back to barracks for chow, back to the field, more instruction—close order drill—more extended order drill, tactical maneuvers, etc, and back to barracks at 4.45; more chow (the meat was absolutely inedible). Everyone raised the roof about it. It was “beef hearts” or something equally gruesome and so tough we damn near broke our knives on it. We couldn't even begin to chew it, let alone digest it. However, there was also Coffee, Spinach, tomato sauce, bread pudding & syrup (which I spread on the bread and had with my coffee. Tonight there is a minstrel show at the movie house, but I’m passing it up for a chance at a bath and shave, and the privilege of writing to you, my sweet,

I really appreciate it when I have some free time in the evening. Tomorrow we don't even have the evening free, as we are leaving on a hike at 6.30 P.M (imagine). We are to hike out some place, erect pup tents, tear them down and hike back again. We are due to return 10.30 P.M. So you can see, Ev, that I'll barely have time to blow my nose, let alone write. However, I'm trying hard not to complain, although it is a pretty tough proposition. As you know, I just can't gripe about something that can't be helped. I didn't like the whole business from the very first, but my fatalism is beginning to assert itself, and I don't get upset about anything anymore. As a matter of fact, I'm feeling better and better each day, both physically and mentally and I'm beginning to feel deep down that I'll be able to endure anything that may be in store for me with equanimity. I take great comfort, sweet, in the fact that those nearest and dearest to me are well and comfortable. As long as they continue that way, nothing in this wide world can cause me any worry or hold any terrors for me. So it's up to you, Ev, and Mom and Harry and Jackie to keep things rolling. My greatest anxiety is that my absence may cause any of you any hardship. These aren't merely words that are meant to sound pretty. It's the plainest way I know to tell you that as long as you all are well and happy, so am I, and vice versa. It was more wonderful to see you all again than you'll ever be able to appreciate. I can hear you all talking and saying that I seemed a little strange while I was with you - that I seemed subdued, perhaps, or a little reticent. I just couldn't help myself. The desire to absorb as much of the atmosphere of "home" and all the word implies; the warmth that comes to one in the midst of his family, was too great to resist. In a word, I was too busy "feeling" to talk or think much. So please excuse me, everyone, for being a little selfish. I especially want to apologize to Mom (I hardly had two words with her). Ev dear, you know exactly what I felt and what I'm trying to convey here. See that Mom understands, will you? About this week end—it's too early to say, but the chances are 50-50. Kiss Mom for me, Ev. My love to all—and next time I visit you, I hope to be the same old

Phil

9:10 P.M.

Post #2 - July 5, 1940 NYC; Wedding and Honeymoon, March 20, 1941; and Deployment to Camp Lee, VA, May 1, 1941

As far as I can tell, these few pages are the earliest in my collection and begin with my newly-engaged mother taking a trip to New York city to meet some of my father’s friends and family ahead of her March 20 marriage and subsequent honeymoon, again in NYC. I will try to present the letters from now on in chronological order a few at a time, although I still have boxes and boxes of letters that I have not been through yet.

July 5, 1940

New York

Dear Mother:

How are you, dad, bubby & the kids; also Lucky. We had a very nice ride in. It poured in the morning, but Phil’s brother drove us to the station. We made a stop on the road & had breakfast.

The minute we were in New York, Jack, Phil’s boy-friend dragged us in town & we saw a swell show. Phil introduced me to all his relatives and friends here in New York.

Today I wore my green dress & white accessories & we went to Radio City Music Hall & saw “All This & Heaven Too.” Phil bought me a beautiful compact & comb set. It’s really beautiful. I found a dime. We went with Jack to his laboratory where he develops pictures & Jack, Phil & I took one picture & then one of me alone. Jack used flash bulbs. Phil bought me all the cosmetics I needed also. Mrs. Nerenberg is swell as is everybody else. I have a bed all to myself. It’s Mrs. Nerenberg’s. She insisted upon my sleeping in it & I haven’t done a stitch of work. She won’t let me. I’ve been eating much better than usual.

