Post #24 - June 18-19, 1941 Satisfying the Bank, Mailing Early and The Most Miserable Night

June 18, 1941
6:50 P.M. 

My leber un tyarer Phil,

A letter from you is the best tonic a doctor could recommend for a bad case of the blues. This was no exception. If you could see my expression as I eagerly tear open the envelope to get to the precious contents of your letter, you would not hesitate for a moment to fill the pages. Incidentally, how do you like the salutation. It was Mom's brainstorm. Can you make it out? Some spelling! Mom says it's about the best one she could think of offhand. I rather like it. And now to more important? things. Mr. O'Connor was here last night and Jack and I supplied all the information necessary to fill out the F.H.A. forms.

Mr. O'Connor suggested that I mail you a blank form and have you fill it out. Realizing it would take too long before you would return it, Jack and I helped Mr. O'Connor fill it out. He asked whether or not you carried insurance, the amount, your place of employment, your boss's name, how long you have been employed by the same firm, etc. to mention a few of the many questions. He said the only way we could have the application for the house passed was to say that Jack was already 21 since it was only a matter of months before he would actually be 21. He said that they wouldn't check on the age. He must be 21 in order for the contract to be valid. I also signed a paper permitting them to investigate my bank account, so keep your fingers crossed, sweet, and maybe everything will turn out in our favor. I've been kept so busy at work these past few days that I hardly have time to sneeze. No kidding. Talking about interruptions—Lena just walked in. I wrote the first 2-1/2 pages of this letter at 6:50. It is now 8:30. We were talking about apartments, marriage, etc. She's going to have a large wedding at the Savoy Plaza. She's goin’ crazy trying to find a suitable apartment. I'm goin’ crazy trying to think up things to write. I'm going up to visit my folks tomorrow night. Jakie is going to escort me. He'll stop off at Yvette's, however. Then when we have to go home he'll pick me up, so I won't have to go home alone. Since all good things must come to an end, let me finish by saying that the home fire is kept burning by 

Ol’ faithful, 

“Ev” 

P.S. In other words, I love you very much, sweet. 

P.P.S. I must add that the family feels just the way I do. 

June 19, 1941 

1:25 P.M. 

My dear sweetheart, 

I was greatly pained to hear that my letter failed to reach you on Tuesday. I realize only too well how worried you must have been. I could kick myself for letting you down after promising faithfully that I wouldn't. Actually, I didn't, but the fact that I mailed my letter so late is equally as bad. I hope that the arrival of three letters (Mon. Tues. & Wed.) from me will ease your feelings and erase any doubt that I would fail you. I wouldn't let you down for the world. Even if I couldn't write, I would have Jakie or someone communicate with you to keep you informed. My Aunt Susie from Redding (good old Aunt Susie) came to visit me this morning. As a result, I was a little late in getting off to work. On my way out (it was 8:48) I collided with the postman, who handed me your letter. This very rarely happens, because I must leave the house at 8:35 or 8:40 in order to be at work on time. Consequently, I do not receive your letters until I return from work in the evening. I am writing this in my lunch hour since I'm going to visit my folks tonight and want to make certain that this letter is on its way early enough to reach you tomorrow. Honest, sweet, I'm so very, very sorry. From now on I'll be sure to have my letters in the mail early. Ethel, Al, and Paul were over last night. They inquired about your cold (which I'm glad to hear is O.K.) and asked me to forward their very best regards. Tante Shush is going to keep Mr. Chase company on his return to N.Y. this evening. She has an ulterior motive. She's going to attend Rose’s wedding, which, incidentally, is on the books for this Sunday. By the way, how is your bicarbonate holding out? If you need any, let me know and I’ll send some along. Same goes for money. Did you get Lil’s package? I can hardly believe it!!! We're married three months today. Gosh! Just an old married couple. In the meantime, baby, don't worry. I won't let you down. I love you, sweet, and let me know if there is a possibility of your seeing “your better half.” 

