Letter 78- March 3, 1944

March 3, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)



Dear Mudder and Dad,

Anudder day of K.P. has came and went and am I glad it’s over. I finally got the pictures I told you about and although I’m not in all of them I think you’ll enjoy seeing them. I think they show and tell you more about the “rugged” than all the letters I could write. The only thing they don’t show is the beard I tried to grow. It was bright red and extremely thick (huh!). After 2 weeks I couldn’t “shtood” it any longer and shaved.
I hope you’ll forgive me for not writing more but it’s very late and I’m awfully tired.

Best Love,
Bill

P.S. There’s a latrineogram going around that we ship out on the 7th. I hope so.

Bill

Letter 77- March 2, 1944

March 2, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

Here I sit like a bird in the wilderness waiting for something to happen. I’ve been on detail all this week now and it looks as if I may be on detail for the rest of my life the way things are going around here. One day I work in the supply room or spread sawdust around the boxing ring—the next I’m room orderly or K.P. It’s really the craps. There’s no work but it’s so boring that a fellow can’t help but be blue. All the rest of the men are leaving on their furloughs and the place is as lonely as a haunted house. The worst part of it is, however, the fact that we don’t know where in hell we stand. It’s the same old story. Keep ‘em in the dark; Don’t be definite about anything; and if you don’t know the score yourself, make it look like a military secret. Do you wonder why a guy gets so damned disgusted? They won’t give us a furlough but we’ll probably still be sitting around here a week or maybe a month after the furlough men get back. Right now I don’t know where, when, or if I’m going, but I know where some of these big shots here ought to go.

I’ve been going to the show just about every night this week—anything to keep my mind off this lousy deal we’re getting up here. Really that is just about the sum and substance of what I’ve done lately. One thing that’s been a godsend has been those language books. After I’ve spent an hour or so studying them I feel as if I’ve accomplished something—a feeling one rarely gets in the army. I don’t think anything is worse than to work 8 hours and then realize you haven’t done a single thing worthwhile.

In the Casual Co. right now there are over 1350 men and jobs for about 100. You can imagine how that works out.

Did you receive the money order?

I’m glad you liked the pictures. I’ve got some more coming but I don’t know if I’ll get them before I ship out. I’ve got another one I took of the platoon, but it’s so big I can’t find an envelope large enough to send it in.

That just about sums up the news from here. Revolting isn’t it?

Best Love, Bill

P. S. After reading this over I realize it sounds pretty pessimistic. Don’t take it too seriously. I’m just mad.

Letter 76- February 29, 1944

February 29, 1944
9:45 A.M. Tues.
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)


Dear Mudder and Dad,

I’m now a member of the “Casual Co.” I still sleep in the same bunk in the same barracks but I’ve got a new Capt. and am on a different roster.

This morning the fellows who are going on furlough went through their deprossessing. The rest of us who are going to school got the morning off so I am writing. You’ll be glad to know that school is almost a certainty now. The fellows who are going on furlough are really getting schneidered. Even the birds who went A.W.O.L during the course are getting furloughs and that means only one thing—that those guys are already slated for the banana boats.

Yesterday I went on my first day of detail. Wot an experience! They run us around like the devil for 17 weeks and then have us sit on our cans for I don’t know how long. When you’re not used to it you just about go nuts with boredom. I guess I shouldn’t complain though. It sure is disgusting though. They have ten or twelve civilians working down in the maintenance shop and foundry where I was detailed, and they’re not doing a goddamn thing except sit on their fannies—all for over $200 a month. It’s not their fault though. The foundryman took me into the jernt and showed me what was holding them up. They had an army version of a blast furnace which, of course, wouldn’t work. They spend millions around here on nothing and then ask the soldiers to buy more bonds. Phooey!

Best Love,
Bill

P.S. I hope the weather’s a little nicer down in L.A.
Bill

P.P.S. My mail still goes to C-54

Letter 75- February 28, 1944

Feb. 28, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)


Dear Folks,

Well, I finally got this off even if it is $10.00 short. I have the ten, but with all the moving around that seems in store, I think I’d better keep it. The first month a fellow is in a camp he may not get paid so I am keeping $26.00.

I hope everyone is well and that the weather’s cleared up.

