(Camp Abbot, Oregon)
This is about the 4th. time I’ve started this letter. This time if the ink runs I’m going to keep right on writing.
Daddy wrote in one of his recent letters that Horton Grant had broken his nose a’ la Dude. Well, guess who’s a’ la Dude right now-nobody else but ‘Yours truly”. Today we were having a free for all boxing match between two squads when some dirty stinkers sneaked up on me while I was slugging it out with another fellow and clouted me in the face. It’s a good thing for him I never saw who it was that did that because when I woke up I sure was mad. The rest of the day I got to lie around the barracks in spite of the fact that I felt fine. It was almost worth the busted puss. Tomorrow I’m going down to have it set. It never hurt a bit but now when I move it I can hear it go “pop” “pop”. Wot a sensation! Well, that’s enough on my ailments.
I your last letter, Mother, you wrote as if you thought the Army was getting me down. If my letters seem to convey that impression, don’t you believe it. Hell, this lousy Army just hasn’t got what it takes to really get me down. Sure, I want to come home; everybody does. I’m disgusted with the terrible inefficiency and GRAFT that even I can see in certain places, but I’m nowhere near down or anything like that. Don’t worry, I’ll make out.
I’ve met some swell fellows here and now I’m glad I’ve been sent to the 54th. I like the cadre, the fellows, and the conditions here better than in the 53rd. A kid named Hamilton from Alameda sleeps next to me & we get along swell. He went to Cal. and is more like the fellows I knew at school than anybody I’ve known in the Army. He’s even a Rep. and a Roosevelt hater. (I hope this isn’t censored)
Gotta close now. The Sarge just blew in about some crap.
Best Love in the World,
“Canvas back’ Taylor