Hi Sweetheart, April 21, 1945

Wonder why?

The war in Europe is in its last days. US has Leipzig, Iejima, and President Truman. The USAAF and RAF are finishing their last raids on Berlin and the Soviets are poised to encircle the city. My Grandpa has been in the Army for four and a half years.

Saturday (Nite)
April 21, 1945

Hi Sweetheart—

Look what you’ve done to me! Here it is Saturday nite and I’m writing to you, rather than going out with the lads and doing a bit of “wolfing.” For me that is quite a novelty I assure you, but I don’t suppose I’d be doing it if I didn’t enjoy doing it. Funny thing, but I’d rather write you. Wonder why?

I received you lovely letter yesterday, and I’ll confess it raised this soldier’s morale about 250 per cent. Not that my morale was particularly low or anything like that, but if you hadn’t written me it certainly would have been.

Sorry you had a cold, but it served you right. If you had gone to bed at a decent hour all week, instead of letting that G.I. keep you out all night, you wouldn’t have had one—neither would he. Wonder where we got them. I had a beautiful one for a week after I left Jersey.

From your letter, I gather that you are keeping yourself pretty busy. That’s very much like you. You’ll have yourself all worn out if you aren’t careful. I will, when I get back there again, so save yourself a little bit will you? Did you find yourself another G.I. to take my place yet? You know, someone whom you can twist around your little finger, make him do all the heavy work, treat him generally like he was so much dirt under your feet—oh yes and keep him waiting two and three hours at a time, whenever he has a date with you. Or are you being a dope and being true to me.

Don’t pay too much attention to me tonight honey, I just naturally feel a little ornery, as when don’t I? Really, I know that being the grand and sweet person you are you couldn’t do anything wrong, and if you don’t have fun while you can, you’ll miss an awful lot, but let me warn you don’t you go getting too serious anyone else—I have a few plans concerning you that I’ll have to tell you about some time. I think I’ll whisper them in your ear some time, when I’m holding you in my arms. That’s a swell way to get in the mood.

Funny thing about me though, I usually have the parents crazy about me, but the daughters—one date and they go find someone the folks don’t like.

I talked to the First Sgt. about my furlough and I can take it almost any time I want it. Oh happy day! Honey you pick the time of year when Jersey is the prettiest, and I’ll come a-flyin’ in. Probably your folks will chase me off with the shotgun for annoying their daughter, but I’ll take the chance. Say, by the way, what do your folks think of me anyway? It never dawned on me to ask you whether the family approved of me or not. Not that that makes too much difference either. I’m an independent cuss ain’t I? Funny thing about me though, I usually have the parents crazy about me, but the daughters—one date and they go find someone the folks don’t like.

Awfully glad you got yourself something you wanted with that money. If I had gotten you something instead it probably woudln’t have been just what you wanted. It’s better this way—you can look at it and remember it’s what I wanted you to have. You can have it engraved if you care to—(if you can’t remember me any other way). Put on it, “From one dope to another” and have my name signed to it—with love and all that sort of thing. Or—“To Ann from Phil with love and kisses help us both.” Or “Use only as a last resort.” Or if you would rather have something sentimental engraved upon it simply say, “With all my love.” Natrually I would have probably put something like the first on it, and you would have thrown it at me, but suit yourself my dear, and let me know what I said to you on it, will you?

“Use only as a last resort.”

I’ve been practically worked to death the last week. The guy who was teaching my class took off on furlough and didn’t leave me a darn thing to go by—so the first thing I had to do was to dig through countless volumes of very dull literature and salvage enough material to get a lucture together. I have to give two hour and a half lectures to pilots going through transition training. One is on fuel systems and the other on fuselage or structure of the B-17. Naturally I had never been in a B-17 myself, in fact I’d practically never seen one before coming here, but because I carry the duty number of a skilled instructor the powers that be, figured it all out that I was qualified to teach anything.

You can imagine just how much the first couple of classes get with me teaching them. That’s the way the army operates though. Pass the buck and let someone else get stuck with it.

Anyway I've finally, after a couple of late at night sessions worked up a passable outline of what material they require, now all I have to do is find out just what the hell I’m talking about myself, and I should then be able to put it over to them. One satisfaction I get from all this is the fact that all these jokers I’m teaching are officers, from the 2nd Johns up to Majors, and at least when they are in class, they admit that the instructor knows more than they do. That is an unusual situation as far as the army is concerned, no officer ever likes to admit that a mere enlisted man knows more about anything than he does. Boy do I rub it in. Its sort of fun though and it keeps me out of trouble. [I liked the way you named those birds on your stationary.]

Gosh honey, I didn't realize I could write this much in one sitting. I must be stretching that line of mine quite a bit tonight. I’m afraid to go back over this and read it—you tell me what I said the next time you write—or better still just tell me the parts of it you liked. After all that’s the part I’m interested in.

So darling, I’ll wind this up for tonight write real soon. I’m getting awfully lonely—take good care of that big chunk of my heart you’re holding and don’t kick it around too much.

With all my love,
Phil.