Bestus Love,
Bill

Letter 74- February 27, 1944

February 27, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

This is “posiloutely” our last official day in training. Yesterday we graduated and this morning we turned in our equipment. Ever since we’ve been sitting on our tails in the barracks taking it easy—quite a novelty around here. Well, it’s sure swell to be all through. I’m no longer a trainee but a full fledged Combat Engineer soldier. HORSE---!

Yesterday we went out and paraded around like a lot of damn fools in a snowstorm for about 2 hours and 45 minutes and then the Colonel, the old fossil, got up and made the following speech. ‘Trainees! I (ha! Ha!) have made you strong, sturdy, healthy, robust, and tough! You are now ready to go into combat. I (great emphasis) have made you the best Engineers in the world. May God speed you in your future battles.” It’s a wonder God got any mention at all.

I wrote a letter to Bishop Gooden and another to Ann and Reiney last night, so I am caught up at least a little bit on my letter writing. The note to the “Bish” is a veritable masterpiece of linguistic manipulation. I used just enough four bit words to make it good. You probably already read the note I sent to Ann and Reiney.

I sure wish they’d come out and tell me exactly what they’re going to do with me. Oh well, SNAFU. I wish I had something interesting to tell you but I ain’t so---------



Bestus Love,
Bill
∫—(dropping spirits)

Letter 73- February 20, 1944

February 20, 1944 (Later)
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Folks,
God, am I dumb!

Bill

About Letter 72

Bill gloats that "C" Company was able to exact revenge on some Captains and Majors who were "captured" during bivouac battle simulations. "We treated those officers as if they were real Nazis." He goes on a surprise detail and says "sometimes I feel like telling someone off but my better judgement prevents me from doing so."

Letter 72- February 20, 1944

February 20, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Folks,

Here it is Sunday again and I’m as sore as hell. After going through another week of “apcra” out in the bloomin’ tullies they got us up this morning and took us out on detail. Some of the guys were able to slip out the back door of the barracks, but most of us were hooked. As a result I’ll have a hard time getting my telephone call through this afternoon. Sometimes I feel like telling someone off but my better judgment prevents me from doing so. There’s a lot of fellows here, however, who haven’t got better judgment and so I at least get the pleasure of hearing someone else doing a little blowing off.

Well, “C” Co. made quite a record out on the bivouac. We had 100% security for the entire 2 weeks tactical period. That is, no one ever was able to get through our outguard into camp. This is an enviable record, but it was made at a “hellova” cost as far as the men are concerned. Last week I had 6 hours guard duty every night except Wednesday. That night I was on duty 10 hours and slept 2. You can imagine how tired a body gets with an average sleep of 4 hours out of 24. Anyhoo they didn’t get in and when they were captured—O; it shouldn’t happen to a dog. We treated those officers as if they were real Nazis. It’s a wonder some of our Lieutenants weren’t busted for the way they treated some Capt’s and Majors. Our mess sarge remarked, “You guys don’t give a damn fur nottin’, do you?” Well, they said they wanted us to be tough. They’ve got no squawk coming now.

How do you like the snapshots? The one taken out on bivouac, I think is pretty good. Whenever a fellow has his picture taken around here there must be as many fellows in it as possible in order to conserve film. In that picture, however, I believe I got the best deal.

I received your letters out in camp (it’s a swell time to tell you, I know). I think that those letters of recommendation are very fine and that they may be very useful if I get to go to school. Do you think I should write a letter of thanks to the Bishop and Mr. Hamilton?

Very tactfully you’ve made no mention of the fact that I’ve made almost no statement about my finances lately. Welllll--, things are not too bad but nor is everything too good. During the last two months I’ve collected from the gov’t. $68.72 of which at present I have left $57.39. That’s not bad but I had to sign the payroll out in the woods last week and my hands were so stiff with the cold that I wrote below the line. That’s bad. I may get “red-lined” this month.

I’m going to try and call you up now.

Best love, Bill

Letter 71- February 13, 1944

February 13, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

I just got back from calling you about an hour ago. It was certainly wonderful to hear your voices even if I couldn’t tell what you were saying about ¾ or the time. I don’t know why I can’t tell what you’re saying, or hear rather. Part of it is the noise outside of the booth, I know; but even so you sound faint and indistinct. I asked the operator about it but she said that if you could hear me all right I should be able to hear you. I don’t know but it is too bad.

