10/11/43 Mission:
In Italy, XII Air Support Command and NATBF operations are cancelled or aborted due to weather, but RAF DAF fighters hit trains, trucks, and gun positions near Montesilvano and Vasto.
10/11/43 #1 Somewhere in Italy
Hi Dopey:
I could beat you. On Sept. 20 you write, and I quote, “the money orders came through.” Now which ones? I presume that they were the four I mailed from Africa 4 months ago (Nos. 11733, 11734, 13438, 14100). Soooo—let me know if those are the ones. They are the only money order stubs I have not tossed out before, so they must be it.
By popular request, we want more cheese. If it takes ration coupons, don’t do it, for we can buy damn good cheese here. But it isn’t Wisconsin snappy. If you send any more, don’t wrap it in paper. Put it in a cheese cloth wrapping and dip it in paraffin.
I’m enclosing 3 stubs for insured packages. Gee, I wish I’d hear that you got the stuff from Malta. If you already have and haven’t made up the goods into something, why don’t you make a slack suit! I think I sent enough cloth for same. I get so damn much kick out of buying you nice things, but I hate not being able to see you when you get them. Incidentally, when you do, will you describe the stuff and tell me what I bought! Sometimes I’m not quite sure.
The toy airplane is for Jack. Please send it to her with a note that it was made by an Italian paratrooper. He also gave me his trench knife.
I’ve sent so damn much stuff, I can’t remember what I have sent.
More later. Love Cy.
10/11/43 #2 Italy
Marfy:
If I ever get back to an American APO or financial office, I have $300 to send to you; and maybe I can get some V-Mail. On any case, send me 50 or more blanks, as I can’t ever seem to get enough. You’ll get more letters if you do!
What is this C.A.P.* Chuck is in? Give me the dope.
It makes me feel foolish to hear I’ve made the scandal sheets, for I’ve really done nothing (and I’m not being modest). But I guess it is ok. Furthermore, having been put in the same category as a bunch of brats who got out of school after Harsh did (who are my fellow Sq. CO’s) there isn’t a hell of a lot of chance of doing anything. About all I do is keep my rest camp operating, sign letters and stuff, and drive a hell of a distance to go swimming every day. It’s the only exercise possible, and I’m going to get in shape for this winter at any cost. (Insert above 5 pages of the kind of griping I do when I’m not able to fly in here). Oh, oh. That looks bad—the reasons for not flying are not because I’m grounded or anything like that—just military secrets.
I’m still in my Limey-jimey costume, although it is a bit cool in the mornings. About half the outfit are in wool and I think they are nuts. What will they do when winter comes? My field artillery boots are swell. The rain drips off of my raincoat and runs down the outside of the high boots, whereas it runs down the inside of the low ones.
I may send my Brazilian boots home. If I do, just take them to a good shoe store, get the leather refinished, and store them. Unless I write later to the contrary, don’t do anything to the soles or heels.
The pen and pencil have removed from life one of its chief aggravations. I have a terrific amount of paper work from time to time. Also, it is nice to be able to write when I want to without borrowing a pen or typewriter. I have been able to write up a couple of developments which I have been stewing over for some time.
Speaking of which, I sent some preliminary speculations forward today on a gadget which should take most of the human error out of bombing from evasive action. Everybody I talk to is most enthusiastic, but I’m sure when it gets to the plush-bottomed boys they will understand neither the need for same or the gadget itself. By rights, I should be sent back to develop it, but there is about as much chance of that as there is of my getting the Iron Cross. It’s a damn good, practical, simple idea. But I have no hope that anyone up above will see the value. You have to have flown a few hot ones to appreciate the problem.** I hear Burt is a Lt. Col. How’s Tom doing? God, if I could just work for somebody like Norm again—just once. That lad has brains, training, personality, a sense of fairness—and guts.
You know, while watching a bunch of merchant marine ships and some destroyers one day, I had a funny thought. I wonder what the $60 a month Navy seamen in the escort thinks when he sees the man in the merchant marine drawing $600 per month for the same job only a hundred feet away?
Then I got another brainstorm. How far would we have come from Casablanca if my mechanics, making $142 per month, had gone on an 8 hour day instead of their regular 16? How do they feel about the unskilled little bastards in the aircraft factories who know considerably less, working half as long and get a day off per week, and make 4 to 8 times as much? These soldiers and sailors, because they took care of the themselves and are not 4F***, or unselfishly left the defense job for combat, not only lose money now, have no chance to vote or any way of knowing how to vote, and will pay taxes the rest of their lives to cover the exorbitant wages now being paid. Honey, it scares me to think what I will say and do if I get home before the war is over. It may be heresy or something, but I think it is a Goddamned shame that 1/10th of the men should be drafted and put under fire doing the same work for 1/10th the wages of the “people” in the so-called defense industries. If a man attempts to go on strike here, he is forced at the point of a gun, a loaded one. If he should get out of that, he is reduced to a civilian and disgraced for life. His “essential” brother gets a raise and a pat on the back for being a good kid. I wonder how some of them, kicking about not having good rooms, or being forced to live away from their families, would feel if they had to sleep on the ground under a pup tent for a year like some of my men have done.
Frankly, I have no sympathy for all the tripe that is published about what a hard war it is. We are not kicking about our job, for we aren’t really in bad shape at all. But it is disgusting to read of the “tremendous sacrifice” made by the Jones family, all five of whom left their darling little home and went to the gweat big city to help build the gweat bwig bombers—at a net profit for the family of $50,000 per year.
Well enough griping. Radio is playing “Old Man River”. Not bad, but kind of fatalistic. [Click to hear: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eh9WayN7R-s]
Did you hear we were now in total war? No fooling, it’s damn near become a tee-total war!
Also, the main reason we like to capture harbors is that they are easy to repair. No matter what Jerry tries to do, the water just runs right back in.
The favorite joke out here now is the one of Frank Sinatra’s Hollywood Bowl exploit—the one about which a good G.I. Sgt. remarked not to forget to flush the bowl.****
Jack says he and Rosemary thank Major and Mrs. Cy for the gift.
Boy you’re going to have trouble with me when I get home! After living in a tent for so long, I regularly wake up, spit on the floor, and go back to sleep. Also, you’ll have to let me put a little gadget out in the yard, for I shant feel at home on any other.
*C.A.P. was the Civil Air Patrol. See: http://www.americainwwii.com/articles/guarding-the-home-skies/
**This appears to be the first reference to Cy really applying his engineering knowledge to problems he’s discovered in the heat of combat.
***Disqualified from the draft for medical reasons
****There was some controversy over having Sinatra at the Hollywood Bowl, which had always had a tradition of showcasing “High Brow” music. Sinatra drew a crowd of 10,000 bobbie-soxers.