Time magazine Archives - Moss Letters

7 September 1945

Dear Folks:

Better write you while I can still do it. It appears pretty definite that we will leave either Monday or Friday of next week. And I don’t think we will be in the personnel center more than three or four days. Life is pretty easy right now as far as work goes, but the waiting is pretty tough. I will go to Fort Logan, Colorado to be discharged, and will get travel pay from there to Minatare. I thought it might be nice for you to meet me in Denver, but after thinking it over, I think it would be better at home. Reading in Time magazine it looks like about everything will be plentiful by Christmas time.

I’m in not too good a mood tonight and for several reasons. I don’t like to tell you about them but sometimes I just get so fed up and peeved I feel better by writing. Maybe it was the heat today – it gets hotter than the devil and you sweat like a washrag just laying down or doing nothing. And to add to it the food is terrible. I can’t understand it. Tonight was beans [lima] and sauerkraut and coffee. And it’s like that day after day. I don’t know who gets it but when they tell you the good food goes to the combat troops don’t believe them. Since we have been in combat from June 1944 it has been that way. But the biggest thing that gets me worked up is to read about the Blackhawk Division back in the States from Europe after 46 days at combat and less than 6 months overseas putting up a bitch about being sent to the Pacific. That takes a lot of guts. A large number of the men in this battalion have been overseas three years and through as much combat as any and yet they have no idea when they will get home. And yet men with 45 points don’t get overseas service. Go through three combats or more and yet have no assurance of getting home. My 85 will get me back soon but the guys with less than 80 I sure feel sorry for. And yet they want to cut the draft and give the guys already here more service. The troops over here have taken the beating and lived in places where no white people have been, and taken what the army has left over, and when the war is over, tell them you aren’t through yet. You know how I feel about the situation. Some of those European troops weren’t over long enough to feel homesickness. Well those are my sentiments.

Had two letters yesterday one from Dad and one from Mom. Both very good. I was surprised to hear how well your store is going, and I can tell you have bigger things in mind. I am certainly proud of you and admire you for the courage to do it. And I feel like [if] you do that, it can grow into a big success. I know you are the right guy that has the stuff to deal with people and build up a good reputable business, and I know that when you get ready to leave it, it won’t go to pot, because the Moss boys will take care of that. I feel like I have a lot to say about it but I’ll save it until I get home.

I think I told you not to write any more. It feels good to write a letter without knowing an officer will be looking it over later. I know a lot of letters will have some torrid stuff in them now that censoring is off.

Last night I went to USO stage show that I didn’t think was so good. But there was three girls in it, so I guess it was worth going to. We have a pretty nice stage considering it was built and designed and built by GIs. Kay Kyser’s show was plenty good, full of a lot of laughs, and pretty gals.

An organ is playing on the radio right now – some tunes that make me half way feel like bawling. It seems almost too good to realize I’m going home. Now I’ll have [to] get used to Nancy grown up, and Philip too. Had a letter from Phil and he said it was possible he might see me, but I’m afraid it’s too late. I’d almost stay another week to meet him. He may be in for some time yet, but he will probably get leaves pretty frequently. Said he wished he had gotten married while he was still in the States.

I hope you got to see Dan Gettman. He’s a good hard working kind, but a little slow. Friendly as the devil.

Well I’m going to knock off for tonight. I don’t know exactly which letter will be the last but it may be this one. But if a week goes by and no letters [come], keep in earshot of the phone because I am probably on my way.

Love,

17 April 1945

Dear Folks:

I’m afraid this letter will be very brief, but I had to write because of some good news. Dick called me on the phone so I got in a jeep and picked him up. Then we came back and had supper and did a lot of talking. He is looking very good and full of cheer and smiling. One of the first things we had was to exchange our letters as all mail has a high value. He was all dirty so before chow he cleaned up. After mess we talked for a while then he had to leave. Said he sees Dye Carroll often and his mouth still puts out a torrent of baloney. Dick said he acts like an old veteran, but if he starts on me I’ll blow my lid. Wait till he gets a belly full of it. I’m in no mood to tolerate a fresh stateside cookie.

I’m fine and feeling good because much mail has been coming but one thing I want you to do is this. Mail the Free Press in a large envelope first class. It never gets to me as second class. I haven’t received one in months. Also I would like you to send Time magazine and Newsweek the same way. It’s the only way I can get up to date news from periodicals.

Well I’ll write more later. Reading my Episcopal prayer book is a great source of confidence and knowing you are thinking of me helps greatly.

Love,

12 August 1944

Dear Folks:

If this was a Saturday night at home I certainly wouldn’t be having any time to write. A Saturday night over here is pretty monotonous and letter writing is the chief way to kill some time. We have a small generator in the battery and a few tents have electric lights. So that’s why I can write at night. The ‘Hippodrome’ closes every week at this time, and when the show is going there isn’t much to do. I walked over to the Jeep and listened to some news and music for a while but that grew tiresome so this is where I ended up.

The day before yesterday I flew to Saipan in a Liaison plane to see Dick. You know I am now on Tinian and I believe I told you all about that if it wasn’t censored. It is only a ten-minute ride but it was a nice one. We landed on Aslitho airfield and then I went right to see Dick. He’s very well and looking fine. I think he’s even getting heavier if my eyes don’t deceive me. The mud is about ankle deep all over the island and the hitchhiking was bad. I hadn’t seen him since about the last of July, so I thought I better get over while I had the chance. Of course I took all the letters that I had received from you so he could read them. After I left Dick, stopped in at Jack’s outfit and spent a few minutes with him. I didn’t have much time but thought I better stop. I don’t think I’ll be seeing him for a long time to come. He was running around in shorts helping put up a building. He gave me the picture I’m enclosing. It was taken on Oahu just before I left. He took several others but this one is the only one he had time to develop. He said he would forward the rest as soon as they are done. I guess we both look kind of ‘goony’ in it but otherwise it’s pretty good.

