tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89532317728453065562024-03-19T04:47:20.396-04:00We're Not in Kansas AnymoreAt age 18, Tom Doeppner was smuggled out of Nazi Germany. He was 26 before he saw anyone in his family again.
Tom was my Grandfather, “Opa.” Cleaning out my Grandmother’s desk ten years ago, I found a small box where Opa had kept letters from his family, written as early as 1938.
When I opened that box, I found a story that I never knew.
This blog tells the story of what happened to Tom and his family in that decade of separation.Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.comBlogger562125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-76506535604163876712022-12-11T15:29:00.001-05:002022-12-11T15:29:08.507-05:00October 16, 1944: Cheap Gifts and In-Laws<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIOtG_HeYqif-OoaaYkCXnhA3kepvN36uFs-2nTtdtjlYCzeqZm551woeLTX1yMlEljKDWHmFjp6ftUs1AQyO67Ic-kJc1p8uEu55VPKYc39SHwR_MA7EICOn3iwgka8q3IetiQRbPSAUeY6t7IQD3GRpBPHoShowdHGDe3mUQT7FO8XSYw806iSp/s3081/October%2016,%201944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3081" data-original-width="2170" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsIOtG_HeYqif-OoaaYkCXnhA3kepvN36uFs-2nTtdtjlYCzeqZm551woeLTX1yMlEljKDWHmFjp6ftUs1AQyO67Ic-kJc1p8uEu55VPKYc39SHwR_MA7EICOn3iwgka8q3IetiQRbPSAUeY6t7IQD3GRpBPHoShowdHGDe3mUQT7FO8XSYw806iSp/w450-h640/October%2016,%201944.jpg" width="450" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho4nMQj-3ctRLPN3M-NKobaGKY2oXZHXgYE_AgJ5ZtcJfULGGgEjlxfc9gP3Jsw-F1ePdsiQ7rFXp_qrE1C9_5kzWIt1p0rL1fwZ_jMQWO5NG2twK0p4DAn6fBg5HVlQ1QDxq63PM0HD2OXDuFtoORt1V1nYoNNuHa81wptq5WX6AUumqZuXCwolih/s3125/October%2016,%201944-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3125" data-original-width="2196" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho4nMQj-3ctRLPN3M-NKobaGKY2oXZHXgYE_AgJ5ZtcJfULGGgEjlxfc9gP3Jsw-F1ePdsiQ7rFXp_qrE1C9_5kzWIt1p0rL1fwZ_jMQWO5NG2twK0p4DAn6fBg5HVlQ1QDxq63PM0HD2OXDuFtoORt1V1nYoNNuHa81wptq5WX6AUumqZuXCwolih/w450-h640/October%2016,%201944-1.jpg" width="450" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, October 16, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">October 16, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">This is the day. Just one month ago did it happen, and in some respects it seems as though a decade had passed since our wedding day. Be it to the fact that I had been looking forward to our marriage for such a long time, or be it because we practically had been married long before that time, mentally, spiritually, and almost physically, the state of being married seems to be a perfectly natural one as though I had been used to it for a long, long time.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">In other respects, of course, the time which we actually lived together was cruelly brief, and it will be quite a long time before we can make up for it. Let's always keep in mind that we are so much more fortunate than those millions of people who are separated by thousands of miles of ocean water or even by death. Naturally, the fact that there are so many who face much worse than we should not improve our lot, but it makes us feel ashamed when we have pity for ourselves.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Today, we started our basic. Mostly lectures in the forenoon; about uniforms, military courtesy, first aid, and the Articles of War. In the afternoon, we had extended drill and calesthenics. My muscles have become awfully stiff, and I am glad to have this chance to get limbered up a little. Here is one thing you will like: they started today feeding us vitamin tablets. Tonight, after retreat, we were shown two training films: one on war bonds, and the other on the negro soldiers. There were fairly good pictures, but naturally I was anxious to get away in order to see your folks. I am at the Service Club now, they haven't come yet, might get here any time now, though.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Honey, the locket I am sending you is a very cheap one, but the only one I could find that was in my price range. I don't know what it is made of, but if it starts corroding, use nail polish on it. I'll try to get a better one soon.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Won't it be a surprise if you came with your folks tonight? I know, though, that this is impossible.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Good night, darling; I'll talk to your folks tonight.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa celebrates his one month anniversary (I know, not really a thing) with... his in-laws. They were not at the wedding, and I'm not even sure if they are all-in on Grandmother's choice to marry. I think Grandmother is in grad-school and that is why she can't also visit, but I was sad with Opa that she won't be there. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">When Opa wrote that basic started today, my first reaction was <i>STARTED</i>?! But I suppose he's just been living on base until his class of recruits is up for basic training. I don't really understand it, but as a military brat I do know one thing: military timing is... different. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I watched part of the military films Opa referred to- and they are surprisingly not awful. I get the same feeling after watching or reading a lot of these PSA type films and articles: why haven't we made more progress by now? This is a deeper question that I'll explore in a different context, but I wanted to at least raise the question here.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I also giggled a little at the cheap locket that needs nail polish to shine it. Bless it. Opa was always giving Grandmother gifts, some perhaps a little nicer than others!</span></div><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-21226266000449300982022-09-16T10:00:00.001-04:002022-09-16T10:00:00.153-04:00October 15, 1944: Tomorrow our Basic Starts<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimll9rNTUxu2RZms2yvtV7TdwXIT0h7rWb09e6OKfefxUu5AEjpsFxPxXDTz9pm5mif92J4Idmv62HwectBOAkBoJp7GoaK5SyrNPpHkBeGzzkI4B8ghVqlJp_EaT1QuSitvaV0kNlaZm_ClSB2Kh12uqQF96vtcZXkQXTOEDAH29LoQkgSZ0nqsH-/s1652/October%2015%20postcard,%201944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1060" data-original-width="1652" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimll9rNTUxu2RZms2yvtV7TdwXIT0h7rWb09e6OKfefxUu5AEjpsFxPxXDTz9pm5mif92J4Idmv62HwectBOAkBoJp7GoaK5SyrNPpHkBeGzzkI4B8ghVqlJp_EaT1QuSitvaV0kNlaZm_ClSB2Kh12uqQF96vtcZXkQXTOEDAH29LoQkgSZ0nqsH-/w640-h410/October%2015%20postcard,%201944.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcScIhSRLNOE0XUO-eK2LCDV7gXAH0qLFyncYDjvNPROYy7PnJZA-pAObJAi9Jd76jL0j9bLAKQN2ze9zlqOt4R8XpuxgC1SPlRxb16krl9Pu5TF6yWKnqAbl5Du3R4wy3RkcHJqPinQqLW87irhu63wd7A6CEaqp5JJa5WdvJB1hbQYfQS1d8A22/s1633/October%2015%20postcard,%201944-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1633" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHcScIhSRLNOE0XUO-eK2LCDV7gXAH0qLFyncYDjvNPROYy7PnJZA-pAObJAi9Jd76jL0j9bLAKQN2ze9zlqOt4R8XpuxgC1SPlRxb16krl9Pu5TF6yWKnqAbl5Du3R4wy3RkcHJqPinQqLW87irhu63wd7A6CEaqp5JJa5WdvJB1hbQYfQS1d8A22/w640-h418/October%2015%20postcard,%201944-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Postcard from Opa to Grandmother, October 15: 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">October 15, 1944</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Just a brief note so you hear from me. Your call from Topeka just got through; I wished you could come up with your folks. Phil was as excited as I never saw him before.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">This has been a busy day: K.P. since five in the morning. Tomorrow, our basic starts.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">This was a short note, sweet that he keeps writing every day. My takeaway: tomorrow basic starts. What?! What have they been doing this whole time? Is he just now going into basic training?? I'm so confused.</span></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-77882774135794148142022-09-15T13:21:00.003-04:002022-09-15T13:21:48.465-04:00October 14, 1944: POWs in Missouri<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYuwwZ5x7LkHTuCSnMZHn5meiiq27zX_6yETei03ZZpF5oGkeO8m1npTBOE20Q07Wy1ckiHx4LHRfMj4YY4z3qDY7fpSHnywPjupw3bFsERVtiq2rONdIdNDElhWnCoMhKK8k61HqSoTd0agz9sBvZkhFsv6DL5Xglwdg3VWVJj8eWhNhNpNUcaKsL/s3129/October%2014,%201944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3129" data-original-width="2085" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYuwwZ5x7LkHTuCSnMZHn5meiiq27zX_6yETei03ZZpF5oGkeO8m1npTBOE20Q07Wy1ckiHx4LHRfMj4YY4z3qDY7fpSHnywPjupw3bFsERVtiq2rONdIdNDElhWnCoMhKK8k61HqSoTd0agz9sBvZkhFsv6DL5Xglwdg3VWVJj8eWhNhNpNUcaKsL/w426-h640/October%2014,%201944.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQeMocdlBhSkVh4TpoovrrQjCmTAoZ2v3nJhDx4vnT0nRq4UjpgUWCBQyaaV665zeod_BXd-WQNLuuu9HYLnc7J0P2-LmwkfFuNubc1_DrCFMnishw2vdyw-ARGfp_BjoBn4HLKlLLnsWTT4U7Qt8-DCAOu1DVITfRNtwje3XtkmFdC5tQ7-Lr551/s3119/October%2014,%201944-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3119" data-original-width="2119" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQeMocdlBhSkVh4TpoovrrQjCmTAoZ2v3nJhDx4vnT0nRq4UjpgUWCBQyaaV665zeod_BXd-WQNLuuu9HYLnc7J0P2-LmwkfFuNubc1_DrCFMnishw2vdyw-ARGfp_BjoBn4HLKlLLnsWTT4U7Qt8-DCAOu1DVITfRNtwje3XtkmFdC5tQ7-Lr551/w434-h640/October%2014,%201944-1.jpg" width="434" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, October 14, 1944</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">October 14, 1944</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Darling,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">This has been a long day, and I actually did do a little work. In the morning, we hauled some truck loads of gravel to the infiltration range. I had my hands bandaged in gloves and that way could work fairly well. In the afternoon, after some fooling around, I swang a paint brush. There were several prisoners of war working close to me, all Germans. It was a great temptation for me to speak to them. Although there is no law against it, I believe it would be an unwise thing to do so. I had fun listening to them, especially since they did not know that I understood what they said. When they started to sing some of the old familiar German songs, I must admit that a lump came into my throat.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tonight,at 7pm, our company commander gave us a little orientation lecture. He is a young guy, about my age, lieutenant, with a Polish name: Tetkowski. Apparently, a swell guy. His talk was as unmilitary as he could possibly make it, and it showed that he was interested in the work for its own sake. I think I am going to like him. The only thing I didn't like was the fact that the lecture took till nine o'clock, which took away the best part of Saturday evening.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tomorrow, Sunday, I'll have K.P. Apparently they think I need some practice in that kind of work. Well, someone has got to do it.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">In the mail today, together with the enclosed letter from my friend in California, was one application blank (preliminary) for naturalization, which I received as an answer from the Kansas City Immigration Service. This deal is to be a long, drawn-out procedure, but I think there won't be much trouble.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Glad you went to the doctor. You should have expected that the doctor wouldn't have the diaphragm on stock; are you embarrassed to go to a drugstore for it?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I am tired and have to get up early for K.P. tomorrow, so I think I quit now. Tomorrow's letter may be rather brief too, for a similar reason.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Lots of love,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">P.S. Please return Gerd's letter.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">This letter has a lot of nice little insights into Opa's life and the cultural milieu of the day. Grandmother is potentially embarrassed to buy birth control at the drugstore, and sadly I think we're still a little embarrassed about sex and birth control as a societal norm. It have a lot of opinions about this, but it isn't the point of this letter (or even my point about this letter), so I'l move on.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I am surprised that the naturalization process for Opa (and I suspect anyone) who has literally joined the United States military, is still so long and drawn-out. Opa knows it's worth it in the end, after all, this is the main reason why he joined. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa doesn't talk much about his family or friends in Germany. My guess is that's because there is nothing new to talk about: no news is coming or going from the war-zone civilians in Europe. I suspect Opa easily avoids this topic as a method of self-preservation. I do this. If I know I can't do anything to help or change something, I cope by putting the whole situation in what I like to call a "black cloud." It's basically compartmentalizing, but I like to imagine a black-hole in space that has its opening just above my head in a dark cloud, perfect for when I need to throw something in and forget about it. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I don't think Opa has forgotten his family and friends, absolutely not. In fact, his friend in California and Gerd (who I don't know but have a guess) are likely both Germany-related contacts. His whole endeavor to get citizenship is not only for his own survival, but so that he can sponsor his mother when everything is over. I don't think he has allowed himself the chance to entertain that she might not be able to come to the US. He faces what is in front of him, making choices based on the best case scenario and planning for the worst.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">The part that intrigued me the most about this letter was the German POWs. I didn't realize that there were POWs on American soil. I suppose I should have known that, but like so many other things I have been ignorant about, I just never thought about it. I did some light searching and found this <a href="https://southerndocumentaryfund.org/mine-enemy-the-story-of-german-pows-in-america/" target="_blank">documentary</a> about the POWs. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa's response to them seems pretty natural: tempted to talk to them but deciding against it in the end. When he said that he had a lump in his throat when hearing the old folk songs of Germany, I got a little lump in mine. Nazis or not, Germany was still his home. The language, the stories, the songs, all of that was the backdrop of a childhood which was, for at least ten or so years, a good one. It's hard to compartmentalize when the black hole spits out a reminder of what you've tossed. Haven't you had that moment? When you catch the scent of something, the melody of a special song, even a familiar phrase or word? It catches you by surprise, evoking a response before you had a chance to shove it back into the abyss. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I keep thinking about how war dehumanizes. We look back and think in terms of good vs evil, axis and allies, etc. In this weird conjunction of military troops and POWs from enemy territory, what is actually present is a group of humans, each with their own stories, songs, and black holes of memories. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa is standing on the bridge between the two, wistful but moving on.