October 21, 1944: Long-Distance Call

Postcard from Opa to Grandmother October 21, 1944

10/21/44

Dearest,

Too occupied in indulging in non-activity tonight. I shall let this card be a substitute for the letter I should write, and a preview for the one I'll write tomorrow. It has been an easy day, crowned by celebrating with Johnny. Long distance call didn't work, since you were "out." Shall try again tomorrow. Wished they had television (or do I?).

Love, 

Tom.

Not exactly sure why the random racist postcard - but here we are.

My favorite line of this card is ... since you were "out"... Opa calling out Grandmother for having a life. She wasn't sitting around at home waiting for him to call. He teases her about it here, but I think the tone is friendly. They spent a lot of their early marriage apart, and while they missed each other, neither was waiting around for the other either. Grandmother was in graduate school while Opa completed his basic training and began his military career.

The other day I was talking to my Dad about the first cell phone plans with their time limits (only so many minutes, and extra charges for long distance). I remember when calling after 9pm was a good deal so you’d plan all catch up calls for that discounted time. Now- I’m writing this blog post on a bus home from my job in DC. On the internet, with a portable charger for my phone. What a time to be alive! And yet- the bus is silent. No one interacts except to maybe say excuse me or smile at a frequent co-passenger.

Opa wonders if he wished he had TV- I’m not sure what he meant by that but I just looked it up and TVs were relatively new at the time of his writing- not yet ubiquitous in every home. Technology would soon hit a rocket’s pace in development in nearly every industry (I don’t have the stats to back this up but I think it’s at least somewhat accurate). 

Here I am talking “back in my day” about limited minutes on a cell phone. 

October 20, 1944: War is Hell, But I'm Fine

Letter from Opa to Grandmother October 20, 1944

October 20, 1944

My little Darling,

Today, I received two letters from you; one of them was written Wednesday and the other one on October 4; it had only now been forwarded from Leavenworth. In that letter, you wrote about the hard time you had getting back to Lawrence from Leavenworth. That was certainly too bad; you were lucky to get a hotel room at all in Leavenworth. I bet you didn't sleep much that night.

What is the "Milk of Magnesia?" Something you can't write about? By the way, remind me that I tell you two good stories next time I see you.

This has been another pretty hard day. According to some so-called authority, we are going to have our first parade tomorrow, so they really had us drilling. Personally, I don't believe in that parade yet, it may just have been a trick to get us to work a little harder. Nevertheless, we drilled for three hours in close formation with rides In my estimation, we look just like what we are: a pitiful bunch of ignorant rookies. (I hope we are so bad the decide to fire us.)

Also today, we saw two series of films, one was on sex hygiene. It was fair, not as good as some we have seen. The main purpose was to show us the proper use of various prophylactic kits; they illustrated how the rubber should be put on to prevent infection and similar stuff in which I would probably have been interested two or three years ago.

The other show was extremely gory and left absolutely nothing to the imagination: a show on First Aid. We saw jaws that had just been broken or shot off, with blood running out of the opening where formerly a mouth had been; chest holes, where the air went through at every breathing; belly holes, with guts sticking out four or five inches; legs lying one place, a stump of man several feet away, blood squirting out of the wound. There were two guys who passed out, just seeing the picture; several got sick. It didn't affect me in the least. I feel very sorry for these kids, for they are going to have a tough time when they will see these things first-handed on the battlefield. I only keep asking myself: why would they show us Signal Corps guys this kind of pictures, and give us this type of training, unless they planned to send us into combat zones?

Well, after these shows, we needed some relaxation; so, they first took us on a three-mile hike, part in double time, and then topped of the afternoon by an hour of extensive "physical conditioning." We dragged our bones home after having loaded our muscles on a truck, ate supper and, since this is Friday, scrubbed the barracks, polished the brass, cleaned the windows, cleaned the rifles, oiled them,...... till at nine o'clock we were "free for the evening." Yup, our uncle sure keeps our lives from being dull.

Honestly, though, it isn't bad, especially not for me. I have the great advantage over most of the other guys that the majority of those jobs are not new to me. Many of the boys are now passing through a stage of homesickness, and the rest of us are kept busy giving some maternal (or at least paternal) consolation.

One boy (not in our regiment, but also a basic) went AWOL for two days, but decided to come back. The poor kid was put before a court-martial and confined to six months of hard labor and forfeiture of his pay. I think that was a terrible punishment for the kid. The Army needs some social reform. (Or maybe the world needs social reform so that it will no longer need armies.) 

Well I have griped enough. Why don't you come down, sneak into the barracks, and stay in my bunk with me?

Auf Wiedersehen,

Tom.

Oof. Opa puts on a good face- and I don’t doubt he’s better off than many of these young army boys, but I thought it was interesting that he signed the letter Auf wiedersehen. I may be reading too much into it but, he may have been a little homesick.