The war news sounds increasingly good each week. We hear most of the world news and from both sides. According to our version we are going great guns in Europe and I guess the Pacific is rolling too. Tokyo radio the other day announced that all Jap civilians would be armed to defend the country – if that is the case it will be a bloody slaughter. But that isn’t so much different than here. Most of the civilians go with the soldiers and take part in the ‘banzi’ zero hour attacks. I hope you read in the July 24^th issue of Time about the last attack of the Japs north of Garapan on Saipan. That is the place I visited and that I told you about in one of my previous letters. The more you see of them the more you become convinced they are mad, unreasoning 20^th century cannibals.

I suppose by now that you have heard of the Army’s new rotation plan. The time is now three years overseas, after which you become eligible for return and reassignment on the mainland. Well that’s another year to wait before there is even any hopes of getting back, and even then much is still probable. There is a furlough plan in effect but the quotas are so small I think it must be more of a morale builder than anything else.

Well there isn’t much else I can think of to write, although it isn’t very late. I’m still getting along very well and feeling good. In this weather skin diseases and ailments seem to be common and coral cuts take a long time to heal. It seems like all little scratches and cuts don’t heal up like they used to at home.

Guess I better peel off, and go to bed and for the Nth time think of you without being able to say goodnight to you.

Love,

18 July 1944

[Harold types]

Dear Folks:

Dick came down to see me today and I thought while we were laying around we just as well write you a letter – or try to. Right after we had dinner we walked along the beach road from Charan Kanoa to the end of the island looking for an army cemetery but couldn’t find it. While we were looking for the place, Dick showed me the places where his outfit landed and even where he dug his first foxhole. And we found a lot of Jap caves that were well concealed and topped over with a lot of dirt and leaves. They dig in like [illegible] caves are transforming the face of the [illegible] saw several thick walled concrete [illegible] from the point we had a good view of Tinian [illegible] over there must be thinking – if they can see what is going on [illegible] there is (a) sugar factory that stands out on the landscape. It took quite a beating from navy shells and girders and machinery are flung everywhere. From the factory runs a number of narrow gauge railroad lines. The army captured a few locomotives and now you can hear their high pitched whistle as the guys chug along using the cars to haul supplies, etc. The trains are small and look more like oversized toys. We haven’t had a look at Carapan yet and I have been itching to get up there and see what goes. The town is about ten thousand so there must be quite a lot to see. I haven’t seen a newspaper or magazine since I left Oahu and today Dick walked in with a Time magazine. I’m anxious to review it from cover to cover. I was asking Dick what I should write about and he said to mention that we will be sending home some souvenirs soon when the situation permits. I told you about the bayonet and the flag. In addition to those Dick got a wallet with quite a sum of Jap money in it, and many pictures of the officer’s family and what must be his wife. Also he got his insignia of a 2^nd lieutenant. He’ll probably have some more before it is all over. The weather here is about the same as on Oahu but right now is the season when the monsoons begin and the past few nights there have been heavy rainstorms. They say hurricanes strike near the island about once every two years and I hope this isn’t one of them. Today is pretty hot and sultry and the sand all around is hard on the eyes.

We were both wondering about Phil and whether he has come into the army yet. Every once in a while you see a crude handwritten sign over a foxhole saying Frisco 7752 miles, Tokyo 1521, and then we realize just how far away we are. Guam lies about 103 miles to the south and just to the north are the Bonims(?). It’s going to be a long boat ride home someday but we’re ready to accept it any time. And remind us never to take another ocean voyage when we get home. The food was pretty good on the boats but the chow lines are hard to buck, and the accommodations are hardly first class. Well I’m going to turn this over to Dick and let him add a few lines.

[Dick handwrites]

Today being Sunday I went to communion and then to see Harold. We’re taking it easy now after a little uneasiness. I’ll write some time later.

Love,

Dick

29 October 1942

Dear Folks:

I rang the bell today with three letters thanks to the ambition of Dick and Nancy and I’ll answer them ‘ poste roote’. All were V letters. For the past two weeks have been news fatherer for the outfit and when the next issue is pointed, I’ll send you the column to file among my service memories. News is as scarce as a Jap in Lockheed so probably most of my letters are repetition. Sure I get good grub. I’m still riding a wave of optimism concerning the war and hope I’m right. I can’t imagine it otherwise.

I can easily envision all the activity around the home site on Katie’s big day—just to meet Tommy would be something. Who’s going to say the words? And to have Gram and Gramp there will be something too.

Well Christmas is again at hand and so far I’ve had a time finding anything suitable although I’ll find something. Last Sunday went to church and our own too although the pews were warmed only by a major and two privates.

Guess I told you about the subscription to Time and The Reader’s Digest.

Sorry about the brevity of this but there isn’t any more—what a paltry of peas would taste like right now.

Love and goodnite,

24 October 1942

Dear Folks:

You are probably thinking I walked into a switch engine on a dark night by this volley of paper but there isn’t anything to do in the evenings.

Something I just thought of that I would appreciate very much—a subscription to Time and The Reader’s Digest. Reading is the best way I know to spend leisure time.

Tomorrow is Sunday and I’m going to church there in a small Episcopal one in town. Maybe a ball game too and I’m the guy that keeps the score, etc. Last Sunday we got beat 15-0 but we just begun.

Two more letters today but none from you for three days. Suppose they are somewhere enroute.

Well guess this will have to fill the bill this time—after all it was only 24 hours since I wrote you last. Aloha—hate to go to bed—one guy in(the) tent snores and it sounds like a Brooklyn ball game.

Love,