</span></div><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-76474366065265084962022-09-14T15:33:00.004-04:002022-09-14T15:33:55.146-04:00October 13, 1944: Rare Hosiery<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjScsoa_Qxn7mAmJ6wOfCbx2lk0kaovOScYrGvIS5ITWou8JxjdOAx-jlb5Lzz5ejGFsm4dYDVBcCF0_IiWJwi1Jh-kY4D8NrRU-sitTHilWEw2WoNP1Ff6p7QVF9JaqChn00mxRysGukw/s2048/October+13%252C+1944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1417" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjScsoa_Qxn7mAmJ6wOfCbx2lk0kaovOScYrGvIS5ITWou8JxjdOAx-jlb5Lzz5ejGFsm4dYDVBcCF0_IiWJwi1Jh-kY4D8NrRU-sitTHilWEw2WoNP1Ff6p7QVF9JaqChn00mxRysGukw/w442-h640/October+13%252C+1944.jpg" width="442" /></a></div> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-qz0Y3uRg0bz8-RGp-3SV6wQPlT9zWFF9OL2X6wHahFZRzTSULRLOrl7KAlkGs88SPX7SW8zwEmvgbXWO2kJIGzQs6MOwXleQFbLBMkVQSPfCJarQTfEmtgySIWrdHBtv49-ELwkmEgw/s2048/October+13%252C+1944-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1419" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-qz0Y3uRg0bz8-RGp-3SV6wQPlT9zWFF9OL2X6wHahFZRzTSULRLOrl7KAlkGs88SPX7SW8zwEmvgbXWO2kJIGzQs6MOwXleQFbLBMkVQSPfCJarQTfEmtgySIWrdHBtv49-ELwkmEgw/w444-h640/October+13%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="444" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvvWSJIZuTe-vmZLttkrBcdyAwZAmZ1FUh_Wt253VWW0_wemQ00xhvWl7y-_66JTZCn1XRO9FYrCQnTR-En1W85X-u1XvbQ1MWke_iMdhUQdIrynpTkti7frij6rsZa79kY6I4e74cOCU/s2048/October+13+1944+page+3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1389" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvvWSJIZuTe-vmZLttkrBcdyAwZAmZ1FUh_Wt253VWW0_wemQ00xhvWl7y-_66JTZCn1XRO9FYrCQnTR-En1W85X-u1XvbQ1MWke_iMdhUQdIrynpTkti7frij6rsZa79kY6I4e74cOCU/w434-h640/October+13+1944+page+3.jpg" width="434" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0zsFQPeFHPht6T7c1ZlE9LTmqUikxjxAN_Lltire_yGZBqC_ia55WeJpCWvavkvfFxEVNeenPcqxtxRIaxIvcS46SQAD05PfCczg4vQ739STzmvsFFF5d7KCpjB3H6kKqZA1LFAgK038/s2048/October+13+1944+page+4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1369" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0zsFQPeFHPht6T7c1ZlE9LTmqUikxjxAN_Lltire_yGZBqC_ia55WeJpCWvavkvfFxEVNeenPcqxtxRIaxIvcS46SQAD05PfCczg4vQ739STzmvsFFF5d7KCpjB3H6kKqZA1LFAgK038/w428-h640/October+13+1944+page+4.jpg" width="428" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, October 13, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">October 13, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Darling,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">This is Friday the thirteenth; ought to be a lucky day and sure enough, I got a nice, long letter from you. Who is Mrs. Stone? The family sounds interesting.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I guess you did the right thing by buying the silver now; how large are the monthly payments?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">It's terrible how this war piles tragedy upon tragedy, like the case of that boy's stepfather. You are right, honey, we must be thankful that nothing has come to us yet except temporary separation. Also, we will have a chance to be together every once in a while, and I can hardly wait for the first time.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Right now, you are probably on the way to the doctor's, and I hope he behaves himself and won't hurt you.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Every night, especially now where I see Phil and Johnny who know you and with whom I can talk about you, I am tremendously tempted to call you. However, it does cost just a little too much money.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Thanks for forwarding the letters. The name of my friend in New York is Hanna Liebes, her address, 63 Riverside Drive, New York 24, NY. She would be very pleased if you would write her, but wait a while; she might send a present.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">By the way, I am not quite as bad as you think I am. I <u>did</u> write to the Shelley's, even though it was just a few days go; also my soul was full of repentance for that delay.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">This morning, I managed to keep from doing any work till almost ten o'clock; at that time, we were called out with cartridge belt, helmet liner, and leggins, and had a good hour and a half of drill. The afternoon has just begun; I doubt if I will again be successful in avoiding work. (It's not that I don't like to work; it's only the fact that the work they give us to do is so ghastly nonessential and designed for no other purpose but to keep us occupied.) I think I can utilize this time of waiting to much greater advantage by hunting up some quiet corner and reading a good book. Right now, I am reading a textbook on Frequency Modulation. This is a field in radio which has a great future.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Well, it didn't work. Ten minutes ago, some corporal came in and called us out. Right now, we are waiting for a truck to pick us up, which may or may not come.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Well, the truck came, and I did the first piece of real work since I have been in Camp Crowder. We went out to the anti-aircraft rifle range, fixing up targets etc. The sergeant asked if any of us could install a loudspeaker. Well, I violated one of the seven of my army principles, and volunteered. it was a huge public-address system loudspeaker, to be installed on top of a 40 - feet pole. They gave me a safety belt, a rope, and pole-climbing spurs, and I climbed my first pole. Going up wasn't so bad. Up there, I did my work, which took me about half an hour, then took off my safety belt, and climbed down. When I was about 10 feet above the ground, my spur let go and I slipped. I made the mistake of holding on to the pole with my hands, so when I landed on the ground, my hands looked like a mess. Bloody, and more than a dozen splinters in them, some of them half an inch long. It didn't hurt very much, though. I pulled out the big ones myself, wrapped a handkerchief around my hand, and kept working, so you see it wasn't so bad. When I got back in, I did go to the doctor, though, for the hand started hurting again. He pulled out splinters for almost an hour, cussing all the time, for he wanted to go home. My hands are okay now, just look like a mess.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Camp Crowder has a newspaper which in every respect conforms to the common dirty journalism practices. The P.X. is starting a Christmas bazaar today. In the paper it was announced that they had a limited number of pairs of genuine silk and nylon hosiery for sale. The bazaar was to open tonight at 7:00pm. I got there at 6:15, was one of the first, and waited till 7:30, when they finally opened. I didn't know your size, but I think I would have guessed fairly correctly. Well, they had neither nylon nor silk hosiery; the whole thing was just a newspaper gag to get people to go to the bazaar. I can't remember a time when I was quite so mad.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Saw Phil tonight again; he told me some of his experiences as M.P. Many of them rather exciting, but I know I wouldn't want the job. Phil must have been doing an excellent job, though, for his idea was to help the boys rather than to get them into trouble.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Today is G.I. day like every Friday, which means that we have to scrub the barracks. However, due to my bruised hands, I got out of that. You see, even an accident has some good results.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I think I shall keep up on my studies a little. If you should see in one of K.U.'s bookstores an inexpensive pocket slide rule, I wished you would get it for me. Don't spend more than a dollar or at the utmost two dollars for it. Or $1.50 you should get a fairly good one. Be sure it is <u>not</u> made of cardboard, though, and don't waste much time looking for it.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I haven't found either field jacket or cap yet and don't expect to find them. From another soldier, I got a second-hand cap which almost fits me. It is not very good looking, but enough to pass inspection.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Good night, my dear, I'll see you in my dreams.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa writes to Grandmother, listing the ins and outs of another day in the life of a soldier with no real assignment. His ability to get to know Grandmother's brother Phillip is a nice happenstance. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">There is something constant about the way humans live, work, and play. Here, in 1944 during a war and tragedies all around, there is a small base with men who go to shows, drink beer, steal jackets, have minor accidents, and line up for the hot commodities of the day... in this case rare hosiery. That made me laugh.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Time continues on and despite the cause and effect of the world's happenings, we still do life about the same as we always have. I'm not sure what to make of that other than to appreciate and enjoy the time I have and not get too fatalistic about the current causes and effects that surround me. </span></div><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-10272706439146208112021-11-29T13:28:00.008-05:002022-09-14T15:23:21.072-04:00October 12, 1944: Wit, Humor, and a little bitterness<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip5VIEl_vEzoQwxBIDyTA1COGdhIfAjdssGNKdPmoDVBVUvrG4zqjZOaAKg__VE1xre_IbZTigXalJDd5nyvRdNJ-xVTMWSmtSUFbRxs6fkHw5LxObRmE-kaJHw0spKQ4ybIsrjzq8dag/s2048/October+12%252C+1944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1437" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip5VIEl_vEzoQwxBIDyTA1COGdhIfAjdssGNKdPmoDVBVUvrG4zqjZOaAKg__VE1xre_IbZTigXalJDd5nyvRdNJ-xVTMWSmtSUFbRxs6fkHw5LxObRmE-kaJHw0spKQ4ybIsrjzq8dag/w450-h640/October+12%252C+1944.jpg" width="450" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP2T1z0p3mUfedzudazEn7Uy0PDkrie9vmgzRTtIPz6ajWpW0PZfIYm6yVcpznhQYdjjRL_A9vPULbbIe2ovtrMrd2XBk2xVOGNWS0Al1KUaiRWiY9B2jac-OentRCYJH_OAA-bWjF3tA/s2048/October+12%252C+1944-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1447" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP2T1z0p3mUfedzudazEn7Uy0PDkrie9vmgzRTtIPz6ajWpW0PZfIYm6yVcpznhQYdjjRL_A9vPULbbIe2ovtrMrd2XBk2xVOGNWS0Al1KUaiRWiY9B2jac-OentRCYJH_OAA-bWjF3tA/w452-h640/October+12%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="452" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, October 12, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">October 12, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest Crystal Ball,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">This is my first anniversary: one week at Camp Crowder. I guess Johnny and I are going to celebrate it somehow or other. There is a variety show here in the Service Club, but neither of us is sufficiently interested in legs to waste an evening looking at them, so we will probably end up by going to a movie.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Remember that good-looking officer's field jacket I had? Last night, while Philip and I were at the Service Club, I hung it up out on the clothes rack, and it was stolen, together with my cap. There is a slight possibility that someone took it by mistake and will return it, but I doubt it. If I don't get it back by the time of our next clothes check, I'll have to pay for a new one, or approximately ten bucks. Even then I won't get one which looks as nice as mine did. It made me sick. I'll have to buy a cap tonight, for I am not supposed to go outside without cap.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">This afternoon, I caught up on one badly needed sleep. I just took a chance on it, hit my bunk at 1pm and slept till five; no one objected. At night I saw Johnny and Phil again. Phil reminds me an awful lot of my uncle; a man with lots of experience behind him, who still has kept some of his wit and sense of humor, but who has become more serious and even a little bitter by the series of unhappy events which life so often forces upon this type of people. Yet, Phil jokes a lot and seems to be well-known and popular around this place.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">My eyes are still bothering me a little, but by tomorrow they should be completely all right. By the way, I don't think I would like your extended correspondence with Johnny too well. If you want to check up on me, you will just have too come here yourself. You could come to visit me every day if you want to, but I think it would be better if we saved that money for the time I get my weekend pass, don't you? If you have a chance, though, to come here in someone's car, by all means do so!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">It was nice to get your long letter today; I wished I had taken this afternoon to writing to you instead of sleeping, but I didn't. I'll try to write more this weekend.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa is most likely referring to his Uncle Kurt in this letter. Kurt is Ella's younger brother, the baby in that family. I'm guessing Philip had the same charm and laissez faire sense about life. Kurt was a bit of a ladies man, and I don't know if Philip was similar in that way or not. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Either way, Kurt had indeed suffered a lot of hardship by this time in his life. In 1944 (if I've got my dates right), he had just escaped a concentration camp and was working on a British ship as a cook. He had fathered two children in 1939 (with two different women) and sometime in the mid 1930s, his wife had disappeared to Russia with her family, never to be heard from again. She didn't leave him so much as she was forced to join her family, and they had to sever communication to protect him. It is assumed that they died in the gulags.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I'm not sure exactly what Philip's hardships were, or how exactly he reminded Opa of Kurt, but it sounds like he still had a charm and wit about him that endeared Opa to him.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I want to say I can't believe Opa's jacket was stolen, but if it looked good and the penalty for not having an item of clothing was at least $10, I can see a number of reasons why it would have been stolen. We have a sort of fairy-tale ideal of soldiers, but we forget that they are a normal bunch of humans who for many more reasons that just valor, decided to join the military. Like any group of people: they're not going to be perfect, no matter how you dress them.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa and Grandmother have been married almost a month, and they've barely seen each other. Opa is hoping for a weekend pass soon.