I don’t think I’ll be home until sometime next week. I hope you won’t mind. I don’t know exactly what day. We intend going to the fair tomorrow.

Everything happens so quickly that I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.  I’m writing hurriedly; that’s why my writing is so poor.

New York is simply marvelous. I love it here. I saw the Empire State Bldg. which is the second largest building in the world.

All day yesterday there were fireworks & lights everywhere you went.

I’m glad I took my nicest things to wear. Phil as been showing me a wonderful time. It’s something I’ll never forget. Give my love & regards to all.

Evelyn

P.S. How’s Nick? Write soon.

Post #1 - October 23-26, 1943 - London Pass and Tchaikovsky at Royal Albert Hall

Among my most treasured physical possessions are three large plastic cartons containing thousands of pages of letters, written between the years of 1940 and 1945, between members of my family, especially between my mother and father. My father was eventually stationed with the 108th Air Force in England somewhere near London sometime in August 1943. His role was merely clerical, probably because his father had died of diabetes at a very young age, and he and his two brothers were the sole support of their mother. My father was the eldest (28 in 1943) and I think some consideration was given to him to place him in a less dangerous situation than those who were sent into combat. He was always appreciative of that fact and although the forced separation of this newly-married couple weighed heavily on them, they steeled themselves for what they suspected would become a long-term, world-changing event that they hoped and dreamed would lead to a better life.

They both wrote about their experiences in vivid detail, both being excellent writers, and I have spent many hours trying to read and scan all these letters. Now, during the Covid 19 quarantine, I have found more hours to pore over their letters than I have in the past, but have barely begun to make a dent.

I began this new blog in the hope that there might be those out there who would be interested in reading the day-to-day details and tribulations of life during WWII for two reasons. One is that, in reading through these letters, I have developed an appreciation for the sacrifices made by the previous generation in this, our period of social distancing. The second is that scanning all this material is a colossal job, and if I knew that there were lots of people out there who were interested in reading them, a few at a time on a daily basis, I would be more inclined to keep at it.

So to pique your interest, I have decided to present one of my father's letters to introduce him to you so that you can understand the quality of his writing. Many of the letters are much shorter and full of mundane details, but there are also many like this one.

To enlarge the pages of the letter so that they are legible, click on the first page. This will allow you to enlarge for reading and will provide access to the other pages along the bottom of the screen.

