Post #668 - June 5, 6, 1945 I Knocked Out a Little Thing Called "The Love of Mike" (Sound Familiar?) in Two and a Half Hours Flat and The Food Shortage Has Not Affected Me At All

 

5 June 1945

My darling,

Don't know if you ever knew 'til now, but invariably, when I've done a lot of uninterrupted reading, I get the urge to write something of my own. On only two occasions, tho’, have I ever had the opportunity coincident with the urge. The first time was when I dashed off "ETOUSA Interlude". The second time was today, when I knocked out a little thing called "The Love of Mike" (sound familiar?) in two and a half hours flat. I think it's a much better idea than the one I had for the previous one for the same title. What pleased me most about this afternoon's work was that I didn't have to stop to think once from the first word to the last. Unlike "ETOUSA Interlude; the idea didn't hit me like a bolt from the blue. I was reading "Esquire" "when I suddenly got fed up with reading. So I put the magazine away, lay on my bunk, and thought out the story I wanted to write. This took about a half-hour. Then I picked up my pen, sat down at one of the two tables here in the ward, and wrote steadily ’til I finished. I don't know how you will like the bit (it's barely enough for a short short story), but when you've read it, I hope you won't consider it so much wasted time and effort - not that I had anything better to do, except, perhaps, to write a better story—However, I'm rather pleased with it. I think it moves right along, and the ending, in my opinion, is sufficiently "punchy" to please most people. I'm going back to base tomorrow, when I’ll try to find time enough to type it. When you've read it, honey, you can do as you like with it. Burn it, or save it, or submit it to Collier's or Satevepost if you if you think it's good enough. I've been wondering if “Esquire" might not take a more kindly view of the "Interlude.” I'd appreciate it, Sweet, if you'd make a copy and submit it to that mag. I’d be proud as hell if they accepted it. Let's try, huh? Maybe we'll get some constructive criticism. I love you. I love Adele. Hell, I love everybody! But especially you.

I am 

Your Phil



June 6, 1945

My Darling Hubby—

It is unbelievable, but a year has passed since that day of days—D Day. The future looks brighter and it is possible that next June 6th will see an end to all warfare. It must!

I was delighted to received three letters from you, sweet. They were yours of May 30, 31 and June 1. How's that for good time! Not bad at all. I always feel that you are closer to me when your mail is fairly recent. There is really very little in your letters that inspires any comment on my part. I’m indeed happy that someone is finally taking an interest in what makes you tick the funny way that you do and I hope that this time it is not all in vain. Imagine the cost of such a procedure in civilian life - whew! That is why I feel that you should stand some chance of securing a discharge if they cannot cure you of your constant indisposition. I'd like to have a chance to cure you of it myself, if they'd only see things our way.

Your letter of the 31st contained a paragraph about the G.I.'s that get on your nerves because of their conceit, etc. and you sometimes "despair for fine, free world of the future". Since I've been separated from you I've found that true of almost every single person I’ve met. People just don't seem to be as fine as they used to be and I'm terribly disappointed in most of them. There are too many of them and it worries me, too, at times.

The food shortage has not affected me at all. I eat much more than I ever did and I’m not quite as fussy as I used to be. I've cultivated a taste for vegetables that I never had and many other things that I used to detest. When I give Adele "one meat ball" I usually get her to sing the song. I hear Bing and Lauritz Melchior often and they are a sketch. I'd like nothing more than to join you at this very moment. I could use a rest like you're getting at the present time, and then some.

Harry went to the racetrack yesterday without saying a word to Goldie and was she hot when he walked in at 10:30 last night! I'm afraid she's going to have a lot of trouble with him now that the races are in again. He has become friendly with a crowd of "ginnies" (as Goldie calls them) and says he can make a little "fast" money. Harry such is a character at times!

