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19 May 1945

Dear Folks:

I’ve missed writing you the last few days and for no good reason either so I better get busy. As a matter of fact things have been a little easier for me despite what radio reports you may be receiving about this fighting. For several days now no Jap shells have come over and of course that is a real relief. I must knock on wood though, they may start again any time.

Received the small package from Mrs. Conklin yesterday but the cards were ruined – all stuck together and wet. Wrote a short note to Dick a few days ago. I’m sure he is alright. Haven’t seen Duane Carroll since our visit some time ago – it’s pretty difficult right now to see each other.

Talk and rumors of discharge are now going around full blast. I suppose you have read about it. A few men flew back yesterday to be discharged but an insignificant number in relation to those eligible. I certainly hope the government will stand back of its statements and all that talk is not for the public. Being over here, it’s hard to get transportation and replacements so we feel that those men in the states, or not in combat have better chances. They say we will rotate you or discharge you if the military situation, etc. So don’t be looking for me back very soon.

Well tomorrow is Sunday and I hope the chaplain can make it. I received the prayer book. I already had one that this chaplain gave me.

The weather lately has been beautiful with occasional light showers and the island looks green and fertile.

I cut this page from Yank magazine. The woman looks typical of many of the old people so bent over and wrinkled.

Kind of short, but want to let you know I’m alright. I think the campaign won’t last too much longer although the fighting is still bitter.

Love,

21 March 1944

Dearest Mother:

I feel very cheap and low because I overlooked something very important so I guess the least I can do is to write you a more or less personal letter – or something like that. I forgot your birthday. Dick reminded me of it yesterday and then today your letter came with the remark in it. So we decided to make up for it but that will come later. I guess that was always one of my weaknesses–forgetting things. And knowing how you like to be remembered makes me feel especially neglectful.

As I mentioned, Dick and I got together yesterday and spent the day in Honolulu, among other things seeing a show at the Waikiki, ‘Old Acquaintance’ with Bette Davis. I went for it in a big way. In my estimation all of her shows seem to have a little more on the ball than most. I hope you will get to see it if you haven’t already. Later we went to Kapahulu and then came back to town to finish up. We talked a lot about our civilian days in the old country and brought up a lot of things that seemed good to recall. And we laughed about a lot of things and how at the time we thought we were putting something over on the folks. And of course we discussed all the womenfolk we used to know as every soldier uses this as his big topic. Dick has learned to appreciate many things that he used to regard as trifling and especially a greater regard for the efforts that you both have made. He was in a buoyant mood and looked heavier and better than ever. And of course he wants to get home pretty bad.

I read the item about ‘doc’ Blome and I would certainly like to see him. Sounds like he’s been in some hot water. I think he was about the best friend I had in Lincoln and I’m going to affect a meeting if it’s possible. The Red Cross in Honolulu can usually find about anyone. I knew his wife pretty well too – I mean in a social sort of way, whew!

I can’t get over you guys shivering in the cold, when the weather is so ideal here. The Honolulu papers usually manage to sneak in a little quip about the cold weather in the states and being over here for a while, I don’t wonder but what they are right. Of course this is the cooler part of the year and the beach at Waikiki doesn’t have a whole lot of swimmers. The waves looked pretty high yesterday, good for surfing – but you have to know how and I don’t.

I’m glad you heard the program from the Jungle Center. If you could have the opportunity to see the place in action you would learn plenty. One thing about learning to fight the Japs is to use any means at all. There is no sportsmanship about the affair – you just kill him no matter how, which I think is not so practiced in Europe.

The time seems to go very fast for me – it seems that it’s time to hit the hay before I get anything done. I’m preparing an outline of a book I received from Washington, and I’ve found the effort educational as well as interesting. Trying to make arrangements at the university hardly seems worth the effort when everything is so uncertain, although if I could ever feel any permanency in things, I would undertake it. Dick and I were talking yesterday of how you must have the house fixed up and how happy we are for both of you.

Well I guess this is about all, better get a little work done tonight and end up with a shave before the lights go out. Our radio bogged down this weekend while we’re attempting to inveigle, beg, borrow or swipe a tube, it’s pretty hard to get along without (one). We looked all over for the shells but there just aren’t any that would do at all – seems funny too when the shops offer about anything for sale to get the money. Our next trip out we will get something very nice and try to cover up for our thoughtlessness on your birthday. You know this letter goes for Dad too. Being your celebration I thought it would be a little more appropriate to address it to you.