“Ev” 

P.S. How did you like the fight? or didn't you hear it. I thought Conn was pretty darn good. 

P.P.S. Regards and love from all. 

P.P.P.S. I'm enclosing two postcards. They may come in handy. 

Thursday June 19

9:30

Evelyn dearest, 

As you can see by the date line, I don't have much time to write. I've been busy every moment since we got back from our day and a half on the combat range. Everything is finally cleaned up and I can write with a clear head. Your letters of the 16th & 17th, which I received on the field yesterday, were like manna from heaven, especially since the arrival of the belated message of the 16th lifted a load off my mind. We spent the night in pup-tents and did we have fun,—like hell!! I never spent such a miserable night in my life. We slept on the ground with only the thickness of a blanket to offset the damp, cold, hard ground. The blanket that was supposed to keep us warm definitely did not serve the purpose. This morning for the first time I was actually eager to get up. My squad fired yesterday, so we spent the day lolling under the shade trees and catching up on our sleep, while the rest of the company finished firing. Then we marched seven of the hottest miles we've yet experienced back to the barracks, arriving shortly after six P.M. After bathing, shaving, eating, etc. I still had to clean my rifle, draw my third pair of shoes and sundry other small tasks. Tomorrow we have another full day's maneuver and it also promises to be a “honey.” You're not going to like the following, sweet, but then neither do I—and what can we do about it? The latest word is that we leave for Va. Monday for a two-weeks maneuver and won't get back ’til July 2. I hope to be in on the 4th. Please, baby, although this may be hard to take, keep your chin up. Your peace of mind is my happiness (these are not empty words) and as long as I know you are taking my prolonged absence with some degree of equanimity, I'll try not to let that empty feeling get the best of me. Keep writing, as our mail will be forwarded. As to my keeping you posted; I'm not so sure I'll get the opportunity to write, but you can depend on it, sweet, that I won't permit the smallest opportunity to pass. About O’Conner, I won't be able to do a thing until I see you. You might, however, write “Aeronautics” and tell them “I'm in the Army now”; to continue sending the magazine and that I'll settle with them as soon as I get out. I have to cut it short now as the lights are going out very shortly. Remember, baby, don't let anything wipe that smile from your face. Will you do that for me? Kiss Mom for me—my love to all. So long, Chippie, and may your happiness be in proportion to the love I bear you. 

Your loving husband,

Phil

Post #23 - June 17, 1941 What Friends are Doing and Lack of Letter Worries

June 17, 1941 

6:50

My dear hubby, 

I wonder if you understand my previous letter. I was rushing like hell and I wasn't very explicit. If I remember clearly, when you filled out your questionnaire and made your appeal, you were living on Chestnut Street at a lower rental and the board knows nothing of your real circumstances preceding your induction and following. This may also help. Mr. Mitosky informed me that married men with or without children, regardless of when they were married are not taken into the army if they show they have dependents who will suffer or who actually are suffering as a result. He said he can't understand how I am getting along on $10.00, unless my family or yours is helping me. If I can show no one is helping me, I stand a good chance. I have been thinking seriously of quitting my job in order to help the case along.  (Would you have any objections?) If you could get out of the army as a result, I wouldn't have to work for a while. Things in general would be better all around. Phil, I feel as if I could burst. There are times when I feel I must talk to you, so I write a letter. But that doesn't help very much, although I feel easier when I know a letter is on its way to you. Tonight is one of those nights. If I could see you or maybe talk to you for a few minutes things would be brighter and I wouldn't feel so blue and let-down. Ah, what wouldn't I do for the nearness of you. How have you been feeling, sweet? Gee, if you were only here now I would make you lie on the couch while I stroked your hair and covered your handsome puss with kisses. Well, I can dream, can’t I? It looks as if you are in for some real trouble according to the enclosed letter. Phil, would you want me to send them a letter explaining what has happened and offering to return the books, or do you want me to send them some money—on account? Whatever you decide, please return the letter to me so that I may have it for reference. I called all my friends last night:

