Letter 64- January 21, 1944

January 21, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Folks,

I will have probably called you before you get this letter, but as funny as it may seem I didn’t call last Sunday because I thought only a week had past (sic) (how do you like that) passed since my last call. Imagine! It must be the altitude. I probably couldn’t tell you what day it is if you were to ask me. Oh hell! who cares what day it is in this army anyway.

This last week has been pretty hectic but next week is really going to be a dilly. Oh groan! 23 miles hike--, 10 miles reconnaissance trip—a `pied, heavy rigging, heavy fixed bridges and other horrors too numerous to mention. Today we ran the obstacle course with gas masks on. The only consolation is that we’ve only 2 weeks basic left. The bivouac is more like (maneuvers?) war games.

In about 2 hours I go on guard duty so I’ll have to cut this letter short and get some sleep, but first I want to answer some of the questions you’ve asked in your latest letters.

As I already wrote I think the bracelet is wonderful. No one I’ve seen has one anywhere as nice. I always wear it so everyone can see it. The fellow in the middle of the picture is named Johnny Melonas—it was his camera. Speaking of Blair Hamilton, he’s been in the hospital for almost 3 weeks and it looks as if he may get a medical discharge. I don’t know exactly what’s wrong with him.

As far as A.S.T.P. is concerned I don’t know any more than I did before but it seems the army is reaching its peak and there are no openings anywhere. It seems I got in the army at the wrong time. As for as the transfer is concerned it’s out. No one can obtain a transfer from the Eng. as of Jan. 1—so there. I’m afraid they’ve got me “schnookered”. Yes I got my medal. I think it’s made of lead. I’m afraid to fool with it for fear of breaking the damn thing. It looks nice though. Ain’t that sumpin’ about Boogums Ciary though. I think we had better make peace now.

Best Love,
Bill

Letter 59- January 10, 1944

January 10, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)


Dear Folks,

This’ll be a surprise to you—2 letters in two days. Maybe I’m getting back into the old routine. Anyway there was no good show tonight. Oh! Oh! Shouldn’t have said that that.

Today we went out for bridge building the first time. We learned the ground work for building a 25 ton ponton bridge. The work is pretty interesting, but I’m afraid I’ll never be any great shakes as a pick and shovel man. I ain’t got the talent.

After we did the bridge building we tried out the new embarkation tower. It’s set on pontons and looks exactly like a section of a ship with debarkation nets hung over the sides. We come up in assault boats and then climb up the nets about 3o feet to the deck. Then we climb down the other side into another boat which carries us to shore. All the time this is going on a speed-boat rushes around stirring up waves which rock the whole works violently. We went over it twice—once without equipment and once with rifle, pack and gas masks. I’m all bumps and bruises.

How did you like the picture. Lousy, huh? It was the only one that came out at all. At least I think that I look better than anyone else in the damn thing.

Well, A.S.T.P. is a thing of the past. Why I couldn’t get anywhere with it is “poifectly” clear. Yesterday night they posted a notice that stated that no more A.S.T.P. applications would be accepted in this camp and that those already appointed would have their A.S.T.P. cancelled—period. Ain’t it the craps.

My cold has completely broken although the temperature hangs around 20° even in the afternoon and is down to 0° in the mornings. We’re getting to the point where we walk around in shirt sleeves if the temperature gets above 10°--no foolin’.

I’m getting hungry. I think I’ll go over to the P.X. and get some ice cream.

Auf Wiedersehen
(HOT STUFF)
Bill

Letter 46- December 16, 1943

December 16, 1943
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mudder & Dad,


Today I’m on duty as latrine orderly or as the GI’s less delicately put it, “turd sergeant”. In spite of that, it’s a plenty soft job. In the morning a squad comes in and cleans up so all I have to do for the rest of the day is stoke a small furnace and a couple of space heaters. Pretty good, huh? Another good feature about it is the fact that it lets me out of guard duty tonight. So I get all day to sit around and write letters and all night to sleep. This is how army life should always be.