Love,

15 July 1943

Dearest Folks:

Another of those evenings that seem long and empty, but maybe it will shorten if I try to catch up on some letters. Everyone seems to be taking great interest in the news and sticking around the radio to keep up with events. The situation does seem pretty good, at least there is action to put some life in the pessimistic, such as myself perhaps. Perhaps the war will terminate with a suddenness that will surprise a lot of us—some of the brass hats are even foreseeing a finish that they didn’t express last year, and when they begin to talk and think that way, it is something to really consider. Anyway I have felt more encouragement than I have in a long time. This whole discussion makes me think of a professor I had in sociology that said that the opinions and predictions of the public as a whole are many times more accurate than the experts and statistians. I hope he wasn’t exercising his lungs. I think it is nothing short of a miracle that the Russians have shown the world by holding the Germans, and it looks like they are going to do even more than that. Occasionally I can’t help but imagine how I would act under fire and when I do. I always think of the guys that are going down and who in the future will be probably little more than another number on the casualty list. If, when I am a citizen and civilian again, I don’t add my little squeak, no matter how small it is, to try to avert future wars like this, then I and anyone has no right to be a citizen. When you stop and retrospect and try to figure the situation out and relate it to what we think of as a civilized people, it all becomes very contrary to reason and senseless. Perhaps these things are getting like a custom or an unbreakable habit. Well I could go on for quite a few paragraphs in this manner, and at the same time get madder and madder but you might think I am developing into (a) pessimist or something like that—but that is far from the truth. Everyone should practice more reason and rely less on his guts. Maybe this letter does reflect a little of the bluer but if you stop to think about it, I don’t think that it does. I believe that anyone that thinks about it becomes wiser for the better and to a better advantage than the one who forms his ideas from the surface. Of course we have to be tough and relentless now, but the time that is spent creating the circumstances for these wars is many times more important than a year or two of fighting. As I see it the whole world must be ready to adopt and draft a new set of laws regarding dependency and relationship that heretofore were based on conceptions of isolation and dominance. I cannot honestly see how anyone can deny that. Perhaps few will theoretically but practically, many. My personal outlook is bright and I never for a minute feel that everything is dismal and hopeless. I hope you will believe that.

Since I came back from pass I haven’t heard from Dick and I’m beginning to feel a little anxious, but then maybe he’s just more delinquent than anything else. I wrote to him but as yet no answer.

The pictures I thought I’d stick in for the album. The group one is in front of the ‘office’. The Regimental CO is stepping out of the door. It was posed—I think the ‘old man’ has a propensity for his picture being taken.

I don’t know how I’m going to get a start for this sheet but I guess I’ve said about enough anyway. I think of how hot it must be at home, how it feels to get out in the sun awhile. Here it is about the same all the time and the seasons don’t have the meaning that they do there. I have to stop and remember just what season you are going through. The climate is absolutely the best I ever ran into. The evenings are perfect to sleep; the days never get too hot and there is very seldom any fog or any amount of rain to complain about. Of course not all of the island is so lucky as we are.

Well, it’s about time for the last bugle and they might miss me at bed check. So long for a while.

Love,

15 December 1942

Dear Folks:

Five days have gone by without a letter to you so I better do something about it. I just inhaled two cream puffs and my stomach feels like a little man cleaning the inside of a locomotive boiler. Anyway here goes. I don’t know where to start, or what to write about that would be very interesting or different but maybe I can find something. On pass last Saturday went to the USO dance and watched two dozen girls get mobbed by two thousand soldiers. I left early—disgusted and disappointed. The only thing I did was eat a fair meal and listen to military music in a clubroom. Sunday failed to go to church, although attendance is encouraged and made possible.

Had a letter from Gram sent from Minatare. Gramp looks like a Southern revivalist and Gram the product of his preaching. The pictures came yesterday—what finery and rainment. They were good and they’ll always torture the seams of my billfold. A couple of the guys thought Dad was the guy with the ring. And Mom, you looked like you were going to a teenage waltz party. I should have a batch for you in a day or two. I don’t suppose the other packages have gotten to you yet. And the Reader’s Digest hasn’t come, although I have a notice of subscription.

