Post #411 - July 9, 1944 They have Removed 15,000 Children from London and Your Description of Diana Jean Could Just as Well Be That of Harry When He was That Age

 

When this post was first entered, it appeared that there were missing pages from Philip’s letter. These missing pages (9–17) were discovered subsequently, attached to another letter of eight pages posted on August 1, 2021. The missing text and a second recording has been added here.

July 9, 1944

Sweetheart,

As I told you yesterday, I had planned to go downtown with Gloria to meet Thelma and take in a movie. We left the house at about 8:45 and were down town by 9:25. There was a slight mixup and we had to wait a few minutes for Thel. When she arrived we headed for the Mastbaum (finally got to see the place) to see "Going My Way" with Bing Crosby. Both gals told me this picture had gotten large raves, but I knew nothing at all about the picture. I enjoyed it immensely and at the very end of the picture I cried like a baby. The whole story is built about a church, there is a good plot, Rise Stevens sings Carman, there is a love angle and all in all I couldn't have enjoyed it more. The Mastbaum is a lovely place and I hope to go there with you soon. On our way out I met Shirley Strongin’s sister and brother-in-law. They asked about you, and asked me to stop over with Adele. Yale and Shirley are still in the same place and are very happy.

After the movie we headed for Loft's, but the place was closed. We settled for a drug-store right near the H&H at 15th & Market. Thel and I had a deelicious chocolate nut sundae and Glo had a malted. While there I priced the Combevita tablets and found that they are $3.33 per hundred, which isn't bad at all. However, I did not have sufficient funds with me to buy them, but will certainly get them now. I may try to get several bottles at one time from S&D if they will sell it to me.

Phil, I'm sure, by now, that you've heard the report concerning the German robots and you realize just how serious the entire matter is. Just the fact that they have removed 15,000 children from London and thereabouts is proof enough of how serious the matter is and I'm hoping you have made up your mind not to go to London again until this is over. If you care at all for my peace of mind you'll not leave camp for any reason whatever, if it even means giving up an evening of fun. Under the circumstances I can't help feeling uneasy and the lack of mail for three days doesn't help either. I'd do the same for you would you request it and I'm hoping you'll do as I say.

Still no word from the Benis’ concerning their visit to us. I tried to reach them at the Ben Franklin and the Levinsons without success. If they can't get in to see us, perhaps I can arrange to meet them somewhere. I guess that will have to wait til tomorrow's letter.

Today makes twelve days the mercury has soared over 90 and there is no relief in sight. Whew!! By the way, there was a terrible fire at the Barnum & Bailey Circus while it was at Hartford, Conn. that transformed a mass of 10,000 gay people into a terrific-panic-stricken mess. 100 to 200 people were killed and it is believed to be the worse circus castrophe in history.

I'll close now with my every wish for your safety and my usual, I love you, dearly, my own sweet Phil.

See you tomorrow, honey.

Your Eve

9 July 1944 

Sweetheart,

Received three letters today, and I’m just about swamped with correspondence. This happened at a particularly bad time, as I expect to be very busy all this coming week, and may not find the time to catch up, Those that arrived today were yours of 21-22 June, Phil's of the 23rd, and Dot's and Snuff’s of the 23rd and 22nd, respectively. The latter two arrived in the same envelope. Altogether, that’s nine letters from five different correspondents I have to answer. Is it any wonder I’m somewhat dismayed at the prospect?

It's really wonderful to know that so many people are thinking of me at the same time, and I really would enjoy writing each and every one of you a long letter in reply, but I really have very little time to devote to writing, and I'll just have to bide my time and write to each of you as I get the opportunity. It's a sad fact that I have my hands full just to keep up with you, Sweet. Please call Dot & Snuff, thank them for me for their very nice letters, and ask them to forgive me if I'm days late in answering. You might tell Dot that my purpose in writing that particular paragraph in my last to her that has her so curious and puzzled, was written with just that end in view, and I'm tickled I succeeded so well. Just between you and me, Chippie, I love to tease Dot, and although the incident that so intrigues her curiosity has its basis in fact, I wouldn't tell her just what the fact was for the world—not yet, anyway. I'll admit I half-expected her to know what I meant by my innuendo, and I'm disappointed that she doesn’t. At any rate, I'm still a little leary of her reaction, should I tell her what it's all about—in spite of her assurance that she'll understand. That is why I must be very sure before I commit myself. Perhaps you know what it was all about, Sweet—or are you puzzled too? I think if you read the text in question, and use your imagination, and put two and two together, and consider the sentimental and emotional nature of your Phil, that you should arrive at a pretty definite conclusion, But I better shut my big mouth before I give the whole show away. (Or have I already?)

Really, Baby, I hardly know where to start answering your letters, there's so much there! Suppose I just arrange them consecutively and talk about the things that inspire comment or curiosity O.K.? O.K.! Here goes, and I hope I don't get “wound up” again.