Tomorrow we get the entire day off and all afternoon and evening to go to Bend for Christmas shopping. I think that they’re beginning to realize that men can be driven so far in this weather before they break. The number of AWOL’s and desertions around here is pretty high for engineers.

Last night I sent the pictures home. It was late but the best I could do. I insured the packages. I definitely don’t think the pictures are so hot. I especially don’t like the oils. On one of them my nose looks as if it were wrapped around my face and the other was made up sloppily. I rather like the little picture, however. I’m s’posed to have a fellow take some snapshots of me sometime over the weekend. If so I’ll send some to you. How would you like me dressed with full field equipment? As I said in last night’s letter, “you should live so long.”

About this A.S.T.P deal---I’ve just about decided that the best thing to do would be to continue on with my basic and then see what’s up. I might just might be able to get to be cadre. They’re going to move all the old cadre to line outfits after this period. That means they may get some of the new from the present bunch. Of course, this is just speculation but I’ve got my eyes open in all directions. Somewhere in this army there must be a decent opening for me.

Of course the war may not last so much longer. In spite of some recent allied setbacks, I don’t see how Germany will get thru the winter. In that case my chances of advancing in any direction will be slim.

Only 9 more days until Christmas, gee. This year has sure gone by fast. I do hope you do some kind of celebrating over the holidays. I’m going to try and have as nice a Christmas as possible under the circumstances and I’d like to think you were doing the same. I’ve got it all figured out how I can have a tree. It’ll be about a foot high and will stand on my shelf.

Since that last paragraph was written about 2 hours have passed. I ate lunch and generally “futzed” around during all that time. I’m getting to be an expert goldbrick. What little work I had to do on the stoves this morning I don’t have to do this afternoon because I was told to let them go out for some reason or another. So here I sit----Ahhh.

That little note from the paper about Shirley Temple and Hotchkiss, the sap, sure gave me a laugh. The more I see and hear about people the more I like and admire dogs. That may be corny but it is oh so true. Speaking of dogs, always when I’m down in the dumps I get cheered up (by) one of the company mutts. He’s a fat, spoiled (by the mess sarge) little cocker spaniel named Pup that reminds me so much of Johanna that it hurts. He sure is cute and so fat he can hardly waddle. By the way, how is Johanna—just as big a pest as ever I suppose.

As Christmas gets closer I’m sure getting homesick. At night I’ll lay in my bunk and think about it. God, this war’s a pain in the neck.

I was wondering if you could pick up a camera somewhere and send it. I can get films and I sure could get a lot of pictures.

Well, I’d better close. I’m beginning to bore even myself.

Best Love,
Bill


(Sketch Here)

PS. Thanks for the $15.00

Letter 45- December 15, 1943

December 15, 1943
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mother & Dad,

Boy! do I feel good. Last night I got 3 packages and 3 letters and tonight I got 3 more letters. Boy! that’s all I can say. I put the 3 packages in my footlocker. There they will stay until Christmas Day –I swear it. That’s 10 days of fighting back curiosity. It’ll be quite a battle. I’ll win though.

Say! What’s that about all the weather you’ve been having down in L.A.? Maybe a little of Camp Abbot has moved down there. You’d better take care of those colds or I’ll come down there and put ya to bed. You don’t want to end up with “Camp Abbot Consumption” like me. Speaking about weather, you ought to be here: 5 & 6 below zero every day. Today’s high was 28° F. with the sun shining all day. Tonight a biting cold fog and wind has blown up. Wot a future we got here.

Well, it sure looks as if that A.S.T.P. has gone to hell. Well, that’s the way it goes. If there’d been no A.S.T.P. I would not have been called up until January huh!

Gee! I don’t know where to start in answering your letters. Six is a little overwhelming. To begin with don’t worry. I’ll go easy on the victuals. They’re going to last awhile.

Hey! The stink about this war is sure getting heavy. As long as a lot of gravy is being thrown around I wish I could get a desk job in Washington and get some. I should live so long.

Mrs. Hamilton must be pretty bad off. What’s the matter? Too much booze or sumpin’. Ain’t I awful?