I am writing this at work. You may wonder how I received your letters. Simple. I waited for the mailman this morning and was rewarded for my wait. It was rather late when I got Adele to sleep and I spent the remainder of the evening knitting on her sweater. I had a glass of milk with apple pie (both Moms spend the entire day at 4920 baking pies with apples my mother had bought) and the pies were deelicious, took a quick shower and hit the sack (to take a page out of your book) at 11:30. Guess you kinda know that I love you very much, honey, so much that - - -

Your Eve

Post #667 - June 4, 1945 I'll Just Keep Reporting on Sick Call Until Something Gives

 

4 June 1945

Dearest Evie,

Using V-mail tonight ’cause I ran out of Air Mail envelopes. But there isn’t much to report today, anyhow, so this form should suffice—Still at the Hospital, but I should be leaving tomorrow. When the Capt. made his rounds this morning and asked me how I was feeling, I told him O.K. except for the usual thing. He told the nurse to increase the doses of Amphojel this afternoon to 16cc. A nechtegen tug! [Yiddish meaning “nice try!” sarcastically] I might just as well have taken so much water for any effect it had! When the nurse came around later with more of the same, I refused to take it, telling her to tell the Capt, that it did me no good. It's a funny situation when the Army will concede that you are ailing, admit that there isn't anything concrete they can do about it, and just are content to let it go at that! Well, maybe they'd ignore it if it were up to them, but I've decided not to let them. These damned gas pains are making me miserable. Besides being actually painful at times, they make it almost impossible for me to keep mind on my work. I've never told you about this, honey, ’cause you have enough to worry about. I'm only telling you now so that you will understand any course of action I decide on. One thing I've determined to do - and that is to report on sick-call until they decide to give me some satisfaction. Capt. Brownlee has been very kind and sympathetic, but as far as doing anything constructive about my condition - he hasn't, hell - he admits there's nothing he can do. Where does that leave me? So—I'll just keep reporting on sick call until something gives. That's all. 

Just room enough left to tell you to be patient, honey. It must be as hard for you as it is for me, but there’s no point in knocking ourselves out - is there? I love you. A kiss for Adele. Love to all from 

Your Phil

P.S. Visited the dental clinic to get that molar X-rayed—it’s O.K. Had a small cavity filled. That's all—(I was going to make a cake but thought better of it—)

Post #666 - June 3, 1945 It's Not Wise… to Keep One's Soul Constantly Under the Observation of His Mind

3 June 1945

Evie, darling,

The results of all the tests, X-rays, etc. came back today, and I'm happy to say that they showed nothing. That is, as far as any organic defects are concerned, there just aren't any. Capt. Brownlee, who, as I have told you, is a specialist on digestive disorders and has made intensive studies of hundreds of cases had me in his office just now for a private confab. He explained fully just what my trouble is, and I'm convinced his theory is the correct one. He says that the heartburn is of little moment, that it will never lead to anything more serious, and that my constant use of baking soda cannot possibly harm me in any way. What does concern him is these gas pains that I'am afflicted with. He took a great deal of time to explain most minutely that the fault is entirely functional, i.e., there is nothing whatever wrong with my digestive organs, but that something is causing them to renege on their job, and that something, he says, is my emotional reflexes. All this he told me before he drew practically my whole life's history out of me. When he had finished questioning me about my background, my job, my family and my attitude toward everything in general and the Army in particular, he was convinced that his diagnosis is the correct one. Unfortunately, there is no cure for what ails me but one, and he was frank and honest enough to admit it. I, in turn, told him equally frankly, that I had not the slightest interest in anything but getting home to my family - that the desire to do so was so strong that it amounted to an obsession. And that, according to the Capt. is the very root of the trouble. That is what is disturbing my digestive processes to the point where the retarding of digestion is causing me acute physical discomfort. The only cure, he says, if I can't rid myself of this obsession, or lessen its intensity some way, can only be effected by removing the cause of my mental unrest, namely, to send me home to the family I crave to be with! Again unfortunately, he can't do that either, since there is no organic fault to justify it. He sincerely regretted that the Army Medical corps doesn't consider indigestion caused by emotional or spiritual or mental stimuli sufficient cause for discharging a man, although, ironically, it is the most difficult to cure in the Army. We must have discussed my case for an hour or more and I could see that the Capt, appreciated everything I was telling him. He told me a little later that he is in pretty much the same boat himself (he's very young), that he, too, can hardly think of anything else because of his desire to be with his wife, and that he, too, spends most of his evenings at the movies in order to “get away from himself.” So, the upshot of it all was that he understands and sympathizes and hopes, for my sake, that my unit will be going home soon, but he is powerless to do anything about it. I thanked him most sincerely for the interest he had taken in my case, and for his well-wishes, and that was the end of that! I think I'll be going back to base tomorrow.

