I intend to post almost daily, and in roughly chronological order, the thousands of pages of daily love letters that my parents sent to each other during WWII and any other documents that pertain to these letters..
Just got back from seeing a swell movie at the base theater. It was "The Fallen Sparrow” with John Garfield and Maureen O'Hara. I love a picture like that. It has action, suspense, drama, and generally, all the attributes that make for an exciting evening at the theatuh (now, what made me say that ???)!
Otherwise, very little worth repeating happened today. I put in a full day helping put the new Orderly Room in order. Tomorrow we'll start to work—
This evening, I had intended to go into Colchester on the Liberty Run, but then I decided I'd rather see "The Fallen Sparrow - I'd heard some good reports about it. I can get into town almost any evening.
There was no fresh mail today, and I'm rather at a loss for stuff and things to tell you, Sweet, as you may have gathered from my feeble efforts thus far.
To make this letter (?) entirely worthless and dull, I might mention that we've been enjoying lovely fall weather this past week. (I can just hear you snorting, - do you snort, Chippie? - "so what!!”)
Oh hell, it's no use—Forgive me, Sweet—
I've been trying for some minutes to dream up a new way of telling you the old, old story, but somehow the best way at the moment, it seems to me is to reassert what is the simple, unadorned, and indisputable truth—I love you, baby—Love to the punkin and all from
Your Phil
P.S. You're quite wrong, Chippie. If I were drunk, I’d tell you.
After three mail-less days, your V-mail of 21 Sep. arrived yesterday afternoon. But it told me hardly anything more than that you had Adele to Dr. Leinweber to have her teeth cleaned; that Harry W. is back in "civvy street", and that you are waiting most impatiently for 16 Oct to roll around. I forget now what particular significance I attached to that date, but if I led you to believe that I might be home by then, you must know how we were swindled out of our rightful places as "866". But, in my case, I don't think the "deal" will postpone my sailing by more than five or six weeks. It's the guys who have only about 65 points, who really got the short end of the stick. They probably won't get home ’til about January.
Yesterday they grabbed me for the processing line again. (I feel like “often a bridesmaid, never a bride"). So I was busy all day. In the evening I was too worn out to do anything except lie on my bunk and read. I picked up Ben Ames Williams’ "Strange Woman" in the Day Room, meaning to read a coupla hours and then drop you few lines, but I got so interested in the story that before I realized it, it was 10:30 (by my new watch, which has yet to lose or gain a half-minute since I acquired it!) - and too late to start a letter—Sorry, honey
Today being Sunday, I slept ‘til 10:00, and lay abed ’til 11:00. (I'll leave it to you, Sweet, to imagine what I day-dreamed about in that hour.) Finally, because I was hungry and it was approaching lunch-time, I dragged myself out from under the blankets, dressed, washed, and hiked to the Mess Hall. I had forgotten it was Sunday,when we customarily have chicken for dinner. Hungry as I was, I couldn’t stomach it, and ate only potatoes and peas. Back I came to the hut still hungry. To take my mind off that uncomfortable empty feeling, I resumed my reading of “Strange Woman". But my leisure was interrupted when Sgt. Fox came in to tell me that Lt. Carney wanted me at Hq to compile some information for a report. I caught a hop on a weapons-carrier to Hq, where Lt. Carney told me what he wanted. It took me only about a half-hour to go through the S/R's and get the dope for him. Before I left, he told me to report tomorrow (Monday) to work in the Orderly Room of my new organization, which the guys refer to with justifiable bitterness as the "3d Mess-kit Rape + Ream Sq.” I don't mind this new assignment for two reasons. (1) It will keep me occupied for my remaining time here. (2) I won't be called on to pull K.P. or guard-duty.
When I came back to the hut (this time I walked the mile from Hq) it was only 3:30, so I killed the time ’til supper reading. By supper-time I was ravenous, not having had a square meal since lunch the day before. For supper, they had my favorite Army meal—meat loaf, pickled beets and onions, mashed potatoes, coffee, and stewed apricots in vanilla pudding for dessert. After finishing this meal, I felt a lot better. The picture at the theater is "Girl Crazy," which I saw more than a year ago, so I came directly back to start this—
At the moment, I have the hut (and the radio) to myself. Today was pay-day, and most of the guys have taken off for town and various places. It is more than three weeks since I've been to London, and two weeks since I've even left the base. I think I'll go into Colchester tomorrow for the evening to see Bert and Evelyn and the Marks’. Tonight, after I finish this, I must take a much-needed shower and shave.
