Golf Archives - Moss Letters

Dear Folks:

Again I’ve let the time go by without writing you as often as I should and I hope you haven’t worried about it. Part of it was on account of the book that just came—the one you sent. I was on a hike when it came and when we got back I didn’t feel so good but the sight of the package on my bunk made me forget my physical ailments. So since that day I have read it some every night and when I get going on it, neglect to write as I should. I can’t tell you exactly how good I felt about getting it or thanking you for sending it, but I know I’ll always hang on to it as a treasure. And then besides occupying myself with the book we have our bridge games that are rapidly developing into teams of severe competition. I think my game is improving but you can test that when I get home. And golf is something again that I indulge in occasionally. Although my rounds aren’t so frequent we usually manage a nine (hole) about once a week, with rented clubs. I can’t help but remember the times when I so assiduously tried to be a golfer on the hometown course that was really little more than a glorified pasture. The first time I played on the course here I must have looked like an unconscious duffer in the movies. Some of the fellows on the course play without shoes, as they do everything else, and recently the winner of a tournament was a barefooted fellow.

Probably I’m an uncle now and the sooner the better. It’s a good feeling to know that the Moss’ are still growing. Katie hasn’t written for quite a while but then I don’t expect her to, I just want to get an announcement.

I hope you had a good vacation full of a lot (of) leisure, for you certainly deserve one if anyone does, and I hope in the future that you will both have your full share. We were talking about Denver in the billet the other night and nice to have someone else familiar with the place as I am.

This was Sunday but nothing unusual or much to write about. And thinking of church on Sundays, I must repay a visit to the Sisters at the convent. It has been sometime since I was there, but even though they do insist, I hesitate, I suppose for no good reason. The Father is a Belgian, a hearty, witty fellow, with a guttural booming talk, that always makes you feel that you are his best friend. The Sisters, via the grapevine I guess, became aware that I torture the fiddle a little and always attempt to force a number but I remain obdurate. Occasionally I go borrow the violin, but with no privacy, I keep pretty well in check.

One of the fellows in the billet is taking an extension course in economics and with him studying his subject and myself usually reading the law book, we are almost ready to inaugurate a study period. I think the promotion you mentioned will be forthcoming, as a matter of fact, I think it may be even better than that, and although my patience grows thin at times, I guess that is a perquisite to all of them. I believe this is all I (can) scrape together tonight, and I will write again soon. Thanks again for the book and now I’m itching for the next one to arrive.

Love,

Dear Folks:

An odd time to be writing a letter—Saturday morning—but I’m dodging inspection because I’m on guard, so I chose a sunny spot by the side of the barracks and decided to bask and write at the same time.

Last nite at the post gym just across the street Lana Turner made an appearance at a fortieth division variety show. Boy what she couldn’t do to my knees. Our division presented her with an insignia on a little banner and while the flash cameras were clicking she shook hands with our general. Then she gave a sentimental little thank-you talk that really sounded genuine and sincere. She had on a purple dress that made her look like a blonde Cleopatra and this was aided and abetted by a cute red hat, set dangerously on her pretty hair. You could have heard a pin drop when she started to talk. During the program she sat in the front row flanked by sober faced, austere generals. During the program at intervals a fellow would come in the back of the hall holding a couple of despairing rabbits and paging Pvt. Peter Potter. The first trip he had two, the next time a half dozen, the next a whole hutch and finally he was dressed as a cook selling them as roast rabbit. One trip he had some fun with Lana Turner but he got a slew of his pictures taken. After the program I got a good view of her passing down the aisle and when she was right in front of me, not more than a yard away, the cameras flashed.

Tomorrow a cook and I are going out for a few rounds of golf if it doesn’t rain and perhaps swimming too if it is warm enough.

Mount Rainier sure looks big and beautiful today as I’m sitting here I’m looking right at it.

Got the letter and the dollar bill yesterday. A dollar goes a long way for recreation if you spend it in camp. Under the new pay schedule and when the cadre leaves I will be getting sixty-four a month. This is for a corporal. I want to save thirty of it. If we don’t get our raise this month I’ll have pretty slim pickings next month because $12.50 besides cleaning, pressing and laundry will be taken out for bonds. As the money accumulates the government converts them into $25.00 bonds. They will be mailed to Dad and made to Mother as a co-owner.

Down the drive a few blocks is Gray Field. Here are observation places that observe the fire of an artillery and communicate by radio with the ground forces. I can see a lot of planes sitting around, wish I was in one of them.

That’s about all there is. Want to see “Gone With the Wind” again. And get that book you mentioned.

See you in the next letter.

Love,

19 August 1943

13 June 1942