Since you like these Special Delivery Airmail letters I’ll keep ‘em flying. For awhile, however you’ll have to get along on the old kind. I’m suffering a little pecuniary embarrassment and have only 2 stamps left. However, we’re going to be paid early this month and then I’ll buy some. That last Airmail letter you sent me, Mother, got here in only 2 days. Maybe it’d be a good idea to start them again. I liked that poem, “Excelsior”.¹

Haven’t heard anymore about the Camp closing. Will write a lot more tomorrow.


G’nite—Love, Bill xxxxx

1. An allegorical poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow about holding true while striving for a higher purpose.

Letter 43- December 12, 1943

December 12, 1943
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mother and Dad,

What a dummy I am. I’ve been here 6 or rather 8 weeks and I never found out that almost across the street from our company is one of the nicest, quietest reading room you ever saw. Nice soft easy chairs, good light, lots of books and new magazines. The best thing about the place is, however, the fact that it doesn’t attract the noisy riffraff. Places like the battalion P.X. or the Service Club are nice, but there’s always a bunch of loudmouth dopes around to spoil it. A reading room, of course, holds no interest for them so the rest of us get a break. I’m writing this letter from the reading room right now. I’m going to spend about all the free time we get over here from now on. Now that our 6 weeks of Infantry training is over we should have an easier time of it so I can get in a little reading. I was wondering whether or not you’d send up my language books so I could do a little studying in my spare time- if any.

Boy! This has been a tough week, but with a promise of better things to come I haven’t minded it so much (I hope you’ll forgive my terrible penmanship). The other day we worked with grenades with a temperature of 0 degrees. Burr! Remember I told you we were going to throw grenades with firecrackers in them. Heh! Heh! There was TNT in them. We throw them like a football and I bet I tossed mine 200 yds. For the last 2 days we’ve had combat principles and map reading. I really shined at that.

You had better not expect any letters from me for a couple of days now because we are going on night problems both Monday and Tuesday and you know what that means.

Right now I’ve been talking to a fellow who’s almost through with his training and he says it’s pretty smooth sailing from now on. Hot dawgs! A lot more open time and all that. Some time next week we’re s’posed to get a half day off to go Christmas shopping in Bend and the word has just come through that we get Christmas day off and make it up the following Sunday. Maybe the army has a little heart after all.

I’ve noticed on our schedule for next week there’s a lot of open time. Of course, we’ll probably do something in that time, but it’ll be something that doesn’t amount to a “hellova” lot.

The only thing I dread now is our 3 week problem. It means 3 weeks of sleeping out in the snow and cold and living a rugged life. Chances are, however, that they won’t be able to have the problem here and we’ll have to go down to California for it. Oh Hell! You never can tell what’s going on here.

I’m still on the trail of A.S.T.P. and am going to keep on doing my damnedest to get it. I don’t know what my chances for O.C.S. are but I’m going to see about that too. I’m going to take all tests I can and ought to be able.

Bestus Love,
Bill

PS- It seems that when I write, it’s always the same damn mournful drivel. If there’s anything special you’d like to hear about even if it’s just the layout of the camp be sure to let me know.

Well,
Bestus Love,
Bill

Letter 42- December 10, 1943

December 10, 1943
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Folks,
This will probably be another very short note because we have to leave pretty quick. I received a letter from you, Daddy, last night and will write more about it later. Since we’re having another of those damn night problems tonight I’m not at all sure I can get my regular letter off, but if I can I’ll write tonight.

It’s been very cold here for the last few days- 0 degrees yesterday. I really don’t know what I’m going to do. That kind of weather is just too much for me. I think my damn cold is going to last forever. Don’t worry though. It’s more annoying than anything else. If they would send me to some camp in California or Arizona or any place warm I’d gladly waive all pay.