The Station is fast becoming what is known in G.I. parlance as a "dead base". The PX, dry-cleaning establishment, barber-shop and various other services have been closed down and dismantled. In a few days, the movies and Aero club will close down. By that time, the G.I.'s awaiting shipment will have gone, leaving only us of the “holding party" to hold down the fort. We number, at present, 188 EM and 39 Officers, but I heard Major Shamblin say today that this force will be cut to about 70 EM and 6 Officers, who will be here a few weeks after the rest of us have shipped out. I say "us", because the “excess" will be the higher-point men, and there will be no one on the base with more points than I, since I only missed going with "866" by one measly point. In any event, I don't expect to be on this station more than another two weeks. Where I'll go from here is as much a mystery to me as it will be to you, but the likelihood (practically the certainty) is that I'll be transferred to an outfit scheduled to ship for the States in a few weeks. That's the “sityayshun" as it now stands, my sweet, and you know just as much about it now as I do—at this writing.
With things in the state of flux that they are now, and with my embarkation for home presumably only a matter of five or six weeks away, the time is showing a tendency to drag interminably. But that may be due, in large part, to my comparative inaction these past few days. The strange thing is, that although the time ’til departure for POE is growing shorter daily, I can't yet get excited at the prospect. I think I feel instinctively that the time for that is not yet—that if I allow myself to start “anticipating" now, I couldn't bear the strain for the duration of the intervening weeks ~ But I also feel that the tough period of waiting will be those few hours between the moment I am free to come to you and the moment you are again lovingly ensconced in my arms, that have waited so hungrily for you these past two years and more—So often and so long have I dwelt, in my imagination, on all the aspects of that precious instant of reunion, that I'm almost afraid to admit to myself that all the words I might possibly say to you will stick in my throat. I might even (horror of horrors!) break down completely!" What would you think of your big, strong hubby then, baby? So—if I go to the opposite extreme and greet you almost casually, you will understand, Chippie, that that is my defense against an occurence of the former. After all, a guy that's as easily moved to tears as I am (remember me in the movies?) could hardly be expected to "bear up" under the stress an emotional crisis such as our reunion is bound to be! Seriously, tho’, honey, you must promise not to embarrass me by acknowledging in any way the tears I am just liable to shed on the occasion. And you must not be surprised or hurt by any lack of customary fervor, either, ’cause if I feel myself "giving way", it's conceivable that I will adopt a formality and brusqueness that will be the exact antithesis of what I am feeling - but only ’til we are alone. Once we are alone together, I'll know no reserve. Anything goes—and may the best man win! I'm sure you understand me perfectly, baby—
As for the punkin, I'm almost sure I'll make an ass of myself right off the bat! I remember very clearly my reaction when I came home from Lockbourne on pass once. Someone put her into my arms to hold. It was in our bedroom, and there were a dozen people present at the time, yourself included. The moment I felt her precious little body in my arms, I started to choke up, and when she sleepily put her head against my neck, the sob that started to well almost broke its bounds. I had to turn my back to the assemblage, to hide the tears that started. If all those people weren't there at the time, I'm afraid I would have blubbered like the veriest babe! That is why, darling, I must ask you to insure that my meeting with Adele be a strictly private one—even to your own exclusion if you don't relish the spectacle of your hubby in tears. I'm afraid the punkin might neither like nor understand the phenomenon, and might think the less of her daddy for the apparent weakness, so I’m going to make every effort to “be strong” (God knows, I want to be!) but I know myself well enough to recognize the possibility that I won't be equal to the occasion. That is why I am taking no chances and telling you what to expect and what you must do to prevent embarrassing us all: First, I must meet you alone. Then, I must meet the punkin alone, unless you are willing to risk seeing me in tears. That, I'll leave to your own discretion, but no one else until I have met you and Adele— After that, let them all come! One more thing, honey—In the event that I'll be free to come to you before I can let you know that I have arrived, (and this is the probability), then don't think it strange if I don't come directly home, but tell you to meet me at some hotel in town. I just can't face the prospect of coming home to you—and a dozen other people. I'm sure you will understand and respect my feelings in this matter, Chippie—