Jean—Everything O.K. Nursing course coming along fine. Wants to see me. Has very little time. Sends her regards.
Helen—Going out and having a swell time. Can't find time to come out to see me.
Ann—Her engagement ring is nicer than mine—from her description “Everyone thought I was getting a little ring, but I fooled them.” I said (meow) that I evidently started something with my ring and everyone was out to beat me. She wouldn't commit herself. Thanked us for the telegram. Got one from Mickey (who didn't show up). Got lots of gifts. Very happy but worried about the draft.

Lil—Sent you another package (towels, soap, blades, etc.). Maybe Eddie will drive down to Ft. Meade some Sunday—she hopes. Says there is a good chance. Hopes you are feeling better. Has 12 hour duty. Her affair is coming along swell.
My Mom—Got herself a suit. Imagine! Got me the wrist watch. Thought your telegram to my Pop was beautiful.

I tried on the red peasant dress we saw in Foster's window. They are made very short and I looked like a 12-year-old. It was cute though. I'm so busy at work that I don't even have time to go. Harry was offered $20.00 a week, but refused the job. He told them he was getting twenty dollars here and didn't have any expenses. If they would have given him something over $20.00 he said he would have accepted. I think he was foolish to refuse since he will have expenses when we move to the new house and this is a better company with a chance for advancement. I am sitting in the parlor with my head in one hand and writing this letter with the other. Hence the the carelessness. I feel lousy this evening. It's probably due to my oncoming illness—I hope. Cheering—ain't I?

Everyone here is fine, but they are all wondering what the hell I have to tell you that is taking so long. Jakie is bothering me for the pen so he can write to Lenny. Incidentally, Lenny is coming in this weekend with two fellows and Mom is “up in the air.”  They have dates for Saturday night and all day Sunday. I'll content myself with writing to you, or should I say scribbling. Let me know if you are in need of any money. Please don't borrow. And now the perfect ending for an imperfect letter. Phil, I love you dearly.

Lonely as 

”Ev”   er
 

P.S. Cute, ain't I. Incidentally, I didn't get the dress. Fooled you.

Tuesday, June 17
7 P.M.

My Dear Ev, 

When I received no mail from you this morning I was disappointed, but now that the evening mail has been given out and still no letter, I don't know what to think. Frankly, I'm worried. I can't imagine what would keep you from writing, especially since I emphasized only last week-end the necessity for writing every day. Beside all that, you promised to let nothing prevent you from doing so. Can you blame me for being worried and afraid? I know I won't be able to keep my mind on what I'm doing until I hear from you and that will be Thursday at the earliest. We leave tomorrow morning for an overnight maneuver and we won't be back ’til then. The prospect of spending two days wondering at the cause for the absence of any word from you, dear, is far from pleasant. I wish I could sleep until Thursday. Right now, I should be rolling my pack, but I just can't get my mind down to it. I earnestly hope that there is a perfectly good reason for your remissness, but since my mind can't conceive of any legitimate reason, I get kinda sick when I think w———— I’d hate to say some of the things that plague my imagination. The knowledge that you didn't write last night, Ev, for whatever reason has put a lead weight inside my breast and I'm stuck with it until I hear from you, sweet, that everything's O.K. Please, baby, don't let me down. I love you so. 

Yours forever, 

Phil

Post #22 - June 16, 1941 Writing to the President and a Rude Awakening

June 16, 1941 

9:10 P.M. 

