Sept. 25, 1942 - Dear Audrey
Responsibility is a slave maker.
Big doings in Lynn with a giant rally while over at Fort Ruckman, negotiations have begun to address the frequency of letter writing. Especially since they're chucked full of news. And poor Dad, here he is wasting away but still playing football. And freezing at night. And what the heck is a noise like a soap dish.
Original Letter
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!
September 25, 1942
Bat H - 9th C.A., Fort Ruckman
Dear Audrey:
Responsibility is a slave maker. I am a slave to every little whim that my wife has. If she thinks she should have a letter every day I have to sit down and pound one out. The fact that I have nothing to say, other than the usual “I love you”, doesn’t alter the situation one bit. She has as much as told me that if a day went by without a letter arriving for her, she would be on her way home to mother by night fall. So what can I do. It is a waste of good time and paper but I don’t dare slip up. She is so soft and nice that I would rather lose an arm – both arms in fact – than lose her. Without her would be like trying to play golf with no golf balls. In other words dear wife, you (How does that song go “You are the Sponge in my Sponge Cake” or “You are the tea in my coffee” or something like that) you are all of that and more. What I am trying to say is that you are indispensable (I might even say that you are the cream on my shaving brush but I don’t think the comparison is quite fair) but don’t you think you are making me work too hard. Don’t I have enough to do trying to support myself here in the Army? Here I am working my fingers to the bone writing letters to you and all I get is abuse and threats to go live with “Mother”. Don’t you think you could lighten my burden a little.
Oh let’s say, one letter a month. Will that be all right? After all you have to think of my health. As it is I have wasted down to 138 lbs and that is a mere fraction of my former robust and rugged self. (of course you don’t have to know that I weighed 140 lbs when I “volunteered”) Nothing can stop me now, I’ll probably ramble along like this for four pages. I can always think of some non-sensical thing to blame you for but here is one that stumps me. I can’t think of a way of tying you into it for the life of me. Unless of course I come right and say, What the h-ll did you let me play football for? I am so sore and lame and miserable that I wish I were dead. When I get into bed I lay there like a dead man, it takes too much effort to move and moving means pain, and when it comes time to wake me up they just roll me onto the floor. I heard the lad coming this morning and so I tried to climb into my barracks bag and then make a noise like a soap dish to scare him away but he saw me and then it was too late. (Do you suppose someone kicked me on the head when we were playing and that is the reason I’m writing like this or is this natural?) I gave up trying to wear the G.D. shoes because I couldn’t lace them and when I did get them on, I couldn’t lift my feet so now I slop around in my slippers. When I walk it is with a hunch backed waddle of a drunken cow doing the two-step in a canoe. And I flatter myself when I said “walk” too. I am so lame the only one who could make me move is you and I would move for you if both of my legs were broke and someone was tempting me the opposite way with a pitcher of beer.
Well it is twelve o’clock now and I’m going to bed. I’ll have to pick this up in the morning at eight o’clock.
Here we go again. It was cold last night. To give you an idea of how cold and how flimsy the barracks are, when I got into bed last night I laid there shivering and shaking so much that I woke a couple of fellows up in the other end of the barracks. They said the place was shaking so badly that they thought it was an earthquake. (Do you believe that?) Anyway the bed was like an ice box and I wished with everything I had that you would be sleeping with me. This morning the supply room closed before I had a chance to get clean sheets so I’ll have to go another week with these unless I can catch them this afternoon. I can’t remember whether I got clean sheets last week or not. Half of the time I don’t get into the bed but just flop down for five hours or so and back to work. This life is doing its best to ruin me but I am a hard man. Well that is all the news I can think of except I did my washing yesterday and when I hung it up the wind blew it all over the place. I don’t know whether I have all the socks or not. There is one thing I always insist on doing and this is writing newsy letters. I have always said if you can’t write a cheerful informative letter why write at all. This idea of filling page after page with meaningless patter doesn’t appeal to me so I never “shovel” it. Now you will have to admit this letter is chucked full of news.
What would I do without an imagination? Without it I could write all I have to say on post cards. I have to hurry if I am going to get this in the Sat. morning mail although I don’t see what the rush is because if is not worth reading. I am glad to see the weekend coming because it bring us closer together. After Sunday there will only Monday and then I hope to see you. That is if you drive up Tues. night and let me know where you are so I can get to see you. I love you so much and miss you. For three whole glorious days I am going to love you and love you.
All my love
Leonard
War Updates
The Lynn Daily Evening Item
People just love a rally. Especially if it's for a good cause - war bonds. Check out the story of the Mayor of Lynn who is serving in the military currently came back and met the acting Mayor. They will raise a lot of money today. Speaking of which, why does a high school coach make more than a principal?
Meanwhile in Hartford...
Such a big storm that it knocked down a church. I will not make a joke about that. I will point out that my poor Mom is in a trailer and a storm that knocks buildings down must have been terrifying. Noted is the 8 TONS of savage gathered by pupils from a school group for the war effort. That's a lot of scrap.
The Women's Page for Mom
I am too distracted by the woman in the picture without a hat. Meat is finally back on the menu and a Creole Pork Chop sounds great. Plus a wholesome patriotic desert - honey apples.
Next letter Sunday, September 27, 1942
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