2/23/44 Italy
Honey:
Your letter with the picture and your V-mail #32 arrived today.
You’ll never know what you meant to me today. Last night a whole batch of kids who got out of flying school a year after I did made Lt. Col. None of them have half of the experience or ability that I have, but because of the old school ties, as well as having fallen into American HQ instead of British, as I did, they jumped ‘em over me. If I do make it, I shall have gone from highest ranking Major to lowest L.C., which is no boost. I once stated that any promotion over Major was predominantly political and determined that mine would be purely on ability. If I get it, such will be the case.
All day, whenever I got so damn mad I couldn’t see straight, I would force myself to think of you. I just can’t think of you and stay mad.
Hey! Get back on the track. I gave you definite dope on what to put in savings, checking, and bonds and I don’t want any backtalk. I’m not being patriotic—bonds pay the best interest available. I want some money in an area supported by agriculture (Texas), some supported by industry (Chicago), and some in gov’t bonds. The letter was most specific, and if not clear, let me know.
Also, Dopey, when you talk about money, talk in dollars. “A big hunk” is a lot of hooey. I think you are doing a swell job of managing, but don’t think that talking in generalities will keep me from worrying. Let me in on the dope once in a while.
Well, kitten, something will break eventually. I’ll try to write more cheerful letters, even if I’m not cheerful.
All my love, Cy.
I’m getting damn sick and tired of not being able to reach out and grab a handful of Martha when I want to. Between not having you, and this business of being kicked around (the OM lied to me—my recommendation didn’t go in with the rest of them, but later) ending in an administrative job a corporal can handle, I’m just about to get mad at those damn Jerrys for prolonging the scrap.
This once, I’m going to look out for C.B. I’m a little sad at doing my job well and having someone else get the gravy because they asked for it. I’m either going to get promoted or find out why (probably the latter). Then I’m going to ask for 21 days leave to go out and have a good time—God only knows how, but if I get far enough into the rear areas I may be able to make the grade. After that, I shall try to find a proper engineering job. If there are none, I shall revert to flying, the thing I know next best. If I’m not mistaken, I may be able to talk myself into command of a night stooge* outfit. Right now, I shall have to sit and await developments on the L.C.**
Honey, something is haywire in this set-up. I’m a damn good combat pilot with 47 shows of a type not liked by other people who have to do them once in a while. I have big hands, with wonderful training—I can run a lathe, a telegraph key, sketch. I have a brain trained in the best principles of engineering. And because I am not full of hangar flying and a thirst for liquor, I am placed in a job where all I do is telephone the target to my group when same is divulged to me. Furthermore, I have been ordered not to do anything further. Bob Paul is in about the same boat.
Well, Kitten, I shouldn’t let it get me down, so don’t let it worry you. I have to blow off once in a while, and you are the only one who understands. God, how I’d like to see you on the other side of the table set with our dishes, our sliver, and the table cloth I’ve bought in Naples for you. The longer I live, the more I realize you’re about the only real friend I’ve ever had. Others are close, but none are in your bracket as a friend. I guess Huntoons are next closest.
Aw nuts, Martha, I’m just a little boy badly in love. I guess I’ll never grow up.
I’m having a cameo bracelet and brooch made for your birthday. It is hard finding silver for the filigree (spelling?), but I believe everything is coming along nicely. Frankly, I don’t know beans about cameos, but these are supposed to be nice ones. You can always say they are from the cameo center of the world and were made under wartime conditions.
I have two soldiers up here with me. One lad, a Goldberg, is rather pleasant and intelligent. The other is a dope from way back. We’ve been shooting the bull, me telling them about some of my flights out of B’dale, S’vah, etc. It made life much more interesting to land and find a good looking little wife waiting in “baby” to take me home for a glass of milk and bed.
Speaking of bed, it is nearly 9 o’clock, so I guess I had better wash the road dust off my face and hit the hay.
Boy, it’s lucky I’m an officer, or your husband would be a thief. I drove for an hour yesterday behind a truck loaded with Coca-Cola. Gosh, what a temptation!
Nite—I love you, Cy.
*This appears to be a reference to a night bombing squadron
**I believe this is a reference to his expected promotion to Lt. Colonel.
Aw nuts. They’d better give me something to do soon or I’ll go completely nuts. I’ve either got to get to work or get to you. I can’t do without both.
Hey! All last summer I was embarrassed by not having a bathing suit. So please buy me one, size 32, trunks only, and mail it out. It should be here about the time it gets warm enough to use it. I like one with lots of built in supporter wool and a “flashy” color like Navy blue. I hate to have to borrow things. That can be my birthday present. Sorry you can’t be here to present it in person.