This afternoon after lunch I had one of the guys take two snaps of me in my hospital attire of pajamas and robe. Then I went down to the Receiving Office where there is a public phone and called my Orderly Room. Sgt. Fox answered the phone. When we had disposed of the amenities I asked him what was new - if anything had been said or done about moving. No—nothing at all. There are plenty rumors (everything from Air Force of Occupation to shipping directly to the Pacific or going home - take your pick), but nothing had been given out officially, and nobody knows anything about anything. So things are still pretty much as I left them back at base. Did I tell you I was due to go on furlough on 1 June? Well, I asked Sgt. Fox if my little stay in the hospital would affect it. He didn't seem to think it would. I think I'll get it O.K., in which case I’ll call the Davies' to tell them to expect me.

Well, honey, I'm glad I'm able to reassure you as to my physical condition. As for my state of mind - I can only repeat what I told the Capt. - I have no direct jurisdiction over my desires - I can't help wanting with all my being the things that are dearest to me. But I can and will make every effort to exclude that desire to be home with you from my conscious thoughts as far as I'm able. It's not wise, Chippie, as you must realize, to keep one's soul constantly under the observation of his mind, if you follow me. I must try to rid myself of that tendency - (I only wish I knew how) ~

That just about winds me up for tonight, darling. Be of good hope that we shall see each other soon - I feel that we will, I really do ~

Kiss my precious punkin for me. I love you, Ev, baby ~ My love to all.

Ever,
Your Phil

P.S. It occurred to me today that I haven't answered all my correspondents - there's still Seymour and Ed and Harry W. and Ruthie. Don't know when I’ll get around to it, but I'll keep them in mind just case I do get the opportunity to write. Tell Ruthie I haven't forgotten I promised her an 8th Air Force pin - I'll get around to it one of these days. While you're at it, Sweet, will you remind your Mom that she hasn't written to me in months, and I remember I answered her last letter. Tell her I want much to hear from her. I like the way she writes about Adele. S'long now, honey.

Post #665 - June 2, 1945 Darling, I'd Give Most Anything to Be Able to Address You as "Mr." and I Went Over in My Mind in the Most Minute Detail Exactly How It Would Be When I Come Home

 

June 2, 1945

My dearest,

Today marks one year that I am working for Mr. Bellet. In retrospect it seems like a month, but it really has been a long time. My thought at the moment is: Will I be here next June 2nd??" Only time will tell.

I received the enclosed letter from Jack N. In case you decided to read my letter first, I'll tell you the good news. He's "MR." Jack Nerenberg once more. He received a CDD. Darling, I'd give most anything to be able to address you as "Mr."

As I said in yesterday's v-mail, I was unable to write yesterday. I had a very full day. I received a card from Lorstan asking me to call for the finished picture. I forgot to tell you that I didn't order any pictures except the one I was entitled to. Yesterday morning I called for the finished picture and was definitely disappointed. So much so that I do not intend to have any others made up. They certainly messed the picture up and it wasn't colored nearly as much as I expected it to be, or as the coupon stated it would be. Since you may be home soon, I will not order a picture for you as I said I would, until you've seen this one. If you decide then that you want one, we can still order.

I went straight to work when I left Lorstan’s. All day long we were so busy that I had not even a moment to myself. On arriving home I dressed Adele, had dinner & kept my appointment with Dr. Lefkoe. We took the J bus, & arrived at exactly 7:45, the time set by the doctor. He was amazed to hear that Adele has been wearing the one & only pair of shoes she possesses - and that they look so well. There is still about a month's wear in her present shoes & when they do become short, he suggested 
that I cut out the toes & let her wear them that way, especially during the summer. He advised me to keep her in high shoes until the Spring, stating that they do not give a child added support, but they do prevent the foot from sliding any distance, as in the case of low oxfords, thus making the correction in the shoe more effective. He agreed that she has improved vastly. She used to "toe in " from the ankle to the toe & now she only “toes in” just a bit below her large toe. Adele does have very weak feet for a child of her proportions. He gave me the usual prescription & charged me $5.00. I think you’ll agree that that is quite a bit for a 10 to 15 minute visit. Because Adele was obedient, he promised her a lollipop. When asked what color she desired, she said "Red." He told her to pick it from the box, & sure enough, she picked the red one. I was glad she did, for he was much impressed with her actions.

