Editor’s note: On February 1, 1940, the Soviet Union launches a new offensive against Finland.
2/1/40
Randolph Field, Tx.
Darling:
Hope this reaches you Saturday. I delayed writing in the hope that I could tell you I passed the instrument check, but bad ax grounded us and we didn’t even fly today.
I’m a bad boy. Chief thrill I’ll get out of new dress is what’s in it now and I hope out of it one of these days. Darling, it isn’t right that we aren’t together. We’d both be so much happier. I don’t mean together like we have been, but much more completely so.
The enclosures aren’t much, but use one for Dad, one for Sis, and one for my wife. And don’t go splitting it up on my family! It’s for you and you must use it. It’ll make me feel better if I’m doing just a little bit for your pleasure.
If Willy says, “Thank God,” think what Jo says! Well, precious, you won’t have any “little” sisters to put up with.
Burt got a letter from Maxie and seemed quite tickled. He’d kill me if he knew I sent her his picture. Boy, what a riot that would be!
We’re having an epidemic of measles on the post. Those who haven’t had them are in the far corner of the barracks, eating at a separate table etc. Great sport.
Two more weeks and what I hope will be our last separation will be half over!
Another one of those jokes. Oh, me!
Young fellow was to be married in a few days and was having trouble holding in. He asked his uncle whether or not he should ask the girl to let him break through a couple of nights before the wedding. He figured that a few days out of 40 years or so would make very little difference one way and a hell of a lot the other.
“Well, Sonny,” said Unc, ‘I wouldn’t do it. I asked your Aunt Tilly that the night before we were married, twenty-two years ago, and she got so all fired mad I haven’t had the nerve to ask her since!”
Honey, your my own angel and I love you.
Your bad boy, Cy.
(Later)
Gotta talk to you tonight. Just came home from “Remember the Night” with Burt and Dave and Whitey. You must see it. It has dozens of laughs.
I just started thinking of what I have gained here. My posture is much better. I know more about drilling and am more proficient in giving commands. I know a hell of a lot more about airplanes, although I’ve learned almost nothing in the classroom work. As in the Digest, I’ve learned to cooperate with the inevitable. I’m not as thirsty as I used to be. Perhaps I’m getting old.
My gosh! My hair is down in my eyes, halfway down my nose!
We had our last class today and I had my last ride in the jeep. I have 2 ½ hrs of acrobatics and 5 hours of blind and solo work to complete. It’s very discouraging, though. They washed out 2 more men in our class yesterday. I can’t imagine life without that perpetual dread of the axe catching me. It’s always a good possibility. About 95% of the men who will be washed have already gone, so my chances are better each day. If I can get out of Randolph, I’m almost set.
Time for the mail orderly, precious. Someday I’ll tell you these things in person over our supper table. It’ll probably bore you to death. Incidentally, I may be an aviator, but don’t forget you’re marrying a darned good engineer—and don’t let him forget it.
Night precious baby, Me again.