23 Oct. 1943
Hotel Imperial

Eve, dearest,

London again. Arrived last night about seven o’clock, and this is the first chance I have had to write. Directly on arriving, I headed, as is becoming my custom, for the Turkish Baths, and enjoyed them just as much as the other times. I indulged this morning to the extent of sleeping ’til ten, at which time I arose, dressed, and took the Underground to Leicester Sq., which is my “hangout”; mainly because the Eagle Club (where one gets all he can eat for sixpence) and most of the Theaters are nearby. Finishing a breakfast of griddle cakes, coffee and pie, I relaxed in the Lounge of the Club in a big green-leather chair while I read your latest letters (Oct.2-3 & 4th) over a few times. Mom’s letter arrived, in the same mail, and while I had a little difficulty reading her writing, I managed to decipher it. Please give her my love and tell her I’ll write soon again. Tell her I have already written twice to Jack. I have a pretty good idea why we haven’t heard from him. Tell her, too, that when she answers my next, she’s to use lined paper and to write as plainly as possible. The letter of the 4th contained the two snaps of the “punkin” and I think she looks just  scrumptious. However, I don’t think you should bother to make a colored enlargement of the rocking chair picture—it isn’t quite sharp enough. Besides, I like her better in the other one (in Gloria’s arms). By the way, when do I get a few good snaps of you, Honey? Before I leave the subject—I know 10 or 20 dollars is a lot of money to spend on pictures, but $50 is much more—and I’m surprised you missed the point. I’m surprised, too, that you could even think that I would offer money I didn’t have. I had intended to send the $50 along anyway (pictures or no) but since you are skeptical, well, I’ve decided to hold out for the picture. Now do I get it, or don’t I? Remember—it must meet specifications: A miniature, or 4 x 6, 3 x 5, by Clair Pruett—no substitutes accepted. It just occurred to me—if you show some of my letters to the photographer, so that she can see how much this means to me—she might condescend to make a special effort. To get on—after I had my fill of looking at the pictures and reading your letters, I went upstairs to the barber-shop, where I got clipped, shaved and shampooed. I had seen a bill-board announcing the final concert of the London Philharmonic for the very  afternoon, and I had determined to hear it. So, having gotten cleaned up, etc. and feeling like a new man, I took off for the Hans Crescent Club to reserve a seat. When I got there, I found they had returned all their tickets to the box-office. Unwilling to waste a minute—fearful that I might not be in time to get a seat, I hopped into a cab and went to Albert Hall. To my great relief, they were still selling tickets, and after fifteen or twenty minutes in queue (line to you), I got my ticket—and a damned good seat too—just where I wanted it. It was now 12:30 and the concert was scheduled to start at 2:30. The rain and fog of the morning had already given way to bright sunshine, and I wandered out into it. Directly across the the Hall is the Monument to King Albert. It is an imposing edifice some six or seven stories high, of stone and gold leaf and colored pigments. I am not usually impressed by monuments, they leave me cold. But this one is truly awe-inspiring and eye-filling. In letters of gilt, beneath the cornucopia, extending all ’round the four sides is inscribed: “Victoria and her people—to Albert, who devoted his life to the good of humanity.” To tell the truth, I couldn’t begin to do it justice with mere words—one would have to see it to appreciate it. In short, the Memorial to Albert is really “sump’n.” Definitely a fitting entrance to the large park that rolls away from three sides of it, the fourth fronting on the Avenue. Anyway, I stood in front of Albert Hall and contemplated. I had two hours to kill before concert time and was wondering how to use them to the best advantage. The park across the way was fresh after the rain and filled with warm sunlight, so I decided to take a walk. It was very peaceful, and the colorful autumn foliage was a joy to the eye, and I missed you very much just then, my darling. I wanted so very much for you to share with me the beauty and contentment to be found in the park, that I sat down on one of the benches, fished a pencil from my pocket, one of your letters from another pocket, and on the back of it, composed the enclosed “epic.” It’s no literary gem, but it serves the purpose I had in mind as I wrote it: To give you, my Sweet, an insight to what I was thinking and feeling at the time. I hope you like it, Baby. (I typed it—for easier reading.) When I finished it was 1:45, and since the doors were to open at 2, I strolled back to the Hall. Well, Chippie, that was a concert I shall never forget. The Hall was packed, as usual, and full fifty per cent of the audience were in uniform, of every rank, of every country, of both sexes. The program, you will notice, started with the “Phantasy” of Francesca Da Rimini, a work I had never heard heretofore, but beautiful in its exotic, barbaric colorfulness. Fistoulari is the most graceful, dynamic, dramatic conductor it has ever been my pleasure to behold, with the possible exception of Stokowski. Like the latter, he used no score, and yet, his control of the Orchestra was perfect; his interpretation gratifying to the most fastidious music-lover. Jean Pougnet, who was the soloist of the afternoon, is the concertmeister of the orchestra, and his Concerto was very stirringly and capably executed. His tone rich and full, suffering no loss of emphasis in the chords. His bowing in an extremely difficult composition—flawless. But perhaps his greatest attraction was in his personality itself. Tall, with the physique of a football player and the face of a movie idol, his only condescension to his art being his bushy light brown hair, which stood almost straight up from his broad forehead. Definitely a feminine heart-stopper. I watched a few of the gals nearby as they listened—absorbed, and, as one, their hearts were in their eyes. It looks could eat, there wouldn’t have been a crumb left of him. After the intermission—the “Pathetique” Symphony of Tchaikovsky. I’ve heard this many times, but never was I thrilled by it like I was this time. Fistoulari outdid himself in this one, literally squeezing out the last dregs of feeling in a symphony that runs from pathos to exhilaration—and back again. The Orchestra was superb, simply because it followed to the nth degree, every move of Fistoulari’s inspired baton, arms and hands and body; (he leads with everything he has) he almost dances the music. The “Pathetique” to my mind, is just about the most exciting symphony ever written, and it was so perfectly played that I was emotionally drunk when I floated out of the Hall after the concert.  