June 17, 1942 - Dear Audrey

Jan Palson

17 Jun 2026 — 4 min read

Big Guns, Fort Ruckman 1940s

A sense of humor is must here.

He's fairly sure about his pass Saturday morning but now he's not sure about Mom being there. Throw that typewriter in the back seat. The next letter is Sunday so hopefully, we get updates. Meanwhile, there you are, just digging a ditch; I mean performing a highly intelligent specialized job, and you'll never guess who pulls up in a truck. It's a small world.

Original Letter

Transcript follows.

Transcript - June 17, 1942

Btry H - 9^th C.A., Fort Ruckman

Dear Audrey,

Yesterday I wrote you a letter telling you how bad I feel. I still feel lower than a snake. This place trys a fellow’s patience. I guess I had better make a resolution to keeping complaints to myself instead of writing them to you. I’ll get used to this place, but in the meantime, we will have a tough time. Especially your husband who gets no breaks at all. A sense of humor is must here. It is still wet out and very dreary looking. I feel like a homesick little boy. That is how much I miss you. It is a little silly for a grown man to feel like this, but I love you very much. Tomorrow will be another day and if the sun comes out it will make things better. I mentioned in the letter yesterday (I’m taking it for granted you will get this letter before Fri. nite and if I don’t see you Sat morning I don’t think I’ll be able to see you. Because of this constant “battle alert” we are confined to the area around the barracks and we can’t even go to the P.X. No passes until further notice. There are not enough men to take care of all the jobs around here let alone let some of them go out on a pass. But they will have to give me a pass Sat. morning and so you meet me there in Boston and then we can have the rest of the day) anyway in the letter I told you to meet in 808 Commonwealth Ave at 9 o’clock. I’ll look for you and if you are not there by 9:30 I take it that you won’t be there.

Is that alright? Unless you can call me here. You should be able to but you might not be able to. This place is not like Banks. That is the best way I can figure out so we can see each other and you can go to the farm Friday nite or maybe we can drive out Sat. The fences and the guards are tough so I don’t think I’ll be able to stay out very long. Probably 5 or 6 o’clock. Maybe you should put the typewriter in the back seat. Last night I had two blankets and the heavy comforter over me and was none too warm. They are still pouring cement here for one thing or another and yesterday one of those big cement trucks pulled up in back of me. I was draining the road digging a ditch so the water would drain off. A highly intelligent specialized job. But what I’m getting at is the fellow driving the truck was Guffy Graham who I grew up. He lived beside of us until he got married a couple of years ago and his folks still live there. You probably met his mother. He was surprised as I was, and he started to stop but I had to tell him to keeping him going. The officer was right on our ear and he would have had a fit. Well that is not important. It was not worth 12 lines just to tell you I saw an old friend. But it is just as well because there hasn’t been much happening today. You only get a one-page letter. I don’t think it helps to write the complaints too, but it does help to tell you that I love you very much and wonder if you are thinking of me. If I don’t see you Sat morning, I’ll think you didn’t come up or something. I don’t think you can see me here. Anyway, be careful. I don’t want anything happen to the most precious thing I have in the world. All my love - Leonard