There’s still a lot of talk about us moving out and I hope it’s true. From what I’ve heard they’re still undecided. I’m praying that they make the right decision. I don’t know whether I’ve told you or not but one of the cadre here that once one’s six weeks are up he can never be sure when he’s leaving or where he’s going. According to him, one day I might be training as a combat engineer and the next day I might be a clerk bound for Missouri or a baker in South Dakota. God! What a system. I never have seen such a heap of crap in my whole life as the goings on in this army. I don’t know what they’re trying to do but whatever it is they’re certainly making a mess of it. I’ve pretty well decided to put in for the Air Corps. It’s the only branch into which an Engineer can transfer. I’m not crazy about it but I know it’s better than this. As far as A.S.T.P. is concerned I’ve only got one chance to get it and that’s mighty slim. After 17 weeks I would be screened and then maybe I might be taken. The personnel officer himself doesn’t know exactly what that means. However, I’m going to do some scouting around & see if I can find anything out. Everything’s so mixed up here that no one knows what’s really going on, so as a result I can’t find out anything definite. Undoubtedly you can see how disgusting the whole damn thing is. Oh well, one’s got to be somewhat a philosopher and take what comes in this army. Otherwise you’d go batty in nothing flat.

This is turning out to be more of a letter than I thought when I started. Well, today’s Friday. Only one more day until Sunday. Daddy, you know how much Sunday means to a poor struggling soldier: sleep late, loaf, write letters, loaf, go to the show, loaf, sleep some more and loaf. Ah! If the Army was only like that all the time. Lately we haven’t been doing anything on Sundays, thank God, so maybe this Sunday I’ll go to Bend. I’d like to sleep all day, but I get almost enough sleep everyday but I never get enough recreation.

I haven’t yet received the apron but I’ll write a letter of thanks to Mr. Van Vorst as soon as I do. I still owe a letter to Grandma and Jessie, so I guess I’ll quit rambling on to you and write them a note.

Bestus Love,

Bill

P.S. Receiving my mail yet?

Letter 41- December 9, 1943

December 9, 1943
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)


Dear Momma and Poppa,

This is another of my post-reveille letters. I didn’t have time to write last night; and knowing how irregular the delivery of my mail has been, I thought I’d better get at it.

I been feeling pretty good for the last few days, but I’m developing a little sinus trouble and I don’t like it a bit. This damn climate sure can raise hell with a body. The number of men in the hospital is still growing, but I’ve heard nothing more about them moving the camp, worse luck.

Yesterday I received a nice box of cookies from Grandma and Jessie but they were in pretty sad condition. Good though. I’ll have to write a letter and thank them, but I threw away the wrapper to the package and I can’t seem to remember the address. Maybe, if I just put down the “Anchorage” State College, Penn. it’ll get there.¹

We’ve been marching so much and so fast lately that my feet are about worn off. Yesterday we marched about 4 miles out to the Anti-Aircraft Range at over 4 miles per, and let me tell you that’s a grind—4 miles back too. In A.A. firing we use .22’s and fire at moving targets. Its fun but I couldn’t hit anything but blank space.

Today we go to the grenade [area] and toss around some hand grenades minus the T.N.T and loaded with firecrackers.

How’s the news? As far as that’s concerned we’re still pretty much in the dark. According to the last word I heard, it looks like the big push is going to come soon. I hope so. I’m not getting so I love army life any the more as time goes by.

About the A.S.T.P. thing I’m going to get “personal” as soon as possible and find out just where I stand. Then if I don’t seem to be anywhere I’ll apply for my transfer to the Air Corps. This thing is really discouraging. You’d think they’d be a little more concerned after they get me to enlist and all that. You know that if I had accepted the Air Corp in October I wouldn’t have been even called up until January.

Bestus Love,

Bill

P.S Will write again tonight if it’s possible.

