Sept. 12, 1942 - Dear Audrey

Jan Palson

12 Sep 2026 — 6 min read

...this is what is known as crying in your beer.

First, we're not going to correct "fourlough". Give him time. He'll figure it out. Today's horse race is a pretty big deal. I wonder who wins? I'll let you know tomorrow. Even in 1942 (especially 1942), it's racist to say "jew boys" so apologies. I'm hoping it's just the drinks talking. Or my Dad is Archie Bunker. But thanks to the drinks, he's reminded of his close communications with MacArthur??? Ha, ha. He relates more to the stories of individual soldiers more than total losses. He knows he chicken-hearted. He knows he's fortunate. He's got Lil' Abner. We get a cliff-hanger.

Original Letter

Transcript follows.

Transcript

For some context, War Updates follow the transcript. It includes the front pages of The Daily Evening Item from Lynn, Massachusetts (local to Fort Ruckman) and Mom's local Connecticut paper the Hartford Courant for additional news, plus the Women's Page so you're up on the latest recipes and styles, especially hats!

Research, learn, and support this work. Go to: Newspapers.com

September 12, 1942

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

Dear Audrey:

Do you realize the car has gone over a thousand miles already? It didn’t seem possible to me but I checked it twice and it is right. No matter how hard we try that car gets around. Of course, it was these trips up here and back but I didn’t think they amounted to so much mileage, but I guess when you stop to think, that mileage does not seem to be too bad. Over a couple of stiff drinks this afternoon I came to the conclusion that I am guilty of hypocrisy. (this is what is known as crying in your beer) I’m kidding myself. I go around denouncing people for their failure to make an all-out effort and for not insisting that their neighbors cooperate also. I wonder why there isn’t more initiative and push and why things are done. I do too much wondering and too much newspaper reading. I try to look to the future when there is no such thing as a future until this is over and then it is uncertain. I should be cleaning house. I cling with the tenacity of a bulldog to small fragments of a former life. All this squawking because I can only see my one and only once a week, or a longing for my glass of brew at night, or and probably worse of all is the automobile I try to keep – well it is a betrayal in itself. Just because they threw a lot of brass buttons at me is no reason for me to sit back and wait for them to send me home. My all out effort should be as complete as anyone else.

When I read the total figures on the casualties and wounded so far in the papers it doesn’t bother me but when an individual story comes out it gets me. Some story that tells graphically how one or two soldiers got killed means more to me than fifty planes shot down. They are having a tough time while I am over here with nothing to worry about except gas and tires and L’Abner. Well I never thought I would write like this when I started. I know you understand and don’t worry because I’m not going to join Rogers’ Rangers or Charlie’s Commandos. They wouldn’t take me because I’m too chicken-hearted. I get the squirms when I eat frankfurters because I am always afraid it might be my long lost dog. Tomorrow I’ll feel different and smile at this letter and pass it off as an old soak with a lot to say and no ear to chew. The only thing I can see to do is to start rationing my feelings. In this way with only a few things to think of I would invariably pick you first to think of and then I would write letters something like this. I love you, you old sea hag. You walk like a fairy swan carrying a pitcher of beer over a cake of thin ice in your bare feet lugging your canoe behind you. Or, your legs look like bowling pins that have been worn out from being hit by the balls. Now take your pick. What do you want rationing or whatever you call the alternative? Do you want egg in your beer? And that brings up something. If I get a fourlough that is what I am going to try. A raw egg in a glass of beer is supposed to be good. That can be my breakfast.

According to my latest figuring I should be presented with one of those fourloughs sometime in November and that is not too far off. This afternoon was the first time I had had the bottle out and maybe it was a mistake. I didn’t take any pains to hide it and it didn’t take long before I had some visitors. I don’t think there are very many in this outfit that can (you notice I use the word “can”. There is a difference. Some can take it or leave it and others just can’t refuse it) refuse a bottle. I had a couple of drinks and listened to the football game. It was a pretty good game. Just think, football already and next it will be hockey and then I’ll be freezing to death. That is nothing to look forward to. Yes, it was the drinks that brought all this on. Then a couple of Jew boys left on passes for the Jewish holidays and that didn’t help any. If anyone should be conscience-stricken these two should but they are as far away from this as I am from Douglas McArthur. Which reminds that old “Doug” hasn’t called me up all week. Usually he calls me long distance once a week for my advice but this week he has slipped. Maybe he has run out of nickels. He says I am the backbone of his offense. Without my suggestions the entire Allied offense would have bogged down long ago. I don’t mean to be blowing my own horn but just quoting the old boy.

That is two people who appreciate me. You and Doug. Well I picked the horses today and I’ll let you know how much money I would have made. I picked Alsab over Whirlaway. If I’d have made more than a hundred you can have a new dress and I’ll quit my job. Have you seen a tailor about the suit yet? And now here is the end of Chapt 784 ½. Will little Gertrude wade the cur? Does Harry go over the cliff to be dashed on to the rocks 9,056.056 feet below? Will your husband write such a screwy letter tomorrow? Read the next episode without fail.

Lots of love

Leonard

War Updates

The Lynn Daily Evening Item

Lynn, Massachusetts is busy getting ready for a most exciting visitor - Dorothy Lamour is arriving to help sell war bonds and war stamps in support of the war effort. More on the 15th.

Read more about it and support this work: Newspapers.com

Meanwhile in Hartford...

Such a hard-fought republican race – one guy LOST HIS EYE!! JK. It's nice they have a woman running. Democrats are next week.

The Women's Page for Mom

Not sure I ever agree with Dorothy Dix. Today is no different. What do you think? Napoleon Spaghetti is a baked spaghetti with bacon and at least raisins aren't rationed.