</span></div><br /><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-54446104846460625332021-10-25T13:35:00.004-04:002021-10-25T13:35:34.416-04:00October 11, 1944: Blurr<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj019HVRtRxrLcuZNwk4S1hs9ELjHzgrZtGNGyY3FQn7dojTQcfU85brNKk8dYCHoEZTUFF3GZlX8JwxqqkXP7KJLGMc3K6B07kaCSLpX6U-LYI-OCOmN0MYIbzkY70h4F9aYzq3sySGME/s2048/October+11%252C+1944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1194" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj019HVRtRxrLcuZNwk4S1hs9ELjHzgrZtGNGyY3FQn7dojTQcfU85brNKk8dYCHoEZTUFF3GZlX8JwxqqkXP7KJLGMc3K6B07kaCSLpX6U-LYI-OCOmN0MYIbzkY70h4F9aYzq3sySGME/w374-h640/October+11%252C+1944.jpg" width="374" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_-g5DtdeZEKHDcoqdQbHowNQ0JCk7vtlhGRZZLpO6c1dYDauEtOML87PNK38_s7KHSii0JGjd2xbZsgaURM15gIv945IHKEBzcHWEVrSJv-2KIprmh_J4EBKQyLryCmJicFgjgJB5a8/s2048/October+11%252C+1944-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1257" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_-g5DtdeZEKHDcoqdQbHowNQ0JCk7vtlhGRZZLpO6c1dYDauEtOML87PNK38_s7KHSii0JGjd2xbZsgaURM15gIv945IHKEBzcHWEVrSJv-2KIprmh_J4EBKQyLryCmJicFgjgJB5a8/w392-h640/October+11%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="392" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixQB9f2dD3tHYEAkKHOlVR1b-QZc6sEkrVgZGwIJKOZSEjlh6J4_w9jBWYFzBxjeJeWEAXxOGcPugGoVmML1E-Ce49ZvofW1rUwn8f-z9X-Okem8arZkJwVK3II6f3mXS29lAqXemRYG8/s2048/October+11%252C+1944-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1391" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixQB9f2dD3tHYEAkKHOlVR1b-QZc6sEkrVgZGwIJKOZSEjlh6J4_w9jBWYFzBxjeJeWEAXxOGcPugGoVmML1E-Ce49ZvofW1rUwn8f-z9X-Okem8arZkJwVK3II6f3mXS29lAqXemRYG8/w434-h640/October+11%252C+1944-2.jpg" width="434" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhSx8Po-uMp8lor21eJypXlZQj4eF-pKpVTpSAOVg6ldyHv5dtAsGegd3UZyLZd6N1fK5EYRn_tuhvjW7G4c9njTQRn_0A-L7oJDLtLT-Ub8S3K3vx9c7xa5gBTyJU9sTV71v-yhKryE/s2048/October+11%252C+1944-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1343" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhSx8Po-uMp8lor21eJypXlZQj4eF-pKpVTpSAOVg6ldyHv5dtAsGegd3UZyLZd6N1fK5EYRn_tuhvjW7G4c9njTQRn_0A-L7oJDLtLT-Ub8S3K3vx9c7xa5gBTyJU9sTV71v-yhKryE/w420-h640/October+11%252C+1944-3.jpg" width="420" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letters from Opa and Philip to Grandmother, October 11, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">October 11, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">This letter is apt to start in a peculiar setup. I am at the hospital for an eye check; they gave me some eye drops, and these drops are making everything appear extremely blurr. Right now, I can see only the lines I am writing; the words are very indistinct. They say it is going to take several hours before this effect ceases.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Probably, I am to get one or two pairs of S.I. glasses. I won't wear them much, though, for I don't want to look any more like a moron than I do already. Right now, I am waiting for the examination; thought I'd utilize the time.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Last night, after I mailed your letter, Johnny came and we went to see the show "San Diego, I love you." Awfully cute and funny; see it if you have a chance.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Slept through reveille this morning, but did get up for breakfast. (Missing breakfast would be too great a sacrifice even for Morpheus.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">A while ago, we were issued a whole slug of stuff, including a bayonet. Yesterday, this bayonet was taken away from us, indicating that we are not going to have any bayonet practice. You can't imagine how glad I am for that, for in my estimation, bayonets are slaughtering instruments of more cruelty than any others. I'm getting a headache, so I had better quit and finish this when my eyes are normal again.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Your letter came a few hours ago, and with it those of Spohns and Philip. I can't do any work today on account of my eyes (good excuse, anyhow) so I went over to the prison office (there ain't no z I prison) to look up Philip. He is a swell guy, much nicer than I had expected from your description. We had a good talk together, and now I am at the Service Club. Philip will come up here after work, and we will have supper together. It is too bad you can't be here too; better buy some ice cubes and put them on your ears, for they will need cooling off.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I don't have your letter here to answer it but I didn't think there was anything in it which was intended as a question. Don't worry about my swearing, since there is nothing to worry about. I'll write to the Spohns one of these days; not only for the wedding gift either, even though this decidedly plays in as a mighty good reason.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Philip may be going home around the 19th. I hope he stops in Lawrence, which he probably will. Too bad I can't go with him. On my first weekend pass, however, we might go together. By the way, he is a corporal now. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Well, my eyes start hurting again. The next time they dope me like this, I'll quit my job. I decided anyhow to send a petition to the colonel which would state that Company A of the 27th Battalion be granted an honorable discharge, with $10,000 mustering-out pay, and a monthly pension of $500 for life. A general survey has revealed that most numbers of my company would be in agreement. I, however want to wait till after I get my citizenship, while the rest of them do not see any need for that. I am sure the colonel will have no objections, aren't you?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Write me a long letter, darling, and be as sweet in my dreams as you are in reality.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Lovingly,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">(over)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dear Marjorie,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Was surprised and happy this afternoon to have Tom come walking in the office and introduce himself. We have spent a very pleasant afternoon and evening visiting, eating and playing ping pong, which by the way is a new sport to me and it's needless to say who won the games. Tom seems like a very nice fellow and I find him very interesting and feel sure we will be the best of friends. I'm awfully glad he landed here. I hope some time you can come down and see him soon so that I can see you too. Now that he is here I still don't expect to hear from you often as I will be seeing Tom every once in a while.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Best of Luck and with Love,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Your Brother</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Philip</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I started laughing when I realized Opa was writing this with dilated eyes. You can tell by his handwriting and some of his small errors. Opa needed glasses for as long as I knew him, so perhaps this was the beginning of that truth being known. He seems to think glasses won't look good on him, but he quickly adjusted. I thought he looked very dignified with glasses on. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa's mention of his relief in skipping the bayonet and its cruelty was an interesting aside. It reminds me of his pacifist origins, still in there even in the middle of army life. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Grandmother's brother, Philip, was in the army, and at the same base as Opa now. Opa introduced himself and they seemed to get along well. Philip was much older than Grandmother, 17 years older. For Grandmother, he was almost like an uncle and not a brother she knew very well. He was the oldest in her family of six children (two of whom died as young children). Grandmother was the youngest and only girl. That helps explain Philip's letter to her: sort of formal and paternal. It is sort of a "small world" thing that Opa and Philip should be meeting on base like that. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">I'm reminded of the quick and small wedding Grandmother and Opa had, hardly any of Grandmother's family was there, including Philip. I can't imagine meeting my sister's spouse for the first time a month after they were married! </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Also, I realized that Opa still </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">hasn't gotten his citizenship, his main reason for joining the army and hanging in there when things are bizarrely inefficient. I'm waiting for that big day!</span></div><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-14632591160003994832021-10-20T13:19:00.001-04:002021-10-20T13:19:50.174-04:00October 10, 1944: Waste of Manpower<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLvbCG7-ZUjKPOKqZxZwVaszm0B6gs6BiyjQ_tHJwBlhsPR-WNWc6LqlKLlvO1IspVAZM56jnhAzxYPE__G1V_v8ls_pwDFcSA7puxXKL7xR_u_yMgtSei6TybEACGtNJR9C8vFbej-Vg/s2048/October+10%252C+1944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1470" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLvbCG7-ZUjKPOKqZxZwVaszm0B6gs6BiyjQ_tHJwBlhsPR-WNWc6LqlKLlvO1IspVAZM56jnhAzxYPE__G1V_v8ls_pwDFcSA7puxXKL7xR_u_yMgtSei6TybEACGtNJR9C8vFbej-Vg/w460-h640/October+10%252C+1944.jpg" width="460" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtp25Y2PHtsFzMHPS3lx9ZqhnnUa1GH5NKHIvJH2vz-xIQSC1OQY9hL52NA1Ku0MS_HoAEjZZVVCUhnChD-zVz1kZRFko5Poms4sr6jrF1gOEodi4HlST2XE5rihLPNgXXSgkuc6dd_Xk/s2048/October+10%252C+1944-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1469" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtp25Y2PHtsFzMHPS3lx9ZqhnnUa1GH5NKHIvJH2vz-xIQSC1OQY9hL52NA1Ku0MS_HoAEjZZVVCUhnChD-zVz1kZRFko5Poms4sr6jrF1gOEodi4HlST2XE5rihLPNgXXSgkuc6dd_Xk/w460-h640/October+10%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="460" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgetaGUQ0Eerp2PjmNc6dA1maL8hT7MIpuZ6haWdxIL5_WGft6mfjEJMDSeR_69-gucx7wzIS-qcEqLq9YehBArEXUOfJuuaNQttU1ohY_BFod5hDVF60M3_H_b5MVca2qgA5Cu0q-STlc/s2048/October+10%252C+1944-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1378" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgetaGUQ0Eerp2PjmNc6dA1maL8hT7MIpuZ6haWdxIL5_WGft6mfjEJMDSeR_69-gucx7wzIS-qcEqLq9YehBArEXUOfJuuaNQttU1ohY_BFod5hDVF60M3_H_b5MVca2qgA5Cu0q-STlc/w430-h640/October+10%252C+1944-2.jpg" width="430" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, October 10, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">October 10, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">My darling wife,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Today I have been working just awfully hard. After breakfast, I changed into my best uniform and went down to Headquarters to apply for correspondence courses. I didn't find out much. Was sent from the Orderly Room to Headquarters; from Headquarters to Special Service, from Special Service to the Field House where I finally found the guy who is the expert in this field. Mr. Expert gave me the following advice: to write to Washington and ask them. I thanked him for his all-inclusive information and walked back to my barracks. There, I lay down to recuperate from the hard labor. After about half an hour of sweet dreams, a lieutenant happened into the barricks. He thought he may have some work for me; I should change into fatigues and report to him. It took me another half hour to change clothes, then I reported to the lieutenant. He referred me to the first sergeant, who deferred me to the corporal, who told me to remain in the barricks till he called me. At chow time, one of the boys woke me up, and I really had an appetite after all that hard work. I wouldn't have minded it so much if they had given me some rest in the afternoon, but the Army would not consider such a waste of man-power. At 1:00pm, I was to report to help breaking, loading, and unloading rocks. At 1:30, the corporal in charge appeared and told us to wait at the next block for the truck which was to pick us up. At 3:00, the first sergeant appeared and asked us what the hell we were doing, lying in the grass, smoking, and shooting the bull? We told him we were waiting for the truck, so he asked three of us (including me) to go with him. Ten minutes later, the truck got there, and the boys who stayed really had to work hard. The three of us, however, were told to go to the supply room and get shovels. The supply room was closed, so we waited. It finally opened up at 4, we got our shovels. In the meantime, the first sergeant had disappeared, and we didn't know what to do with the shovels, so we sat down and waited. Right now, it is close to five. We are still waiting.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Time for retreat now. The first sergeant is still missing; probably a.w.o.l. No kidding, this waste of manpower in the army is scandalous.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Did you read about the plan that came out of the Dumbarton Oaks Conference? If it should be followed, and it probably will, it means that our kids or at least our grandchildren will have to fight a war again. There just can't be any peace as long as nations retain their sovereignties. Also, the fact that the proposed counsel can't do anything but make suggestions, means that no nation will ever take it serious. It seems as though they will never learn.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">It's after seven now, and I am at the Service Club, waiting for Johnnie. Just wrote two letters: one to Winton, one to the Shelleys. Writing letters is almost a recreation here, for one has to do at least a little thinking for it. Elsewhere in the army, the ability to think is a liability rather than an asset. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">What is the address of Philip? I think I shall look him up one of these days, just to see another one of the possible types our kids might resemble.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I do hope army life won't last forever, but the news of Europe seems to indicate that the Germans may be able to hold out through the winter. Not a very pleasant prospect.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Oh yes. If you should have hid at the extreme corner of your closet some extra clothes hangers which you are just about to render to the scrap drive wrap them up and send them to your hubby. We need them pretty badly, and they can't be had for any amount of dough. Send them only, though, if you don't need them, for I get along without them better than you would.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">No sign of Johnnie yet, so I think I'll go investigate. For some strange reason, I had no K.P. today and won't have any tomorrow. The sergeant must be slipping.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Good night, darling. If you head would rest on my shoulder now, I would be perfectly happy.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Forever,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I do believe this letter contains within it all of my arguments for why I struggle to work for institutions of all sorts. My tolerance for inefficiency and waste is severely low. I have become much better, even recently, as my fierce need for efficiency has some terrible consequences for my sanity (and those around me). But my God, this army day of Opa's is testing my zen-like growth. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Anyone in any institution can attest that the army is not the only behemoth with efficiency problems. I think the whole thing would be easier to swallow if they weren't so insistent on pretending they are such a well-oiled machine. I think I mentioned this before, but just like you can rag on your mother but no one else is allowed to- those in the military all know very well how ridiculous things are- but if you are NOT in the military- you better shut your mouth. I get a pass as a military brat.