The first thing that catches my eye is your defense of your posture in that snap. Hell, Baby I knew you “when,” remember?—and your posture was always bad, remember?—and I used to pull your shoulders back and tell you to keep them there, remember? The snap just happened to remind me to remind you to keep it in mind. "Beg to differ”—indeed! You got a nerve “begging to differ"!

Thanks for finally getting the package in the mail—my mouth is watering already!

Oh! So that's what "one piece shorts and skirt” are, is, are! (oh, the hell with it—take your pick.)

Your welcome—to the money, I mean.

The censor must have mislaid that last page to Dot's letter, 'cause I'd have found it on my desk if I had left it out.

About that gift for Diana Jean—I didn't suggest anything ’cause I didn't know what she had already received, but I would have left it to your judgment anyway, darling. Anything you decide on is bound to be O.K. by me! Your description of Diana Jean could just as well be that of Harry when he was that age. If you don’t believe me, (and looking at Harry now, I wouldn't blame you if you didn’t)—ask Mom. He, too, was long, skinny and dark.

I'm positively through being surprised at Snuff’s deferments. I just hope it's all over before they get around to him again, and at this writing it appears it very well might be!

Glad to hear Mom's taking better care of herself these days. Hope that Fischbach guy (I call him that because you said he was good-looking) is as good a Doc as you all seem to think.

Didn't I tell you that it would be a good idea to take the punkin to hospital for a check on her legs? Seems to me I explained that servicemen's families were entitled to hospital care whenever necessary, Didn’t I? However, I don't have to tell you that money is no object here, and if you think Dr. Lefkoe would be better, then go to him.

No, Sweet, I haven't seen “Cover Girl" yet—but I will. Glad you enjoyed it. That more than makes up for cutting your letter "short" (after 5-1/2 typewritten pages).

I'm beginning to be convinced the punkin will know her “da-dee" when he comes home,—I don't see how she can miss—you make so much fuss about him. Who's mad? Not me!

10 July 1944 

Sorry I couldn't finish this last night, Baby, but when the fellows want the lights out, there isn’t much I can do about it, is there?

Nothing much happened today. I started on the pay-roll, and it kept me occupied all day. The time seems to fly almost as fast as our Thunderbolts. A month around here is hardly any time at all. The guys talk about Thanksgiving and Xmas, as if they were day after tomorrow.

Well, since that is about all I have to offer for my side of the story, I'll continue to answer your letters. I was just starting to look over yours of 26 June.—I continue—

I was happy to hear that Hilda and Dave were married. They're a couple of swell kids, and deserve all the breaks that may come their way from here on in. If you see them, give them my best, and wish them luck for me.

Y'know, Sweet, the first person that came to my mind when Bert mentioned his relatives in Philly and told me their name, was this same Max Reese you say married Shirley Anapolsky. I don't remember if I mentioned it to Bert, but if I did, it meant nothing to him. However, next time I visit them, which will probably be this week-end, I'll ask him about it.

You say, in your letter of the 27th, that the one thing you want to do when I come home, is to simply go somewhere for a rest of a few weeks. I can think of quite a few things I would like to do, but this one takes top spot with me, too. Got any ideas about where you want to go, Baby? Any old place will be good enough for me, just so long as you'll be there with me. Would you want to go to New York, take in all the shows, and have a high old time, or would you prefer some nice, quiet retreat out in the country somewhere? How about two or three weeks of the latter followed by a week of "doing New York", and other week or two to rest up again? To my mind, that would be the ideal arrangement, but I am wide open to suggestions. Let's talk about it, shall we, honey?

Yes, darling, in a few weeks, it'll be a year we've been separated. Quite a stretch for a couple of love bugs that could hardly bear to be separated for a day. Remember that night in New York, when I left you at the Nerenbergs tto go off with Jack on some business or other? Jack and I spent that night in Phil Forman's apartment, remember? Well, Lady, I missed you so much that night I almost went crazy—no foolin’! I almost drove Jack crazy, too, in my insistence that he either go fetch you, or take me back to you. If some one had assured me at that time that I would have to part with you for more than a year I would have told him with utter conviction that I just couldn't do it and live. Yet here we are after something like 340 days apart, still wanting each other pretty badly, but somehow managing to exist without weeping bitter tears all over the place, and even managing to laugh occasionally. Love and hope and faith are beautiful and useful things, Sweetheart, and they often make the impossible possible. Never, never part with any of them.

You say you've changed a bit in that year, Sweet. I don't know just how you mean that, but this much I do know—that intrinsically a person never changes. You may have changed in outward demeanor, characteristics, habits, etc, but that doesn't worry me in the least. I know my Chippie and all her potentialities inside out (although I'll admit she is most unpredictable sometimes—but then she wouldn't be a woman if she weren’t) but superficial features of behavior are puny things really. They are easily eliminated or changed to one's taste. Those changes you mention must necessarily be superficial to one who knows and loves you as I do, and if I find them not to my liking, well, you know how I deal with those things. I’ve molded you to my taste before, and I’m confident you would want me to again. Right, Chippie?

