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..
Here I am again, after not I writing since Friday. I just hate to write & don't seem to give a hang whether I do or not. Darling, I hope, for both our sakes, that you soon will be home.—
I did nothing special this weekend—except for some shopping. I bought myself a white sports blouse, a grey gabardine sports dress—and a black hat – which I hope you'll like. It's a fairly large sized hat with a good sized brim, made of needlepoint & can be used for both sport & dress. I had a veil put on for extra effect. I still have a few more things to buy for myself, but I'm doing it gradually.
Today my dad, Ed, Jack & I went down to South St. to get each a suit & coat. Harry W. & Mickey met us, as Harry wanted a coat, too. Well, Sweet you haven’t the slightest idea of what it is to get "half-decent” clothes at a fair price—it's simply impossible.
However, luck was with us. Harry got a blue colored covert box coat for $45, - & that is a cheap coat! Jack got a navy camel hair Chesterfield for $60 & with sheer luck—a chocolate brown suit for $40.00 & we had to talk plenty to get it at that price.
Best of all was the coat Ed got. Someone had given a deposit on it & had left it there too long so the fellow sold it to Ed. I want you to buy the same identical coat, providing it looks as well on you as it does on Ed & you can get one. It is a beige covert officer's military coat with a lining that is removable & cost $65.00 & it's well worth it. For a man's coat, it is positively striking!
I wish we were going shopping tomorrow, in spite of the ordeal.
Baby, I'm missing you so keenly these day that I'm almost beside myself with that feeling of “I want you!” I love you so much, Phil dear.
Gosh, almost forgot to tell you that I received your letter of Oct 17, yesterday, & you were in a bitter mood. I hope, since then, that you have more cause for rejoicing. Baby, I love you! See l can't even write sensibly anymore!
All day I had been looking forward to this evening. I was sure there would be some mail. But no such luck! This morning I walked to the mess-hall and then to work in wind-driven rain. Despite my raincoat I was soaked through by the time I got there. I felt miserable all morning as a consequence, but I could do nothing about it 'cause we started processing at 9 o'clock, and I was busy ’til lunch-time. When we called a halt for lunch I still felt (hell, I was!) wet and miserable. So instead of going to eat, I pulled my chair close to the warm stove to dry off and continued reading “Razor's Edge”. At 1:30, when we resumed work, I was fairly dry. The afternoon went much better. I noticed a familiar face among the fellows being processed. It was a fellow I hadn't seen for six years. He wasn't even an acquaintance, although I had seen him from time to time around 40th and Girard. Yet I recognized him right off the bat. He didn't know me from Adam until I told him who I was. He didn't know me even then, but during the course of our conversation it became apparent that we had many mutual friends. It felt good to talk to someone who lived in the same neighborhood as I did and to hear news of fellows I knew and went to school with. He's a short, blond fellow. His name is Joe Goren.
It was 5:00 by the time we finished processing Hq Squadron, 412th Air Sv Gp. The rain had stopped, but a gale was blowing. I walked to the mess-hall thinking all the while about the four or five letters that I felt would be waiting for me. I rushed through supper in my impatience to get back to the hut. You can imagine how disappointed I was when I learned that no mail at all had arrived for me! Hope tomorrow will bring some mail. After five days without I get awfully impatient and somewhat alarmed.—
There isn't much I can tell you tonight, honey, so pucker up for my good-night kiss. You know, darling, that I love you very much. My dearest love to Adele and all.
I’ll bet I walked six miles today. Twice I walked to and from the Chapel, where we set up the processing line today. That's more than four miles. Then, this evening, I hiked to and from the theater. That's two more miles. So if I come home with too much poundage on me, you won’t be able to say that it was for lack of exercise. And this is only the beginning. I'll be following the same routine and walking those same six miles from now on. Since I have no alternative, I hope I'll be rewarded for the drudgery by the loss of at least ten pounds.
The mail is apparently held up again. I haven't had a letter in four days. I'm hoping to get a few tomorrow.