Phil, dearest: 

As soon as the train pulled out I hurried to the trolley, fighting hard to keep back the tears. I didn't succeed. When I got home Mom was waiting. Mrs. Greitzer asked us to come up and keep her company. (She had just returned from her cousin’s.) We had tea. At about 11:30 (I was so sleepy it was an effort to keep my eyes opened) I retired. Very restless night. Mom says I toss and talk all night. I awoke feeling very knocked out, but it gradually wore off. I was more determined than ever about trying to get you out of the Army. I spoke to Mr. Mitosky (who gave me the enclosed clipping) which I think is very, very interesting. He told me to write directly to the President. I told him quite a bit about us and he told me exactly what to write. Mr. Weinstein, another attorney (I helped fill out his questionnaire) (lousy pen) said he had influence with a Judge, whom he would speak to, if necessary. I'll write the details of what I intend writing to the president at a later date. In a nutshell—Mitosky asked me when you asked me to marry you. I said February of 1940 and that you gave me your class ring. He told me to tell them that I can't get along on $10 (show them my expenses) and say that I am solely dependent on you regardless of when we were married. The fact that I am living with your family shows that I am dependent on you. Altogether the fact that we intended marrying at an early date, plus the fact that your father died, plus the fact that your mom was almost solely dependent on you, plus the fact that I had to get a job to help us save in order to marry and the fact that I was willing to make a go of it if you went into the army and can't all add up. It probably sounds like a lot of nothing, but I'm rushing like the devil to get this finished and in the mail, as it's so late. As soon as I finished supper I went to Edith’s house (Harriet's girlfriend). She has an unlimited telephone, so I called Ann, Jean, Helen, my Mom and Lil. You now know why it's so late. I'll tell you about each one tomorrow, sweet. Keep that chin up, baby, and maybe this little Chip can get you out. At least I'm gonna try my darnest, God darnest. I'm going to bathe now—before it's too late—if you know what I mean. Harry tried for that job and there is a possibility he may get it. Everyone sends love and regards. Most important of all—how's your cold? Take care of yourself. I love you, sweet, and just to prove it I'm sending along some stamps. I want ’em back tho’ with all your love for 

Your ever-lovin’ wife 

“Ev”

Monday, June 16 

7:30 P.M.

Dearest, 

Each time I leave you I find it harder to bear. Last night the parting was harder to take because of the fact that the next time I'll see you is three whole weeks away. I won't try to pretend, Ev, that it doesn't mean much. It hurts—But then I'm getting so used to being hurt and disappointed, that it's getting to become second nature. I'm even finding a sort of sardonic humor in the ways and means that troubles employ in attaching themselves to me. A sense of humor is the only thing that keeps most of us sane, healthy beings. Let's take last night as an instance. I arrived in camp 11 o'clock. All the lights had been out for some time, but most of the fellows were still coming in. There was much hustle and ado for a gang that knew they had only ’til 4:30 to sleep. Very gradually the noise subsided and the fellows drifted off to sleep. It seemed we were asleep only a moment when the shrilling of whistles rudely tore us from the arms of Morpheus. Then the raucous voice of the sergeant yelling “Fall out! As you are!” To say the fellows were startled is putting it mildly, they were literally stupefied. Looking back on that moment, I can't help laughing at the picture we presented. Picture, if you can, a sleeping barracks suddenly coming to life like so many jacks-in-the-boxes. I was one of them. When I heard the first drill whistle I sat up instinctively and immediately. Trying to clear the cobwebs from my brain, I peered intently at Jack’s bunk to see if he had any inkling as to what was going on. It was as if I had looked into a mirror, for he was just as intently and sleepily looking to me for the explanation. Seeing the same uncomprehending stupefaction in each other's faces, we turned as one man to gaze around at the rest of the fellows—and found only so many counterparts of ourselves. For five frozen seconds nobody even breathed—hoping against hope that the call wouldn’t be repeated. This time the note of insistence in the alarm was not to be denied even for a moment. “FALL OUT—AS YOU ARE!!!—and we tumbled pell-mell from our cots and piled out into the night—as we were—except for me, of course. Asking a man to turn out in the nude is just a little too much, don't you think? I thought so, too,—so I hastily slipped into my underwear and—for good measure—my trousers and fled on the heels of the others. Outside it was damp and cold and I feared it wouldn't do my cold a lot of good, which only shows how wrong some people can be, because I awoke this morning without a trace of the heaviness in my chest, which had been there for the past week. To get back to my dizzy narrative.—When I reached my place in the platoon and got my eyes opened wide enough to comprehend what I was seeing, I promptly shut them to blot out the weird sight. The Sergeant was hopping around in his underwear barefoot in the mud, but, wonder of wonders, wearing his brand-new field cap (he still can't figure out how it got there). The rest of the company were clad identically—with variations. Each soldier had fogilly grabbed the nearest article of clothing and hastily applied it to his person. The result was hilarious—although we were strangely unappreciative of the humor in the situation—at the moment. We were uniform in one respect only—underwear. There any semblance of uniformity ended. Some were the proud possessors of shoes, others were more interested in keeping their torsos warm, and wore shirts. The more modest among us grabbed our pants. But in no case did any of the soldiers have more than one article of clothing on his person. I think I forgot to mention that all this to-do was a fire drill (U.S. aArmy version). After the cool air had cleared our senses, and we realized how funny it all was, we had a good laugh—at our own expense. (Ha-Ha!) Grrrr! This morning after what seemed like a sleepless night we left for the combat range and spent the day there. Luckily it wasn't too tough and we had an opportunity to recuperate from our grueling experience of the early morning. However, it was a long day as we didn't get back ’til 6, which is one and a half hours later than usual. Right now Ed is threatening dire things if I don't return his pen immediately, so I'll say Love to all—and to you, my sweet. 