We spent more time “waiting” for both buses than the whole visit with the Doc. The next hour was spent with Sarah, Petey, Betty & company. Adele insisted that we stop there.

It was 10:30 before Adele was in bed & she awoke very early this A.M. She has been unusually cranky all week & I don't think these frequent night visits to the doctor are going her any good.

By eight o’clock this P.M. Adele & I were dressed, fed & I was ready to leave when Mr. B. & my dad called. My dad passed his physical for the insurance company & will take the job whenever they are ready. There are many reasons for his leaving Bellet & I don’t blame him one bit, if & when it does come about.

I don’t think I told you that Anne, the gal I work with, is going steady with a fine fellow, who has already proposed marriage. He’s going to give her a 2K or better engagement ring shortly. She never thought anything such as this could happen to her after her first unhappy & unfortunate marriage. She’s a nice kid & I’m glad for her. I’m sorry if I said “kid.” She’ll be 30. Not that 30 is old, understand, but it is much more when compared with 23, especially when I call her a kid.

After work I headed straight home. I walked to 8th & Market & Lit Bros. On the spur of the moment I decided to take a look at some of their dresses. While looking at some cottons I passed a small rack of winter coats marked “clearance.” To make a long story short I bought myself a good-looking copper colored camel hair sport coat (winter weight). It's a most attractive coat & when you consider that I paid the outrageously ridiculous price of exactly $10.00 for a $40.00 coat, then you understand why I bought it. Imagine, I paid $13.00 for Adele's tiny coat & $10 for my big one. It's just the sort of coat I've needed all along - so I'm right in there for next winter.

Adele had a slight accident while, I was gone. She fell with her black-board while my mother was talking on the phone. She screamed & my mom couldn't imagine what was wrong until she noted that two of Adele's fingers were caught between the slates. One finger is really torn deep, but the other is only little cuts. It's painful & will probably take a while to heal properly. Honestly, sweet, you needed four sets of good eyes to keep a close watch on them! Kids will be kids!

I just had to write a longie after not writing most of the week. I received your long letter of May 19-20 before you took off for London. I found it most interesting. So that's what the asterisks, meant!?! You certainly did have a tough time of it & I'm glad that "part" of it is over.

June 3, 1945

I'm sorry I had to end my letter off so abruptly last night. It was much too late to continue & I was very sleepy. I must apologize for running my letters together, as I seem to be doing so much of these past few weeks, but I am so restless I cannot write for more than a few minutes at a time.

Goldie is going to Poughkeepsie next Sunday and, in all probability, Mom will accompany her & spend some time in New York. Nothing more has been said about the house, pending a letter from you, giving to your opinions.

Mom is spending the weekend with the Wymans & Chases.

I was busy all day doing such things as cleaning, washing, sewing, etc. getting both Adele & my wardrobes into shape. 

Esther, George (who came in unexpectedly for three days) & Stevie were here. They are looking for a house for my Aunt Gussie, who wants to buy in this neighborhood. George looks great, having put on weight, & expects to be home again in a few weeks on a furlough.

Adele was on the “go” all day. She doesn't nap (once in a while only) & goes to bed late. That is one of the reasons why I do not have the time to write as much as I'd like to. Really, baby, I'm on the "go" every minute of every day. You, at least, can look forward to a pass or a furlough for some relaxation. I wish I had at least one day off in a few months so that I could relax completely. When you come home I want to go somewhere for a short while, without Adele, & just sleep & relax—

Phil Strongin is somewhere in the Pacific.

Baby, I hate to cut off again, but it is getting late & I must shower & set my hair if I'm to make a presentable appearance at work tomorrow. I love you so much, sweet, and I know there's no need to tell you just how much I do miss you—you know I am
and always will be

Your adoring,

Eve

P.S. What ship took you across & from what port did the ship leave? Exactly what day did you leave the country? Were you seasick going over? Where did you land? How far are you from London?

2 June 1945

Dearest Darling,

Today has been a lazy, uneventful day. It rained earlier, but it's clear now and the sun is out. While it rained, I read the volume of short stories and napped. Now that the sun is shining again, I'm thinking of having one of the fellows snap a few snaps of me. I've only used one film up ’til now—on a snap of Klein back at the base. Figure I'll use up the rest of the roll when I'm in my "class A's” again. 