I just finished Clarence Danow’s own life story and it recalled the days when Paul would let me revel in the mysteries of the typewriter book in Greeley. It’s a good book with many philosophies and ideals, but embraces many points of argument, of which I found plenty and wondered if I was right.

One of the most pleasing nights on the islands are the cloud formations. Sometimes they are fleecy and downy and form a collar around the mountain cones. But they are especially unique in the morning at sunrise and at sunset. The sun seems to permeate them and make them glow.

Last Sunday when I was driving I saw about five natives spearing fish. They go out about a hundred yards or so and have a spear that they handle like an arrow. I can’t figure out how they stay under so long.

This is all I can throw together this time.

Love,

7 December 1942

Dearest Folks:

I’ve let you go for three days now, about the longest yet, so I better redeem myself.

Yesterday I got the Thanksgiving box and it was swell. And in the book I found the pictures and the wedding invitation. I’ve been looking at them both about every fifteen minutes—there’s nothing like pictures. And the stationary was just the thing. Then today got a carton of cigarettes from Pat making a total of eleven boxes received. I’m certainly not being neglected. Three days ago I mailed you two boxes, small ones, and a coconut. I’m afraid you might not know what it would be so thought I better tell you. They sell them in the PX and it’s kind of a novelty. Many of the guys paint hula girls and Hawaiian scenes on them.

Well today was the anniversary of the war and the day that shattered my hopes of getting out in a year. Here on the island, as everywhere I suppose, a bond campaign is underway with soldiers and sailors doing the selling. A booth has been set up in the square. I hear the islands doubled their quota. My bonds should be reaching you by now and after December should have, or will have $87.50 worth and $105.00 in allotments. About the most I ever had in a lump sum.

On the island the weather is very good but when the wind begins to blow from the south, it’s a warning that a rainstorm or a cona, as they call it, is ahead. Then it really rains, but with all the rain we had in Nebraska I still like it.

Tonight is a typical night except that we have an unusual duet for entertainment. A guy got a piccolo sized instrument from his wife and another has a beat up Hawaiian guitar—they’re trying to collaborate on “Old Black Joe’. Occasionally they attempt to sing and they aren’t too terrible—now it’s ‘Daisy’.

I took some pictures yesterday of my ball team and some other and I’ll send you them when they are developed. And our team won for (a) change too.

Well this is enough for tonight—let’s hope the war doesn’t have more than one anniversary.

All of you sure seem close to me tonight.

Love,

3 December 1942

Dear Folks:

I’m quite a ways behind in my letters—got a hot full two days ago after the dam broke so I’ll probably be here all night answering them. And today received a telegram from Katie and Tom, sent from Torrington. Hope she has mine by now. I wish I could tell you something that has been happening lately but that will have to be storytelling later. Anyway I was able to sleep half the day, then take a swim in a reservoir. But I still feel like I’d run a marathon foot race. Two nights ago missed a letter to you for writing the news for the paper. The issue today was the sixth. Wished I could get more space. Then last Sunday spent the afternoon watching our ball team get beat again.

With mild weather prevailing here, it’s hard to imagine all of you shivering under overcoats. The flowers continue to bloom and skies to stay blue. It’s much warmer than last winter in Escondido but cool enough to sleep nights.

So far I’ve received three packages from you so I probably have the Thanksgiving box. I mailed two to you today. They weren’t insured and I hope they don’t get broke. I’m going to send some shorts for the kids soon. I know its winter there but they are so distinctive want to buy a couple pairs. And have you received the ones sent about a month ago?

Suppose Gram and Gramp are back on Coronado by this time. Bet you all had a swell time together. And Katie and Tom are deep in the throes of married ecstasy.

Haven’t got the Reader’s Digest yet—hope they start coming soon.

I guess this about covers everything this time. Yes, it would be swell if we could annilate a turkey together next Thanksgiving. Perhaps—who knows?

Goodnight another time.

Love,

1 October 1942

Dear folks:

A few more scribblings today while I’m waiting for chow. Pretty hot today but I’m getting browner and feeling better—it must be going to bed every night that is doing it. About every night we’re going swimming in the ocean—we take our mattress covers, fill them with air and ride the waves. Got the letter with Dad’s typing on the bottom. Will write to Katie and Dick soon but I wasn’t sure of their address so skipped it. Been reading some good books that the Red Cross gave us just finished Broomfield’s ‘Green Bay Tree’ and “Long Remember’.