Well, darling, I have just about written the evening away. I'll stop now ‘cause I have to save some for tomorrow ~ So hasta mañana, sweetheart. You know I adore you, but if you'll put your arms around me and stand real close so I can get my lips close to your ear, I’ll whisper what is ever in my heart ~ I love you, my Evie—
No mail from you since I wrote you last, but I still owe you quite a few letters. I’m feeling fine, & hope this letter finds you all the same. Our work in this outpost has closed down the past few days and we aren’t getting in many Jap prisoners. We have the biggest majority taken care of now. In a few days we expect to move out of here & set up our camp down on the beach. I thought for awhile we were going to catch some of the Occupation Army, but I’m most sure now that we won’t & that sure does suit me fine. We sure have been hearing some good news of our Division going to the States, as a whole, over the radio & around here on the Island. Everyone in the outfit with 60 points or above will go back with the Division & those who have under will be sent to another outfit. With the new recount I have 68, but I still would have had enough without the recount. So far they say we will load the boats about the middle of Oct., & that sure will be one boat ride I’ll enjoy no matter how sea sick I get. We sure do deserve a break, & boy this sure would be a good one. The food sure has been lousy & we aren’t getting any fresh meat to eat at all. They say the Q.M. on this base is just using up the food on hand & is not ordering a thing. That also is a good sign of us going home. Well Evelyn, that about winds up the news for now. Give my regards to all. Write you again soon.
All day today we have been sweating out the arrival of the new men who are to make up the 866th Air Engr Sq. We in the Orderly Room are looking to their coming with a great deal of pleasurable anticipation, because when they arrive we will turn the Orderly Room over to them (with our blessings) and retire to our own huts and sacks where we will take it easy from now on. I'm not kidding, 'cause that is exactly and literally what we are going to do. I expect that in a week or two we will be free to take one pass after another until we ourselves are alerted for shipment. The "866th" is scheduled to move out to POE on 6 October, and my own shipping orders should be along almost any time after that, and possibly before, because there aren't many men left with scores as high as 77 points.
While I was sitting and twiddling my thumbs this afternoon, it occurred to me that here was an ideal opportunity to get a long-delayed letter off to Mom. So I hunted up some lined paper and got to work. It has taken me most of the afternoon, but I feel a lot better for having done it. Tell Mom I'm sorry if I got my "gimmels" and "zyens" backward (I never can remember which is which), but I don't expect that she will have much trouble deciphering my message. Tell her, too, that I'd appreciate it if, in replying, she also used lined paper and made an effort to make her writing more legible than in her previous letters. I managed to make out what she had written, but it was slow work.
Today brought no fresh mail from you, Sweet, but I did get three letters nevertheless. There was one from (you'd never guess, so I'll tell you) Marjorie Nerenberg! Surprised? I was! The other two were from buddies of mine who transferred to other fields last week, Red Barnhart and Joe Cunningham. Almost forgot to mention that Marjorie enclosed three pictures of herself in answer to my request for the same. If I remember correctly, you have seen her picture - at least, I remember that you described her in one of your letters. What do I think of the way she looks? Well, let's see - To begin with, I was favorably impressed by the "clean" cut of her. She is prettier than I imagined she would be, with strong, yet delicately-chiseled features in a head the shape of which instantly reminded me of your own. Her lovely (no less) blonde hair is well groomed in an underswept "page boy" coiffure. She has, on the whole, the type of face that no one could possibly mistake for anything but "aryan", or "shickse", as the intolerant Jews are wont to call them. She appears to be very tall - I would guess about 5’7" (without heels), and is very thin. But she dresses smartly and wears clothes well. It seems extremely incongruous to me that she should fall for a guy like Jackie. The guy who said opposites attract certainly has the strongest kind of proof for his theory in this case! She is "pure aryan" - Jack is "pure semitic". She is tall he is short. She is fair he is dark and so on. But, if I am any judge of character as shown by physiognomy, she is strong-minded, purposeful, determined, stubborn, and with a will and mind of her own. Which, I don't need to tell you, is the exact complement of Jackie's makeup. She says that they are very happy, but that Jack appears to miss the "big city". I'll send along the pictures, which Jackie made himself, and her letter just as soon as I have answered her.