I adore you

Phil

Post #21 - June 12, 1941 - Nylon Blues and A Jumpin’ Joint

June 12, 1941 

7;00

Sweetheart:

It seems hard to believe it. Here it is Thursday. This week has passed very quickly. So did my nylons. I bent down to pick up the mail at the office and they ran in every direction. Looks very much as if I'm going to be nearly broke this weekend. I'll be glad to give you anything that you need tho’. I'll probably have about $2 left. As it was rather slow at the office today, I took advantage of the opportunity and sent Jack Nerenberg a six-page letter. I also called my Mom. She promised to get me the gold wristwatch today as she's going to the bank. When I get it I'll have to have the link band repaired. At the same time I'll have your watch repaired, too. Our Harry just informed me that someone called (F.H.A. I think) and asked him numerous questions. They had all the answers, but wanted them ascertained. In case it slipped your mind, let me remind you that we were married 12 weeks ago tonight. (I'm listening to the song Reveille to Taps or rather Taps to Reveille). 

I miss you, baby. Just for good measure I'll add a few more words. Love and regards from all. Yes even from,

Yours truly, 

“Ev” 

P.S. Keep up the good work. Those daily letters are really appreciated by all.

eps 

June 12, 1941 

6:00 P.M.

Ev, My Dearest, 

It did my heart good when I received your long letter today. I always look first to see how many pages are covered. Your message came at a very opportune moment as I shall explain. This morning—No—let me tell you about last night first. As you know there was a dance for the second battalion. Sam and I were walking in the vicinity of the dance hall minding our own business when a fellow came along and gave Sam a pass. I browsed around looking at the shop windows while Sam went into the dance hall to see what was doing. About five minutes later he came dashing back waving a ticket at me. I still don't know exactly where or how he got it. No kiddin’, Ev, it was swell just to sit and watch the transformation that took place in that hall. The fellas that I knew only as a swearing, hell-raising, usually dirty lot, were, in the space of a few hours, clean-cut, mannerly, soft-spoken gentleman. And how they loved it! I felt all warm inside when I observed the look of almost beatific contentment on the mugs of the boys as they took the all-to-willing girls in their arms to dance. I just sat in the balcony for two hours and fairly basked in the reflected happiness that seemed to radiate from the dance floor. The orchestra was made up of soldiers—and they were good. The great majority of the dances were jitterbugs, and the band was plenty hot. Result, a jumpin’ joint, and meat on the table for little Philly (ain't I cute?)