You’re fuzzy is definitely longer—keep it up. I’m not much of an artist, but how about some snaps of it rolled in two rolls as at night? It is definitely beautiful up, but I’m not satisfied with the style. I’d give a cool $500 right now to be able to touch any part of you, your face, your hair. How about a couple of lips on your next Air Mail effort? It’s legal now.
I’m afraid I didn’t sleep much last night, just lay awake thinking of you. It doesn’t make much difference because I don’t have any work to do. But it is stupid of me, just like dreaming of having a million.
Get hold of a December 27th Life Magazine and look on pages 60, 61, 62, 63, 66, 67, 68, 69, 78, 82, 83. They are all scenes and places with which I am very familiar. Some of the pages have no numbers (48-81) but you can number them yourself. The paintings are good but the pencil sketches from which they were made are excellent. They are all most lifelike (or should I say deathlike).
I’m about to go nuts sitting up here doing nothing. The OM has been kidded into believing people on this job have been working hard. If I tell him the truth, it will make two of the boys look even less like a man, so I guess I’ll just sit and see what happens.
I’m still trying to figure the angles on a night stooge squadron.
Honey, keep on loving me even if I am confused. Love, Cy.
What a day. I’ve been trying to find whether or not you’ve gotten the various amounts of dough I’ve sent you through Finance. Will you look through your letters and find out how many and how much I’ve sent and then tell me which ones you have and which ones you have not received. It will be an hour’s work, but if anything is screwed up I would like to know it while I am in a position to check it. I now have stubs for $450 submitted 4 November and $250 on 3 December. I believe I sent 2 before that and destroyed the stubs, although the Nov. one may possibly be the $450 you mention in your November 28 letter. I think not though as it generally doesn’t go through that fast. I have $500 or so more to send when I get a chance. I will let you know about that later.
Got a nice letter from George Cain yesterday. He wants me to work with him—I wish I could. Dick Duffy writes as does Mrs. Gilbert from Glen Ellyn. I haven’t had a letter from you in about a week. Hope it is just the normal tie-up and nothing wrong.
I’m just about fed up with some of the kid stuff I’ve been running into. But I shall wait ‘til something happens on my status before I start looking for a new job. Permit me, Toots, I want a franchise to proposition you some day!
Love Me.
3/1/44
Italy #84 Nite Edition 10 P.M.
Hello Droopy:
Boy, would I like to catch you and tear your hair down tonight.
A lock of hair to push aside,
A lacy gown, still all revealing,
A touch, a kiss, a gentle sigh
Of satisfaction twixt you and I.
A soft caress across a breast,
A gown no longer veiling.
My heart beats wildly in my chest—
Our mutual love again confessed.
A glorious havoc of flashing light,
Of breathless moments of feeling
Of precious hair, of eyes so bright
With love, devoid of earthly fright.
A siren wails, the dream is lost!
A single rider ventures o’er.
The night of steel is cased in frost
And split my many cannon’s roar.
That, Angel, in brief, is what I like about one side of the Atlantic and what I don’t like about the other. You may show it to Nancy, but Beverly is yet a bit young.
Bill Mauldin Stamp
There’s a cartoonist for the Stars & Stripes who has really caught the spirit of the average dough-boy on the front lines. I shall try to send you a copy of Bill Mauldin’s book of stuff, but will describe some of them as best I can.
Picture shows two naked G.I.’s in artistic pose on base of ruined statue, German rear—live troops and Italian civilians going about their business as usual. One soldier remarks to other “Next time you can go out on your damned forward observation post alone.”
Pack mule arrives with brand new 2nd Lt, “Ft. Benning” stamped on his mess of baggage. One tough G.I. remarks to the other “Hell, I thought we was getting’ C rations this morning.”
Two very weary-looking soldiers are leaning over their guns, like a WPA* man at work. The tough corporal asks the tougher looking PFC, “How are we gonna know whether they is fresh troops or not if we don’t wake ‘em up and ask ‘em?”
Also an “FBI” man out here is a graduate of the infantry school—Fort Benning Idiots.
Well, Snooks, time for bed. The damned old guns are barking, which means there’s plenty between Jerry and I—a good sign. It sounds fantastic to hear the bells of century old churches banging away with a bass of heavy cannon and a snare of drum effect from the light stuff.
I love you more than ever. Your own, Cy.
*Works Progress Administration: Government agency that created millions of public works jobs during the Great Depression.