Last night, having nothing better to do, I went to the movies with Sgt Murphy to see (don't faint now - ) "Call of the Wild".
This morning I had to move to another barracks. That took up most of the morning. Incidentally, I have an honest-to-goodness one-piece mattress now for the first time in the ETO! Isn't that wonderful? What, you don't see anything wonderful about it? Well, lady, if you had slept on three “biscuits" for over two years, I have no doubt you would appreciate how wonderful a one-piece mattress can be!
It is now 5:40 (by my new watch - still ticking merrily along) and we are sweating out the arrival of the new men. We may have to work late tonight.
That's about all I have to report today, honey, so I'll say so-long for now. My dearest love to the punkin and all. I love you, baby - or did you know that?
If you ever had the slightest doubt about it just you wait 'til I get you in bed - I'll show you! But that is only one side of my love for you. The other side hates me for talking that way to you - you're so sweet, my darling.
The weather can't seem to make up its mind today. It has rained ten times already, and in between times the sun has been shining. Right now it is raining again. I cleaned up what work there was this morning, and don't have a solitary thing to do this afternoon - except type this letter to you.
Your letter of 16 Sep was on my desk when I came back to the Orderly Room after lunch. There isn't much that requires comment, though. I'm happy to learn that Yale came through his operation O.K., and that Syd Brown is a civilian by now. I was wondering a little while ago how many points our Jack has now. Since the WD has announced that the number of points will be the determining factor in all future shipments home and for demobilization, we might do well to check up on how many points each of "our" boys have. I'd like to know how many Puffy and Limey have, too.
I'm going to institute a policy today—that of including the latest dope on shipping and demobilization according to the Stars & Stripes. This should give you a pretty good idea as to when you might expect me. You know, of course, that I have 77 points.
Too bad you're having such a time finding a snow-suit for the punkin. You say something about shopping for it in New York, I think that is a "smashing" idea! But I'm afraid that she'll need it before the time for meeting in New York arrives. Incidentally, Sweet, in case you didn't know it before, I will be separated from the service at Ft. Dix. It may work out that I won't be able to meet you in New York after all, but there is a chance that I will. The picture is too indefinite right now to say for sure where we will hold that long-awaited reunion, but you may depend on it I will get in touch with you at the earliest possible instant, and wherever we meet, it will be just too wonderful for words. I must warn you now not to be disappointed if I fail to let you come to me at once, because I still feel that I don't want to see you until I am free to be with you for at least a number of days. I simply could not bear to see you for a little while and then separate again (you remember how it was at Ft. Dix). You understand, Chippie, why I don't want to go through that ordeal again! Do you remember how I almost took Klein up on his offer to let us "use" the jeep? He still kids me about it. No, thank you—I'll take a nice, cozy hotel room some place—nor will I consider meeting you until conditions are such that we can be alone. You'll probably think that I'm pretty awful for thinking this way, Chippie - that "that" is all I think about. But that's not exactly the truth, baby. It's just that that is one of the things I will be thinking about when I have you close to me, and I know how maddening it can be to be prevented by circumstances.
Does it strike you, honey, that in my most recent letters I can hardly talk about anything but my homecoming? To be perfectly frank, I rarely think of anything else these days. Everything we're doing in the Orderly Room these days is toward the end of getting the boys home and out of the Army, and just the thought of it is enough to cause an air of excitement. When I think how I used to look forward to the days we are now experiencing - ! The one topic of conversation is "the Next Shipping List". It seems that's all we're living for these days.
One thing I do regret, though, darling, is that I got you all excited prematurely. I'll try to keep my natural optimism more in check from now on. I do hope the let-down wasn't too severe, baby.
Was glad to read in your letter that Harry is looking for a place for his family. How's about giving him a lift in his search? Your mother should be able to help in this direction - if I remember correctly she has a knack for that sort of thing. I won't pretend, Chippie, that my motives here are anything but selfish. You will understand from my last few letters that I am most anxious to come back to a home occupied only by you and the punkin and Mom. Your failure to accomplish this would be the only thing that would, in some measure, keep my homecoming from being the perfectly glorious experience I have envisaged. - But there I go again! Just can't seem to keep off the subject.