If you are thinking about Christmas I don’t need anything except toilet items and cigarette. I’ll write every day.

Love,

30 September 1942

Dear folks:

Perhaps I’ll have time to write you a few lines while I’m not doing very much. Had another letter from you today—have had quite a few since I’ve been here. Today is payday and the World Series starts—have been listening to a little of it. Nothing much to write about—pretty hot—haven’t been out of camp on a pass for a couple of weeks. Got your box okay. Been feeling pretty optimistic the last few days over the war situation—feel like it will be over in another eight or nine months. I really do. I have been writing you almost every other day so you should have some of my mail by now. The next time I get in town I’m going to buy some Xmas presents—lots of things Nancy and Dan could go for. I’m feeling darned good and think the Army is going to fix my broken tooth. Will write tomorrow.

Love,

21 August 1942

Dear Folks:

Just finished chow, there handed out the mail so can answer your letter before I clean my lingerie. I am wondering when you will get this letter because soon our mail is going to be held up until our convoy arrives—all communication is. But you keep writing though because they come through alright.

Had a retreat parade tonight and also had our pictures taken. Plenty hot—I smell like a goat. We got those new type helmets without the brim and they certainly make a guy look foreign and odd. But they are comfortable and not quite as heavy as the other. Got a whole slew of new equipment yesterday so about everything I have is new now. Been running up to the hospital today getting some signatures on the payroll. One ward I was in was the venereal section. Passes have been stopped so things must be getting hot.

Was going to a dance last night in camp but no gals and no band—some deal so went to a show. It was a stinker too.

Just came back from the PX—was it jammed—the boys had some beer and were signing old war songs and other old timers.

The place is crammed with visitors but the boys can only see them at the gate.

Will close now not so much of a letter but it’s something.

Love,

10 July 1942

Dear Nancy:

Here’s that letter promised yesterday. I prefer to write on the typewriter and it’s free right now so here goes.

Of course it’s plenty hot again today and sky is as clear as a lake, but I’m getting used to it now and don’t tire out nearly as easily as the first few days. I’m getting a pretty good brown and have a little sunburn on my back that is beginning to peel. Last night or afternoon rather, went swimming in the river where we have a typical swimming hole you read about in Mark Twain. It’s a good way to cool off for awhile but in an hour or two you are just as dirty as ever. Well I won’t be going out of camp for a while anyway. This morning I fell in at reveille formation with the improper uniform so I’m confined for a week. I sleep so sound that I don’t hear the bugle and this morning I tore out of bed and put my pants on without lacing them, hoping I could get by, but the CO saw me right away and he got pretty sore; consequently I lost my pass privilege. Oh well I guess a week won’t hurt. Two mornings ago I slept right through until breakfast but because it was my first offense they did nothing about it. This is a fairly common occurrence and orders like this are made often.

Suppose you like the new place just as much as Mom. Wish I could have helped you move. Some experts predict the end of the war this year. Let’s hope they are right and that I can sleep in my bed again. I suppose for a while after I get home I will call you into a formation and call the roll, then have you police the area and line up for chow.

We will be here only for two weeks more then I’m hoping our division will cut loose with some furloughs, that’s what we are all hoping for and making it compensate for this dust bowl. Yesterday our battery fired and the hills sounded like great clacks of thunder. On the cover page of the Saturday Evening Post is a soldier looking in a sight that is the same type as is attached to ours. Our guns throw a one hundred pound shell up to eight miles; they are used to shoot over hills and into enemy formations and only rarely shoot at an object they can see. For purposes of observation and firing data we have very slow flying aircraft that are in communication with the guns by radio. These planes can almost stand still in the air, their stalling speed is 18 miles an hour and they can land and take off almost anywhere. Also they fly low and pick up messages attached to poles. This presupposes that they would be very vulnerable to enemy aircraft but their protection lies in the fact that they fly so low and blend so well with the ground that high flying planes cannot find them, but if they are spotted, an attacking plane will invariably overshoot this target because the observation plane flies so slow. Last night an anti-aircraft battery was firing and they kept up a roar for while. Well so much for shop.

Perhaps I can write you a letter for the Herald sometime when I feel like doing some writing and am more in the mood. Well guess this is about all. Not much but the same old stuff. Thanks for the letter and keep ‘em coming.

Love,