This being Saturday, we had an inspection by the Colonel this morning. He made a quick trip down one aisle and up the other, asking each patient how he was getting along, and with a cheery “good morning” for every one. Soon after, we stood by while Capt. Brownlee made his routine morning rounds. When he came to me he asked me how I felt. I told him my stomach wasn’t feeling too good (probably because of that barium I drank yesterday).  He told the nurse to give me Amphojel 3 times a day. Then he told me that the reports on the X-rays hadn’t come back yet, and that he'd know something when they do. So it look's like I'll be here a few days more yet.

Only two things keep worrying me. (1) Having to do without your letters. (2) What might be going on back at the base. They may know something about what we're destined for by now. I can’t use the ward phone to call our Orderly Room, but I understand there's a public phone down the road, and I think I'll use it to give the First Sgt. a call tomorrow to hear what, if anything, is cooking.

Meantime, I'm taking it easy and having a good rest for myself.

Last night, being unusually wakeful, I went over in my mind in the most minute detail exactly how it would be when I come home. I imagined what you would do and say, and what I would do and say, and how I would greet the punkin, and what I would say to her - and then I thought how I would like to say to her "Baby, what would you most like to have in the world - right now?” And then whatever it might happen to be, we'd go right off together and get it. Then I thought - suppose she says an automobile - what would I do then? Or a pony, or something equally impossible? Which made me think that we could, if one were to be had, put a coupla hundred dollars into a car, because I would dearly love to take you and the punkin, and maybe Mom for a long trip somewhere, or go up to the mountains for a coupla weeks, or anyplace you might have a yen for. Yes, Chippie, we'll definitely want a car when I get home - I can anticipate that. So it might not be a bad idea to talk to Harry and ask him to kinda keep an eye out for a good buy. I don't think, tho’ that there's much chance of picking up anything decent, and what there is around is probably sky-high, and would make buying prohibitive, but talk to Harry and see what he says.

Besides all that, I lay a long time and thought of the more exciting things (if’n you know what I mean) we used to do together, and will do again some day. I relived all the sweet, thrilling, intimate moments of our courtship (what a red-hot affair that was!), and tasted (almost) the delicious satin smoothness of your legs, breasts and more intimate parts, and tried very hard to remember each and every “stolen moment" in its proper setting and sequence. I remembered how eagerly I used to look to Friday nights, when I could once once more hold your young, pulsing. freshness in my arms and kiss your sweet, yielding get demanding mouth, and when Bob and Lena had gone out for the evening, how we did all those things for each other that our love dictated—I've often tried to isolate the exact moment when I actually fell in love with you, but the more I think about it, baby, the more am I convinced that there never was such a moment. Who can tell the exact instant the rose-bud becomes a rose? That's how it was with me. You were a sweet song within me from the moment you sat between Yale and me in the car and I envied Yale his girl. Then, each succeeding time I saw you, the song grew in sweetness and volume until I could hear or want nothing else. The song is muted now (the strings of the harp are still when there is no hand to pluck them to music), but it is only a diminuendo that waits the wave of fate's baton to send it soaring in crescendo to the climactic fortissimo. I adore you, Ev, sweetheart—A kiss for Adele. Love to all.

Always Your Phil

Post #664 - June 1, 1945 I Read in the Papers Where Food, and Especially Meat, is Getting Really Short Back There at Home

 

1 June 1945

Darling Wife, (you like that - huh, do y'?)

