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]