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I was once a part of an organization (I won't say which, to protect the innocent) that had every bathroom in the facility outfitted with brand new, fancy soap dispensers and hand dryers. Just six months later the bathrooms were remodeled, with recent upgrades cast to the side. Or maybe it was the door locks on the stalls. I can't remember, but it was ridiculous. </span></div></div><br /><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-51325574273607625582021-10-15T12:00:00.001-04:002021-10-15T12:00:00.209-04:00October 9, 1944: Sad Shift<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0S4Ah7X6peeGxFTuoC6kWF5crBx8ga69pu3qhn4fg1AWuO6SXzjPasjTd-gJR6EQ70_RGrRxh1X19zPw6bWE6totje14F9TPWAjR7WArP93HWlI7JSKXRJwyi3BV4enSbg3JW4e0KhI/s2048/October+9+1944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1432" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO0S4Ah7X6peeGxFTuoC6kWF5crBx8ga69pu3qhn4fg1AWuO6SXzjPasjTd-gJR6EQ70_RGrRxh1X19zPw6bWE6totje14F9TPWAjR7WArP93HWlI7JSKXRJwyi3BV4enSbg3JW4e0KhI/w448-h640/October+9+1944.jpg" width="448" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggv21kmGv5y_RnhS17LhQ5WCfYnQWwXLn8-2q7GvYfinZjwfOHm2hsVPU12J6k43lWfN7Djp34Lc7DdeTzvU3Y7aDIIGH8cFNhAry_Qk6m8MLvinccCUyVagusROAHJEeuek8Uftpc9mQ/s2048/October+9+1944-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1434" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggv21kmGv5y_RnhS17LhQ5WCfYnQWwXLn8-2q7GvYfinZjwfOHm2hsVPU12J6k43lWfN7Djp34Lc7DdeTzvU3Y7aDIIGH8cFNhAry_Qk6m8MLvinccCUyVagusROAHJEeuek8Uftpc9mQ/w448-h640/October+9+1944-1.jpg" width="448" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, October 9, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">October 9, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dear old lady,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Three minutes just aren't enough. The call just came through, and in my mind are still all the many things I was going to tell you when we were so rudely interrupted.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">When I came home late last night from a long visit with Johnnie, today's K.P. list was posted, and I was again assigned to the Officer's Mess. So, I wound a towel around the foot of my bed and was awakened early in the cold, dark more. The work wasn't bad, in fact I think the horrors of K.P. are vastly exaggerated. Not that I like it, but I bet thousands of boys overseas would give their paycheck to get K.P.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Last night, Johnnie and I went to a Service Club. We played chess for a while (Johnnie beat the life out of me), and then, while Johnnie danced, I had a good look around the library.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Today, shortly after dinner, I was called away from K.P. for processing. First, they gave us a test in electrical work; out of 50 questions, I got 43 right. That gets me in the highest group; the average is 20 and less. Afterwards, we were interviewed and classified. After basic, if there should be any openings, I would get into radar work. As second choice and most probable, they listed me as radio repairman; third choice, repeaterwant. </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">(not sure of this transcription?) </span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Radar would let me go to an Eastern school right after basic, while both other possibilities take two to six months training our even more right here at Crowder. I may have had a chance to apply for O.C.S., but for the time being I turned it down. It would mean at least one or two extra years in the service.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Well, I have to admit that I am rather tired today, so I will quit and get a good night's sleep. My sergeant must be slippery, but I am not listed for K.P. tomorrow. (He probably has some ditch he wants dug, or some latrine he wants cleaned.)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Lots of love,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">When Opa mentioned that he bet thousands of boys overseas would give their paycheck for K.P., I had a brief moment when I thought he was talking about Europeans. Then I realized he was talking about American soldiers, which of course makes absolute sense. But for some reason this realization made me sad. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa's mind is off of his past and those from home, and on the present, in his new country. Sympathy and perspective was gained by comparing to US soldiers, not European soldiers, or citizens. It's a shift for Opa. It makes me a little sad. I know he still cares for folks back in Germany, still worries about his family, but something in this shift shows me that Opa is beginning to forget. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">When we were growing up, Opa didn't talk much about Germany to us. He didn't ever mention his friends, we barely heard about his family. Even in his autobiography, everything was written as a prelude to him joining the army, as if he were hoping and planning to have the opportunity to be in the US military and fight against the Nazis. He certainly never mentioned his past pacifism. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">This is one of those subtle moments when Opa moves into his new life, leaving the old behind. </span></div><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-29530149751414973962021-10-13T12:00:00.001-04:002021-10-13T12:00:00.186-04:00October 8, 1944: I'll go to a USO dance<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpfaFrmLsYgBe19EUA7WPgAnvD3P7EPjeCMTzlyvrxkDG9TjFSGXA1_fMn5zC5zJApVnvtq68oPNJjbOym0-OP5pRJVAWSG7AOeaUWGWsGFht4MlQQFnvLbRbzaPy2MfpDpLsoebiopLM/s2048/October+8%252C+1944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1390" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpfaFrmLsYgBe19EUA7WPgAnvD3P7EPjeCMTzlyvrxkDG9TjFSGXA1_fMn5zC5zJApVnvtq68oPNJjbOym0-OP5pRJVAWSG7AOeaUWGWsGFht4MlQQFnvLbRbzaPy2MfpDpLsoebiopLM/w434-h640/October+8%252C+1944.jpg" width="434" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_s2fyrL_lpdKKnpEVFH3VmOJuxQ1ULybUVqkHElYIqbxHDdq6q6qou4OIRAsdFhwmUCzQOfnz-MXeXtm7sgVsMV6UiYK0EaYSaezadKk5ynVk7ACmqW_R8E1H-l2u8SLp_WwJUpT1CHQ/s2048/October+8%252C+1944-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1388" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_s2fyrL_lpdKKnpEVFH3VmOJuxQ1ULybUVqkHElYIqbxHDdq6q6qou4OIRAsdFhwmUCzQOfnz-MXeXtm7sgVsMV6UiYK0EaYSaezadKk5ynVk7ACmqW_R8E1H-l2u8SLp_WwJUpT1CHQ/w434-h640/October+8%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="434" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5UXMLRV2GsyLT2rZgU0gnWxbYwSBbCSOsaxDMkMTdqoJrHRh5XUt6SgXEUVJXboDwT7Rmzf9SKsLs1cbYz7uZQtKKbrvKuek7aucN7u0plvG8qxiAAL4WkMvFQjqM9Yri21OW9Fdnd8/s2048/October+8%252C+1944-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1445" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5UXMLRV2GsyLT2rZgU0gnWxbYwSBbCSOsaxDMkMTdqoJrHRh5XUt6SgXEUVJXboDwT7Rmzf9SKsLs1cbYz7uZQtKKbrvKuek7aucN7u0plvG8qxiAAL4WkMvFQjqM9Yri21OW9Fdnd8/w452-h640/October+8%252C+1944-2.jpg" width="452" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgXjNTgJuePrWDB9t1W-ocillx7tBmQTq1Is4Ylef0XU0yWnW-ek1rWQ4ME-HQIEVThrVApy2py63Eao9i_5FyLHNph2frS6Uq-5nSjboM9mATdaDhanAUheCrZuZPS6icyw2ffbFAhPs/s2048/October+8%252C+1944-3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1395" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgXjNTgJuePrWDB9t1W-ocillx7tBmQTq1Is4Ylef0XU0yWnW-ek1rWQ4ME-HQIEVThrVApy2py63Eao9i_5FyLHNph2frS6Uq-5nSjboM9mATdaDhanAUheCrZuZPS6icyw2ffbFAhPs/w436-h640/October+8%252C+1944-3.jpg" width="436" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, October 8, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Sunday, Oct. 8 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Yesterday, I made the acquaintance of three extremely interesting boys; I wrote to you about one of them already, M.I.T. graduate with postgraduate work in Math, born in Brooklyn and half-Jewish. Very well educated and brilliant. The second guy an Italian specializing in languages and music; wonderful piano player. The third guy "just" an ordinary American; graduated from Chicago U., master at Princeton, and PhD. at Howard. The four of us ate out for dinner and had a real good discussion at the Service Club. When ready to leave there, whom did I meet? Johnny! He is still at Camp Crowder and probably will be here for quite a while. Still a buck private, he told me to forget everything about ratings in the Signal Corps, for they can't be had anymore; also, he gave me plenty of other dope about this camp which might come in handy some time. (Among other things, ways to bypass the pass difficulties; I'll write you more about that when we can make use of it.)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I am just starting the Sunday now; it is eight o'clock, the barracks are cleaned and we finished breakfast. At ten, I have a date with Johnnie, but I have to be back at 11:30, because at that time is mail call, and I've got to get your letter.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">It's in the afternoon now, I am with Johnny in the Service Club. There was no mail from you today, but there will probably be some tomorrow. Johnny and I had a good time today, talking about old times and times to come.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">There is a recorded musical program, and Beethoven at that, going on right now. They are just playing Beethoven's ninth, one of my favorites. I shall linger awhile, maybe "our" fifth will follow!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">We are planning to go to a show tonight, don't know where or what yet, though.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I finally found out how to behave in the army in order to get far. Here are some of the rules: 1) Stay away from a. non-coms and b. commissioned officers as long and as far as possible. 2) Never volunteer for any job; it won't get you out of doing what you were supposed to do, but just gives you additional work. 3) Do as little work as possible. 4) Count all little sins as long as you can get by with them. 5) Gripe and cuss at least 24 hours a day. 6) Know nothing. If you should know anything at the time of induction, forget it as fast as possible. 7) Work as slowly and inefficiently as possible. If they give you a job of one hour, make it last the entire afternoon. If you don't, they'll find something else for you to do.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">These are just a few suggestions which Johnny and I consider as most effective toward full success in the Army. Just yesterday afternoon, the fourteen of us who were dumb enough to hang around the barracks when the corporal was in charge, were issued a spade each and had to dig a ditch, three inches deep, a foot and a half wide, and approximately 60 feet long. Alone in civilian life, it would take approximately one hour to do a job like that. There were fourteen of us. We started on the job at one p.m. Every hour, we had a ten-minute smoking period, and at 5:15, we actually had the job finished. I am sure we fulfilled all applicable points of the above suggestions, and therefore are all on the road to being excellent soldiers.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I'll have to stay on good terms with my company commander, a very young first lieutenant. When I'll be ready to apply for my citizenship papers, I'll need his recommendation and benevolence. It will depend on him whether I will get or keep from getting my citizenship. Those are Johnny's words, and he is getting his. It will be several weeks yet, though, before I can even apply for them.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">The music has shifted from Beethoven to Frank Sinatra. What a sacrilegious conglomeration of art and blasphemy!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">That's all, folks. There better be a letter in the mail tomorrow! If not, I'll go to a U.S.O. dance.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Smooches,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">(over!)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dear Marjorie,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I was happy to hear that you are now Mrs. Thomas W. Doeppner and I wish you all the luck and happiness. Tom is a changed man he is talking all the time about you. I hope to see you very soon at Camp Crowder.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">John</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I don't remember where Johnny is from. I wonder if he is one of Opa's previous coworkers- I think that's it. Opa is happy to spend time with Johnny and get the "dope" on army life. I remember Opa using this term in an earlier letter: the 1940s slang for "inside scoop." When I was growing up, dope was drugs, I think it might still be that.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa also spent some time with some highly educated folks, probably a lot of fun for him, all of them in the army for un-army reasons. Opa's main goal was to get citizenship, but that is still a long time away. My guess is that he has to finish (and pass) basic training before he is eligible for citizenship. Even now, he isn't quite all the way in the Army, or at least I think he doesn't have all of the benefits until he's made it through initial training. I might be wrong about that. Johnny is applying for citizenship as well. Opa benefits from Johnny's time ahead of him, getting a front row seat to his own likely path if he does everything right.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">The army "rules" are so very typical. Already Opa is learning the military humor, where everyone makes fun of the army like you make fun of your own siblings. No one outside the military is allowed the same jokes, just like you wouldn't let someone talk bad about your family, no matter how true their comments might be. It's a weird mix of self-deprecation and pride. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I'm starting to think that Opa smoked socially with his army friends. This wasn't so uncommon but I never knew Opa as a smoker. I wonder when and if that started/stopped.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">John's little note was a little odd, saying that Opa was a changed man, talking about Grandmother all the time. I mean... if I were Grandmother I would ask why Opa wasn't talking about me before or what all needed changing. I'm probably reading too much into it. Hopefully Grandmother didn't have that same problem. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Hope Opa gets mail soon, or he'll have to go to a USO dance! </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-46686404188937881192021-10-01T12:00:00.001-04:002021-10-01T12:00:00.188-04:00October 7, 1944: Rumors...Lots of Rumors<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjkrhhz9TXgdV25VilNnutqMMCob3m74_MAxfu6xQd9ZNO1ES8zHEvPxLO1nPu4qZm_AFFR9krysMx8vyeA1Ef14j4xqdwICJ9l40rGPTF1RyBiyEIAwAFthVi7HRGZgN-3OTRNntRxW0/s2048/October+7%252C+1944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1391" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjkrhhz9TXgdV25VilNnutqMMCob3m74_MAxfu6xQd9ZNO1ES8zHEvPxLO1nPu4qZm_AFFR9krysMx8vyeA1Ef14j4xqdwICJ9l40rGPTF1RyBiyEIAwAFthVi7HRGZgN-3OTRNntRxW0/w434-h640/October+7%252C+1944.jpg" width="434" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx_n-ZEKry8tIFaAzNritCGcJ24g8yRPxh1JGKHhApKiqicBz6W8MBSiy-Yvw4qkm9wffJcsAwtLujw6PgKr6Br_9FQ-gZ9b6ZJ9TLpFJw1PRNP29weWuKQqiWqBaafSpsD6rFZS6milE/s2048/October+7%252C+1944-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1432" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx_n-ZEKry8tIFaAzNritCGcJ24g8yRPxh1JGKHhApKiqicBz6W8MBSiy-Yvw4qkm9wffJcsAwtLujw6PgKr6Br_9FQ-gZ9b6ZJ9TLpFJw1PRNP29weWuKQqiWqBaafSpsD6rFZS6milE/w448-h640/October+7%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="448" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQwpa0rcvB9uJweeiVdQ6CjSIPTSv4MJkpnjOLDjqrKRMducRqyp59R2sHLlxQ_0eKgnUFB0JYK9fyxCUTTADealpg9sK4DhG5kIA2Y-8-Dl_-gESFZQgbc149ajyo9guzUSGdjgn7iU/s2048/October+7%252C+1944-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1409" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQwpa0rcvB9uJweeiVdQ6CjSIPTSv4MJkpnjOLDjqrKRMducRqyp59R2sHLlxQ_0eKgnUFB0JYK9fyxCUTTADealpg9sK4DhG5kIA2Y-8-Dl_-gESFZQgbc149ajyo9guzUSGdjgn7iU/w440-h640/October+7%252C+1944-2.jpg" width="440" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0iHC0XF5larRlQUULT6lTo4w2DkfxyKkjQMtZ_zLgp45NJ4gVPr1s3EwaRS3xefq9qK-xm9y5u0zx2dE6hGMdUzj89rC7jvaVQasyqPkaaXMYxcSCtkrNkifIaffNH-kUPvFrn5PWUUk/s2048/October+7%252C+1944-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1488" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0iHC0XF5larRlQUULT6lTo4w2DkfxyKkjQMtZ_zLgp45NJ4gVPr1s3EwaRS3xefq9qK-xm9y5u0zx2dE6hGMdUzj89rC7jvaVQasyqPkaaXMYxcSCtkrNkifIaffNH-kUPvFrn5PWUUk/w466-h640/October+7%252C+1944-3.jpg" width="466" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, October 7, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I didn't write last night on account of lack of time. By the time I had showered, shaved, shined shoes, shampooed, sh___, the lights went out and I was too lazy t go over to the P.X. We had 15 hours of K.P. straight, but it wasn't so bad. Most of the time I washed pots and pans. However, this monotony was interrupted every once in a while by peeling spuds, scrubbing the floor, and cleaning out garbage cans. The mess sergeant as well as most of the cooks were rather pleasant, though, and I assure you we didn't work ourselves to death. One thing about this K.P., though: I'll be doing all the dishwashing, cooking, etc. which I want to do in the Army, so when and if I get back, I won't even enter the kitchen except for inspection and an occasional raid on the refrigerator. But then, since I have a wife who just loves to do dishes and who is an excellent cook, all this will work out just nicely.