Dec. 15, 1943

 

Dear Mom,

            I’ve been waiting to hear from you and don’t understand why you don’t write.  It’s true about fellows in camps far from home depending on letters from their relatives to add that little homey touch.  When you write be sure to let me know all (everything) about yourself and Mollie and the house, because that home and you mean everything in the world to me, especially you.  As each day passes the longing to return increases more.  Right now I’d give anything to be there and see you again, but until this damn war gets straightened out all of us will live in a topsy turvy world.  Everything I need I have with the possible exception of stationary.  You and Frank are the only ones I’m writing to.  Someday perhaps a letter to Henry.

            I spend more time thinking about you around here than I do anything else.  Now I’m assistant squad leader which means nothing except additional detain.  At least I was lucky enough to escape being squad leader.  Mom from the way I’ve got things doped out around here I don’t want to ever go higher than Private 1st class.  That in itself entails sufficient grief.  To hell with their advancement up the grade.  I don’t envy any officer his job.  We have all kinds of people in this platoon.  Some are teachers, merchants, one wealthy importer (food), and assorted hillbillies, bed bums, etc.  On the whole they are a fairly decent bunch.  I get along all right.  The food is passing fair and that’s all.  I average 6 hours sleep per night and won’t gain any weight while I’m here.  This training should be over in February about the 6th, then I’ll come home as straight and fast as I can.  My civilian clothes are packed and will be sent home one of these days. 

            It’s getting close to Christmas and I know you’ll miss me.  It works both ways.  Cheer up I’ll be back when furlough time comes.  Oh yes I just remembered something.  Don’t ever try to come down here to see me because the chances of our meeting in this camp are small.  Understand I wish you could but it’s impossible.

            Schager is lucky he’s in the army.  This Marine Corps is one mass of detail, hurry up, etc.  It isn’t that I don’t like it, it’s just that its-well, its hard to describe.  For the last two days we’ve had a cold rain.  For a long time I’ve wanted to visit the South and now that I’m here I don’t like it.  Notice when you read this that I never have cured myself of the habit of using the first person (I).

            Anyway, when this is over I’ll have a job and security to go back to which is more than 90% of the people I know have.  And that means it will be easy for you.  You done lots for me Mom and although my actions over a long period didn’t show appreciation it was there but dormant.  I wish I could put part of me in the envelope that contains this letter so it could go home that’s just how much I want to be back.  That’s what this fight is for, the things we hold most dear to us.  Word now is two years before it’s over and they’ll be going fast if they do it by then no matter what anybody says.

            Don’t forget it will be best for all of us if you take care of yourself first before anything else.  Keep that medicine and milk going.  Don’t worry about me.  I can take care of myself.  Always use the correct address (on envelope) when writing.  Say hello to Mollie and tell her to take it easy.  Say hello to the Weiss’s and MILLERS.

                                                                                    Love,

                                                                                        Bun

FEED TOM ENOUGH

 

            I was going to close this letter but I hate to because it’s a link with home so on it goes.  I’ve been away about 11 days now and have almost forgotten what 128th Street looks like except the second house from the corner.  There’s a mental picture of that in my mind now and it will never go away.  It’s a good house and a wonderful home and filled with fine people, even when I was there.  I suppose lots of people ask you about me now that I’m gone.  This furlough should be 10 days when it comes through which means I’ll have a few days home anyway.  When I do come back every minute (or almost) will be spent with you in the house.  I don’t need any money there is still $8.00 left out of my roll.  Frank and I had a picnic before the train left.  He didn’t drink but I did enough to last for awhile.  We don’t see newspapers or hear radios here so what’s going on in the outside world is completely strange.  Time don’t mean anything here except get up at 3’30-4-5 in the morning, wash clothes, clean rifles, bayonets, a mountain of equipment, drill, eat, attend lectures, etc.  So if you notice this is sketchy it’s because here everything is done on the jump (real fast).  I can’t understand Jack Ford choosing this kind of life in preference to a civilian’s.  I’ll bet the boys on the force (Police) have got Cleveland served up pretty tight now.  More power to them.  Before I said I have everything I need.  Now I’ll change it.  You might send me a box of Christmas cards, about 15 cards will be enough, there are a few people I should write to.  Inspector Leniban, Weiss, and a couple more.  Now I’m about out of ideas so I’ll wind up.  Anyway remember that in my mind you come first and last always.  Mollie to.  Tom also.

                                                                        Lots of Love Mom.

                                                                                                Bun

P.S. Say hello to that nice girl up the street for me.  You got the wrong idea about her.  She’s alright and she like me.  Don’t lose her picture.  It’s in those Reflimon books at the Radio.  Bun.