I'm reading "Razor's Edge" in fits and snatches whenever I get a coupla free minutes, at mess, etc. I don't know quite what to make of it yet. The plot, if there is one, is developed very slowly. I’m beginning to wonder just what Maugham is trying to prove. That's the way I feel about it now. But that in itself makes for an element of suspense. Besides, I never read anything of his before, and I learn a little something from each new author I read, so I'm being educated even if I’m not entertained. The urge to write grows stronger every day. One of these days I’m going to bust loose. I can feel it. And once I start, I'll never stop; I feel that too—Which reminds me that I didn't comment on the information that "Mike" was returned by “This Week". Well, Sweet, you know that I expected nothing else, so what can I say? Guess I could say "I told you so, but I hate people who say "I told you so”—so I won’t say it ~ Personally, I'm perfectly satisfied with my first effort. It may not be well written or sufficiently interesting or perhaps it's lacking in certain
essentials necessary to a short story, or it may have all those faults, but I'm content merely because I was able to put an idea down on paper that people can understand. I suspect that the greatest fault of both “Mike" and "ETOUSA Interlude" is that they are so "typical" that they are commonplace, and therefore uninteresting. It struck me only today that they both have that quality in common. Did you notice that, honey? Wonder why I am moved to write stories that must have had a thousand bases in fact? It also occurred to me that had "Mike" actually been published, we would, in all likelihood have been deluged with letters from gals all over the country wanting to know how in hell I got “their” story, etc, etc. Bet you never thought of that! Think it over, Chippie, and tell me if I have grounds for thinking that or not. I think I told you that I had coupla stories "in my head.” One in particular begs to be written, and when I get around to it honey, I promise you it won't be typical. I might even venture to say it's not like anything you ever read before! I've been “building up” to a writing mood these past few weeks. I think the next time I get an opportunity—which means a few hours of free time, and an atmosphere of peace and quiet in a place where I won't be interrupted. Don't know when I'll attain this combination of requisites, but when I do, you can bet your life I'll knock out this next story. I haven't thought about its title ’til now. As a matter of fact, I'm not sure that it will be a story, in the accepted sense. I do know that it must be written in the first person, and I've been thinking that it is more fitting as a monologue; you know, the type of thing you hear on the radio. The more I consider it, the more I'm convinced it would be more effective in that form. Yes, I think I'll do it that way.
It's almost time for lights out, Sweet. Hope I haven't bored, you. I love you very much, my Evie—Here's akiss for you, and one for the punkin. My love to all.
It is a rainy Sunday evening. Before settling down to kill the evening with W. Somerset Maugham's "Razor's Edge", I thought I'd drop you these few lines.—The other fellows in the hut are getting ready to go to Colchester via the liberty-run, rain or no rain. The radio is giving out with some Limey vocal music, which is the same as saying that I wish it were something else.—Between the radio and the hubbub the guys are making, I can hardly hear myself think! Didn't write yesterday but went into town instead to spend the evening with Bert and Evelyn. It turned out that Bert had a date to go pubbing with one of his sailor friends, and Evelyn was set on going to the movies to see "Mr. Skeffington.” I did have supper with them, though, after which Bert drove us back to the center of town. I stopped at the Marks' but the house was dark—they probably went to London for the week-end. Walking along wondering what to do with myself the rest of the evening, I came to the “Headgate Cinema,” a second-rate movie-house. But they were showing a first-rate picture - "Enchanted Cottage.” It is a beautifully inspiring love story and I loved it. Robert Young and Dorothy McGuire left nothing to be desired as the romantic leads, and Herbert Marshall turns in his usual masterful performance.
When I came out it was 10:30. A full silver moon filled the streets with pale light. The liberty-run bus wasn't due to start back ’til 11:30, so I walked down to the parking lot, found a stone wall and just sat and admired the the scudding clouds and the illumined blue of the sky until it was time to start back. It was just midnight when I came back to the hut. I undressed in the dark and hit the sack.