I turned in about 10 and awoke (or to be more explicit, was awakened) at 4:30. The weather wasn't conducive to pleasant thoughts, it was raining and rather cold. Nevertheless, at 6 o'clock we marched off to the range about a mile away. By the time we got there, we were thoroughly drenched. Even this didn't deter the powers-that-be from going through with the scheduled firing. So we stood in the rain and waited our turn. Finally, about 9 o'clock, the rifles were so wet, and conditions were generally so miserable that even those in charge had enough, so we went back to barracks, and I still didn't complete my firing. Once inside, we proceeded to take a warm shower, change into dry clothing and hang up our wet things. Then we tended to our rifles, shoes, leggings, etc. By this time, it was 11:30 and time for mess. I preferred to sleep. When I awoke it was 12:45 and we were taken to the mess-hall for instruction, which brought us up to supper time. Tonight, since I'm all cleaned up, I'm going to the movies with Sam. The picture is “This Thing called love,” and for the life of me I can't remember whether or not I saw it. I'll find out. Glad to hear you enjoy “So ends our night.” FLASH! I just got back from the supply room where I drew my regimental buttons. You'll see see ‘em Saturday, sweet, when I expect to see you. Got to sign off now if I want to make the movie. I love you, too, baby. Love to all. 

Always yours, 

Phil 

P.S. On reading back, I find I neglected to tell you about the “opportune moment.” I'll explain when I see you, sweet.

Post #20 - June 11, 1941 A Solo Trip to the Movies and Snoozing Through the Racket

June 11, 1941 

6:30 P.M.

Phil, dear: 

It's always a pleasure to receive mail from you; more so on Wednesday evening, as it means the week is drawing to a close and you will soon be home with us. As you know, I have been “on the go” for the past two evenings, what with going to Lil’s and taking in a movie, which left me very little time to write to you, sweet. Somehow I managed to inform you of my whereabouts, knowing you would be disappointed if I failed to write. Tonight, however, I intend to write a nice long letter, summarizing my adventures? and thoughts since our temporary parting on Sunday night. Ready! Here I go.

Everything happened so quickly Sunday evening that I didn't have a chance to feel anything—until the train taking you away from me was out of sight. I felt heartsick, so much so that I found myself crying on the way home (in the car). I wanted you more than you'll ever know (sigh). Having related what occurred in my previous letters, I'll continue with Lil. I don't know whether to write about her at all. No sooner do I write one thing when “Bang,” she suddenly reverses her decision. I called her from the office today to learn that she had again changed her mind about going to Camp. She had packed all her belongings and Jack had put a “For Rent” sign in the window. Evidently Eddie has come through, for Lil told me that he wants her more than anything in the world. At the moment Jack is papering her apartment and she is unpacking, having decided to keep the apartment. Rather than explain the conglomeration of decisions, indecisions, and what have you, repeatedly, I politely told Lil to write you daily, giving the up-to-the-minute news about Levy vs. Stalinsky. 

Tuesday evening Mom and I decided we would go to the movies if harry would drive us to 60th St. The Weinmans and our Harry were going to visit Ethel. I had started writing a letter to you when Mom burst into the kitchen shouting excitedly. Hurry, hurry, the Weinmans are waiting for us. I finished your letter hurriedly and proceeded to apply fresh makeup, whereupon Mickey, Harry W. and Tant walked in and very angrily retorted, “What's the idea of making us wait.” Everyone began shouting at everyone else (some fun); I didn't know what the hell they were hot about. It seems as tho’ the Weinmans were perturbed because they had to wait for Mom and me. Finally, we all piled into the car. Our harry then said, “it's too darn late to go to Ethel's, and the Weinmans agreed. (It was almost eight.) Five seconds later they started for Ethel’s.