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">This letter is written with intermission. Just got back from oversea-duty dental and optical examinations. Apparently my teeth are very poor, for I am temporarily disqualified on account of them. They will be fixed during basic, and then I'll be ready for oversea duty. (I shall probably get some G.I. glasses too, but I won't have to wear them.) After that, we cleaned the grass, chopped wood, and were otherwise entertained. It's dinnertime now, and I am writing this while waiting for the bugle. Loudspeakers are broadcasting music. That's a nice detail of this camp: most of the day, we have music all over the camp that way. If this were good music, it would be better yet. At meal time, when we are at mess hall, there is a special newscast from U.P., as well as camp new and announcements of what the various camp theaters have to offer.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">The pass situation doesn't look quite as bad as I assumed. There will be a chance, after two weeks, together a weekend pass if I have some special reason. So, write me a letter, <u>undated</u>, saying that you will be in Kansas City next weekend and wonder if I can make it down there. Write in pencil or blue ink so that I can furnish the date. It won't be before at least two weeks, though.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dinner is just over. We eat here family style which has the disadvantage that the meals usually are cold by the time we get there.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">It is going to be very hard to get a rating in the Signal Corps. I talked to some guys who are in advanced training: a graduate from M.I.T., a guy who has his Ph.D. in El. Eng., a guy who owned and operated his own radio station in peace time: here in the Signal Corps their rank is back private; one of them. Pfe. That is rather discouraging. There may be a chance for O.C.S., but everybody advises me not to apply for it: it will mean a far longer time of service and almost assured occupation duty. Well, I'll have to see. There is a danger that we may be sent overseas right after our basic six weeks; this happened to the group who finished their basic here a month ago. Rumors... lots of rumors...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Your letter got here today. Herb's gift is so awfully thoughtful; he always was good at things like that. Your friendship with Maridean (are you sure that's spelled right?) sounds okay. Fosdick (this is the spelling!) is good, but he writes too much and is just a little on the sentimental side. Just perfect for a Danforth girl. I don't think he is much of a philosopher; rather a pretty fair preacher.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">There is one thing I'll have to get used to in the Army: that is to obey the orders of some damn 20-year old corporals or sergeants or lieutenants who don't know anything of what they are doing.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Time to go back to work. Write often and much!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa is knee-deep in Army life now, from a full day of K.P. (kitchen patrol) to already making decisions about how long he wants to stay in versus the quality of assignment. The OCS he is talking about is "Officer Candidate School." Right now Opa is enlisted, but as a college graduate, he has the ability to apply to OCS and potentially become an officer. The benefit is higher levels of pay, potentially better assignments, and higher ranking. The part that Opa is hesitant about is that OCS and becoming an officer requires a higher level of commitment to the Army, in years and assignments. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I'm surprised everyone is encouraging Opa not to apply to OCS. My guess is that the group is all enlisted men who are there via the draft or for other reasons that have nothing to do with a long-term career in the military. Opa is not on that long-term path, and he seems hesitant even for an overseas assignment. Right now, Opa is just trying to fulfill his obligations, get citizenship, and somehow find a way to settle down somewhere with Grandmother as soon as possible.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I laughed a little at Opa's poor teeth. He likely did not get the nutrition or dental care that he needed in a rationed German upbringing, no matter how financially stable his family had been in the early years.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I can imagine his dismay when he found out that folks with higher and more prestigious education remained in lower ranks in the Signal Corp. This is the officer vs. enlisted problem he's facing. He's keeping his options open and remembering to be careful about the rumors he believes- since there are so many rolling around. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I love Opa's sneaky method for getting Grandmother to write a letter that could win him a ticket to see her the moment it is possible. This is the Doeppner way: find a loophole (or shortcut) and take it. Not an illegal or harmful one- more like an efficient one. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I am only recently confronting the negative consequences of my desire and compulsion to be constantly efficient. You'd be surprised how it can fan out. I sometimes do nothing because the way is not efficient enough, and to me it is better to wait and find the "right" way than to try something and "waste" time. The problem is that I end up not trying or doing a lot of things that may have worked, or at least been a good journey for me. I'm working on it! </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">But yeah, this thing Opa did: brilliant and I would totally have done the same. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Another Doeppner trait that I'm not ashamed to claim: a healthy criticism of authority. This is decidedly not very German, but it is very Doeppner. Opa had it, my Dad has it, and I have it. How Opa and my Dad survived in the military is beyond me. I am much more respectful as I've matured, but if you threw 20 year old me in the military, oh lord, I would have been the fittest person there because I'm pretty sure my mouth would get me extra laps, sit ups, push ups- whatever they do to sassy recruits.</span></div><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-68619455935258541782021-09-29T12:00:00.001-04:002021-09-29T12:00:00.192-04:00October 5, 1944: Opa's Not in Kansas Anymore<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOot5PMs8GHRVtcijs_I0zmpfqvMwdtjQ2z_ycmp3jTXxvVPSvtS5CB_-FecqUkR1wMBYX14Otvg_PNJMlCzACekLCzJt8WvkIDJz_vrGJuWBe1EZXrqqDjOkNYPLUPXTM_wqDYut-Rs/s2048/October+5%252C+1944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1404" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOot5PMs8GHRVtcijs_I0zmpfqvMwdtjQ2z_ycmp3jTXxvVPSvtS5CB_-FecqUkR1wMBYX14Otvg_PNJMlCzACekLCzJt8WvkIDJz_vrGJuWBe1EZXrqqDjOkNYPLUPXTM_wqDYut-Rs/w438-h640/October+5%252C+1944.jpg" width="438" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0gPw3yId7ZdgQwM_qyecVPLYyqQGli0HMVkII9RA9EDaLXm9eic_j5bYsyZNgbZYZlqWxtiVY5fur8TAPXNuEpor9aWrO6UGg7gKpWyl52ceOFL63rvPcxRJ-C_nyzh7RzgRcPqurBCU/s2048/October+5%252C+1944-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1418" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0gPw3yId7ZdgQwM_qyecVPLYyqQGli0HMVkII9RA9EDaLXm9eic_j5bYsyZNgbZYZlqWxtiVY5fur8TAPXNuEpor9aWrO6UGg7gKpWyl52ceOFL63rvPcxRJ-C_nyzh7RzgRcPqurBCU/w444-h640/October+5%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="444" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitdZ2dTi1bWGb8MiQj2VwCQWnIz1IVcy10PUDFpcvmeM9inmWTakGfJaktu0FoiKa94x4UaKJx-2-tzDtfi6RuL5SPMb1CqgbA1_7CxtB53iUpxAqBSLgNKaPy5bfcO2MIf_R36ajlu5M/s2048/October+5%252C+1944-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1404" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitdZ2dTi1bWGb8MiQj2VwCQWnIz1IVcy10PUDFpcvmeM9inmWTakGfJaktu0FoiKa94x4UaKJx-2-tzDtfi6RuL5SPMb1CqgbA1_7CxtB53iUpxAqBSLgNKaPy5bfcO2MIf_R36ajlu5M/w438-h640/October+5%252C+1944-2.jpg" width="438" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkIuY0iqxWZ1zRjSRHdf8yirzCC0PlHioDsGpbPDw2pcaGN9OW2ohGQjYvcrAMAvVJxajeNoiouStNFB2f79v8EcjFWdMgqYY3NjKdj7MtulFSgOlhTBeQZUQWgOBXJAWcr0YxRk_bs2o/s2048/October+5%252C+1944-3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1418" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkIuY0iqxWZ1zRjSRHdf8yirzCC0PlHioDsGpbPDw2pcaGN9OW2ohGQjYvcrAMAvVJxajeNoiouStNFB2f79v8EcjFWdMgqYY3NjKdj7MtulFSgOlhTBeQZUQWgOBXJAWcr0YxRk_bs2o/w444-h640/October+5%252C+1944-3.jpg" width="444" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivrUvpglMSlz1WkgQTuXOIRCyv-e5PVtWHdWLZRdVgzs_QE4gT0uJZ3-CccQ3ff3nAldpLIGDafkolbolNR8O2SdyG4OcoqbfTBFsluDGxzw3spdScbz0Toim_xGLuXgkVTEnwzctenMo/s2048/October+5%252C+1944-4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1410" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivrUvpglMSlz1WkgQTuXOIRCyv-e5PVtWHdWLZRdVgzs_QE4gT0uJZ3-CccQ3ff3nAldpLIGDafkolbolNR8O2SdyG4OcoqbfTBFsluDGxzw3spdScbz0Toim_xGLuXgkVTEnwzctenMo/w440-h640/October+5%252C+1944-4.jpg" width="440" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, October 5, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Oct. 5, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Finally, we landed at Camp Crowder where we will be for at least seven or eight weeks. This morning, at 3:30, I was awakened from a wonderful snoar, had to report at my P.O. at 3:45. I hurried to get there in time, then waited in his office till 4:30. Why they didn't let me sleep that extra hour, I don't know. We ate breakfast and boarded an army truck which took us to the train. There were only five of us; I was the youngest in the bunch, the others ranging from 26 to 33. I felt sort of funny, being the leader of that group of older men. The sergeant gave me the railroad tickets, orders, papers, meal tickets, etc., told me when I would get where, what to do there and why, and asked me to keep the destination etc. secret until we had boarded the train. It so happened the I had told the gang already, but the sergeant didn't know that. We left Leavenworth at 5:35, had about half an hour layover in Kansas City, and arrived at Camp Crowder at noon. No change of train from Kansas City to Camp Crowder.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">The trip was very pleasant. We played poker from Leavenworth to Kansas City (I lost 24 cents). In K.C., we just had time for a cup of coffee before lining up for the train. It certainly makes it simpler to travel when one is in uniform. We could pass up the entire line, women, children, 4-F's, and boarded the train first. I didn't feel quite right about that, for most of those people were far more tired and exhausted then we guys.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I never did know whether we were in Kansas or Missouri during the trip, for we went straight south for the greatest part of the time. At about 10:30, the M.P. announced that we would have a 15-minute stop with free canteen for all service-men. I thought we were deep inside Missouri, but the place was Pittsburg, Kansas. We had coffee, cookies, sandwiches, cake, cigarettes... I think we are getting spoiled.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">The further south we got, the more did the landscape turn to my liking. Fall is coming rather late this season, and the trees are just beginning to turn. Some still green, some yellow and brown, and there were some birds in the prettiest red. Gradually, the country became more hilly, and there were strips of forests, ever increasing in size from shelterbelts to something which almost approached a real forest. Small lakes and streams kept reminding me that we were getting out of Kansas.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I inquired about meals in the diner, but found out that they won't be served till 11:45. At 11:59, our train was supposed to arrive at Camp Crowder. So, I gave the chef cook a little pep talk, and, sure enough, at 11:15, half an hour before regular serving, he had fixed us five meals. Uniform did it again. It was a good meal at that.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">At camp, we had to wait around quite awhile and then ate again (at about two o'clock). They had dinner waiting for us, and couldn't disappoint the K.P.'s. Well, it didn't take much persuasion to make us eat it. (Fried eggs, bacon, potatoes, veal loaf, oranges, and apples.)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">The barrack here are not nearly as good as Leavenworth; rather shabby and dirty, also, at present at least, very crowded. They put beds up in the center to hold the crowd, one of which I have.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Nothing official as been said yet, but according to rumors, we will start our basic training a week from this coming Monday. It will take abut six weeks for basic, then about three months for special training. Only then shall I be eligible for a furlough. All that, however, is not official, but just a rumor. Official is, however, the fact that I am scheduled for K.P. tomorrow. I guess that's the way to break us into camp, for all five of us have K.P. tomorrow.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I took a little walk around the camp today; it's awfully big and not nearly as nice as Leavenworth, but I shall probably like it alright. Tonight, I feel kind of lonesome and would like so badly to be with you. It may be a long while now before I can see you again; also, I want more than just seeing you or spending a weekend or a furlough with you: I want us to stay together, to build a home in which we can live for a longtime. Where we can unpack our suitcases and boxes without storing them at a place where they are easily available. But that time seems very far away, so far that it becomes difficult to even make plans for it. Even after the war is over, it may take years before we can find such a place. When we have it, though, it is going to be the best home in the world, with love radiating from every brick, every window and open door. We both know how badly we want and need this, and how ready we are for it; all we can do in the interim is to remain strong and always keep this goal in mind, and to have faith in each other.