There’s so much in this letter. I think I’ll work backward. Opa’s line about the world needing social reform so that it will no longer need armies. I hear echoes of his pacifist Quaker past in that line. It’s long in his past, but the longing for that world likely never left Opa. I long for it too, but the older I get the more impossible it feels. Even if we somehow gain world peace- it feels inevitable that humanity will repeat history. 

Opa’s reflection that many of the boys are homesick made me think about how he has been away from home since 1938 - six years have gone by since he saw his mother, more since he saw his sister. He hasn't seen his father in five years. He may not feel the fresh twinge of homesickness, but by now I think he must hold a reservoir of grief deep inside. To access that grief would be too much. So he separates himself from the homesick boys, even offering consolation. Did he ever get to grieve?

The story about the gory movies and intense physical activity afterwards made me think of something my sister, Jessa, says. We sort of tease her about it even though we shouldn’t- she’s a nervous system expert and somatic experiencing therapist. She’ll often quip “from a nervous system perspective…” and say how something makes sense or was helpful, or unhelpful "from a nervous system perspective." Opa's group transition from gory videos to physical activity was indeed helpful from a nervous system perspective. The phrase “walk it off” isn’t completely wrong (brief caveat to say that not acknowledging the hurt and minimizing the impact is not the part that’s right- it’s the instinct to physically move through/with emotional pain in order to process it). Running and jumping may have helped those soldiers process the gory scenes. I doubt that's what the instructors had in mind, but maybe there was some wisdom in the order of events. 

Milk of magnesia helps alleviate constipation. I think Grandmother always had some tendency towards that. TMI but when you take care of your Grandmother for a couple years, you learn a lot! She had a sensitivity to some foods, especially chocolate- that particular thing made her say "I don't know what sin I committed in a previous life to deserve that." Grandmother really liked her sweets. All 5 feet tall, 90 pounds of her. I wonder if she hadn't figured out her chocolate allergy yet. 

October 19, 1944: St. John’s Gossip

Letter from Opa to Grandmother, October 19, 1944

October 19, 1944

My dearest little Honeybunch,

I ought to, and do, feel quite a bit better today, and am suffering of no other illness but my persistent, chronical ailment: laziness. There are times when I think there really are some advantages in our being separated; one of these times is when I imagine your body in my sweater. The trouble with baggy sweaters is that they bring out the dullest parts of a girl’s figure while hiding the most interesting ones. No wonder, thus, those old maids in your faculty club think it’s cute. (While I am in the griping mood, please remind me to give you some spelling lessons after I get out of dis hear ahmie.)

Talking about griping, something most interesting happened today during drill. While we were in company formation, one of our moron lieutenants kept calling us “platoon.” I took it for a while, but when he said it again, I spoke up and said “company, Sir.” His face changed from white to red and back again, then he called me out and gave me a nice little lecture on the respect a private owes to a superior officer as well as the insinuation that there is such a thing as permanent K.P. in the army. All this was done in the pleasant tone of voice which reminded me very favorably of Mr. Zimmerman’s (I am certainly glad that in saluting, we are saluting the uniform, not the guy in it.)

            

Some bad news: In an orientation lecture, we were informed about our chances after basic and other training: practically 100% of us will go overseas and about 95% of those into combat zones around Japan. Radio men especially are needed in the Pacific, while in Europe there is an excess of them. Also, none of us will be likely to be discharged until one year after the end of the Japanese war, at least. They may have just been scaring us, but I am afraid they were correct. Nice prospects, huh?

            

Johnny and I had a good time tonight, playing pingpong and shooting the bull. I am afraid the poor guy is mighty tired hearing about you all the time, for you are still my most persistent topic of conversation. It is really bad; when I am without you, I talk about you all the time; when I am with you, you talk all the time.

            

Philip went home last night to the Great Bend. That’s only about 15 miles from St. John; I hope he hears no gossip…

            

My mind is wandering today, it just won’t stay put. The idea of going overseas before long makes me so much more lonesome for you. In spite of everything, though: the greatest part of our lives we will spend together. 

 

Forever yours, 

Tom

Ohhh yeah! St. John’s! That’s where Opa was arrested for allegedly being a “peeping Tom.” I wonder if Grandmother and Opa told anyone. I would bet they did not. Maybe a close friend? Did Grandmother’s parents know? Is that why they didn’t go to the wedding? 

Remember Phillip is Grandmother’s brother. So if he didn’t know… my guess is it was their little secret (that I unveiled 70 years later). Luckily Opa had about 50 years to establish his character before I found out - and I assumed the accusation was unfounded and potentially ill-motivated.

Another thing Opa established (and passed down) was a stubborn penchant for fact-checking (and spell-checking), regardless of the authority or position of the person being checked. I’ve learned better - I think he learned better. Not sure my Dad ever learned. I do still spell check but never a relative if they don’t ask! Poor Grandmother. And yet, Opa pulls out this sweet quote in the end: “In spite of everything, though: the greatest part of our lives we will spend together.”