Just finished a long, 6 page letter to brother Jack. I've got only 2 of these pages left, which is just as well, I guess, cause I'm too tired to write much more. As a special concession to you, Sweet, I won't waste any space setting off paragraphs, so read slowly, O.K.? O.K! Last night - another enema! Was I mortified?! This time Tex insisted I lay on my left side while, well, you know. Well, I coaxed, pleaded, and downright refused to do it that way (it's so damned undignified)! The upshot was, I took the enema lying on a blanket, on my left side, on the latrine floor. I think I blushed. This morning I had that G.I. series as I described it in yesterday's letter, only I didn't mention that they also X-rayed my stomach directly afterward. If they don't know exactly what makes me tick the funny way I do now it certainly isn't their fault! They certainly took plenty of pains to find out! Just to make the job complete, I was sent over to the dental clinic and the eye, ear, nose and throat clinic for check ups. That's routine around here. Everything was O.K. in latter dept., but the dentist wants to X-ray one of my molars that he thinks may be going bad. He said "come ’round Monday at 1:30 P.M." I said "I don't know if I'll be here that long - (today's Friday). He said "you'll be here" - which was news to me. Lady, they really give you a going-over here, or have you gathered as much? After lunch, I listened to the Kraft Music Hall program and enjoyed it very much. Cass Daley was great singing "Together", but the number I really got a kick out of was Bing singing a duet with that peer of operatic tenors, Lauritz Melchior - the selection - "One Meat Ball". It was a riot - no less! I hope you heard it, Chippie. - Then I played pinochle with 3 of my ward-buddies for, well, until supper-time. Guess what we had for supper ~ one meat ball ~ no kiddin'! and string beans, and cheese-potatoes (I love 'em), and catsup and b & b and chocolate pudding pie (yum-yum), and a big, big cup o' tea. Not bad, huh, civilian? I read in the papers where food, and especially meat, is getting really short back there at home. Is it affecting you, honey? If it is, write and tell me I'll send you - yeah, - one meat ball. ~ Don't know why I'm so silly tonight. Maybe it's because I can't put my real thoughts down on paper. Even if I could, it wouldn't look like much. Something like this: I want to go home ~ I want to see Ev ~ I want to hold Ev (all over) - I want to hold Ev very, very close and hug her and kiss her on the lips on the eyes on the throat - if I ever get my lips to hers I'll never let go - that's how I feel. I want to lay next to Evie in our nice, soft bed and - well - of course I would, but I can't say so in so many words, can I? Even if the letters aren't being censored any more! Then I think I would just love to hold the punkin close for hour after hour and wouldn't even want to let her go long enough to play with her. Only her I won't kiss so much. Why? "Silly - 'cause a biting dog can't kiss - get it? Oh, hell, I'm all melted butter inside to say nothing of being also one big hunk of "I wanta" - Gee, how I wanta! A kiss for each of you, my darlings. Love to all.

Your adoring Phil

Post #663 - May 31, 1945 I've Become Very Hard Inside and Can Take Most Anything That Comes My Way and The Menial Work Around the Hospital Here is Done by German PW's

 

May 31, 1945

Dearest Phil,

Am starting this at work, just before going home. As is generally the case this time of month, we were very busy all day long. I have so little patience for letter-writing that it takes sheer effort to get started on just a v-mail. It's due, mostly, to the fact that I haven't been receiving mail from you. I hope I'm right on my assumption that you will be coming home soon.

I completed only the above at the office and arrived home to find your letter of May 17th. As I read it I had an almost uncontrollable urge to cry and for just a moment I felt utter despair. No, I'm afraid I didn't quite expect you to go to the Pacific, not, as you state, so definitely. A minute later the mood relaxed almost as suddenly as it had come. Yes, all we can do is hope that the end will come soon and that you will be discharged immediately after. The day I noted the change in your address I felt, deep down, that it wasn't good somehow. I had been praying that I was wrong, but I knew better. Regardless of what you say I do feel that I will see you soon, if only for 30 days. Never fear, I won't despair. After waiting so long for the right thing, I guess it won't hurt us to wait a little longer, sweet. I've become very hard inside and can take most anything that comes my way, no matter how bitter it tastes.

Today is a replica of all the days we've been having the past few weeks. It's actually cool and when you take into consideration that tomorrow is June 1 (Seymour's 19th birthday, incidentally) it is surprising.

Speaking of Seymour, I had a nice letter from him. He says he hopes you won't have to come to the Pacific, because it is all trees, rocks and hell holes and he hates it more than anything. Aside from that he sounds good. He's up for a rating of S 1/c and doesn't want to take it, for reasons that he said he could not mention. He has a little more free time than previously and doesn't say anything of where he is. He requested a 5x7 picture of Adele, and I intend to send him one for a birthday gift. I don't know what else to send. We've sent him many packages and it's months since they were mailed, but he has yet to receive them.

Fay is leaving for the shore on Saturday and will be there all summer. She asked me again to come down whenever I could and I said I would see how things work out first, especially concerning you.

I may not get the opportunity to write tomorrow as I must take Adele to Dr. Lefkoe's in the evening and will get back late. I love you, sweet, no matter what happens. We'll make up for everything when this mess is all over.