In a semi-daze, I made my way to the Eagle Club to feed the body. I sat down at a corner table in the restaurant and waited for service. Before the waitress could get to me, two Canadian soldiers (Streamer and Junior) strolled over to ask if they could share the table. I was only too glad for their company, I’ve been so lonely. They turned out to be swell company and swell fellows. We talked of everything from soup to nuts. After dinner we decided to take in a movie. The only thing around Leicester Sq. that I hadn’t already seen was “So Proudly We Hail,” so we settled for that—and weren’t a bit sorry. It’s a very good show—if a bit over-dramatized. Paulette Goddard, as usual, is very good—and very cute. Veronica Lake is a revelation with both eyes exposed, and does a bang-up job of acting. Claudette Colbert is her customary capable self, but isn’t given much chance to show her charm. Hers is a straight role and just not worthy of her talents. Then, after the show, wandering around in the Blackout, hardly able to see the pavement, we decided to get drunk—if possible. Whiskey is very scarce in England, and you’re pretty good if you can find enough of the “hard stuff” to get high. Well, we would up in the lounge of the Russell Sq. Hotel, where we found a waiter who was willing to bring us liquor in single shots, as long as we continued to tip him sixpence with each round. To make a long story short, he (the waiter) had collected six tips, and we had had six drinks of very good whisky apiece, when Junior decided it was time for bed. I felt as if I had had six glasses of water, and was unwilling to see them go, but they had to be at their club by midnight and they had a long way to go. Regretfully, we said good-night, not before, however, arranging to meet the following morning at the Eagle Club. I saw no point in drinking all by myself, so I decided to find a room for the night. The Liberty Club, where I was supposed to stay, was a stranger to me, and I was in no mood to go looking for it in the Blackout, so I tried the desk at the Hotel. They were full-up, so I went next door to the Imperial Hotel. After the clerk had satisfied himself that I had no woman with me, and after I promised that there would be none that night, he kindly consented to let me have a room. The room itself was neat and clean, but the special feature was the bed. I took one glance at the foot-thick inner-spring mattress, and patted myself on the back for being one helluva wise guy. To add to the pleasant prospect, it was just as soft to the touch as it was pleasing to the eye. I removed my blouse and decided a trip to the water closet (toilet) was in order, so I went across the hall to the W.C. When I came back and tried the door, I found that I had locked myself out. Luckily, I had only removed my blouse—and nothing else, so I was able to go down to the desk and explain my predicament to the clerk. Evidently it was a commonplace occurrence to him, for, without a word he waved me to the lift, took me upstairs, and unlocked the door. I shudder to think what might have happened if I had disrobed a little more fully. I’d probably have had to spend the night in the W.C. dreaming, no doubt, of that soft, luxurious bed just across the hall. Br-r-r-r! Once again in the room—I was surprised to realize that I wasn’t a bit sleepy, although it was now well past midnight. So I fished another one of your letter out of my pocket, parked it on the writing table, and proceeded to write a letter to you on the blank side. [Which reminds me—is stationery so plentiful that you disdain to use both sides?] I had written the first two pages of this (recopied) when the six shots proceeded to make themselves felt. I suddenly became very drowsy, so I lay down my prn, undressed, and, with a sigh of contentment (to be sure), and a great deal of longing for my Chippie (but certainly), I crawled between the sheets. (The first since August 5).—And did they feel good! The next thing I knew, a chambermaid had unlocked the door to inform me that if I didn’t get up pronto I would miss breakfast. That thought didn’t appeal to me a little bit ’cause I was famished. I scrambled into my clothes, down the stairs, and into the dining room—and guess what I had for breakfast? Right! Scrambled eggs! Of course there was also sausage, stewed tomatoes (ugh!), oatmeal, and coffee. My date with Streamer and Junior was for 10 to 10:30 A.M. I arrived at the Eagle at 10:15. They had already eaten, so we adjourned to the lounge. We sat around for about an hour reading the encouraging news from Russia, and generally taking it easy. After this palled, we decided to catch up on some fresh air, so we walked over to Trafalgar Sq., which reminded me of Reyburn Plaza ’cause a lot of kids, and some grown-ups, were feeding the hundreds of pigeons that habitate that particular spot of London. During the course of our stroll I bought some Post-Cards for Ruthie. They are on the way. After getting all the fresh air we could stand, we adjourned once again to the club, where we ate a lunch of what the British are pleased to call Hamburgers, but which taste like nothing I ever ate, and, believe it or not, Pepsi-Cola! Yes, really! Once more to the lounge. It was almost time to catch the train (for me) and there really wasn’t anything else to do. Streamer had a fifteen day furlough (imagine!) and, having eight days to go, was planning to spend them in Scotland. Junior, who just had the week-end, was to catch a later train. My train was the 5:10 from Liverpool Station, so at 4 o’clock I took my leave of my two new-found friends, and took the U.G. to the Station. Thus ended another two-day pass, and I don’t mind telling you, the toughest part of the leave is the going back to Camp. But we must take the good with the bad. Altogether, I had one swell time, don’t you think?