Getting on—I note that Jack met up with "Hesh" Greenberg in New Guinea. Yes, I know him, and his brother, well. Back in '31-’32 we served paper routes together. Later, we went to High School together, Jack and Hesh were teammates on the neighborhood baseball-team. 

Can't understand why I haven't heard from the kid in so long, though. It must be three months since I last wrote to him. I know I don’t owe him a letter, 'cause I had written only a few days before receiving his letter, and then wrote again. I guess his days are pretty full, too, though, and he probably just has time enough to keep up his correspondence with Gloria.

In your V-mail of 30 June, you acknowlege receipt of my little “bit of literacy,” as you so quaintly put it.

You say you thought it unusual (for me), but you didn't say how you liked it. (Or was that just your way of not committing yourself?) To tell the truth, baby, I didn't think it was the type of thing you'd think good. In order to really appreciate it, you should be an "ETOUSIAN."** I let some ten or fifteen of the fellows read it, and they all got a real kick out of it. I know they did, because it is a phenomenon characteristic of the members of most Army units (especially those who have been a long time together) that they don't take the trouble to dissemble. That's because everybody knows everybody else inside out, and it would be the height of folly to attempt to deceive one of your buddies in the slightest particular. So when Cpl. Hubbard laughed heartily after reading it, I knew that he wasn’t “putting on" just to gratify me. And when Klein keeps pestering me for my only copy to send home, I know he likes it; and when Simmons and Overman, who are pretty bright-boys, and go out of their way to "tear me down" at every opportunity (I still don't know whether it's because they like me or despise me), say that it's well-written, true-to-type, etc. etc., well, I know they honestly think so, too. So you see, Sweet, I consider the whole thing worth-while, and, just between you and me and the censor, (who has long ago lost patience with the length of my letters, and seldom reads them anymore), i'm pretty proud of my first real effort at writing. It gives me a confidence that I haven't hitherto felt. As for your “visions of (my) being a great writer some day,” all I can say is—that is the one real ambition I have in the way of a career, and consequently my success or failure will be measured by that yardstick—by me, anyhow. 

Now that June is “caput,” I'm waiting to hear what you are doing with your "free" Saturdays, Wish I could go shopping with you, Ev. Remember how we used to knock ourselves out on so many Saturdays shopping for something we more often than not come home without?

Right now, Baby, I am alone in the hut. The others are all at the movies or the Snack Bar. I am sitting on my bunk, my tablet on a green felt-covered bridge table, my left elbow on the table and my head in my left palm. I could go on and on writing, but, alas, there isn't much else I can think of to write about. Besides, there comes a point in every letter when I start to look back to happier. days: This brings on such a flood of nostalgic longing, that writing sensibly becomes an impossibility. I have just about reached that point where all I can think of is that I want to be with you, and all I can feel is that if I don't possess you soon,—no, not soon but now, I'll just perish for the want of you, my adorable and adored Evvie.

Therefore, I must now take my leave once again—but not before I taunt myself with the thought of how sweet you would feel in my arms, and how thrilling your warm and loving lips on mine. I love you so much, my sweet. My thoughts of the punkin are most loving ones, too. Kiss her for me, darling. My love to all from

Your Phil

July 9th, 1944

Dear Phil, 

How are you? I am fine and hope you are the same. I went to Steel Pier July 4th and I saw Harry James in person. He played about 25 songs and he really was good. His leading vocalist was Kitty Kallen. And if you remember, she is the daughter of that barber on the corner of 8th and Louden. She's very pretty and her voice is pretty good. Besides Harry James, they showed 2 movies, “Knickerbocker Holiday,” which wasn't so hot and “Ladies in Washington,” which was fair. They also had a water circus, a vaudeville show, and a couple of fun houses. It has been very hot here for the past few days and even the water was warm for a change. Mr. Cohen is definitely bringing down his camera next week, so I'm going to take pictures. If they come out any good, I'll send them to you. I would also like to send you some saltwater taffies, so will you send me a request? I got a letter from my brother Sy, and he is still at Camp Peary, Virginia. He is almost through with his boot training and then he will be able to come home. After that he doesn't know what will happen. “Shorty” was down here from July 1st to the 4th. He was staying with the man for whom he served papers. He was with me for the first day and we went uptown to the Breaker’s Hotel to see the Malamut’s. We found out that their brother was managing the Breaker’s this summer and that they were managing the Astor. We went up to the Astor Hotel the next day and sure enough, we found them. Mrs Malamut was talking to us for a while and then a man came up and talked to her. When he went away, Mrs. Malamut told us that he was Mr. Nathan Fleischer, the Jewish war news commentator. That's about all the news there is for now, so I'll say so long until my next letter. 

All my love, 

Ruth

P.S. One of my girlfriends got my report card for me. I passed everything and I am now in 10 B.

