April 15, 1942 - Dear Audrey

...my conception of "Army Life".

I'm not adding too much intro here - this is just one of the best letters. Note it's from the Fort Banks "Penitentiary". He still refuses to believe he'll get $42 per month - spoiler, he will. He did complain about the coffee but he'll keep drinking it. Maybe Mom and Vicky wouldn't fight if you'd stop mentioning Vicky in your letters. Just saying. Oh the drama. And by the way, "no one calls me Joe around here"... seems both sad and accepting of the situation. I doubt anyone calls him "Leonard" either. It's either private or Main I would imagine.

Boston Globe - April 15, 1942

Note the story about the vessels torpedoed off the coast. That's the reason for the harbor patrols. That's the reason for soldiers walking the beaches all along the eastern coast up to and past Fort Banks where Dad is assigned. I never knew how close the war got. And that small article about President Roosevelt discussing war with Latin American Diplomats for Pan American Day. Another 2-3 years for the war to ensure our way of life is pretty spot on.

Food for Victory

Yesterdays Globe announced this new series - Food for Victory. "The homemakers weapons are the meals she serves". It's just straight-forward, smart information about nutrition. I guess I would question whether macaroni is vegetable but other than that, this is pretty impressive. I bet if you write to Miss Frances Stern, she would respond to any question or query.

Transcript - April 15, 1942

To-day, Fort Banks Penitentiary

Dear Audrey,

The following might be my conception of “Army Life”. I'm in a good frame of mind to express an opinion too and after spending two weeks in the army, I am generally considered an authority. Army life is getting up at 5:00 o’clock to stand shivering in the cold for roll call. It’s standing hour upon hour waiting for nothing (maybe there's a trick to standing with your knees slightly bent so as to take the weight off your heels). It's sweeping and mopping the floors and making your bunk (army-style which is a particular way) every morning. It's drilling with that g.d. rifle until your hands are sore. It’s listening to a bunch of illiterate officers telling you that you are the dumbest bunch of guys they ever saw (I don't know maybe I spell illiterate wrong myself). It's worse than that. It's letting a bunch of bugles, whistles, and brass buttons run your life for you. I am in a good frame of mind and so I am only painting the fence side of the picture.

You notice I didn't say anything about cleaning the latrine or picking up cigarette butts or anything else about the bad things. These are the things I will miss the most five years from now when the g.d. war is over. Every time I hear a band play, or a body of men marching, these are the things I'll think of. I'll get the urge to get out and march a snappy 25 miles just to get into the swing again. Give my feet that good old tired feeling. Anyway, that seems to be my impression of army life tonight.

I just signed a payroll for the next payday. I'll get a full month's pay on the first of the month but I don't know what day. Oh yes, I forgot to tell you I went back to drinking coffee Monday. By this time I'm as bad as I was before.

Besides your letter I got a letter from Vicky this morning. She said you two were fighting all the time. I was wondering what you two would do if that thing ever ran out of bottled gas. And how far did you have to go to get a refill? I mean where did you have to go? I didn't mean to have you think that I was referring to the car, but I do worry about getting the darn thing paid for. I am anxious to get some money in the bank so we won't be exactly broke when this nightmare is over.

I still don't know about that $42 a month but I do know I'll get $21 this month. But if they should give us $42 a month, I can send you $25 or more and in that way we can probably even get ahead. And I don't intend to stay a private for the duration. I'm going to get that captain's job and then I’m going to make someone's life miserable.

Well I'll have to stop because one of the fellas is going up by the mailbox and he can mail this. I don't have to worry about him copying your address down because he couldn't get out of here anyway. I showed him your picture and he said for me not to worry because you look too nice for him. I told him you were too nice for me. Well, lots of love.

Love

Leonard

P.S. - no one calls me “Joe” here so I've almost forgotten it.

Next letter tomorrow, April 16, 1942

Comments Welcome :)