Well, I guess you’d like to hear about the bivouac. Wot a life that’s been. I’d give almost anything if it were all over. In the first place, they rolled us out about 5:00 last Monday morning, gave us a hurry up meal in our mess-kits and then marched us at double quick time about 5 miles out to a frozen swamp where we were supposed to dig in and set up our camp. As soon as that was done we rushed over to the river and started to construct some foot bridges. The river was frozen over so we had to break holes in the ice in order to put our bents and supports down into the water. Well, you can guess the rest. Four of us were carrying a heavy bent across the ice when a big hunk broke loose and “kerplop!?” in we go. The big hearted bird in charge then told us to go over by the dinky little fire and get dried out. The temperature that day was about 15°. When we finally did get to the area and got dry clothes on we were pretty miserable. To top it off that night it snowed and all the bedrolls got soak(ed) and wet. I was ready to call the whole thing off. The next day we had to tear down a bridge. This was a heavy wood bridge of about 15 tons capacity. It was still snowing and we were still pretty badly off. However, the bird that let us freeze out fell in the river himself under suspicious circumstances which made us all feel a little better.

That night it stopped snowing but I stayed up until 12:30 A.M. drying my bedroll. Then they made us all get up (at 12:30 mind you) and march 14 miles through a foot of snow in the God damned S.O.B dark. I fell down so often I felt like a tenpin. Of course, we were the leading company and as usual we marched at the “C” co. running pace. It wasn’t so tough on us but the other companies who don’t generally go that had a hell of a time. They were passing out all over the road. The meat wagon was packed and they filled up a couple more trucks. I don’t care but I don’t think they should beat men that way. I don’t have any trouble on marches but I know how it feels to be half dead when I’ve come off the obstacle course. We got to the new bivouac about 6 o’clock in the morning and camp was set up by noon. Then I caught up on my sleep. I slept all afternoon and all night. The next day we broke camp and moved 7 miles more. That night I had 4 hours guard duty; the next day we did mine laying all day; and that night I was on road block guard duty all night. God! what a grind! By the time we came in the next morning I was so damned tired.

About 2:00 Sat. afternoon they called out about 40 of the men in the co. for Specialist Training Interview. They called off our names and then put us in groups. One group was under consideration for Ordinance school. The second group was for Engineering school, and the 3rd. group (my bunch) was for signal school. Then they called 3 names of my group for radio repair, 5 for radio operators including me and the rest for electrical school. I was one of 5 for an entire battalion who is being given a chance for radio operator. That would give me 17 more weeks more schooling and probably (sketch of tech sergeant’s stripes here). Well, here’s hoping—I hope, I hope, I hope. (sketch of 4 leaf clover and horseshoe here) I’m going to go after it tooth and nail. It sure beats this God damned pick and shovel work we’ve been doing around here. If I never see another pick, shovel, saw, and so forth again, it’ll be too damn soon.

I’ve got a “hellova” cold now and it’s settled in my jaw. I couldn’t even close my mouth all day. I’m getting awful hungry. It’s getting better tonight but this morning they thought I had the mumps. Heaven forbid!!

I’ll call you again next weekend if they don’t confine us to company area like they did last Sunday.

Best Love
Bill

Letter 70- February 6, 1944

February 6, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

Oi! Vot a day! Vot a week! My head’s spinning and my fanny’s dragging. It’s Sunday night and we’re all in a dither about the bivouac which starts at 5:00 tomorrow morning. They’ve had us on the run for the last 3 days so much that we haven’t had time to do nuttin’.

You should see me in my outfit. I look like sumpin’ out of the Klondike.

Everything’s been bivouac, bivouac, bivouac this week. I really don’t have anything much else to write about.

It’s going to be pretty rugged because the weather is getting warm and there’s mud and water everywhere, but then it’ll be fun because it’s pretty close to the real thing, and what’s better we’ve got a chance to get even with some officers from whom we’ve had to take a lot of crap in the past. Here’s the deal. Every night groups of officers from the camp form raiding parties, try to slip through our outguards, and raise hell inside our area. But! If we catch them—heh, heh. Other battalions have caught officers and made them strip out there in the cold. They caught the gas officer out there without his gas mask so they marched him right through his own gas. They told us that the more brass they carry the more we should rough them up. Boy will that be fun.

Since the last line the Lieutenant came in and told us what we’d do the first couple days. Ah—open time—it sounds more like a picnic that maneuvers.

Running short on time.