They refused to drop us off at 60th St., so I got out of the car, told Mom to go with them (she wanted to take a ride anyway) and started for the movies alone. The evening wasn't spoiled, by any means, as I enjoyed the picture immensely, even though I disliked going by myself. I got home at 11 feeling knocked-out and blue and went right to bed. 

Lil's flowers are still fresh, in fact the fragrance and perfumes can still be detected throughout the apartment. Talk about surprises, a paperhanger came today and papered the bathroom. You should see it now, it really looks like sumpin’. uh huh! At any rate, it is now after 9 and I have a few other minor tasks to attend to before turning in. Just to show you I'm a sport, I'll take a few more minutes to write, “I love you, baby.” Regards and love from all, again including

Your mouthpiece 

and ever lovin’ wife 

“Ev”

P.S. Today is a red letter day for you. This is my second communication in 24 hours.

Wed., June 11 

7:30 

My Darling, 

Today was a honey. We were on the range as scheduled, but didn't fire a shot all day. You see they bring the men up to the “firing line” alphabetically and since I am near the end in the order, I didn't get to fire. I think, though, that tomorrow I'll complete my tests. Sam didn't shoot either, so we loafed around and “chinned” most of the day. We even got in an hour's sleep in the late afternoon. You'd marvel at the way we snooze through the racket of what sounded like a major engagement, on the hard, hard ground with our packs for pillows. Still it's small wonder, ’cause they get us up at 4:30 now. After mess I got my laundry, showered, shaved and dressed, which brings us up to the present moment. The barracks resembles a girl's dormitory. The fellows (most of them) are going to the company dance, and they're excited and all a-flutter, primping and posing for one another. The girls are coming in from Baltimore and it promises to be a pretty nice affair. I hope the boys have a good time, they certainly deserve it. About Morty Greitzer, keep me informed. I'm hoping he'll be sent here. Sam and I are going out for a walk now before we turn in, so I'll say good-night, my sweet, until tomorrow. My love to the family. 

Lovingly, 

Phil

Post #19 - June 10, 1941 A Friend’s Change of Heart and The Wrong End of the Target Range

June 10, 1941
7:10 P.M. 

My dear hubby:

Having helped Mom with the supper dishes, I am now at liberty to write. Right at the moment Mom and I are planning to see “So Ends Our Night” at the Imperial, but Mom doesn't want to walk to 60th St. I'll probably go alone.

I had a very nice time last night at Lil's. She's very good company. We talked (for a change) and Lil admitted that her “new” decision (she's going to camp after all) was due mostly to us. After seeing our home, the way we plan in the face of an uncertain future and our love for each other, she decided that Eddie is definitely not the one. She claims she is sure about her feelings, but I think she is in a quandary when it comes to action. I sincerely hope things work out well for her. Morty Greitzer reported for induction today—was given 10 days more (new law). He passed the physical exam and definitely goes on June 20th. I called Anna Presti last night. She says she will be truly disappointed if we fail to show up. She said to come regardless of the time. I told her not to count on it. The weather has been delightfully cool and pleasant for the past 48 hours. How's the weatherman been treating you? Good I hope. You don't have a black eye yet, do you? (target practice) We're getting a ride to the Imperial and I'm being paged. Just time to say I love you, sweet. 

Your loving wife
 “Ev”