1. The Anchorage is a family run restaurant not far from the campus of Penn State University

Letter 34- December 1, 1943

Dec. 1, 1943
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Folks,

Gee, I sure feel blue today. I don’t know why except for this A.S.T.P. It looks as if I’m washed up as far as that’s concerned. The thing that hurts the most is that after they got me to enlist for that damn thing and after I turned down an appointment to the Air Corps for it, they don’t have the decency to let me know why I didn’t make it. I’ve decided to find out what my chances are for a transfer as soon as possible. I may not be the smartest guy the world has ever seen, but I know damn well I’ve got more ability than anyone I’ve seen in this company; and whatever ability I have will never get a chance to show itself here. The trouble is that I have no interest or ability as the engineering is concerned. I really think I’d be better off if I were even in the infantry. Although I’m not letting it get me down too much and I don’t say anything to anyone about it I’m beginning to detest both engineering and Camp Abbot. I know it’s homesickness more than anything else, but nevertheless that’s how I feel. After a person has been around a place like this for a while he gets so he can only see the inefficiency and graft and that’s all. I ain’t never gonna like this lousy war. I sure hope the European part of the war is over soon. I was fortunate enough the other night to hear a news broadcast on the radio over at the P.X. and according to it the Germans are already trying to make peace. I suppose it’s too good to be true, but it’s heartening anyway.

I didn’t receive any mail from you last night, but I suppose I shouldn’t complain. I haven’t been able to get off nearly as many letters as I wanted to send, and I guess you’re having the same trouble. Like a sap I’ve meant to thank you in my last 3 letters for the swell chocolate you sent me. They sure are good on a cold night.

That reminds me. I pulled Guard Duty again last night-3 hours in the snow. Now do you wonder why I have colds? For the last 2 nights I haven’t got over 5 hours sleep per night, and tonight it looks like we’re going to have a night problem, which means I probably won’t get to bed again until the crack of down.

Well, I finally got my pay-$65.30 I’m sending $50.00 home as soon as I can get to the post-office and send a money order. You may get the money order before you get this letter and again you may not.

There was something else important I wanted to tell you or ask you, but now I can’t seem to think of whom or what it’s about.

Today I’m barracks orderly and that’s the main reason that I’ve got enough time to write this letter. From now on I should have more time to write, but I can’t be sure around here.

Boy! What I wouldn’t give to come home. If I could only see you now and then this training wouldn’t be so bad, but to be doing something with little or no hope of ever getting anywhere with it and then being so homesick on top of it all is pretty bad. Sometimes in the evening I can hear the Great Northern heading south and it pretty near knocks me out.

Well, if I don’t stop that moaning this letter is going to start sounding like a dirge.

I’m beginning to believe more and more that we’ll move out of this camp as soon as the snow really gets deep. More and more fellows are going to the hospital every day and literally everyone has a bad cold-me especially.

I was supposed to go over and get the proofs to my pictures last night but the guard duty and this night problem will keep me from getting them until Thursday at least. They say it’ll take 10 days to get the finished pictures after that. So they should reach you not later than Dec. 15. That doesn’t give you a hell of a lot of time to mail out the little pictures, but it’s the best I can do.

Write soon and write a lot. It may not seem like much to you but when you’re up in a hole like this even the goings on in the Valley Times is interesting.



All the love in the
Whole darned
World,

Bill

Letter 16- November 1, 1943

November 1, 1943
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Folks,

Tonight I feel so low I could crawl under a snake’s belly. A few minutes ago I was informed that I was being shipped to another platoon. They didn’t say where I was going but I can guess. Just because I was in the damn hospital for a week they’re going to put me back a battalion & that’ll mean I’ll have to go thru quarantine again and all that crap.

By God, if they do that, I’m going to start hounding them for a transfer; and while I’m waiting for it, I’m going to be such a damn good soldier that they’ll wonder why the hell they ever let me go-damn ‘em!-god damn ‘em to hell! I know about 3 times as much as these bags here will ever know, but they won’t give me a chance to show it. They’ll be sorry. The first thing I’m going to do is go and ask whether I’m still in the A.S.T.P. If not, I’m going to ask to take the General Classification test all over again. Next time I’m just going to concentrate on the English and the stuff I already know and not spend so much time on the math.

Honest to Pete! If anyone’d say a damn word to me right now, it would be his last utterance. God! I’m mad.

Well, I can’t write on that for a whole letter, but I’m sure sore. Again I might be wrong about what they’re going to do with me, but chances of it are awfully slim.