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">While I am writing this, I am sitting in the telephone office, where I put in a call for you. It ought to get here any minute, and I am so eager to hear your voice. You don't know how comforting the idea is that you are my wife now; that I have you for keeps, that I may love you and be loved by you!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">After an hour of waiting, your call just came. It always helps, darling. The rate is considerably higher here, so I guess we will have to quit at three minutes on our calls, and I shall use the money I save that way to call more often. I am sure glad about Yvonne's and Herb's presents. You don't need to be embarrassed about the silver, for Yvonne would not have done it had she not wanted to. Herb's record album is quite a surprise; we just have to get the record player now. There may be a mix-up in address. I'll write to the K-C. Post Office and see what can be done.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Well, this is quite a long letter, but I just felt like writing to you. Furthermore, tomorrow I'll have K.P. and therefore little time to write. I'll go to bed now and try to fall asleep before I get too lonesome.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa has had a long trip and a mindless day of assimilation to think about what he's embarking on. He's reeling from the rumors of six weeks of basic followed by three months of special training with no room for furlough. This is not the beginning of marriage that he had envisioned, and he hoped that even in the Army he'd have a little more stability. He's learned already that Army life is unpredictable. Everything is working out OK, but it's different from what he had imagined. He misses Grandmother, and the distance stretches further now, both geographical and time.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa's description of his hope for their future home gives me such warm feelings: "Love radiating from every brick." It has been so very long since Opa has had a home at all, especially one that he can store his suitcase and boxes without needing them always available. Grandmother and Opa are hungry to settle down, set some roots, be in a routine and have a family. Not even kids yet- but each other. I can only imagine the hunger for that life after so many years of uncertainty. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">The Army isn't going to give Opa his certainty just yet, but he is happy knowing at the very least, he has Grandmother for a wife, even if he's not in Kansas anymore.</span></div><br />Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-8548612755357654092021-09-27T12:00:00.001-04:002021-09-27T12:00:00.248-04:00October 2, 1944: Happiness and Fudge<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFgQEGiDJlXaheQbhZ71fY8RrNSLaEB32rKf_lkwqIbU3_uBrjU1iHiTV_sfPg_HqsdG0f_fRKie0Jh53wj4sRzj0K5pXZEnsr-NIUYnN8yypIM7roj1ynoEe_OHUK_G1Erdvf3NPCyQ/s2048/October+2%252C+1944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1356" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFgQEGiDJlXaheQbhZ71fY8RrNSLaEB32rKf_lkwqIbU3_uBrjU1iHiTV_sfPg_HqsdG0f_fRKie0Jh53wj4sRzj0K5pXZEnsr-NIUYnN8yypIM7roj1ynoEe_OHUK_G1Erdvf3NPCyQ/w424-h640/October+2%252C+1944.jpg" width="424" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkuhWRcrQMXPhj4uUR7nBBi8OhlUrOkHqY6O9vV01pNT6rlnkbXTVcwxeFJY8Kr9MyTqCeUP0dDmC2EOvnXNy0S0tbGRTSK1l73V2GOVygoEBaRxjEntGglPVIhBnID0j3F_EXgSYFvFA/s2048/October+2%252C+1944-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1327" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkuhWRcrQMXPhj4uUR7nBBi8OhlUrOkHqY6O9vV01pNT6rlnkbXTVcwxeFJY8Kr9MyTqCeUP0dDmC2EOvnXNy0S0tbGRTSK1l73V2GOVygoEBaRxjEntGglPVIhBnID0j3F_EXgSYFvFA/w414-h640/October+2%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="414" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, October 2, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">October 4, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">After seeing you last night, it is much easier to leave; also, the fact that I know at least approximately were I am going and what I am to do, simplifies matters considerably. After you left last night, I went right back to camp and to bed. The sounded taps, turned the lights on, and made us get up for breakfast. There just didn't seem to be any interval of time between taps and breakfast, except that someone must have turned the clock from eleven to five. I feel rested today, though, and was all up and ready for butt detail. (Found <u>two</u> matches today; that's a great improvement!)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">The rest of the morning I spent waiting for the mail, for I knew your letter was in it. I appreciated that you spelled out the word "barracks" on the envelope. Your new spelling of it (with an "r" in the second syllable) looks very nice, in fact it adds to the appearance of the word and uses the alphabet more evenly. Why don't you write to Webster about it and have the dictionary altered to conform with your new theories?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Mac and Don got their shipping orders too, both are leaving tonight, i.e. before I do, so I will be the last of the Mohicans. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I hope you got that train last night; my guess is that you even had to wait before it left, but maybe not. Anyhow, it was nice to have had that extra hour together. Did you get many mosquito bites? Of all the parts of my body that were exposed, only my right hand rated a bite; if I had been a mosquito, I certainly would not have missed a chance like that. How is your cold? If you catch something like pneumonia or suchlike, I should never forgive myself.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Mac just came in, beaming all over his round face. He will leave this afternoon at 3:30. Also, he got a package of fudge, so now we are all filling and overfilling our after-dinner stomachs with sweets. By the way, both Mac and Don say they liked you very much. Yeah, I'm awfully proud of my wife. I hope I can show her off a little more frequently before long.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">The next letter will be from Camp X. (You aren't supposed to know that X marks the spot Crowder.)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa is buoyed by a weekend with Grandmother and some certainty in his Army life. He is shipping out to Camp Crowder very soon; his group of friends all separated out. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa has a sense of purpose, renewed by his time with Grandmother and fostered by his camaraderie with his recently-made friends. Any friend that shares fudge is a winner in my eyes.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa's heading for Camp Crowder, Missouri, which is still not too far from Grandmother (though it is further). </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Life is happening, and Opa is ready for it. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">What's in store for Opa? I'm guessing basic training (boot camp). Something tell me he's gonna do great, because if there's one thing I've learned about Opa in these letters, it's that he rises to the challenge every time with a ridiculous amount of optimism and </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">confidence. I didn't think I had that trait, but the more I look back at what I've been through and accomplished, the more I realize that I've been brave, confident, and resilient in my own way.</span></div><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-48967402406406900932021-09-25T12:00:00.001-04:002021-09-25T12:00:00.197-04:00September 27 & 28 & 30, 1944: Missing You<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjob_erHSI0uKZiR1EA3qTbrN0N_pzgLwhy1qWiOGs9SIS4GwFczvnNe5EyT5WAZ7Fs99MC_vrXJdNc3tS4xEe4t5e6lKvrxqSNgoPbDdRwlO6H_tQHSZdvOcRcprGkmscd90yecn2uAhs/s1689/September+27%252C+1944+postcard.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1077" data-original-width="1689" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjob_erHSI0uKZiR1EA3qTbrN0N_pzgLwhy1qWiOGs9SIS4GwFczvnNe5EyT5WAZ7Fs99MC_vrXJdNc3tS4xEe4t5e6lKvrxqSNgoPbDdRwlO6H_tQHSZdvOcRcprGkmscd90yecn2uAhs/w640-h408/September+27%252C+1944+postcard.jpg" width="640" /></a></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5SLZLz_kSXsW91awlYI61kAUFbQKWFAk1_oE1t0P5PMDsMmjHxZ_aVUBRGxxK8VzbKSjSwVBsdpOKyom7ovZAeE5hsQTF5XTWRrqokkmnGDEPeiqpOWmQ1uYjHTAdEQrRjlAFsBCOWFk/s1659/September+27%252C+1944+postcard-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1085" data-original-width="1659" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5SLZLz_kSXsW91awlYI61kAUFbQKWFAk1_oE1t0P5PMDsMmjHxZ_aVUBRGxxK8VzbKSjSwVBsdpOKyom7ovZAeE5hsQTF5XTWRrqokkmnGDEPeiqpOWmQ1uYjHTAdEQrRjlAFsBCOWFk/w640-h418/September+27%252C+1944+postcard-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Postcard from Opa to Grandmother, September 27, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription: </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">(Image: "First Call" by Marshall Davis, sketch of a disheveled man waking up, half out of bed, sleepy eyes.)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">9/27/44</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">No time for a letter, for I am on duty. Chances are I shall remain here for at least another day or two. I'll call you if any sudden change occurs. Chin up, I hope to be seeing you soon.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love, Tom</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1vc_hkv1mKTznPa8DW3d8T44YSiROC5hyPW9EnXrFn1jN773VrnKtD-WpiIAiPWPp4dBa-g0X86uvqI7Hhy7nojGj0V2iRWzKookuV27v81PcuY6MlxsfmniKKcHVw8snH233Duz8V-Y/s2048/September+28%252C+1944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1628" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1vc_hkv1mKTznPa8DW3d8T44YSiROC5hyPW9EnXrFn1jN773VrnKtD-WpiIAiPWPp4dBa-g0X86uvqI7Hhy7nojGj0V2iRWzKookuV27v81PcuY6MlxsfmniKKcHVw8snH233Duz8V-Y/w508-h640/September+28%252C+1944.jpg" width="508" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnv53mA7m4CW6hsCcnh-szZphobSrQbwjldUzIMaBxlpmFpLT4-mvnrcG6Q26R254Ho5QAqh9-VSMdbD8UpsNsGHUZpOc73FWXO8ABTVBY06nP4r6uAwcOnJq0BtP4RcAQO0frjU_pOwA/s2048/September+28%252C+1944-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1565" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnv53mA7m4CW6hsCcnh-szZphobSrQbwjldUzIMaBxlpmFpLT4-mvnrcG6Q26R254Ho5QAqh9-VSMdbD8UpsNsGHUZpOc73FWXO8ABTVBY06nP4r6uAwcOnJq0BtP4RcAQO0frjU_pOwA/w490-h640/September+28%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="490" /></a></div><br />Letter from Opa to Grandmother, September 28, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Sept. 28, 1944</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">My darling wife,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">After a busy day and some anxious minutes, this rainy forenoon seems like a rest to me. About 80% of our bunch for their shipping orders last night and are leaving this afternoon, but my name was not among them. Fred, however, will be leaving with this group. We were a little disappointed that the three of us are split up like this, but that's the way the Army works.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Two hours later. Another bunch just received orders, but I didn't. I wished I knew what is going to happen; this uncertainty is no fun.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Got your letter today, a well as Miss Derby's and Eilleen's. I had one from Eileen two, but I'll save it for Sunday, when I'll give you a whole bunch of letters. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Yesterday was a busy day. Three of us had to scrub the whole barrack, clean all windows, and polish all brass. In between, we were called out twice for what is commonly called "butt detail," and consists of walking over the camp with a sack in your hand and pick up all cigarette snipes, matches, papers, etc. Not much fun, but not exactly hard work. Ordinarily, there is a large group of us doing this, and we get a lot of visiting done in the process.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">It's too bad about the theft in your rooms and I hope you will be able to get things back. I hope you can do this without suing anybody; there may be a chance if you kids get together and send a lawyer to the contractor and have that lawyer present a list of all the articles which you know have been stolen. The threat of suing might possibly have effect. If it doesn't, I would sue then, though.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I discovered something helpful today. As "latrine orderly," I am acting non-com and can detail any man in my barrack who has no other detail, to do work in the latrine; so, today, I got me three men to clean toilet bowls, urinals, and do the rest of the dirty work. Unfortunately, this made me get through so early that the sergeant gave me other jobs.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">This letter has been interrupted again. It's time for the mail now, so I'll quit. Maybe there will be time tonight to write some more.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrPzYxQCl-0nXSytUEmBut5FtiGJX2c9TazmHjra0e3E8cTenl_e0Usspq8q2Yxvzf_vC44ptjCQKUzjWCu1Ver1MolBsUQimzFNFLPwaQYuvSFU_lp5k5YxieI8BMArOOBjdDh6i8uaM/s2048/September+30%252C+1944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1548" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrPzYxQCl-0nXSytUEmBut5FtiGJX2c9TazmHjra0e3E8cTenl_e0Usspq8q2Yxvzf_vC44ptjCQKUzjWCu1Ver1MolBsUQimzFNFLPwaQYuvSFU_lp5k5YxieI8BMArOOBjdDh6i8uaM/w484-h640/September+30%252C+1944.jpg" width="484" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, September 30, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Sept. 30, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">There isn't much to say now, for I want to keep it for Sunday. Oh, darling, I was so happy when I found out we won't be shipped this week. Then, after calling you, I became really excited. It was the first time that we really talked and visited on a long-distance call without having too much business to talk about, and it meant so much.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tonight, some K.C. girls and a band gave a stage show here. It was good anyhow, but my good mood made me enjoy it even more.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Probably, you won't get this letter till Monday, so there is no use of my telling you about the interview I had or anything like that; it is just so you hear it from me. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Bye, darling, till day after tomorrow. We'll have a grand time together!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love, </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">The message of all these letters is simple: Opa misses Grandmother. He is SO thrilled to finally get to see her, and all the uncertainty of folks getting shipped out is now a distant memory. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa's encouragement for Grandmother to keep her "chin up" in the first postcard tells me that Grandmother has ben expressing a similar feeling of missing Opa. This separation must have been so hard for them. At first the novelty of marriage and joining the Army was enough to keep them occupied. But now that all the business and novelty has worn off, it's officially sad to not be together.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa is still navigating Army life, learning tricks that aren't so tricky after all (delegating and then getting more jobs). Grandmother's room was robbed, it seems by some fault of a contracting company. Opa seems quick to litigation, I wonder if this was more common (or simple) then, or if that was just him. Now we talk about how we live in such a litigious society, but honestly, as far as my experience, few people actually follow through because legal fees and courts are so expensive and time consuming. It's like insurance: there's a hidden deductible in our minds of how much is worth trying to win back.