A sweet sentiment in the face of a long separation. And you know what? He was right. 

October 18, 1944: Full Assimilation

Letter from Opa to Grandmother, October 18, 1944

October 18, 1944

Darling,

I am waiting at the doctor’s to get my g.i. glasses; it is 9 a.m., and I have a hard time staying awake. The nice thing about this going to the doctor is that it gets you out of classes. 

Last night, I was a good boy for a change, right after finishing my letter to you, I went to bed, i.e. at nine o’clock. That gave me almost eight hours of sleep, which I haven’t had since I joined the army.

            

It’s seven p.m. now, and this letter is apt to rather short since I am terribly tired and want to go to bed really early.

            

Your nice long letter came today, and I was so pleased to get it. Don’t bother yet about sending me money; I still have some dollars left. The charges for my field jacket will be taken out of my next pay. Out of my laundry, please send me all shorts and undershirts, unless they are too badly torn. 

Eilleen’s card to us certainly was swell. She is the most thoughtful person I know. I’ll try to send her a long letter as soon as I find some time. 

Your mother told me that you had to stand up in the bus all the way from Topeka to Lawrence, and she was very concerned about. Don’t worry: I wasn’t. So you made a game out of trying to find who or what those soldiers were? Above all, you must be really bad off for men if you resort to negroes. 

Your Jayhawk looks okay to me, now, where I run away from the Wildcats. If you are hunting a fourth school to send letters from, how about a cook school?

I don’t know what happened, but I am tired today and my muscles sore. The one hour of “Physical conditioning” today didn’t exactly help, so I’ll hit the bed as soon as this letter gets written. 

Went to my company commander today and showed him the letter of the Immigration Service. He has never had a case like me, so he has to look up some regulations before taking any action, but I believe I can depend on his assistance.

Good night, my little Margie; I probably won’t dream tonight, but if I do, it will be about our weekend together. 

 

Love,

Tom

One of the many wonderful results of embarking on this project (that I admit has been a journey of fits and starts, sprints and marathons) is connecting with long-lost relatives. There are many consequences of war that people don't think much about. One of them is the diaspora of people affected. Yes, we talk about refugees and immigrants, but we don't often think about the fragmentation of large (or even small) families that result in decades (or an eternity) of non-communication. It's the same for so many families of this time, fragmented by geography and death, trauma and survival. Even when and if they reunite, they have been gone from each other for so long they are strangers. 

Opa and one of his cousins rarely interacted after their emigration to the US around the same time. They were overwhelmed with their own paths of survival, their own smaller families to track and support if they could. That cousin's daughter and I are now close friends. Our connection was happenstance - my husband made a cold call based on a rabbit-hole online search - and she answered. And now we go bra-shopping together and she was at our last family Thanksgiving celebration. My long-lost cousin has her own treasure trove of letters from her mother and grandparents, her own journey through them, and a completely different hand of cards that the trauma of war dealt her. Her mother and my grandfather's paths start from the same larger family and neighborhood in Berlin, and go distinctly different ways from there.

This cousin and I were talking about assimilation, the survival instinct imbedded in it, and the tension that it created between family members. Opa was a "lucky one," getting out of Germany in 1938, before things got really bad. When he arrived in the US in 1939, His survival tactic as a German half-Jew was to assimilate into the American culture as quickly as possible. Those left behind had different survival needs and tactics. I noted that Opa seemed to be quite good at assimilation, and hungry to be accepted (and safe, with a future). It later caused tension between himself and those who remained in Europe, and even with some who had emigrated but held more tightly to their history.

As I'm reading these letters, I notice the longer Opa is in the United States, the Army (only briefly now), the more I see American culture in his letters. For Opa to go from discussing the injustice of apartheid with his Quaker youth group, to making a racist joke about my Grandmother's interest in black men, shows me how quickly he assimilated. I'm sure that he carried some of the inherent racism of the German culture with him to the US, but that joke felt very American to me.

It makes me wonder about the lines between culture, conscience, religion, and all other influences that get blurred when someone moves to a new country. That must be so confusing and difficult. How do you know what to keep safe and sacred, and what is good to have stretched? When you throw in the pressure to fit in, especially if it determines your level of safety, how far do you go to protect yourself? The United States, while being a melting pot, has always required varying levels of assimilation for acceptance and safety, but the price of not assimilating feels especially high right now. What is funny to me is, I don't know that we can clearly define American culture. It shifts with time and depends on where you are in the country. 

I know my thoughts today aren't really connected to much of this letter, but seeing these "Americanisms" creeping in is giving me pause, reminding me of the complexity of what happens when people of different cultures combine, clash, and connect. This is giving me a new glimpse into the immigrant experience.

Then there is the individual underneath it all: I think they often go into hiding. That makes me sad. I wonder what Opa hid.