Love,
Bill

Letter 69- February 2, 1944

February 2, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)


Dear Mudder and Dad,

Wot a week this has been! Whew! I might as well begin at the beginning and maybe you’ll see why? On Monday we were issued out bivouac equipment—over $400.00 worth of equipment. I got special heavy all wool kneelength stockings (each pair is as heavy as my civilian oxfords) special boots with 3/8 inch felt insoles, waterproof pants, wrist length heavy field jacket, heavy sweater, a 50% angora wool ¼ inch thick muffler that must be worth about $10.00, a fur coat (squirrel or rabbit or sumpin’), a heavy reversible parka with hood, wool lined hunting type hat, 2 pair of wool mittens which go inside a pair of leather mitts, a special pack and a sleeping bag. Wooie.

Tonight I signed up for a furlough. That’s no sign I’m going to get one but it’s a step in the right direction.

I received your packages. The cake was delicious and the socks will be plenty handy. Thanks a lot.

I’m awfully tired now. I know this isn’t much of a letter but it’s the best I can do tonight. I’ll try and write again tomorrow.



Best Love,
Bill

Letter 68- January 30, 1944

January 30, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Folks,

Well, here it is Sunday night and I’ve nothing to look foreword to except another week of slavery. I haven’t gotten any mail from you for several days so I can’t exactly answer any questions or anything. No, I shouldn’t say that. I did receive all that reading material which I’m eating up with great gusto. I also received a box of cookies from Grandma and Jessie as well as a letter from Horton Grant. So you can see I have been getting mail.

Well, (I’m getting so I can’t say anything without starting off with “well”) all my required training is over. If I were to go to the hospital tomorrow for 2 weeks they couldn’t set me back. Mind you, I’m not contemplating it.

Yesterday we had our toughest bridge, the Bailley (Bailey)) bridge. It’s an English type and very good. The only trouble is that it weighs over 36 tons. Panels weigh 600 lbs., transoms weigh 400 and so on. As a result today I’m paralyzed from the hips up. That makes me completely paralyzed, doesn’t it. My brain was paralyzed when I turned down the Air Corps and my legs were paralyzed by that 25 miles hike.

You’re probably wondering where in hell the money order I was supposed to send home is. It’s still in the company safe—at least $35.00 of it is. I figger that since tomorrow is payday I might as well wait and send the whole business at once. I’ll be able to make up for the extra money I spent this month because with the bivouac and all I won’t be able to spend much money next month.



Best Love,
Bill

About Letter 67

The training is intense. The men complete the "Blitz Course" and the 23 mile hike. Bill describes the Blitz Course as "our forth and worst live ammunition run." After completing these training assignments Bill says, "I thought I was getting tough but that changed my mind...I'm not a superman yet."

Letter 67- January 28, 1944

January 28, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mother & Dad,

Well this is the letter I promised last night, but here I am late again. I told you I had something interesting to tell you. It’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for the last 13 weeks but haven’t because I knew it would worry you unnecessarily. Yesterday I went under machine gun fire for the fourth time since I’ve been in Camp Abbot. Yesterday it was the Blitz Course, our worst and last live ammunition run. We had to crawl about 75 yards across snow and ice and under barbed wire with .30 cal. machine gun bullets humming overhead and land mines blowing up all around us—very distracting. I wasn’t afraid going through the course but we were all pretty pensive while waiting to start. It teaches one a “hellova” lot even when the military end of it is not considered. The other courses were not as bad since the fire was about 8 feet above the ground. However, the explosive charges were so big at times that they’d damn near knock one down. But it’s all over now, thank God.

Today we went on our 23 mile hike, Oh groan!!—four miles per hour (Engineer cadence-the Infantry marches from 2 ½ to 3 m.p.h.) I thought I was getting tough but that changed my mind. I guess I’m still just a human being after all—not a superman yet. I feel paralyzed from the hips down. All we had to eat was “C” rations—cold of course. A “C” ration is a corny version of a “K” ration (Phooey on ‘em both).

I don’t want to close so abruptly but the fellow below me is pretty sick from the hike and is asking for me to turn out the light. No interesting news anyway.

Best Love,
Bill

P.S. Have put in for bivouac clothing and equipment.

Letter 66- January 26, 1944

January 26, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mother and Dad,

This is a “hellova” time to start a letter, but I thought I’d better get at it before you massacre me. Yesterday we went on a 12 mile reconnaissance (I wish you would spell that for, Dad) march. Of course, we ran all the way and I was so tired that when I had finished dinner I went right to bed, and that’s all I remember until 6:00 this morning. It makes me mad since we only go at such a terrible speed so that the lieutenant can get home early, and he doesn’t have to lug a rifle and pack.