This morning broke gray and rainy. It's been that all day. I slept in ’til 10:30, when I dressed and went to lunch with three of the boys. Sunday means chicken. Being very hungry I ate it, but I didn't enjoy it. Even now I'm trying to get rid of the taste— ugh! Don't, Chippie, when I come home (and wait until I tell you the good news!) ever offer me chicken! I never want to see the stuff again. Remember that, will you? But I’ve kept you waiting too long already to tell you this—In the mess-hall I met Sgt. Murphy, who wasted no time telling me that a teletype had just been received setting our “readiness date” forward to 6 November! Did I tell you that the last Groups that moved straight to POE to board the Queen Mary the same day did so on their “readiness date" ? That was on 10 October. We're hoping that we will also embark on our “readiness date". There is a chance that we will, but don't count on it, Chippie. If it does turn out that way, though, you can look for me to be home on 12 Nov. and a civvy by the 15th. Wouldn’t that be sumpin’?
There was no mail for me either yesterday or today. I'm mighty anxious, baby, to get your letter of the 14th! When I think what might happen back there I get a queer sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach.—My whole life and being are wrapped up in you and the punkin, Sweet. If anything happened to either of you I'd have nothing left to go on with—or for. Do you think I'm being silly and morbid, honey? Perhaps so, but it is more or less instinctive to worry about those that are dearest to one's heart, and when an incident occurs to arouse ones fears, such as happened last Sunday, the feeling of apprehension isn't easy to shrug off. Please try to understand my concern in this instance, Ev, and don't think me overly sensitive because of it, it's no more than natural ~ The fact that we are so many miles apart has ever been, in itself, a source of worry for me. I feel cut off from you and utterly powerless to come to your assistance in an emergency. My constant prayer is that God keep you and all the family safe and well.
That's about all I can think of to tell you tonight, my lovely, so I'll close this, as always, with the reminder that you are the beloved and adored of
Haven’t heard from you since I wrote you last, but the mail sure has been slow coming in. I’m feeling fine, & hope this letter finds you all the same. Having it rather easy for the present time, & all we are doing now is pulling Regimental Guard Duty and a few details around the camp. We moved from our outpost, and at the present time we are set up near the beach. I guess you heard about our Division going back to the States as a unit, & it sure is about time we got a break. We don’t know our sailing date, but I think we stand a pretty good chance of pulling out of here around the end of this month. The food we are getting sure is bad; you think we would be eating good now that the war is over. Well, that’s the Army for you, & I’m hoping it won’t be too long before I can do as I please. Enclosed you will find a few pieces of Japanese Invasion Money that they used here in the Philippines, that you may like to look at. We turned our rifles in, & I sure have been waiting for that day to come along. When you receive this letter, don’t write to me any more as they tell us we won’t be receiving that late mail. I’ll try my best, though, to write you before we leave. We are getting wool clothes issued to us, & I’ll bet we sure will freeze when we hit that cold climate in the States. That sure will suit me fine, though. Well, Evelyn, that about winds up the news for now. Give my regards to all.
I am writing this early, during part of my lunch-hour, because I must go into town tonight to pick up my trousers at Marks’.