Time to quit now, Sweet, and just space enough left to tell you yet again that I adore you. Best love to Adele and all the family.
Couldn't write last night because we worked ’til 10:30 getting the records of 54 more men ready for transfer. This time, I was one of the men transferring. I will be one of a "holding party" of some 75 or 80 men and Officers, who will "ship" all the other men off the base, and hand the field back to the British. That is, that is the way things shape up now, but things in general, and the point system in particular, are in such a god-awful mess, that almost anything can happen. Right now, I'm keeping my fingers crossed and waiting developments. I can't conceive, Chippie, how they can possibly hold me much longer than November. I'm still confident that that is the very latest date I'll ship home. In any event, barring further misadventure, I'll be with you to help celebrate the punkin's 3rd birthday—that's a promise! And, if a certain "break" materializes, I may make it in October yet!
Your longie of 11 Sep., containing the key, arrived today. Being something of a sentimentalist, I got a great kick out of it. Thanks, baby—let's hope I get to use it before too many more weeks have passed—
Sorry to learn about the punkin's fall. It gave me a queer twinge just reading about it. I wonder how I would have reacted had I been there to see it? Hope she wasn't hurt too badly—
You're wrong, Chippie, in your guess that I “never gave it a second thought"—about your being unwell when I arrive, I mean. Hell, the single guys are always kidding us married men about it. They want to know what we'll do in case the wife greets us with a “patriotic welcome" (waving the flag). Some husbands make no bones about it—they'll ignore the "red flag"! Me, I like to think I have will power enough to desist, but I think you know from past experience, Chippie, that there are times when I just can't take no for an answer. However, we shall see what we shall see—As to our having to start, all over again—I can only say “good!” It was fun (for me, anyway) the first time, and it will be even more fun this time, I know. I can't help feeling, though, that it won't be nearly as difficult this time—In this connection, honey, I was wondering if it wouldn't be wise to have yourself fitted with a diaphragm, unless that is impossible in your present “virgin” state. I hate the thought of going back to the "skin" contraceptives we used to use. The only reason I never insisted on it at the time was that I couldn't bear the thought of a male doctor fooling around you, and that you expressed a distaste for the diaphragm. I wish, Chippie, that you would talk to Lena and get Dr. Taylor's address (she's a woman), and see what might be done in that direction. I'd appreciate it if you'd give the diaphragm a trial. Perhaps you'll get over your aversion to it—who knows? Remember, though—no one but Dr. Taylor must touch you—for my sake. Maybe, baby, you'd like to dispense with contraceptives altogether? Remember how glorious it was when we didn't have to “worry"? Sorry, honey, that slipped out—just wishful thinking on my part. Yours shall always be the last word—you know that, don't you, Sweet?
Was happy to learn that you picked up a coupla pounds, but believe me, darling, you couldn't be lovelier than I remember you at 118 pounds. Did I lose any part of my "yen” for you when you were ailing and went down to 113 pounds? I don believe I did. You were always delectable in my eyes, a few pounds more or less notwithstanding. It may interest you to know that I have scrutinized some hundreds of pin-up girls these past 25 months, but I have still to see one that appeals more than the picture of you that I carry in my memory. You were always the most adorable and sexciting girl I ever saw—and you still are, believe me! Remember how Lucifer used to stand to attention whenever I watched you undress? Well, the mere remembering is still enough to make him “rise to the occasion". Am I embarrassing you now, darling? You say you want to be "bad" again—For your sake, baby, I hope you mean that because I'm going to hold you to that—and how!