Your Eve



31 May 1945

Darling Chippie,

Well, here it is the last day of the mouth and it doesn't look very much like I'll be out of hospital for at least a few days yet. But I'm not complaining, ’cause it's more in the nature of a vacation for me than anything else. Best of all, I have plenty of time to write and read and nap (you needn't say "humph!" at that last - that's important, too), and after I get off a letter to brother Jack, I won't owe anyone a letter, and believe me it's a grand and glorious feeling not to owe anyone a letter - or do you know that, sweet?

Yesterday evening, after I mailed my letter to you, I went around for my “fat-free" meal. This consisted entirely of vegetables, and some jam and bread and tea. When I got back to the ward, the nurse was waiting for me with another half-tumbler of that purplish dye for me to drink. It looked like it ought to taste like grape-juice, but it was like drinking so much ink. Ugh! Even the nurse made a wry face as she watched me gulp it down. I spent the rest of the day reading a volume of "1943 Prize Short-Stories" (the O. Henry Memorial group), and it occurred to me that if that is a sample of the best in short-stories, then even I have a chance. No kiddin’,  Chippie ~ while I was reading, I felt that that sort of thing isn't beyond my capabilities. I'm sure as I was ever sure of anything that I can write an acceptable story - a whole flock of them, given the time and opportunity. This isn't conceit, honey, it's just plain confidence. What's more, I still think "ETOUSA Interlude" has merit - even if Marion Hargrove didn't. - But I’m way off the subject - I was telling you what has happened to me since I wrote yesterday ~ Bed-time here is 10 P.M., altho' it's still light at that time. I went to bed wondering why they didn't give me the enema I was told earlier I would get. However, I must admit I was more relieved than disappointed. I was awakened by Tex, the ward boy, who was very sorry about having to wake me (it was now 11 P.M.), but he had completely forgotten that I was to have an enema, and I would have to get out of bed and take one now, as it had to be done if I were to be X-rayed next morning, etc., etc. Well, there was nothing for it. You know - when y’gotta go - y’gotta go - ouch! This morning, not being permitted breakfast, I slept in ’til almost 9:00 A.M. Shortly after, I was called down to be X-rayed. Then I was sent up to the mess-hall to eat a "fatty" meal, an hour after which I was to come back to be X-rayed again. This time I ate a coupla fried eggs, bread & butter, and a glass of milk. After killing an hour in the ward reading, I went back for my last X-ray. When the captain made his rounds a little later, he asked me how I felt, if my cough gone, etc., and then told the nurse that I was to get a G.I. (Gastro-intestinal) series tomorrow. This consists of drinking a chalk-like mixture (barium) while the doc watches how it goes thru the digestive track thru the fluoroscope. They're following the same procedure they did at Lockbourne. I'm hoping they don't try a gastric analysis, ’cause I remember I found it impossible to swallow the silver receptacle with its attached length of rubber hose. They're certainly taking a lot of trouble with me. I hope something comes of it! 

The weather has been very changeable today. It is clear and sunny and cool for a few hours, then it clouds up and rains for a little while, then the sun comes out again to shine on the rows of nissen huts that comprise the hospital, the well-kept fields, criss-crossed by the concrete walks, and the colorful plots of flowers here and there. The menial work around the hospital here is done by german PW's. They cut the grass, and work as K.P.'s in the mess-hall. I've seen all types among them. They range in age from kids of fifteen to elderly, dignified men of 45 and 50. Most of them are stupid-looking, coarse fellows whom it isn't difficult for me to hate the very sight of, but there's fellow working in the mess-hall, who looks like someone's father, with a gentle mouth and mien, and who reminded me instantly of Abe Duretz. I couldn't help wondering what he was thinking as he stolidly piled trays what his hopes are, and how much of evil there could possibly be in such a one.