**I found this reference to ETOusian, which appears to be a made-up word from those assigned to the ETO (European Theatre of Operations) during WWII. 306th Bomb Group http://www.306bg.us › yank
To the rank-and-file Etousian, messing around with shillings and pence, the President's figures sounded a little out of this world. . .

Post #410 - July 8, 1944 The Russians are on the Approaches to Baranovici. That’s Where My Father’s Sister and Her Family Live

 

8 July 1944 

My Darling Eve,

Tonight is the first night I am spending in camp since the 5th. I went on pass on the evening of the 6th, and returned midnight yesterday. Your letter of the 25th June came on the 5th, just before I took off, and three more letters arrived this afternoon. They are those of the 26th and 27th and your V-mail of 30 June. There was also a most welcome letter from the Limey. Your information about his being in on the invasion and coming back to England tallies with what he tells me in his short letter. He wants me to arrange a meeting. I don’t have to tell you how eager I am to do so, Sweet, but you'd be surprised at the difficulties you run into in trying to do so. However, I shall do my best to arrange it.

Before I proceed to answer your letters, darling, (and I may not get around to that tonight), I want to tell you how to spent my pass.

I went into town with Sgt. Hazleton and another Sgt., the three of us chipping in for the cab. It was a beautiful, cool, sunny evening, and the ride thru the country side was a treat in itself. We arrived at 6 o'clock, and had an hour to kill before we could get supper, so we adjourned to a convenient pub. That is, Sgt. Hazleton and I—the other fellow had to catch a train, and we had dropped him at the station. The Sgt., and I are old friends, having had quite a bit of business with each other for the past eleven months. He works in the Finance Dept. So, between a nice congenial conversation, and a whiskey and four ales apiece, we managed to do away with that hour very pleasantly. It was just 7:05 when we strolled across High Street to the Cups Hotel. There, in a large, second-floor dining room, we were seated at table with two other G.I.'s, and served a most delicious meal: Crème Julienne (a creamy, spicy soup), lobster salad, coffee, and compote for dessert. This was the first time I had ever tasted lobster, and I found it delicious. The compote was stewed strawberries and currants in a thick vanilla sauce, and it was every bit as good as it sounds. Hazleton had a date to take his girl to a dance, and asked if I’d care to go. I told him I wanted to visit some friends, but that I might stop up later in the evening. Accordingly he went off to his girlfriend's place, and I called Bert’s place to find out if he were at home. He was; and when he told me to come over, I snared a cab and went. Evelyn is still abed. She is feeling and looking fine, now, but her legs have failed her. She can't move a step away from the bed. The doctor says she probably strained the muscles in her legs, but that she'll be O.K. in a coupla weeks.

I gleaned a few statistics during the course of my visit. They were married in June, ’41. Bert is 28 years old, and Evelyn is 23. My impression had been that they were somewhat older. Evelyn is much prettier than I at first thought. Her face was red and somewhat bloated when I first saw her, but she is really nice looking, as I'm just beginning to realize, Rita showed me a bathing-suit picture of her taken before she became pregnant, and I was surprised to see that she wasn't the “fatty” I supposed her. Looking at the picture, I was reminded of Anne Furr. She is built just like her. Bert is the typical proud papa. In spite of his artificial indifference to the “bugger", one can see with half an eye that he's crazy about the kid. Nigel Keith is a good-looking boy (they tell me—I don't know), and is thriving on a half-and-half diet of mother's milk and a cow-milk, sugar and water mixture. Some of the things they do don't look right to me. The diet is only one. They still use the old-fashioned three-corner, one pin method of diapering, and ridiculed the four-comer, two-pin style that a friend showed them, and that we used on the punkin. They are trying to get some pyrex-glass bottles, but they are unobtainable. I was wondering if you have any that you could possibly spare, Chippie. I know they would be grateful for them. Please send them along as soon possible if you can get them, Sweet. If you have none, but can buy them—do so. They have treated me as one of the family, and I'd like to repay their kindness anyway I can.

Evelyn was full of questions about you and Adele, I showed her some of the snap-shots, and she complimented them highly. Bert took a good look this time, and this time made the appropriate remarks. Altogether, it was a very pleasant evening. I took my leave about 10:30, not wishing to keep them up past their accustomed bed time. Almost forgot to mention that Bert's mother came up from London to stay with them. Her purpose was two-fold. She helps with the baby and the house work, and she is out of range of the flying bombs, which she says gave them a very bad time of it.

censored

Don't you worry on my account though, Sweet, ’cause I have no intention of going to London. Nor will I while the danger persists.