You said in a recent letter that you intend to "wear me down and wear it (weight) off". That—I would like to see! We’ll see who will say "good night" first!—Just got a swell idea! Let's set the alarm for 3 A.M., then 6 A.M., and each time we'll see if we are equal to a "session". How's that for an inspiration? How come we never tried it before? Do think I'm being silly, Chippie? Maybe so, but at the moment I can't imagine what could possibly induce me to let you get out of bed for at least week after I get into you into bed with me again! (Lady, am I in a "state" right now!) Have you told the family that I’ll almost certainly be home within the next six or seven weeks? You might ask H + G to make a real effort to find a place for themselves 'cause I don't think my nerves will stand up to too much commotion around the house once I return. I'll crave a lot of peace and quiet when I come home, and I'll do anything rather than have to live in a hubbub of crying babies, domestic arguments, squabbles, etc. Please, darling, do your utmost to impress on H + G that they must find their place before I return. I have no fears about Adele's capacity for getting on my nerves—I'm sure I know how to handle her—now that she's old enough to understand whatever I might say to her, but if I have to listen to Diana's crying and Harry's and Goldie's bickering—or even small talk, I know I shall be strongly tempted to move "us" out and let them have the place to themselves. When you wrote in a recent letter about our having to live together for a few months, I shuddered at the thought, and realized for the first time how distasteful the prospect is to me. I don't have anything against H + G—don't misunderstand me, it's just that I don't want to live in a house full of people and I won't, if I have to get a room at the Y.M.C.A.! I think that H + G must be just as anxious for a place of their own as we are, darling, so won't you tell them that now is the time to do something about it? There's another reason—one you mentioned yourself not long ago. Once I am home again, it will be imperative that Adele has a room of her own. I don't rightly see how we can manage otherwise. The time may seem to drag, honey, but believe me—there isn't to time to spare now—It pleased me no end that Gloria "raved" about "Mike" (are you sure you're not exaggerating?), because I value her opinion highly in this case. But, I was surprised to learn that you haven't submitted it yet. It's not like you, Chippie, to let the grass grow under your feet—As it is, I'm afraid you've "missed the bus". No publisher would have it now, as its greatest value was its "timeliness." Note I said "was"—However, don’t feel badly about it, ’cause there are plenty more (and better ones) where that came from.—Which reminds me—Thank Bob for his kind offer to introduce “my song.” I appreciate his good intentions, but I'm afraid the song itself will have to wait until I have the time and facilities for composition available~
And now--it's way past my bed time, so I must conclude my writing, for the time being, with all my love to you and Adele, and the fervent hope that the need for letter-writing between us shall exist no longer than a few more weeks. Take a fresh hold on your patience, my darling. Try to accomplish what I have asked of you, and be secure in the conviction that I am
Ever Your adoring Phil
P.S. My new mailing address: Cpl. Phil Strongin—33051975 3d MR & R Sq AAF Sta F-157, APO 559, c/o P.M. New York
(The MR + R Sq is not the "Rest and Recuperation" as you might suppose, but Mobile Repairs & Reclamation Sq—get it?)
Sept. 19, 1945
Dear Phil and Evyie,
(Don’t puzzle the spelling Ev, leave it for Phil)
It was grand hearing from both of you. It’s rather strange, the difference in wording in your letters telling me about the same thing. Yours, Phil, is typically and iffily G.I. about your return. Ev’s, poor civilian, is sure and positive to say nothing of certain. I don’t want to put a damper on things, but, even though everything that you, Phil, relate points towards excellent possibilities—oh hell—You will be home by Christmas. I might even be there to welcome you with my wife helping me. (I know it seems strange, but that’s what I said exactly, my wife. It’s a wonderful feeling.)
We’re doing swell and wondering how in hell we spend so much money with so very few places to spend it, except for a lamp, a blanket, a dress, a suit, etc.
Gee we got a complete serving for six from Marjorie’s Mom and Dad for a wedding gift. It’s the Old Lace pattern of Towle silver. It’s beautiful. We used it Sunday with steak and stuff and angel food cake. Marge is a swell cook and amazes me.
Phil, I’m sorry I neglected your previous letter, but I’ve been in a whirl, honestly. I bit off a big hunk to handle out here and there’s lots of doing involved, almost too much for an ex G.I. just out of the lazy hospital life. Things are panning out nicely now, though, and I’m pretty well set.
I know it’s very late for the doing, but please accept my apologies and grant me forgiveness for that night I separated you two by taking Phil on a business jaunt. I can well see my error, now that I too have a real sweetheart.
Do you like the pictures? Marjorie was a bit ill at ease, writing to you Phil. It was a little hard, I guess, for her “stranger” feeling.
I really do hope to be back East by Christmas. I believe I can finish this job by then in time for that. Some people who don’t know how to typewrite can get around to getting home easily. Hell though, Phil, you’re doing a job and have done one that has helped in making this a grand and glorious place to return to. So, chin up, old boy, and your turn will come for giving up desire by fulfillment.