The G.I.'s in the ward get on my nerves occasionally. Some of them are so grossly uninformed, or misinformed, and conceited and cocky with their sense of power (of the American Armies), and prejudiced, and bigotted, that I sometimes despair for "the fine, free world" of the future, we read so much about. There's no profit in reasoning with such as these simply because their prejudices and pre-conceived notions preclude the possibility of their recognizing a valid statement. Sometimes I just lay in my bunk and sizzle with a mixture of anger, contempt and helplessness at some of the smug, self-complacent, cruel, unthinking and inane statements some of our “noble" G.I.'s come out with. God help us all if the bulk, the rank and file of our America citizenry think as some of our soldiers! - What really disturbs me is that there seem to be so many of them! - But what am I boring you with all this for? Far better that I should tell you about the pleasanter things around here - such as the lovely Strauss waltzes that are coming over the loud-speakers just now ~

Darling, you are never so close to me as when I am listening to lovely music, or when contemplating beauty in any form. I remember now that when, earlier this afternoon, a Red Cross girl bought in a bouquet of flowers in a can for the table on which I am writing, I bent down to sniff at a luscious, maroon-colored rose. The sweet fragrance brought the adored image of your face sharp and clear. As far as I am concerned, then, darling, you are everything that is sweet and beautiful. I do love you so very, very much ~ Love to Adele and all from 

Your Phil

Post #662 - May 30, 1945 I Hope You Didn't Expect Me to Show That Letter to Anyone, for You Know How Deep It Would Cut and "They Told Me Not to Eat Fried or Greasy Foods and To Try Not To Worry.”

 

May 30, 1945

Dearest Phil,

I do not have the typewritter & am using this means, the the only one I could use, without a typewriter. Your letter of the 12th, received yesterday, was in reply to my question of the “#4906 break." I hope you didn't expect me to show that letter to anyone, for you know how deep it would cut. I'd appreciate if you'd write a reply as I suggested, so that I may give it to all to read - something nice - 

The day was spent cleaning our room - a thorough job - & took most of the day. Petey made a snap of Adele, but I don’t expect it to be good.

Adele's Dick test showed a positive reaction, but the Doc feels she should have one more shot, in about three weeks. (darn it!) If I don't take Adele's tonsils out in June, they cannot be removed until October. In all probability I will wait until Oct. Syd Brown is home on a 30 day furlough & does not yet know whether he will be discharged.

I love you!! 

Your Eve

30 May 1945

(Memorial Day)

Dearest Darling,

The weather cleared today, and we had some really nice weather. My cough is all but gone and I'm feeling fine again. Capt. Brownlee meant what he said about doing something about my indigestion, ’cause instead of sending me back to my unit, he is having some tests made in order to determine just what is at the root of my trouble. Today he sent me around to the X-Ray department to begin what is known as a “G.B. Series,” which is nothing more or less then a series of X-Ray pictures to determine if my gall bladder is functioning properly. This is a rather involved procedure. The first step was taken early this afternoon, when an X-Ray was taken of my gall-bladder. When I got back to the ward, I was given half a tumblerful of a purple dye to drink down. A little later I was given a stiff dose of mineral oil. In about half an hour I'm to report to the mess hall with a note which says "fat-free diet." Later tonight I'll be given an enema (how I dread the prospect), and tomorrow morning I'm to have no breakfast. All the foregoing, of course, is in preparation for another X-Ray, which they are going to make tomorrow morning. After that - ?? If you remember, Sweet, I went thru pretty much the same procedure at Lockbourne early in ’43, and the result was that they decided I have a “nervous stomach", but as far as doing anything about it - well, they just didn't. This time, tho’ I’m going to press for action, and I think I'll get it. I told the Capt. about the tests they made at Lockbourne. "What did they find out,” he asked. "I have a nervous stomach,” I answered. "What did they tell you to do about it"? "They told me not to eat fried or greasy foods and to try not to worry.” The Capt. laughed at that - then he told me that he had handled many cases like mine, etc, etc, and that as soon as I was feeling better he would see what could be done about it. I thought that he was just trying to be congenial at the time and that he would forget about it and discharge me from hospital as soon as my cough had disappeared (in which case I fully intended to remind him), but I had misjudged the good Captain, ’cause he came round bright and early this morning and told me to go round to be X-Rayed. He gave me a slip on which was written "G.B. Series - Chronic indigestion" to give to the X-Ray Technician. After I drank the dye, I had to lay on my right side for an hour, which wasn't too hard to do. I've been taking it easy the remainder of the day, just lying on my bunk and listening to the radio.

Well, darling, there isn't any more to tell for the moment, and I have to run along to the mess-hall and my "fat-free diet,” so I'll leave you for a while. Here's a kiss, baby. I love you so much! And here's a kiss for Adele, too. My love to all. Hasta Mañana

Ever 

Your Phil