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I hope Opa and Grandmother have a lovely weekend together, and that we get to hear a little bit about it in the next letter. We'll see!</span></div></div><div><p></p></div>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-57578794442163543362021-09-22T12:00:00.001-04:002021-09-22T12:00:00.185-04:00September 26 (part 2 & 3), 1944: Almost Feminist<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKiCJWilQl68ecXIiTnAPw-vthbHiNqO-IOln1Oj-CDs0tfC6DDA1AFzjx3SvEeZvVkdpCVgHfSdj3aRqeaMvpr1Hc7yulRbyD7FevGcj_GA8SlUReMPKvvsmKvzxKKYjLy3S7kgtFN3k/s2048/September+26-2%252C++1944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1574" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKiCJWilQl68ecXIiTnAPw-vthbHiNqO-IOln1Oj-CDs0tfC6DDA1AFzjx3SvEeZvVkdpCVgHfSdj3aRqeaMvpr1Hc7yulRbyD7FevGcj_GA8SlUReMPKvvsmKvzxKKYjLy3S7kgtFN3k/w492-h640/September+26-2%252C++1944.jpg" width="492" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS86INURxxhyphenhyphenoL0W9Mt4IF6hMXZiM8DsHZbvZBydCfLvNHGxYONpqiXstXM6PjbpcxvmzotGKkcIwS1q6-WmHaCPgioGXk-X4x8kVGtVZHwBmrvFbXfXYmoUH2pqRjpmT20N-OFyCSz0g/s2048/September+26-2%252C+1944-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1611" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS86INURxxhyphenhyphenoL0W9Mt4IF6hMXZiM8DsHZbvZBydCfLvNHGxYONpqiXstXM6PjbpcxvmzotGKkcIwS1q6-WmHaCPgioGXk-X4x8kVGtVZHwBmrvFbXfXYmoUH2pqRjpmT20N-OFyCSz0g/w504-h640/September+26-2%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="504" /></a></div></div><br /> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO-81PtziUzAxBBbXFExjHJ6rIi0A_6kuOdCr_bUhKGZuw2u6m0Ly6bYSBLypCpgGV1AzxYGzTXcd8oOOA2b6aeBJSgtoTn9lDquEMCMmWnaebS4mYa54oRH1YdGNT5tj_GhzMz5lDSkQ/s2048/September+26-3%252C+1944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1342" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO-81PtziUzAxBBbXFExjHJ6rIi0A_6kuOdCr_bUhKGZuw2u6m0Ly6bYSBLypCpgGV1AzxYGzTXcd8oOOA2b6aeBJSgtoTn9lDquEMCMmWnaebS4mYa54oRH1YdGNT5tj_GhzMz5lDSkQ/w420-h640/September+26-3%252C+1944.jpg" width="420" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShPCRwpghH2V2YCHsfwSe_DJZfuRHpTX5EDzPxyTppjIfIC3w0CPZ7iXhkgzhWr6OOEZ6DvL8GPphJOYIrgxDK4XoyuGl7O7CowVyCDHxztiTKuTUBODxdaaJvfesE5u0UZ1XrGa02bU/s2048/September+26-3%252C+1944-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1368" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShPCRwpghH2V2YCHsfwSe_DJZfuRHpTX5EDzPxyTppjIfIC3w0CPZ7iXhkgzhWr6OOEZ6DvL8GPphJOYIrgxDK4XoyuGl7O7CowVyCDHxztiTKuTUBODxdaaJvfesE5u0UZ1XrGa02bU/w428-h640/September+26-3%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="428" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letters from Opa to Grandmother, September 26, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Sept. 26, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I just am back from calling you and am using a typewriter which I can have here for rent; ten cents for half an hour. That period of time ought to be sufficient even for you. It was so nice to hear you again, and I do hope that we get to see each other Sunday. I shall try to remember including your mother's letter in this; keep it, as well as other letters which I may send you every once in a while. It is very difficult to keep stuff like that here, especially where our bags have to be packed at all times on account of the fact that we are now on shipping orders.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I haven't been doing much since this morning except shrubbing, digging deep into toilet bowls to clean them out, polishing brass, etc. It isn't half as bad as it sounds, though; I finished my job before noon, but knew enough not to let the sergeant know about it, for he would have given me some other job. SO, in the afternoon, I rearranged all my stuff, packed my bag, and reread your letters several times; also, I took quite a while to answer your folks' letter.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">So Hubert showed you the letters I wrote to him. I don't remember what I told him about your folks; was it complimentary?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I guess I shall address your letters to Mrs. Thomas W. Doeppner. In principle, I don't like this custom so well; it implies a sense of ownership on the man's part which is in contradiction to modern marriage, but in little details like that, it means no harm to follow the crowd.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Have you heard from Marjorie (Kiefer) yet? Her silence really is strange.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Fortunately, Mac, Fred and I got into the same barrack again. This was sheer accident, for most of the group was split up, and all three of us are on completely different duties.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Can you imagine me having trouble finishing my supper? Tonight, some of our gang had K.P. and were serving in the mess hall, so they really filled up our plates. Double serving and more of everything: hash, tomatoes, spaghetti, tomatoes, beans, salad, spinach, cottage cheese, and pineapple. How's that for a wartime menu?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Honey, if you have a chance to get some sort of a bag for toilet articles, etc, please get it, for I have absolutely no place to put things like that. Get it small enough to fit into our bags, but large enough so there is some room for letters, stationary, etc.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Well, I guess I had better close; it's time to get back to work.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">*************</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Sept. 26, 1944.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">This is the third letter I am writing you today; one this morning, one three hours ago, and this one now. I have some time, though, and want to see you so badly that I resort to the closest facsimile possible: the mail.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Just got out of a show in the War Dept. Theater, called "Till We Meet Again." It was a fairly good show, picturing the escape of an American flier from France. Better than usually in this type of pictures, it gave some of the man's background. He talked about his wife Peggy, and in my mind, to the tune of his thoughts which he expressed to a young nun in France, he was talking about a girl called Margie. The little things he mentioned were like taken out of my heart. Things he remembered and missed: her hair and the way it flung in the wind; picnics; a swim; and, in the morning, to have her awaken next to him, curled up to him; the times she cried in his shoulder and the hours of crisis when she believed in him even though he had given up all belief in himself. He was away, far away; probably much farther and for a longer period of time than our separation will ever be. Honey, it made me realize how lucky we are, in spite of everything, that we know it won't be more than a few months that we can have at least some time together. How lucky I am to have you, like he had his Peggy, to give me strength and something to come back to; something which makes life worthwhile and beautiful, no matter what the odds may be.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Fred, Mac and I went to that show, and afterward I suggested to go up to the Service Club to write to "our wives." After this inspiration, the pen seems to flow freely and there was not much talk between us.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">We will be going back to our barracks soon, taps will be sounded, and I shall be lying in my bunk. thinking and dreaming about the best girl in the world: my wife and my friend. Good night, darling; let's have faith. It won't be long, even though many months may go by. There will be a day and a time when we shall look back on these months as a period in which we learned to appreciate our happiness, and in which we were made to deserve it.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Ever yours,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa pours out his heart to Grandmother. An Army film reminds him of how lucky he is to have someone he loves so dearly. My favorite part is how he addresses her: "my wife and my friend." This is the foundation of their marriage. He has no idea what they will see and do together, but in this moment, in a Service Club in Kansas, he knows that their relationship gives him meaning and purpose. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I have to admit I heard a little refrain from Disney's animated movie, Mulan, in the back of my head while reading that part. Do you know it? "A Girl Worth Fighting For!" The scene juxtaposes the overt masculinity in war-time propaganda and morale boosts, which of course become hilarious when a woman, Mulan, has to pretend she has some girlfriend at home that she's swooning over. It's less hilarious when you think about the fact that she's in danger of death, and protecting her father who would surely have died if he had reported for obligatory military service, being the only male in the family. The movie has within its theme an attempt to push against the assumed patriarchal power and assumptions. But, I would say it doesn't 100% succeed for a number of reasons, even though I still love the movie and have lots of nostalgia for it.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">That's a bit like Opa's almost feminism. He sees clearly that addressing Grandmother by his name with a Mrs. in front of it is not quite right, or indicative of their equality in the relationship. However, he consents to tradition and nostalgia, saying that there isn't much harm in following the crowd. I disagree, wholeheartedly. But I guess better to be almost feminist than completely enmeshed in toxic masculinity? </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">To this day I will hand my husband Jason any letter that is addressed in this traditional way ("Mrs. Jason Snow") and say- "Hey this letter is for you and the Mrs. You." I refuse to open it, it is not addressed to me. I hate this tradition and there is literally zero reason for it to continue. It has no grammatical, logistical, or theoretical benefit. It is simply a function and result of patriarchy. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I'm intrigued by this letter from Grandmother's mother. Opa had to spend lots of time responding to it. Was this their "Hey- I guess you married my daughter, so here are our expectations now" letter? I don't know- we don't have it. I laughed when Opa asked if Hubert's letters from him were complimentary to her parents. Oops. Hope so.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I'm still very impressed by Opa's little secret "toilet duty isn't so bad" knowledge. He scrubs the latrine and has time to write three letters in one day. Wise guy.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><br /><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-87678936416545798652021-09-20T12:00:00.001-04:002021-09-20T12:00:00.193-04:00September 26, 1944: With and Without Girls<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjykW_M0kYmMO_AVULDgdv_jeryl-VwERABTGCShyphenhyphen9k4U26XtYu1ifrxXkgEefKMKMXtIreKrOwnsqkQfkzT8CGNa73i8JeYHcG-AzNIPLYDyLsg7mlsiv-C68Pw677THH-mwb5MOi0IsE/s2048/September+26-1%252C+1944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1559" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjykW_M0kYmMO_AVULDgdv_jeryl-VwERABTGCShyphenhyphen9k4U26XtYu1ifrxXkgEefKMKMXtIreKrOwnsqkQfkzT8CGNa73i8JeYHcG-AzNIPLYDyLsg7mlsiv-C68Pw677THH-mwb5MOi0IsE/w488-h640/September+26-1%252C+1944.jpg" width="488" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoOlArmhqMpIOe7yH8s9TmdiZk7qIxkiNI0AbISjOtzBVOmGL1083spqSbEkJu525kMqBTVWVSOgrPH7Z69j2lVObzrTkJ-aUtLrvlWNWs8u7Ps6XQU-EB8d9tPV508FBGyuv7lazqk4I/s2048/September+26-1%252C+1944-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1594" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoOlArmhqMpIOe7yH8s9TmdiZk7qIxkiNI0AbISjOtzBVOmGL1083spqSbEkJu525kMqBTVWVSOgrPH7Z69j2lVObzrTkJ-aUtLrvlWNWs8u7Ps6XQU-EB8d9tPV508FBGyuv7lazqk4I/w498-h640/September+26-1%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="498" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb7ESLsfLoXn5sL0HzdFOs9rQIli2f2px-jNOaZzh1k5wmsxyfo7-caewtPc4Jb4Cc_o-ys6jQwlw8q-maDhgbCHzjcnjUNXhX9Qk9h2-s1J-7t2OOoWdQk2QCwSFu42vFR4nu-Ibyqz0/s2048/September+26-1%252C+1944-3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1606" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb7ESLsfLoXn5sL0HzdFOs9rQIli2f2px-jNOaZzh1k5wmsxyfo7-caewtPc4Jb4Cc_o-ys6jQwlw8q-maDhgbCHzjcnjUNXhX9Qk9h2-s1J-7t2OOoWdQk2QCwSFu42vFR4nu-Ibyqz0/w502-h640/September+26-1%252C+1944-3.jpg" width="502" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, September 26, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Sept. 25, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Yesterday, we were moved to a different company and are on shipping orders now. This may mean that we get shipped out tomorrow, we also may stay here another week or two.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">We also were interviewed and classified yesterday. My interview took three hours, and I don't think there is a thing left the Army doesn't know about me. I found out, though, that I had passed all tests with highest score; since I am the only college boy in the gang, this was to be expected.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">After interviewing me, they gave me a special technical test in radio; asking me a bunch of technical and math questions. Then, they classified me as radio research man, Signal Corps. This classification, however, is tentative and only their suggestion; I may still end up in the infantry.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">We were shown two movies. One on military courtesy, which showed the correct way of saluting, when to salute, when not to, etc. It was fairly well done, a little drawn-out though. The other picture was called "Pickup" and dealt with venereal diseases. The show left nothing to the imagination and showed many of the results of syphilis and gonorrhea in all its cruel details. The show was very well done. A nice talk by the chaplain followed this.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Afterwards, we were given typhoid shots and some others. They make your arm feel a little funny, but aren't half as bad as people claim.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">As you see from the enclosures, I took the $10,000 life insurance as well as a monthly $10 war bond. Keep these papers, they are the only receipt we got. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">We were moved to Company B, from which we are to be shipped out. If shipment should come suddenly, I will call you. Our sergeant is a humdinger. Reminds me, both in looks and in his way of talking, of Mr. Zimmerman. Swears, chews, spits, but is otherwise as particular as he can be. When there is only one extra fold in our bed, he just tears it down and has us make it over. He gave me a nice job: latrine orderly. Every morning, I have to clean, scrub. and polish everything in the latrine, from the shower faucets down to the toilet bowls and urinals. Anyhow, it gets me out of K.P. (I think) and doesn't take too much time. So far, I have had all my evenings free, which is more than I ever expected.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Last night, Mac and I went to the Service Club, played pingpong (part of the time with girls) and then went to the show (without girls.) We saw "Kismet," a nice technicolor show.