Where was I? Oh yes, I was just leaving the Woolfs (note spelling). Although it was 10:30, the sun was still high, and I wasn't the least bit sleepy. I decided to go to the dance. It was a big affair. A benefit for "Salute the Soldier Week.” An English orchestra provided dance music of the old two-step variety, and while this was going on the dancers were hardly worth the watching. But a little later they gave out with a few British folk dances, and it was like nothing I ever saw before. These I enjoyed very much. There were as many civilians as service-men at the dance, which was unusual. The men were from 16 to about 50, and the girls 13 to 60. It wasn't uncommon to see a youngster of 16 or 17 waltzing with a woman in her thirties or forties—and vice versa. Watching the dancers, I was host to a variety of thoughts and emotions. I was sorry for, yet disgusted with the slovenliness of the girls. I know full well how difficult it is for them to get proper clothes and cosmetics, but it seemed to me they could have made a better appearance in spite of their handicaps. The great majority of them, though, couldn't be attractive under the best of circumstances. The plain ones didn't give a damn about their clothes and make up, and those that fancied themselves pretty painted themselves and conducted themselves like so many harlots. Altogether, a pretty weird-looking gathering. Still, I found it all rather interesting, and I did enjoy watching the dances native to this part of the country. In fact, so absorbed was I in anything and everything that the night sped by unnoticed. I left only when the dance was over. Forgot to say that I met Hazleton and his girl there. She was, far and away, the best-looking of the lot, in a quiet, home girl sort of way—you know what I mean. I taxied back then (1 A.M.) to the Red Cross Club and went to bed.

The morning was gray and drizzling, but I was feeling well and rested, and rose early (8 o’clock). After a breakfast of eggs-on-toast and coffee in a small cafe, I bought three newspapers, and headed back to the club to loaf and catch up on the news. I had hardly settled myself, when the Red Cross hostess come over to ask if I cared to join the party that was about to set out for the castle on a sight-seeing trip. I was just in the mood for that sort of thing, and promptly rose and joined them. There were five others in the party. The castle is about five minutes’ walk from the club. I could write reams about the things I learned about it, but you'll have to be content with the essentials for the time being. Originally, the place was the site of the first temple erected by the Romans in England. Later, a certain English Queen (I don't know her name) drove the Romans out and, destroyed the temple. The foundations, 15 ft. thick, though, were beyond their capacity to destroy. The English then (1042 A.D.) erected the castle on the foundations. It is a massive thing made entirely of stones and one marvels at the patience, and back-breaking labor, and engineering knowledge that is innate in the structure. Up to a few centuries ago, the castle has had a bloody and interesting history, and I wish I could remember it all. A very congenial old fellow showed us around and told us the history of the castle and the town of Colchester, which is built entirely on the original site of the first Roman colony in England. It is an interesting fact that during the blitz, every bomb that fell in or near the town unearthed some relic of antiquity So you can imagine what lies underneath the rather drab modern (?) town of Colchester.

We spent a very intriguing two hours in the castle, and I wasn’t a bit sorry I had come. Here again, Chippie, I wished you were along. It happens every time I see something interesting or good to look upon, or listen to. I think maybe I love you, huh?

On the way back to the club, whom should I run into but Red! He was in town on a pass, but was heading back to camp to keep a date he had that evening. We gabbed a while until he caught his bus, and I went back to the Cups Hotel for lunch. It was too early, and I had about three-quarters of an hour to wait, so I parked myself in a nice, comfortable chair in the lobby and proceeded to read the newspapers I had bought earlier. The Russians still seem to be making good headway, and as this writing, are on the approaches to Baranovici. That is where my father's sister and her family live.

When 1 o'clock rolled around, I went upstairs to the dining room and lunched on a plate of tongue, ham, lettuce, scallions, etc. For dessert—rhubarb pie and coffee.

Then I went to the movies. At the “Headgate,” I saw "True to Life” with Dick Powell, Mary Martin, Franchot Tone, and Victor Moore.

It was a comedy with a few songs thrown in. I liked it. The other half of the double feature was "Saludos Amigos,” Walt Disney's pan-American good-will film. This was also highly entertaining. I especially liked the latin-American rhythms of the incidental music. After that I went across the street to the “Playhouse” to see “Desert Song,” and enjoyed it very much. I don't think Irene Manning will go very far. She has little allure, and a too-thin soprano voice. Her costumes were lovely, however, and showed her off to the best advantage. Dennis King is very good-looking and is possessed of a commendable, if not remarkable, singing voice. The charm of the picture, though, lay almost entirely in its sheer beauty of locale, costumes and photography,

After the cinemas, I went to the Woolfs’ again. Evelyn was feeling much better, and was all prettied up. I hung around for a few hours, ate supper with Bert and Rita-(mushrooms with egg and spring onion omelet, tea, cake, etc.), and headed back to camp about 11 o'clock. That was “my pass", and I can truthfully say that I had a good time.

Well, baby mine, I consider I have said enough for today. It is late, and I'm tired and sleepy. I have a big day coming up tomorrow, but I'll try to answer your last three letters in the evening. Hasta manana then, sweet Chippie. You know I adore you. If the punkin doesn't know yet that I feel pretty much the same way about her, she will someday. Until then, I remain

Your devoted
Phil 

P.S. My love to all.