Well, I received a letter from you, Mother, and you, Dad, and Ben Cottle also today. It sure is swell to get a lot of mail. If you didn’t get a letter one day, Mother, you should get two the next because I’ve been writing every day. Another thing is that I wouldn’t send anymore mail via air. Daddy’s regular mail letters are getting here just as fast as Mother’s air mail letters. Ben said in his letter that he has been let in the air corps as a Cadet in spite of bad eyes and a heart murmur!! God! They must be hard up for manpower.

If they set me back I guess all I’ll have to say in my letters is that “Today I did exactly what I did on Oct. 26 etc.” Crap!

Keep sending mail to the same address.
Best Love, Bill

Letter 2-October 15, 1943 (Camp Abbot)

October 15, 1943
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mother and Dad,


Please excuse me for not writing sooner. I really couldn’t help it though because for the last two days I’ve been in the hospital. Don’t worry though, it’s nothing serious-just a bellyache. Already I feel swell but I think that I’m going to have a hard time getting out. This is because I’m such a good floor mopper, sweeper, etc.

You must have been pretty surprised when you received my telegram saying that I was in the engineers-so was I when I heard the news. It seems that I did best in my mechanical aptitude test and so it was the engineers for me. So far I’ve been unable to find anybody who knows whether I’m still in the A.S.T.P. or not-I might be in the engineer end of the program-I hope.

The engineers-Phyyyttt (the bird)-The Army Medical Corps-Phyyyttt. This is the way I feel at the present time, but you’re the only ones that I’m letting know it. There’s an awful lot of 1st. class gripers around here-as well as goldbricks- and they aren’t very popular.

You probably want to hear my whole story, so here is or are, rather, the gruesome details.

When I got up Monday morning and they read the shipping list, I was on it as was the rest of my gang (with the exception of Alarcon-the fellow we took home-and Clark-the fellow from Van Nuys.) I wanted to call you up but they don’t tell you where you’re going until you leave. We got our gear together and by means of truck and P.E. we arrived at the Union Station downtown. From there I could have called you up, and you could have come down and seen me off, but I was afraid that I couldn’t take another goodbye and that’s the truth. One fellow’s mother came down to see him and it only made both of them feel worse.

We left the station about 8:00 (0r should I say 20:00) and started North. We slept double in lower berths and nobody got any sleep all night long-It took us 8 hours to go between L.A. and Bakersfield. The goddam Pullman was not ventilated so we had all the windows open when we went through that long tunnel up along the Ridge Route. Needless to say, I damn near choked to death. After a boring day of riding and eating 15c Southern Pacific Railroad meals which happen to cost the Army $1.00 apiece, we arrived in Klamath Falls, Ore. At 12:00 P.M. We spent the rest of the night on the floor of the station (pleasant huh?)
The next morning we got a pretty good breakfast at a nearby café (which reminds me-some people sure treat you lousily just because you’re a soldier. It reminds me of that poem by Kipling-“Tommy"-remember? They seem to think that just because you wear a uniform, you’re a bum. Well, after breakfast we got on a bus and rode 145 miles to Camp Abbot. The camp is east of the part of Oregon that we know-just at the edge of a desert. The altitude is about 4, ooo ft. ; it’s too damn cold; and it’s about the dustiest place in the world. A lot of small pine trees grow here but the soil is so light that they blow over before they get very big, and as a result, the ground is littered with myriads of rotten trees. What a hole!

About an hour after I arrived at the camp, I got sick and had to ride in an ambulance because it was too far to walk to the joint. So far I’ve been living the life of Reilly here-except that I’ve got to work pretty hard. Nearly everybody here in my ward had “G. I. stomach”-ulcers to civilians and they’re a pretty sorry sight.

I sure miss you and everything else at home, but they keep me busy enough that it doesn’t get too bad. I’ll have to close here because I can see some work coming.

Because I was in camp so short a time before I got sick I’m not sure what company or battalion I’m in, but I think that if you send mail to the address on the envelope it will get to me. My next letter will have the right address on it for sure.


All the Love in the World,

Bill