Hi Love –

Got two letters from you all at once—and I didn’t have the will power to wait to read one either. In a way it’s rather silly because if a person does write two letters close together it might some time mean that there was something you wanted me to know right away. Of course as far as I’m concerned I don’t guess I’ll ever have anything that pressing to tell you...

Guess who I got a letter from today—Mary Ellen—and written in her own hand writing! Can you imagine it? Or do you recall just how crooked and helpless her hands were when we were home. She’s writing a book about the hospital & her own funny experiences she tentatively calls it “Horizontal Holiday” which ain’t bad. She was quite ecstatic in her praises of you—which of course I just ate up—some time when you’re feeling particularly low I’ll let you read it. She considers me very lucky—but even at that I think she under estimates what I consider myself. I sent Mom a pair of good white gloves for Mother’s day. She just got a new coat which has a white collar on it so evidently she looked very good—Don wired her some flowers so she was quite thrilled...

Life is rather dull here in the office lately but I guess I’m helping the war effort by writing to you. Ahem: Anyway, I love you, does that help?

We finally got to New York, and I did all the things a proper “hick” should do. From going to the top of Rockefeller Center, to seeing the Statue of Liberty and the Rockettes and Central Park, & a broadcast and riding the subway and going to church in St. Patricks. (It’s the most beautiful church I’ve ever seen). It was all fun but I’d like to go again with you sometime. I was so jealous of Helen and Steve! The trains are horribly crowded but it wasn’t so bad as Helen and I sat with a bunch of soldiers and sailors (the cutest sailor with the most beautiful Irish brogue). Elaine sat further up front and pretended she didn’t know us because our corner was making so much noise. We told them all the crazy things we could think of about Iowa—don’t know whether they believed us or just knew we were crazy and humored us...

Why didn’t you tell me you’d been sick before and why didn’t you tell more people about it up there. In fact why didn’t you impress them with the fact that you were a decrepit wreck. After all, you might as well get back before you really become a WAAP. I’d like to be married to you a little while before you can’t be distinguished from a relic of the G.A.R. If you can find some nice porky Eskimo gal to keep you warm—you have my blessing. After all your services means [sic] more to me than your morals...

I really do think you’re wonderful. It’s quite enough to feel when I’m worried but when you write a letter timed to get there on a day when I’m especially worried that’s something extra. It seemed so funny—just as if you’d known the day before how horrible I felt and then sat down and wrote exactly the right thing, and it got there the next day...

Just think I actually owe you a letter—got one day before yestryday [sic] and one again today and haven’t answered either one. It’s wonderful of you to write so often, but lately I’ve been getting them in reverse order so it does rather confuse me. I guess one came real fast (11 days) and the last two have taken about a month...

I’ve about reached my low point so according to the Dorothy Dix I shouldn’t be writing to you and lowering your morale—but as I always say what the hell’s a husband for. Yestryday [sic] I got a letter from Peg Murray, the girl I liked the most in the bunch who went to Alaska, we had a lot of fun together since most of the other gals were on the watch and we were both engaged. He was an Air Corps man too and in India, sailed from Bolling on 5 hrs notice about a month after you first left the country. Any way he was killed on the 21st of February & as she says she doesn’t much feel like ever coming home again. Then Mrs. Matthews answered my letter today. She had a baby 3 days after she got the telegram. It’s a boy named R.D. Jr. It was a pretty bad letter, but I’m sure I don’t blame her for going to pieces. She’s stuck in No. Dakota probably for the rest of her life and says instead of 23 she wishes she were 73. I get what she means. Then on top of that you write that you won’t be home in July—altho’ I thought that was coming—still you could have picked a more convenient day to tell me. On thinking the whole thing over—I wish some kind soul would blow the whole damn world to hell—and I’d be glad to be among the missing...

I got two letters from you today. One of them only 8 days old. It seems amazing that I could have something that you had such a short time ago. I’m sorry mail to you isn’t so good, but it really is understandable when they have to carry in so many supplies etc. Anyway I have been writing quite often so I hope they all catch up with you eventually. It is wonderful to be able to send you sentences that you will sometime read. & it’s very wonderful to get letters from you reminding me that you love me and that we’re both looking forward to the same things. But I would so much love to sit with your arm around me and talk for hours...