This is our big training week. I should say it’s our last training week. Next week is mainly review and getting ready for the bivouac. This Friday we get our 23 mile hike. If it’s as icy along the road as it was yesterday I’ll never make it. With that one weak ankle of mine I just have a devil of a time walking on the ice and snow.

I’m sure hoping for furlough when I finish my training, but if I get sent to a specialist school I won’t get one. Otherwise I get one automatically. I should get 7 days at home and possibly 10. I hope so. We sign up for furloughs at the end of next week.

If I get out of this camp no one will ever be able to get me back here not even at the point of a gun. The way I hate this place is phenomenal. If someone told me I could come home I’d not even take the time to pack my things. I think the only good word in army language is demobilization. Oh well, maybe I’m just down in the dumps today. The only trouble with that philosophy is that I always feel this way.

Well, I have something interesting to tell you, but I’ll let it wait until tomorrow when I can tell you the whole story.


Bestus Love,
Bill

Letter 65- January 23, 1944

January 23, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mudder & Dad,

Well, I’ve just got back from making a phone call to you. I guess you told me, Mother. Well, I had it coming, but really I did think I wasn’t s’posed to call until today. Time flies so fast here that it makes my head spin.

When I said that I didn’t answer a lot of your questions because I didn’t know anything more than you about them I wasn’t kidding. Really—in spite of the bull one hears over the radio about ours being an informed army. We just don’t know what’s going on. They really keep us in the dark as much as possible. As a result there is a strained relationship between the enlisted man and the officer. When it comes right to bare facts the half assed way things are run around here in the whole army as far as that’s concerned is causing a lot of the trouble. Most the men in this barracks feel as if the higher ups are afraid to let them know what’s going on. At an orientation lecture the other day an officer after making a simple statement said he would go over it again so we wouldn’t be confused. It was so simple that a moron could understand it. Of course everybody was sore then.

We sure caught the Germans flat footed there below Rome. Imagine 6 hours before a single Nazi plane showed up.

Dad, this part of the letter is especially for you. I hope it answers all the questions in your letter of the 18th. I just can’t see why in the devil the War Dept. finds it necessary to send boogie overseas. I think they’re trying to sabotage the war effort.

By the way I’m going to write a dirty letter to school if they let those kids get away with what I couldn’t get away with last year.

Don’t worry about me falling for any (ahem) Victory Girls. Most the girls one sees in Bend look like the girls one sees from the old country.

Now to get down to the questions. You asked if anyone fell in the drink on the debarkation tower. No, but a lot of equipment did. That’s what I was afraid of. I had over $100.00 slung loosely on me when I went over. The 51st. did all right on their bivouac but the weather’s been unusually mild here lately. We had rain yesterday.

About getting mail on the bivouac I don’t know but I’ll only be able to write when in over weekends. The casual company, which is just around the corner, is just a place for us to hang our coats and sleep while we’re waiting for furlough and shipping. You asked if I’ve decided what I’d like to go in for. I’d like special weapons or camouflage but in true democratic manner the Army is going to decide for me.

I’m afraid that the film situation here is no better than it is at home. We’re supposed to get them but don’t. If I could get the film I’d be taking pictures constantly. I know how you’d enjoy them.

As I told you I’ve finally got my medal after all this time. As far as firing over again is concerned I don’t know. One must fire for record at least once a year but no one can tell when I can shoot again if I wish.


Bestus Love,
Bill

P.S. The S.M.R.L.H on the envelope stands for Service Mail Rush Like HELL.

P.P.S. Sure am homesick today, Love, Bill

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 63- January 20, 1944

January 20, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)


Dear Mother & Dad,

Boy! Does time fly in this bloomin’ army. It seems that the weeks are flying by like rabbits lately. Only 5 more weeks to go including bivouac. I wish the first 6 weeks had gone by like that. Oh well! That’s past history.

This is the damnedest country around here. This morning it was so bitter cold I almost froze in spite of a mountain of clothes, but by afternoon the temperature was up to 70°. It’s the first time I’ve seen warm weather since I left good old California.

