Letters To Home

Don’t we have a time though?  Ten days or more ago I got some letters from home saying that Cleon had pretty much made up his mind that he would wait and be drafted like I was.  I thought that after what I had written home on the subject, he was as good as in the Navy.  As a result, I got all hopped up when their news came.  On the 10th (last Wednesday) I dashed off another “persuasive” letter, hoping that it would do the trick.  And if it didn’t, I would keep on shooting my mouth off until I got some action.

Well, the funny thing is that less than an hour after I mailed that letter, I got one from home which said, among other things, that Cleon had suddenly taken a liking to Navy blue.  It made me feel much better.

In the meantime I have thought of other comments that I wanted to make but which had slipped my mind at the time.  Here goes.  This is war, they tell me.  So if Cleon goes into the service, and I don’t see how he can avoid doing just that, he will more than likely be in more or less danger.  (Anybody who can beat around the bush like that ought to be a lawyer!).  Well, if he is going to be in danger, he might as well be in danger in comfort.  This life of marching day and night, carrying all your “household” possession on your back, eating canned C and K rations isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  Some of those foxholes are drafty—might drafty.

Fortunately for me, I have never had to do that.  But many boys are doing that.  And some of the fellows who are drafted this year will be doing it.  Not Cleon, I hope.  Don’t get the idea that the Navy is a bed of roses.  In most ways it’s like the Army.  However, the average sailor has a clean, dry place to sleep when he has finished his work for the day and he is reasonably sure of three good hot meals a day.

Join the Navy and see, if not the entire world, at least a substantial part of it!  Now that so large a part of the Army is overseas, there should be no objection to the Navy on that count.  In fact, if Cleon becomes a gob, I’ll bet he is home on furlough before I am.

I do believe it’s nearly time for another story on our GI chow.  Haven’t given that a wallop since Christmas.  Here it is:  On Thursday we had spaghetti and meat balls.  I thought it was delicious.  However, not everyone shared that opinion.  Some wise guy took one of the meat balls and, through the use of several match sticks, fastened it to the wall of the mess hall, plainly in sight of everyone standing in line waiting to be served.  Under the meat ball, he placed this sign:  “HIGH-TEST GOLF BALLS, 2 to a victim, no coupons required.”  Did you ever try to bite into a meat ball which had been retreaded?  These were nothing like that.  Practically melted in one’s mouth.

P.S….There are a couple of items that I will ask Mom and Dad to send me soon.  One is a pair of those wooden-soled, canvas-strapped shoes to war in the shower.  I’ve been having a bit of trouble with athlete’s foot.  Nothing serious.  I think this may be the answer.  Also, a bottle of iodine, Absorbine Jr. or something else that will toughen the skin between my toes.  I could use 2 or 3 packs of Gillette Thin Blades, too.  To make up the allowed weight, they can send me something in the way of dried fruits or cookies made with dried fruits.  And those marshmallows hit the spot.

I need to thank Mom for the very nice Mother’s Day Message to a Son in the Service.  I hope she will like what I sent in place of a card.  They don’t have Mother’s Day over here; hence, no cards.

[letterstohome copyright 2008]

Another letter showed up when I went to the mail room last night. It isn’t the letter so much as what was in it that has set me on my ear. You could have knocked me over with a gust of wind (I think that “feather” expression has been rather overdone, don’t you) when I read that Cleon was going to wait and be drafted like I was. It is, generally speaking, alright for a fellow to follow in his brother’s footsteps, but he should at least wait until I get out of them. If I have anything to say about it, this is going to be an exception to the rule.

First of all, I will suggest to Mom, dad, and Cleon that they all reread those 3 letters I have already written on the subject (2 to Mom and Dad and one to Cleon). They need to read them over carefully and ponder each word. Unless they have proof to the contrary, they cannot ignore the points which were made. They say that Cleon thinks he will wait ‘til he’s drafted. But they give no good reason for his doing that, however. In a show I saw the other evening, one of the characters said, “There’s a place up the road for people who talk to themselves!” Was I talking to myself when I wrote those? Not intentionally!

I wonder what Cleon has to gain by waiting. I hope he does not think that the Navy might accept him whereby the Army might reject him, and that he therefore might get into service needlessly.

I realize that it is not easy for a guy like Cleon or me to walk into something like this of our own free will. But in Cleon’s particular case it almost amounts to going in “this week” or being drafted “week after next”. It will take some intestinal fortitude to go in the way I suggest, but it is a course of action which should pay off. About that girl trouble he’s having so much fun with, it’s too bad it has to end soon. Maybe she will write to him.

Cleon should like the Navy at least as well as the Army. Its physical and mental standards are higher and the average gob is younger than his counterpart in the Army. Thousands and thousands of 17-year-old boys have enlisted in the Navy since the war began.

I don’t like to say too much about the advancement that is available in the Navy because that depends on Cleon. But I have heard that ability plays a larger part there than where I am. And I think the Navy is more careful in its assignment of men to certain jobs. For example, compare Gene Elliott with me. Well, he was just an ordinary guy. Enlisted in the Navy, went to school to learn about sound-detection, came out a petty officer third class a few months later. That’s approximately equal to an Army sergeant. I don’t have to tell you what a genius I am (?). Figure out how long and how hard I’ve worked for my corporalcy. I could name other cases of the same nature.

Now, is the Navy more dangerous? Yes, it is more dangerous than what I am doing. What isn’t? But, I don’t think it is as dangerous as what Cleon will probably get into if he waits—namely, infantry, artillery, armored force, combat engineers, tank destroyers, etc. Well, I wonder what he thinks now.

[letterstohome copyright 2008]