2/29/40
Brooks Field, Tx.
Hi Toots:
What to write about? You know what I’m thinking, but I can’t have you so there’s no point in bitching about it.
We had open post yesterday afternoon from 2:30 to 10:00 P.M. I had exactly 8 cents to my name so there wasn’t much else I could do but call on the relatives. Martha was home and I arrived in time for supper. She and Mickey (Milton) drove me out to the field after a couple of hours of bull-session. I still haven’t gotten over it, their home was so sweet and they’re so darned happy. Honey, why couldn’t I have been one of these normal fellows who picks out a routine profession and sticks to it? My damned ambition is going to cause us a lot of unhappiness (as it always has) in the future, but I try to believe that it will be worth it.
I had a long talk with Capt. Holmes, communications officer on the post. He felt that my opportunities were unlimited in Army Air Corps communications. In addition to a few small favors here, he has volunteered to take me through the radio section of the San Antonio Air Depot. Captains don’t generally have much to do with flying cadets, so I feel duly flattered.
Rumor #4,229,267—A, part 3 (not yet official) has it that immediately upon graduation my class is slated for six weeks of detached service as observers of ground troops during the spring maneuvers. If that goes through, I’ll have to marry you by telephone or proxy or something. That would certainly be an awfully hollow wedding night for both of us. I can just visualize me getting drunk and you crying yourself to sleep just like any other night. Well, let’s not cross any more bridges than we have to just now.
I’m Cadet Officer of the Day today, which can be boiled down to reception clerk and office boy. It’s one of those routine tours of duty with which everyone gets stuck. But it does give me a chance to catch up on my letter writing, which is sadly behind. I can’t do so well without a typewriter.
I’ve checked out the poem with a number of people, and they all like it, so let’s send it in as it stands. Who knows, it might even be published!
Golly, these barracks are going to be hot this summer! Believe it or not, the temperature outside is well over 90! We flew in underwear and coveralls this morning, and it was yet too hot and this damn wool uniform I’m wearing now is just plain hotter than hell. It felt nice flying without a bunch of clothes, but I missed the invigorating qualities of the cold air.
Oh, goody! Class 40A just washed out a ship. The mighty upperclassman forgot to put his wheels down. Outside of about $1000 worth of parts, no damage was done. About 5 more hours and we start getting formation and cross country flying. It’s funny when I think of the comparison between our flying and the average civilian pilot’s. Even with no training in formation, we think nothing of landing 30 feet from another ship. Three of us lit in a line today and the outside wingtips weren’t two hundred feet apart. Boy, a civilian landing between two other ships at 90 mph would have a hemorrhage! Ask Gordon.
Well, must quit! Lots of love, Angel, Cy.