CPL. MAX BROWN (333412251

8 July 1944

HOWDY PHIL:

RECEIVED YOUR ADDRESS FROM SYD AND I DON'T KNOW IF I'M USING YOUR RIGHT RANK OR NOT BUT I HOPE YOU GET THIS LETTER. I HOPE THIS LETTER FINDS YOU IN THE BEST OF HEALTH AND SPIRITS. I'M FEELING FINE AND IN THE BEST OF HEALTH AND SPIRITS. WELL I WROTE YOUR C.O. A LETTER TO TRY AND GET IN TOUCH WITH YOU. IF I SUCCEDD I'LL BE SEEING YOU IN AROUND A WEEK OR SO.

WELL IF YOU DON'T KNOW THE GOOD NEWS BY NOW I'LL TELL YOU. MY WIFE IS GOING TO HAVE A BABY. THAT IS WHAT WE BOTH WANTED WHEN I WAS READY TO LEAVE THE STATES. IT TOOK US QUITE A LONG WHILE TO MAKE OUR MIND UP BUT WE DID. WELL HOW DO YOU LIKE ENGLAND? I HAD QUITE SOME EXPERIENCES HERE. THIS BEER HERE IS WARM AND TERRIBLE AND BY NOW I SHOULD OF AQUIRED A TASTE FOR IT AND I DID. I CAN DRINK IT LIKE WATER. THERE ISN'T MUCH SCOTCH HERE AND WHEN WE GET A CHANCE WE BUY IT FOR WHATEVER IT COST. WHEN THEY HAVE IT IN THE PUBS IT COSTS US 1₤ AND 6 A SHOT AND THAT IS LIKE 30CENTS IN AMERICAN MONEY AND IS PLENTY CHEAP. I WAS SURPRISED TO SEE HOW THE KIDS AND THE GIRLS LIVE HERE. IT IS AN EXPERIENCE AND IF THE GIRLS IN THE STATES WERE HERE THEN THEY WOULD NOT KICK LIKE THEY ARE DOING HOME. SOMEOF THESE GIRLS HERE ARE NO GOOD AND THEY FLOCK AROUND OUR BILLIARDS LIKE THEY ARE WAITING FOR SOMETHING. THEY ARE IN A WAY AND THESE FELLOWS IN OUR CO. TAKE GOOD CARE OF THEM. WELL THERE ISN'T MUCH MORE TO SAY SO I'LL CLOSE WITH LOTS OF LUCK AND HOPING FOR A QUICK VICTORY SO WE CAN ALL GET HOME WHERE WE BELONG. WRITE ME AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

LOVE,

MICKEY

Post #409 - July 7, 1944 Today is the Eleventh Day the Mercury has been Way Over 90 and the Average is About 97

 

July 7, 1944

My darling,

I didn't write on the 6th and I was supposed to write this yesterday, but again became side tracked. So here it is the 8th and I am just about getting around to writing. I have plenty of news and plenty to tell you, so here goes -

I haven't had mail from you for three days now and if there isn't something for me on Monday I'll know something is up again. My folks haven't heard from Eddie (his last letter was written June 16th) for quite some time and his mail usually comes through better than yours. I'm hoping he hasn't moved out, but I think I'm hoping in vain. As long as he is okay, I don't care where he is.

Thursday I worked as usual. In the morning before going to work I went shopping with my Mom and mailed off the two packages I had readied - one for you and one for Eddie. Thursday night Sylvia (Milt's girl) came for dinner and I spent the balance of the evening talking to her, which prevented my writing to you.

Friday morning we had a letter from Glo and she is here for the whole weekend, having arrived about 7:30 Friday night. She had promised to give me a dress, one that I had admired, and that Jack never particularly cared for, since she did not have the proper accessories for it. She brought it along this weekend. It's a two piece wool dress, acqua color with dubonnet trim and little dubonnet flowers throughout the material. I think you would like it very much.

Glo tells us that Rose Genshaft is pregnant - four months gone. Sammy has a new job and is making more money and Anne plans to quit working in August. Arny has to have his tonsils out in the fall. Glo says Arny is the most adorable kid you ever saw.

Lenny and Lee bought a car, having borrowed some money from Jackie.

Friday I didn't go into work. My mother was scheduled to be a writer for the soldier vote at the polls and gets $10 for the day on Fri. and I didn't want her to lose it. Mr. Bellet didn't mind, as I am up-to-date on all my work. I caught up on my house work and got the whole house into shape. I had been calling the shoe store where I buy Adele's shoes and they advised me that they had received a pair of white buckskins in her size and would save them for me. I decided to save the trip downtown for Sat. morning.