What will probably be my last pass in London starts Friday, day after tomorrow. Coincidentally, your letter of 22-23 September arrived yesterday afternoon together with your V-mail of 25 Sep. I say coincidentally because in your letter, you ask me to hold on to my pay. Naturally, this pass in London will cost me something (there are quite a few good pictures I would like very much to see), but you have my word for it, Chippie, I'll go as easy as I can. I guess you will be thinking that I could forego this pass entirely and save that much more, and theoretically you are right. I could. But there is the other, realistic, side to be considered. First, as I said before, it will, in all probability, be my last chance to get to London. Getting into London occasionally means a lot to me, baby - it's been a life-saver - I mean that almost literally, ’cause I feel that my occasional leaves there are the one factor that prevented me from going at least a little off my nut. Then, you must consider that it is a full month since I've been, and three weeks since I've been beyond the confines of camp. That evening Klein and I went into Colchester to visit Bert in hospital. So, my sweet, you must understand that my leaves are something more than a luxury. They are a necessity. That is why you must condone the fact that during my tenure in England I spent a few hundred dollars in London that I might other-wise have saved by denying myself, but who knows at what price? And don't tell me how you have been denying yourself, Chippie—how you don't even get to a neighborhood movie for weeks and months on end, because deplorable as that fact is, (and you know I would prefer it otherwise), there is no similarity in the two situations. You are too busy with other things to allow yourself the necessary relaxation, you can't help yourself, usually. But I have nothing and no one to turn, to for company here on the base. My buddies pleasures are not mine.I wouldn't want them to be! And I could even put up with the lack of congenial companions. I've been “different” from the other guys all thru my Army career, so I'm used to being alone and lonely, but I must have a change of scene once in a while. Believe me, honey, it is a very real need, because after a few weeks of doing the same things hour by hour each day, and seeing the same things during the course of those days, I begin to feel an increasing morbidity and depression, from which the only cure is to get away from my work and the base for a while. You may think I'm my using a lot of words to tell you something you know already, but your reference in your letter reminded me that you have a flair for saving money without caring too much at what cost in other things you are doing so. Therefore, in order to anticipate the condemnation I might otherwise expect because I am seemingly going contrary to your wishes by availing myself of this last opportunity for a leave, I am trying to make it very plain why I am doing so. I trust you’ll understand and appreciate my reasons, honey, ’cause I don't want you to throw it up to me later. You speak of the great amount of money we’ll need on our contemplated combined "shopping tour" and vacation. I hope, darling, that you haven't counted on me for more than $50.00 or so in addition to the $100 mustering out pay, ’cause unless I gamble and win, I don’t see how I'll have very much more, and since I layed out $26.00 for my watch (which I learned just the other day retails for $65.00) in addition to a few dollars for rations, etc. I could not afford to gamble. However, we'll do the best we can with what we have available when the time comes for our vacation. If you don't consider that we have enough to buy all those things you want, why, I can do with one new suit instead of three and one new pair of shoes instead of three pairs, etc., etc. You are entirely welcome, Chippie, to use any part of the $300 mustering-out pay I will receive in a period of two months, in any way you see fit. I don't deem it necessary or advisable to spend the entire amount on my wardrobe. I wouldn’t feel right owning all those new clothes knowing that there were other, more necessary things that you might have bought with the money. Personally, Sweet, I'd rather we spent as little as possible on my wardrobe on our first shopping trip, 'cause I'm almost sure we will need some of that $300 for our vacation expenses. As a matter of fact, I can't imagine where else we're to get the money for that, and I don't know where you think it’s to come from unless you counted on me to come home with enough to cover those expenses. By the way, honey, you say something about not being able to leave Adele with your mother for more than a week or ten days. I don't know what you are planning, Sweet, but for your information—if I could have just you alone for three or four days, why, I'd like to have the punkin with us the rest of the time, wherever we are or go, or for however long we can afford to stay—that is, if you have no objections yourself~ I realize that it's useless to make any detailed plans now, honey, especially since it will only take us a coupla minutes to decide where we want to go once we are together again, but I was wondering just how much you are prepared to spend on our little jaunt, and with what funds you contemplated financing the trip—or don't you have any ideas on that score either?