Today we finished floating bridges. About all we have left in our course is one 23 mile hike, fixed bridges and rigging—that’s not counting the bivouac which is really not part of our regular basic.
I tried again to see whether or not I could get those pictures for you but they seem pretty damned unconcerned down at the studio. Talking about pictures I’m having a “hellofa” time getting my film. Another thing, I noticed was my camera doesn’t have a spool in it so I won’t be able to reset the films even after I get them.

I sure wish I could find out what my future is in this army. They do everything in such a highhanded manner that it burns me up. When the war’s over and I’ve got my discharge there’s a couple of noses I’d sure like to punch. By the way, you should hear some of the sentiments expressed by the boys around here on how the country’s being regimented. No wonder Roosey doesn’t want the soldiers to vote.

That orange bread sure sounds good. In fact anything you can send—even white bread or a bottle of pickles I’d really appreciate. One kid’s folks even sent him a loaf of rye bread and a little jar of peanut butter. Don’t bother to go to a lot of trouble to get candy, however. That situation is much improved and now I can probably get it easier than you. And for gosh sakes don’t you use a lot of ration points to make stuff for me.

I’ll write again for sure tomorrow night. We’ve got Guard Duty and can’t leave the Company area.

All my love,
Bill

Letter 62- January 16, 1944

January 16, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)

Dear Mudder and Dad,

Well, here it is Sunday again and I’m all excited about the bracelet. I really should get it today if it was supposed to be here by Friday or yesterday. Of course, one must take into consideration the damned way in which the lousy Post Office here works.

I damned near laughed myself to death when I read about the Higgenses in your letter, Mother. Isn’t it just like those knotheads. When I got to the part where she said maybe the good Lord would reach down and get them all I nearly had a fit. I can just see the old gal.

Well, we finally got the best of that bunch of bums in the kitchen today and are we happy. You know we’ve been getting cold cuts and damn near nothing (else) for the last couple of weeks. Well, today some fellows took some milk off an empty table so they’d have enough for cereal and coffee. The head cook got all burned up and said we’d have to eat out of our mess kits at dinner, so we just went to the Service Club for our meal. The Cap’t., who’s a really swell fellow heard about it and sent for a couple of men to go down and explain the situation to him. After that he gave the kitchen staff hell so maybe now we’ll get some decent food.

I liked your poem very much, Mudder. We’ve some here in camp that are pretty popular too but I won’t dirty up the mail. I’ll finish this later.

Well, it’s later now—a whole lot later—a whole day later. You probably think I’m a “hellava” pill, and I don’t blame you a bit if you do. When I was working like a dog and had hardly a minute to myself I still managed to write but now that I’ve got plenty of time I don’t.

Today the bracelet arrived. It’s really the nicest one I’ve ever seen. I’m so proud of it I’m about ready to burst my buttons. I showed it to my lootenent a little while ago and he just turned green with envy. I’ve still got the 45 bucks in the company safe but have been unable to get to the Post Office with it due to the funny hours the jernt has.

Bestus love,
Bill

P.S. Ain’t that a hellova way to end a letter.

Letter 61- January 13, 1944

January 13, 1944
(Camp Abbot, Oregon)


Dear Mudder and Dad,

I just got off K.P. a few minutes ago, and when I dragged myself into the barracks I found your letter of Jan. 9, Mudder. I really didn’t feel like writing but seeing how I’ve been shirking my writing lately I thought I’d better get at it. I’ve been getting mail as regularly as clockwork again now for several days. It’s been a lot better that way.

You were wondering when my basic would be up. I thought I’d already told you but evidently I didn’t. The last day of training is Feb. 26. After that we go to the “Casual Company” where we go on detail for an indefinite time—anytime from three days to three weeks.

They moved me out of headquarters barracks to the first platoon barracks just so everyone would be in the same place. That’s all.

Those meals you mentioned, Mudder, about the hamburgers and fried potatoes—rabbit, squash and moulded salad made my stomach do flip flops. I hardly remember what good food tastes like anymore—and one thing more when I get home, please! Puleeze! No lamb. I don’t think I could stand it. I bet we have lamb or goat as we call it about 8 or 9 times a week.

I got quite a laugh out of the “Sentinel” you sent—especially the protest over having to stay after school 45 minutes on Thursdays. The student in righteous indignation demanding his rights—when I read that I’d been working like a slave, for 16 hours straight. It’s funny how ones point of view can change in a few months. Last year I would have been just as sore about losing a little of my free time, but now I’m glad and thankful if I can get just 5 minutes to myself.


Bestus Love,
Bill