This morning I went downtown with Adele and Glo and I got Adele the white shoes. While I was there I decided to get myself those much-needed sports shoes and settled for a sensible, good-looking pair of oxfords of British tan color (copper) with a box heel, and some perforations around the front of the shoe. They are beautifully cut and flattering to the foot, and they ought to be, cause I paid $8 for them. Adele’s shoes cost me $4 even, instead of the usual $3.50. Adele was terribly cranky and when we got home she threw up. It's very warm and she was hungry and tired. I tried to get her some ice-cream at several of those small places on South St, near 10th, but every one of them were out of ice-cream. I settled for some pretzels, which kept her busy for a short while.

Last night I had a call from none other than Frances Benis. The Benis' are in town for the weekend and I've invited them for dinner Sunday night. They aren't sure they can make it, but I certainly hope they'll come up to the house. Their other brother. who was listed as missing, is a war prisoner.

Adele has been napping most of the afternoon, which leaves me free to write this. I'm kind of knocked out from the ordeal, and think I shall continue on this letter, when I feel more rested. See ya later, honey.

I feel much better now, honey, and will give you some more details concerning the Benis'. They are staying at the Ben Franklin and will be here til Mon. morning. They have many visits to make and I'm hoping they won't have to pass us up again.

I stopped over to Anne's Fri, morning and picked up the two snaps of the kids. I particularly dislike the one I tore (I tore it cause there was a part of me there and I disliked that too.) and the other isn't much better. However, it will serve to give you an idea of how Richy looks these days.

You mentioned in one of your last letters that you hadn't heard from Mike. I'm surprised, cause he said he was going to write immediately and his letter to me was so friendly. I can't contact them cause they do not have a 'phone and I don't feel like writing again til they've replied to my letter.

I bought Adele a pair of yellow socks to go with the yellow pinafore and white shoes. Now all I need is a big yellow bow and she'll look like a regular doll baby.

Today is the eleventh day the mercury has been 'way over 90 and the average is about 97. It's positively terrific and I hope the mercury drops below 90, for this heat has everyone down.

Gloria made an appointment with Thelma Levin and is going to me her in town this evening to take in a movie. I think I'm going to tail along. I haven't been in town to a movie for too long and think it would do me good to have some fun.

Goldie and Harry got the baby a nice carriage for $35 dollars and Goldie now takes the baby out. It's royal blue with grey insides.

Adele calls a cat a "pussey" and chases them all over the place. She keeps calling "Da-dee - home". She is learning to put two words together, such as "Mommy - down" (meaning I should take her down in the morning).

Seymour is writing nicer letters these days, as both you and I suspected he would. My cousin Meyer (I don't know if you remember him) (my aunt Gussie's younger son) graduated as a pharmacist on July 6 and on the 7th he was inducted into the Army. He had requested the Navy hoping to make Pharmacist's Mate - but that's how things are handled.

Jack made Gloria a bracelet and earrings of Australian coins that is quite attractive, as well as odd. From several snaps that Glo showed us, I can say that Jack looks like a million. I sure do wish I could see some snaps of you, sweet, as it has been a long time since you took that large picture.

I'll write you more about my trip in town tomorrow, which I hope will come off. So long for now, baby, you know that you're the apple of your

Eve’s

eye.

July 7, (1944) (Len’s birthday)

Dear Phil,

Here I am with my conscience, at the service club. I'm writing on paper resting on the arm of a nice comfortable seat, second row center in the haphazard arrangement of lounging paraphernalia from which in an hour or so will be viewed a USO show. 

If censor cuts out the following, it isn't as though you were missing much, so don't puzzle about it. 

You've heard and read of ghost towns. Well, this is now a ghost camp. Row on row of barren barracks and board after board stating off limits are to be found in 90% of the camp’s grounds. But I, I am still here. What a crazy G.I. story I have to tell on me. Listen and reflect or Read and forget, or somethin’. 

First off, I was in the 226 Engrs. on arriving here. How I got into photography you already know. Then a while back, the 226th pulled out but the major that runs the Engr. Bd. had me transferred to the 225th so I could continue to work for him. I liked that idea and it was then starting to warm up a bit and it's beautiful here winter or summer, so I was downright happy with the prospect of spending at least the summer here. 

Well, there I was with an outfit (combat) but not part of it since my job was photography and photography only, and the C.O. was merely accommodating the major by carrying me, which G.Isn't done. So this was set up. Major treated me (still does) like a son. Never refused me a pass, two or three day. Never bossed me around. Perhaps the explanation lies in the reply he furnished to my beginnings of words of thanks to him for keeping me here. He said “Jack, don't for a minute take that attitude. I kept you here because you're doing a job for me. An important one. So remember you've only yourself to thank. He's one swell guy. Anyway, my company had no say over me whatever, nor any of its awe inspired sergeants. (I say awe inspired 'cause that's the closest description I can think of when a tech or staff sarge can't say boo to a private who comes and goes at will, gets passes every weekend, has his own jeep in which he rides with or without Wacs or civilian girls around camp, and who to top it off knocks off around 100 bucks extra each month in picture selling.) (Incidentally, when the major finally deemed to take me in hand and ask how much extra dough I was making monthly and I told him about fifty bucks, he says, “Strictly speaking, government equipment, etc. (the material is honestly my own) it's illegal, but for me to remember that he knows nothing of it. “What a deal, eh?) Whaat word would you use? 