Your V-mail informed me that you received my letter telling you how we'd been "jerked around” (to use your own inelegant expression). But then you go on to say something that I can’t make heads or tails of: "Perhaps this ought to knock into you,better than anything I could possibly say, the importance of being independent!” Frankly, Chippie, I don't know what you're trying to prove. You sound almost as tho’ you blamed me for the turn of affairs!—And where does this business of “being independent” enter into it? - And how in hell is a guy supposed to be “independent” in the Army? - And whenever did you get the idea that I don’t appreciate the importance of "being independent”? - And even if I were so thick, I didn't realize its importance, why should this latest "jerking around" "knock it into me?" Really, Chippie, you don't give me credit for much intelligence, do you? You seem to lose all ability to reason, or to write intelligibly when you lose your temper, which has obviously happened in this case. Is it possible you mean that if I were “independent” I wouldn't be in the Army where I’m subject to being “jerked around”? If that's what you mean, baby, then I can only say—no kiddin’! Or do you mean to point out the difference between being subject to the whims and orders of others (as in the Army) and being “your own boss”? I guess that’s what you were trying to convey. In which case I beg to remind you, my sweet, that I am a veteran of three years and four months’ service in the Army, and that even if I didn’t realize the importance of being “independent” while I was still in knee-pants (which I did—even then!) then I would certainly have learned it by now! The truth is—any rookie with as little as a weeks’ service could write volumes on just how important it is to be independent. Therefore, I consider it little short of laughable that you should see fit at this late date to “knock into” me what I fully appreciated when you were still young enough to display your pretty pink panties to all and sundry without thinking anything about it! I’m not so obtuse, either, that I’m not fully cognizant of the fact that you don’t consider that I act like a guy who realizes the importance of being independent. Maybe not, honey, as far as you are concerned, but you must remember that just as there are many roads to Mecca, there are devious ways of attaining any end, and just because my way doesn’t happen to coincide with yours, is no reason to assume that we are not traveling toward the same objective? And, with no affront intended, who are you to say that yours is the right road and mine the wrong one?—But I seem to have made a mountain out of a mole hill.—Next time you mean to point a moral, sweetheart, give a thought to whom you’re pointing it. I’m not a complete ninny, you know.—Above all, don’t lose your temper in the process!
Your P.S. informs me that you finally submitted “Mike.” I believe I’ve told you that you’re much too late. You might just as well have saved yourself the postage, honey. If you’d done something about it in June, when you received the MS, there was only a 100-1 chance against its being published. Now the odds are 1000-1. I really don’t understand why you delay so long, but since I told you to do with it as you would, I hold no brief with you for it. However, it struck me as I read your postscript that it might be a good idea to acquire the copyright to the title in any case. I’m planning to write a song now (I mean planning now, not writing now) using at least the phrase if not actually using it as the title. So I’d appreciate it, Chippie, if you’d stop in to see one of your lawyer friends, when you have an opportunity, to see if it’s possible to copyright just a title like “For the Love of Mike,” and whether the fee would be nominal or otherwise.
Almost forgot to mention that I didn’t write last night. I started to, but I had a rare case of the blues, so I decided not to. Instead, I finished reading “Strange Woman.” It is an absorbing story, but it was more or less spoiled for me by the author's too-apparent efforts toward sensationalism—to write what he felt would appeal to a public in the throes of a fad for sexual erotica in their novels. The character of Jenny Hager-Poster-Evered is at once, evil, repulsive and downright impossible. It taxes the imagination to think how any human could be so heartless, cunning, and yet overtly good and kind and lovely. No, I just couldn't get used to the idea that she was "real” and I like to have my people in books "convincing” if nothing else. I don't know whether it struck anyone else so, (I suspect I'm a bit out of the ordinary in this respect), but the "Strange Woman's” flagrant promiscuity all thru the book literally made me sick to my stomach! I despised her with a very real loathing as I read. I think I could kill a creature (I can't insult you by calling her a woman) like her with no more compunction than I could snuff out the life in a fly!
Are you wondering, Sweet, where I'm getting the time to write all this? Well, I'm working with "Red" "McGetrick on a job that requires both of us, but he's been busy with a hundred other things that can't wait, so I'm killing the time until he's ready to help me in this delightful fashion. We have our own little office, just the two of us, and I have been able to write uninterruptedly since lunch-time. It is now 3:29 P.M. (by my new watch, which I am very fond of now), and I've just about "written myself out” as you are wont to say.
Rather than start another side, I'll tell you right here and now, my darling, what I am always so proud to say—I love you—Lotsa kisses and hugs for Adele, and love to all from
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.