Tuesday, June 10, 1941 

7:15 

Dear Ev, 

Just as you say another day has fled into oblivion and since we are well into the week, I'm sorta anticipating this week-end. Today I was tagged for “pit detail,” which is the wrong end of the target range. Remind me to describe the workings of the range to you. I think you will find it interesting. Received your letter this evening and was sorry to hear you didn't make a movie after all. Lil's candy arrived with a nice letter. Tonight I'm going to be very busy sending my “chinos” to the tailor, taking a shower, polishing my shoes and writing this will take the better part of the night. The only one of these chores I enjoy is “writing this.” I honestly believe, Ev, if i failed to write some night, I could not sleep. It's gotten to be a habit—but a good one. The only drawback is that I usually write immediately after supper and all my work is ahead of me. Therefore, although I'd have no trouble at all filling a few of these pages nightly, the tendency on my part is to shorten and condense my letters. Then again the thought in the back of my mind is: if i tell Ev everything that goes on in the course of the week, there will be nothing to relate when I see her. So you must agree, sweet, that the real purpose of these daily letters is not so much to keep you informed of my doings, but to let you know that you are constantly in my heart and mind. So much so that nothing means anything except how it affects us. Give my love to Mom and the boys. Good night, Sweet. 

Phil

Post #18 - June 9, 1941 Vivian Leigh “Gone With the Wind” Patchwork Quilt and Good Marksmanship

June 9, 1941 

8:15 P.M.

My dearest Phil: 

After your departure Jack and I were safely deposited at 52nd and Market Streets by the Glasers. While in the car we decided to go to the Belmont to see Primrose Path and Lone Wolf Takes a Trip. It was exactly 9:45 when we reached the Belmont—too late. Primrose Path had but 20 minutes to go. We went right back home. Mom and Tante Shush didn't go to the movies after all. Jack and I had malteds at Sam's and then I hit the hay. Today Lil met me at 12:15 and insisted upon treating me to a decent lunch (as she called it). Immediately after lunch I took her up to the rest room at the Morris Building where we relaxed and gabbed about “unimportant things.” Lil begged me to come out for supper, but I refused. However, the thought of being alone made me reconsider. So here I am, sweet, writing to you, while Lil is busily occupied cleaning up the mess. Lil finally took her wrist watch out of the pawn shop—finally. (I hope). We also now have in our possession one genuine Vivian Leigh Gone With The Wind patchwork quilt. (Lil got it from a patient who makes them.) It's very, very attractive. It is very colorful having various tones of red, pink, blue, and green blended together and fashioned into designs against the white background. Maybe I'm prejudiced but I think no quilt has oomph unless you're under it—with me. Ditto Lil. Eddie has promised to drive me home. One day away from you has passed into oblivion—bringing you just a little closer to the one who loves you dearly—

Your wife, 

“Ev” 

P.S. I didn't forget the stamps.

Monday, June 9, 1941 

6:30

My Dear, 

Last night when the train started so suddenly and tore you away from me before we had a chance to wish each other a decent “Auf Wiedersehn,” I was so mortified I wanted to yell out my disappointment. I felt if I would that some of the heaviness that came into my chest would be dispelled. Sam and I kept walking through the train until we found seats. The air-conditioned car was so cool that I felt my cold getting rapidly worse. By the time we reached camp I was pretty well congested and feared that I would be pretty sick this morning. However, my apprehensions were groundless, for I awoke feeling pretty good. We were up a half hour earlier this morning (4:30 A.M.) because there were a lot of details to be attended before we left for the Range. We spent the whole day there and it wasn't a half-bad. As a matter of fact, I almost enjoyed it. Incidentally I'm still looking for the guy who made a better score than I. Of course there were a few. But the only one I've heard was the 51 that West (the ex-marine) shot. My score was 41 out of a possible 60, which for a rank novice like myself, is pretty fair shootin’. Tomorrow we shoot rapid fire and just between you and me, I don't think I'll do so good at that. However I'm going to be trying my best. Tonight we're going to be pretty busy cleaning up, but if we finish in time, Sam and I may take in a movie. The chances are, though, we won't. There isn't much else I can write, dear, except to apologize for forgetting to give you the candy. If you could see how much we appreciate these sweets, I know you'd forgive me. Lil's candies haven't arrived yet.

Did you and Jake get to a movie? How did Mom like the “Dictator”? Ed's yelling for his pen, so i'll sign off for tonight with love to all. Yes, you too, sweet. 

Your 

Phil

P.S. Please don't forget to remember the stamps. Thank you!