Well, the 228th is going to move. Wonder what major will do now? He started to pull more strings and effected a transfer into progress, which as yet hasn't landed me into station complement. But though the whole of my outfit moved out and technically and administratively I am in it, I'm hundreds of miles from it. So I'm now the civilianest damned G.I. in the army. No reveille, no retreat, no inspections, no nothin. Borrowed bed, borrowed meals, but anything goes 'cause I'm quite well known in camp and fairly well liked. Every officer I come into contact with, I've done a picture favor or two for. They put a blind eye to all this G.I.nanigans and say  sure, O.K. I’ll probably get a rating out of the deal, to boot. 

Phil old boy, I've not written you for so long I don't know which subject to hop to first so bear with me, guy. 

Denver! I enjoyed your Why, not? or Why? First of all, it's an air conditioned city. Dry, warmth, pleasant coolness, day and night respectively. Intermittent showers are the rule the few off days that rain decides to bedeck a beautifully scenic encircled city. The older people of Colorado have such snap and sparkle they belie their years by some 30 percent to the eyes of an Easterner. 

I suppose you've noticed the chewed up appearance of these pages. Hell, that's the neatest I could keep them in my pocket throughout a three day pass and two of work.


I was suddenly called upon to play piano for the crowd that was growing restless awaiting the show's opening. I guess I did O.K. 'cause soon they were all singing. But not so with your first six pages of my letter.


Anyway, now I’ve a bit more to tell you. A month or so back I started calling on Marilyn. She's a cute kid that lives here and works here as does the the rest of her swell family. The people are people to the core, and it's just swell enjoying some of their home life, as I've had the pleasure of joining them quite a number of times, many of them lunch and dinner. The whole family (Mr. and Mrs. and Sue 16 and Marilyn 19) plays the piano they have in their four room apartment on the post. Mr. Byler and I played on two pianos the night of the civilian bond rally of which Mr. B. was an integral part. He’s also the editor of the civilian camp newspaper “The Mountain Ear.”


This past Saturday, at noon, we all went to Colorado Springs in their ’40 Plymouth. I was sorry I couldn't join them as they entrained from there for Kan. City, Missouri, their home to stay for eight days. I feel sort of lonesome now.


I did O.K. on pass, though. Sat. night I USO danced and then hitch lined to 75 mile distant Denver, where I slept in a bed in a room behind the hotel desk. One buck. Sunday I played golf and at night gidgy. Monday was taken up with buying a ’31 Chevrolet for $120.00. It’s four good tires (no fifth) and good (so far) motor got me back to Camp Hale without a bit of trouble for the 130 mile trip in four hours, much of which was up and down and through mountain passes. The roads are so damped and bumpy they should more effectively be called impasses. 

I'm looking forward to a furlough just as soon as I get transferred. 

I've been corresponding with Adeline, though irregularly. 

Say, congrats, unk! 

Phil, I'm going to knock off now. At the moment, I seriously intend to write you in the very near future 'cause I feel as though I'll have concrete news of interest. So please excuse me now, pal. May God be with you. 

As ever, 

Jackie (Nerenberg) 

July 7th, 1944 

Dear Phil: 

Received your letter of June 29th and I don't need to tell you how good it made me feel. 

You probably received the news by now that Snuff was sent back home. He was 9 days over the 90 days allowed by the law to pass after taking a physical. We seem to be getting some pretty lucky breaks. 

Spoke to Evie to tell her that I had heard from you. Now that she's working, I don't speak to her nearly as often as I used to, and there is very little chance of her paying me a visit. I'm planning on paying her a visit in the near future, but I think it is better for her to come out here as it gives her a chance to get out. 

We had a very pleasant 4th. We went to Mt. Holly with another couple and we went canoeing, swimming, etc. Remind me when you get home that we must all go there sometime. 

You know, Phil, when I receive a letter from you, I feel as though I'm the only friend you have. This isn't true, of course, but you have that knack to make everyone have that feeling. I enjoy it, of course, as it is most flattering. (Do you get what I mean by all this mish-mosh?) 

Before I sat down to write this letter, I thought of so many things I wanted to tell you, and now I can't think of one of them. 

As far as your daughter is concerned, you need not fear that she isn't cute. She is really adorable and as edible in real life as she is on her pictures. 

Hal is sitting beside me right now and he is simply fascinated by the writing of the fountain pen. Glad you enjoyed “The Bulletin” so much. I shall try to send one to you every week. They are given out by Strawbridge and Clothier's and I personally think they are a splendid idea. I'm sending one out the same day I mail this letter. 

There isn't much more I can say now except answer soon. 

As ever, 

Dot (Cohen)