Hi baby –

You really shouldn’t write me such sweet letters, I felt worse after I read it than I did the night you left. It made me realize just how much we’re missing by not being together. Ordinarily I avoid thinking how much you mean to me, but after reading the letter you seemed so close, and so sweet that it was almost more than I could bear to know you were probably well on your way to Fairbanks. Really if you feel the way you say about staying in love I’m sure we can, because I’m certain of myself and I know we can work something out...

The day felt just like I did so it rained like hell.

I hope you are having a terrible time in Dayton & are wishing to heaven you had me there after all. Or else that you’ve picked up some blonde and are feeling very cheap at having been promiscuous so soon after having left the arms, so to speak, of your loving wife...

I hope I won’t startle you too much, but I’m writing to tell you that I leave Washington the 18th to report for duty Nov. 1 at the Cold Weather Testing Detachment, Ladd Field, Fairbanks, Alaska. I know it will probably seem that this time I’m chasing you a little too far, but I hope you won’t be too disgruntled.

It was just about a week ago that I heard of the chance—and after that I had to overcome all sorts of obstacles—such as being only twenty, not being a stenographer, but they told me yestryday [sic] that I was one of the twelve to go...

You can’t imagine how glad I was to hear that you had a broken rib. I mean just the fact that you still had a rib to be broken was so wonderful. Gordon came home with a rumor that you’d been killed. So Mrs. Blood called to find out the worst from Edith. She came over to find out when I’d last heard, and told me that (Gordon said maybe) you’d been badly hurt. I was a sick cookie for a while (Sunday) but Monday when I got to work I looked so horrible that Mr. Curran got the story & immediately called A.G.O. who stated that you’d never been a casualty or in an accident. That helped matters a lot, Watson spent a day at A.G.O. too, & found out the same thing. It wasn’t until then that Edith told me he said you’d been killed not hurt...

You know how you get the feeling of how high you really are when you fly over certain things—like a radio tower or something. Well I got a feeling the other night—sort of a realization that it had actually been ten months practically since I had seen you—and it didn’t feel a bit good, in fact I felt rather panicky. Usually it just doesn’t seem that long, which is a blessing I guess.

Got a letter from Mom tonight, she’s fine, and said she had read in the paper that they were giving leave & would you get any. Sort of a coincidence because I hadn’t mentioned that you might...

Got a call from Watson at the office the other day—he said Edith was rather worried about you and had I heard? So it made me wonder too—it’s funny, I look forward to your letters but I don’t expect them at any certain time. Quite a difference than when you were at Selfridge when I used to get positively furious if I didn’t hear twice a week. It never bothered me when you were in Texas. I guess that was because I got a letter almost every other day...

I guess whomever you borrowed the paper from used to write his girl long letters. One of the gals at home writes me that the boy she’s gonna marry writes her four or five letters a day.—I felt very neglected to say the least!

I don’t guess we’d better get very mad at each other—because when I get mad I like to get as far away from the person as possible. I’d probably wake up in Iowa some morning, with you still in Alabama for instance! And think of the train fare wasted—I’m afraid the budget couldn’t take it...

We certainly aren’t very good as letter writers are we? Compared to some of the gals at school who write and recieve [sic]long letters every day, our ardour seems rather cool—hm? Well anyway we both know that’s not true so I guess nothing else is very important...

I got quite a kick out of your letter. The letterhead was censored and also the place you arrived at and then what has been fairly good so that you got in a lot of flying time. It looked so ridiculous, I just had to laugh. However if you’re where I think you are, I think the Alaskan mainland would be better even if it doesn’t have any inner-spring mattresses...

I think your letter is a little incongruous with Alaska as the heading but sent from Desert Hotel. But glad as I was to get it, I didn’t much care.

It’s so nice that you ran into Smitty—I never did feel right about you and Jack loosing him in (Alaska) I mean Virginia. Is he married yet or still giving all the girls a break?!..

That was the most horrible letter I’ve ever received. You not only blasted our future to bits, but you did it in a hurry. Look, I know the army is efficient and all, but have a heart. It wasn’t like you at all, and who’s supposed to be the pessimist in this duo?...