26 Oct.

When I got back to Camp I went straight to the Orderly Room to see if there was any mail. No such luck! The next day, however, made up for it. Four (4) lovely letters—all from you, Chippie, and bringing your correspondence almost completely up-to-date. Eddie’s letter, that you enclosed, was a revelation (in more ways than one). He writes very nicely, and sounds not at all like the spoiled brat of two short years ago. His letter proves him every inch a man and a good soldier. I know  you are as proud of him as I am. I’m wishing very hard that if he is sent overseas, it will be to ETO. I’m very much afraid that our Jack went to the S. Pacific. I’m hoping, if so, that he winds up in Australia. Tell Petey  I appreciate his interest in Adele, and I think it’s swell of him to make all those snapshots of her, but, no Clair Pruett picture—no $50. That’s final! He’s perfectly welcome to the field-jacket, I’ll probably bring one home with me, anyhow. The carton of chewing-gum arrived yesterday, too, and I certainly was glad to get it. I’m not sure whether it was your gift or Harry’s, but thanks a million, anyhow. Glad to hear that you are looking better, darling; but then you always did look good to me. Glad, too, to learn the the Pallers finally have 4920 all to themselves. Good luck to them! Sorry the cherub is so much trouble, Sweet, and I wish heartily that I were there to take some of the load from your shoulders, but as time goes by and she finishes cutting teeth, I know she will be a good little girl. From the tone of your letters, though, troublesome as she may sometimes be, I’m sure you wouldn’t trade her for any other baby in the world. The adoration the neighbors shower on her is ample proof that she is a sweet kid, and I, for one, would ask for nothing better than to devote the rest of my life to making both her and you the happiest girls it would be in my power to accomplish. The news of the raise in the allotment came as a surprise to me, but a happy surprise. I know how important that extra money is to you, Sweet, and I’m glad that you’ll have the use of it.

And now—it is 11 P.M. and time for bed. I hope I haven’t bored you with all this. Good-night, Angel; I love you with a love that grows stronger with each passing hour; each passing hour that is slowly but surely whittling away the wall of time that keeps us from our eventual and eternal reunion. My love to all my dear ones. I am, as ever

Your devoted

Phil