I learned yesterday that the earliest date I can be operated on again by Dr. Lempert will be June 5, 1946. It’s rather disappointing, but hell I’m here and healthy so I can’t kick. At that time he supposedly will thin a tissue that’s too thick and not able to vibrate or cause to vibrate the stopple it covers in the new hearing opening that he has already made.
Gee, every time I write to you my whole being tingles with lonesomeness and at the same time an inner happiness because such as you, are such as I am privileged to count as friends, and people to once again come close to in a future, that were it even tomorrow to become the present that found us together, would still be too far distant to please my desire. Gosh, how I want to see you all again, every one of you, to say nothing of the one who has changed the most, the Little Princess.
Well, kids, that’s all there is for now ’cause sleep time approaches. Gosh how sleep time has changed.
My love to you all, and to you, Phil, my deepest and heartfelt wish for a speedy and safe return.
I've been sitting here for ten minutes or more wondering how to tell you what I have to tell you tonight—It isn't going to be easy to take, baby, so brace yourself for a bit of bad news. Ready? O.K. then—In the simplest terms I can muster, I’ll tell you what happened today. Remember last night I told you that only those men with 70 points or more would ship home as the 866 Engr. Sq. 440 Air Sv. Gp.? Well, we were all led to believe that it meant 70 points as of VJ day. How could we even suspect that it meant VE day, since there are only 9 men in the entire squadron with 70 or more points VE? Still, that is what I learned today. The irony of it is almost killing me—me with just 3 days service less than enough to give me those magic 70 points! The program now is this: The 9 men now in the squadron with the necessary points will be supplemented by some 210 more lucky guys, the "combat" men who have just a little more than 2 years total service with perhaps a year to 18 months overseas service—and the six "battle participation stars" (yes, those again!) that give them 30 points and a pass home! And they are the guys who will go home in October as the 866th Air Engr Sq! Do you wonder that I am just squirming in futile rage at the injustice of it? Now what? I wish I knew, Chippie. Right now I feel like the whole U.S. Army has walked on me, and my mind refuses to accept the possibility that I may be stuck here with all the others in my unfortunate circumstances for 2-3-4 months more, yet that, in all probability, will be theway it will be. It breaks my heart, after reading your cheery V-mail of 9 Sep, which closes with “Soon—I know," to have to tell you this, especially after the way I've built up your hopes in my recent letters, You say that you've been watching the shipping lists. Well, if you should see the 866th mentioned, you can just think to yourself that, in all justice, it should mean that me and all my buddies that have “sweated it out" from 25 to 27 months are coming home, but you will know that it isn't us at all, but 200 other guys, who have far less right to be on that shipment. I'm so disgusted and blue tonight, honey, that I'm not fit company for a dog. My heart is heavy as lead within me. I'm so riled up about this latest screwing we are taking, that I'm almost beside myself. Another thing—Hq knew the plan two weeks ago, and they knew full well that all the guys were figuring the basis of their VJ points—why shouldn't they? But they just let us think so. Why? Because they knew darned well that the guys would have croaked before they'd pack our equipment for some other guys to take home!—And that's only part of it! I could tell you many similar instances, but what's the use? Please, darling, don't think me a cry-baby and a weakling for airing my grievances this way. I just have to get them off my chest or bust. Don't think I'm alone my recriminations, either, ’cause right now in this hut there are four guys blowing their tops over this latest outrage. Honestly, honey, it is enough to make a strong man cry!—The hell of it is—we have no voice to protest with—we are soldiers, and right now that is synonymous with slaves. We are abused, maltreated, and ignored—and there isn't a goddamn thing we can do about it. It's no damned wonder that a great majority of soldiers discharged with CDD's were “psychoneurotics”! Frustration is almost constantly our chief emotion, and the discharge lists prove how dangerous it is to men's minds.
Sorry, honey, if my news has saddened you, but you know it isn't my doing—It wouldn't affect me nearly as much, either, if I didn't know how anxiously you and the punkin are awaiting my return—
Kiss the punkin for me, Sweet, and tell her that daddy is looking forward to the day when she will lay in bed between him and Mommy—but only in the morning! My everlasting love to you, my darling Evie. Love to all.