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">We are not going to get weekend passes, so try to come up on Sunday if I am still here. Chances are, however, that we will be shipped out by the end of the week.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">There ought to be a letter from you in the mail Today. Note the change of my address. Army life isn't bad, if I could only be with you. I miss you something terrible.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love and kisses,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">The pace is picking up, with Opa now in an assigned company, on shipping orders, and with a potential classification. Opa wrote about this in more detail in his autobiography:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><i>At Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, I was given a choice between Military Intelligence (probably because I spoke German and passable French,) and the Army Signal Corps. I figured that if I worked in Military Intelligence, I might have to spend the rest of the war translating German field manuals, while in the Signal Corps I would learn something related to my field. "No guarantees," they said...</i></span> </div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><i>(pg 30-31, From Nazi Germany to a Career in Freedom.)</i></span></div></div></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I wonder if Opa told Grandmother about that choice or if he assumed her support (which she likely would have given). It makes sense that Opa would choose the classification that more closely matched his education and aptitude.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I hadn't realized Opa was the only college kid in the group. That's kind of amazing, and also likely why he was getting so much attention and praise from the officers. I guess it was late enough in the war that he didn't raise any suspicions of allegiance; to enlist in the Army at the lowest rank towards the end of the war would be a poor spy technique.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I had the "pleasure" of watching the old Army video on venereal diseases, and let me tell you, Opa is not kidding about them leaving nothing to the imagination. SO many pictures of diseased genitals in that video. They approach it from the assumption that all Army men are perfect sweethearts who are potential targets for harlots and seemingly sweet yet disease-infested women. As far as a teaching technique, it's not bad. Even more convincing were those photos. Woah. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I cannot imagine what the chaplain had to say that didn't feel weird after that.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa's experience with his new sergeant is a great indicator of how age and maturity are his best friends. He has seen this type before, and he knows how to live with it. His perspective on latrine duty is another indicator of his hard-earned wisdom (and cleverness), he knows that no one would volunteer for this service, but it takes less time and is somehow less terrible than K.P. (Kitchen Patrol), perhaps because of the time it takes? I hate cleaning bathrooms. Opa happily accepts his "low" assignment, because he knows it's all about perspective. He does a good job and doesn't complain, the grumpy sergeant is pleased, and Opa has his evenings free to write his wife.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I couldn't help but laugh when I read Opa's obligatory confession and follow up assertion of when he had fraternized with and without girls. He's transparent, showing Grandmother he can be trusted. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Opa misses Grandmother. The Army life is picking up, but his married life feels a little bit like it's on hold.</span></p><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-89201250970014358702021-09-17T12:00:00.002-04:002021-09-17T19:15:35.517-04:00September 24, 1944: Defending Conscientious Objectors<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDHONXjKwuxmuNT-k8PVtpx2GFKbKVJ8hT_oc02jr4BmJqqHpfQRI2n3F6WEfrt1b1g7I7ELnWkAEh79bYV2i5VVot_NrUMMnyuUUFvKqlB3oT5vTfYTsD5jQ6pbI9bUuoZeocSeO269c/s2048/September+24%252C+1944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1359" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDHONXjKwuxmuNT-k8PVtpx2GFKbKVJ8hT_oc02jr4BmJqqHpfQRI2n3F6WEfrt1b1g7I7ELnWkAEh79bYV2i5VVot_NrUMMnyuUUFvKqlB3oT5vTfYTsD5jQ6pbI9bUuoZeocSeO269c/w424-h640/September+24%252C+1944.jpg" width="424" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkqhxHPjpvPm93goRLqIOmidhEUPF2uXQXG5f_xda4nn8JsqE-5aPZ5BR-NcphJM_atji-tWWzkjmULCULpmgtgwW3YLTe1Ze2kGPK-BUyommwgy4SFtrmHkk73EYU4sN79a4ilETGSU/s2048/September+24%252C+1944-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1315" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkqhxHPjpvPm93goRLqIOmidhEUPF2uXQXG5f_xda4nn8JsqE-5aPZ5BR-NcphJM_atji-tWWzkjmULCULpmgtgwW3YLTe1Ze2kGPK-BUyommwgy4SFtrmHkk73EYU4sN79a4ilETGSU/w410-h640/September+24%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="410" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, September 24, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Sept. 24, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Darling,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I have found a pretty fair library out here, even some books on electrical engineering were to be had. Since this is a Sunday afternoon, there is plenty of time for reading and such like pleasures.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Right now, you are probably on your way to Lawrence, and I wished I were with you. Poor Skunkie is howling in the luggage car, wishing he were back on the farm, exposed to the cruelty of cats, chickens, and Margies.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Last night I dreamed so distinctly of you that it seemed as though you must have been present in some mystical way which we don't understand. There are many ways in which we are together right now, but that makes the separation none the easier. My only hope for the near future is that we shall not be shipped out before next weekend, for I shall be able to see you then.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Last night, Fred and I took passes and went to the show: "A Wave, a Wac, and a Marine." It was a rather silly show, but the only entertainment available except for some Follies which we didn't particularly care to see. Afterwards, we went to the Service Club and had cake, ice cream, and coffee.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">This morning we got to sleep an hour longer than usually, which means we were called "only" at 5:30. I went to church(!); a very poor sermon by a chaplain who fell back on what he calls religious experiences in Europe. He gave a try insulting, uncalled for accusation to conscientious objectors. However, he has a very interesting way of talking and getting your attention, which almost made up for his intolerance. The chapel, even though barrack style, is intensely beautiful and has just the right atmosphere for worship.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">What do you think of this dinner menu: Beef, green beans, turnips, mashed potatoes, gravy, lettuce-and-tomato salad, chocolate cake, ice cream and coffee. If you will feed me after the war the way the army does now, I'll be satisfied.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">The funniest thing happened last night: the field jacket which I had been issued looks quite a lot like an officer's jacket; so, a staff sergeant, on passing me, took me for an officer and started a snappy salute. He recognized his mistake in time, though, and was very embarrassed.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I wrote to Herb and Eileen today; am planning to write to Ray before the day is over.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa wrote to Grandmother, mentioning her trip from her home farm back to Lawrence, where she was working at the University and in grad school. I thought about the strange way we revert to our childhood roles and even mannerisms when we are home with our parents. It's not always a bad thing, but it's not always a good thing, either. It must have felt strange for Grandmother, straddling home and adulthood. Were her parents still disapproving of Opa? Did they talk to her about it? I doubt it since she was now married and they wouldn't have wanted her to have a failed marriage. It must have been a bit of a whiplash for her. I wish we had her letters to get insight into how she was feeling during this time.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I love how Opa mentioned the mystical-like connection between himself and Grandmother. His dream of her felt so real.... he wonders if in some other realm it may have been real. I don't know what to call it other than mystical, but I have had similar experiences; when I feel connected to someone or present to them in a way that is more than just a feeling or hope. It feels real and present. These experiences are gifts. I have felt this way about Ella, while reading her letters, feeling like I was somehow present with her in a realm unconfined by time. It feels so real that I have to remember we never met. Then I wonder if maybe somehow we have. (See: mystical.)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">The fact that Opa went to church voluntarily proves on some level that although he did not accept religion as a whole, he was always curious and open to learning something new. This chaplain sounds unfortunately very typical. I would have been a terrible military chaplain (if they allowed deaf chaplains to serve). I think it would be very difficult for me to counsel and serve a group of people who were in the process of being trained and indoctrinated in American patriotism and warfare. Those are not strong pulls for me. I love that Opa is still defending conscientious objectors. He hasn't forgotten his roots or his friends. Everyone has their reasons for where they go in life and what they choose, and that chaplain didn't need to judge others in order to support the troops in front of him. That's tacky.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa still finds time to write his friends, keeping up with them in a way he cannot keep up with friends and family from Germany. He told Grandmother he would write Ray, I'm assuming her older brother Ray.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa is certainly enjoying Army food, and I can't help but notice that his listed menus are mirrored in many menus at retirement and nursing homes across the US today. From the green beans all the way to chocolate cake. I hope it gives some of the residents the same joy it gave Opa in his early Army days.</span></div><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-17854933516850254502021-09-15T12:00:00.000-04:002021-09-15T12:00:00.193-04:00September 23, 1944: Morbid Raincoat<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPkIRI1c8Fi83-ZnjO-LngzsPSvijXK50V_nALyFFob2b6tgz6-ILPH190wb1zs3d10HCDTKvFbEGgjYhvZTElRq_ae46occcu1qpSSyGAlof-DZ5176pDwrNTnnF7o76DiWQeEZGsC3g/s2048/September+23%252C+1944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1599" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPkIRI1c8Fi83-ZnjO-LngzsPSvijXK50V_nALyFFob2b6tgz6-ILPH190wb1zs3d10HCDTKvFbEGgjYhvZTElRq_ae46occcu1qpSSyGAlof-DZ5176pDwrNTnnF7o76DiWQeEZGsC3g/w500-h640/September+23%252C+1944.jpg" width="500" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggLJ-9EdpcPmLTgynnmJQF0tyWT4VZ-VR9fcoZWDJX_sOI8M6ek6B81cDIV8MD2fhgK4zaABbpLroGOWE4WGgzhiUm7dgl0aKsJbW1es7LY7S0zosti0q8SbUXT6A-1_2TKeyXnu6nfOg/s2048/September+23%252C+1944-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1631" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggLJ-9EdpcPmLTgynnmJQF0tyWT4VZ-VR9fcoZWDJX_sOI8M6ek6B81cDIV8MD2fhgK4zaABbpLroGOWE4WGgzhiUm7dgl0aKsJbW1es7LY7S0zosti0q8SbUXT6A-1_2TKeyXnu6nfOg/w510-h640/September+23%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="510" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, September 23, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Sept 23, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I was glad I had a good excuse to call you last night, for I was just a little lonesome. No mail makes things sort of strange, for I didn't have the slightest idea of how you have been faring since that cruel bus took me away from you.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Today, we received our uniforms. I am very pleased with mine; it fits comparatively well, especially the O.D. jacket which we will wear in winter. The only thing I don't like is my raincoat, which is dirty, worn, and even broken at places. Otherwise, I have now more clothes than I ever owned before.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">There are three of us who have formed a little trio: Maxwell Bailey, called Mac, who is a 244-pounder, married, 3 kids, 25-yrs old, a pleasant chap; not too intelligent, but lots of fun and always ready to help. Fred Bartlett is 21, has been married since he was sixteen. Extremely handsome, very clever.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">We took three tests today: Mechanical Aptitude Test, General Classification Test, and Radio Operators Test. All three of them were extremely simple; such questions as: "If there are 2100 men in your group, 10% of them in the army, of those 59% in the Signal Corps, 20 men in the Engineers and the rest in K.P., how many are in K.P." Nevertheless, there were plenty guys who had trouble.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I assume you got that picture. It isn't very good, cost only a quarter. I'll have a better one made in my winter uniform.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Monday, we'll finish processing, and from then on we'll wait to be shipped out. I'll be "available" for visitors every afternoon from 1 to 5p.m. This is supposed to be a hint.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Write soon, honey, and much.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Have I mentioned that my family (on the Doeppner side) is a bit intellectually snobby? Yeah. They are. It's a hard inheritance to shed. I don't know what to say about it other than it is helpful to see it so blatantly every now and then- as a reminder that this is part of my foundation and I need to work on it not being a thing.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">When I read the part about Opa's raincoat, I couldn't help but wonder where this dirty, worn, broken coat had been. Where is the previous wearer? I admit, my mind got morbid and I just assumed that coat has seen battle and the wearer didn't make it. Or maybe it's way less intense than that, but that does seem odd that Opa would receive such a noticeably hand-me-down piece of military clothing. It's such a contrast from the rest of the scene with ample food and well-fitted uniforms.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa has already formed a small group of friends, the older married men in the group found each other. Both men sound interesting and like people I'd like to meet! I wonder if this friendship lasted any longer than their brief time here at Ft. Leavenworth.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Every time Opa says "shipped out," I imagine this dramatic scene at the sea shore when the huge ship of military men bravely wave goodbye before they embark on their journey to the war front. What it really means is being sent to his first assignment. Which at this juncture is likely boot camp. Does Opa know about boot camp? I imagine he does since Winton went into the service and stayed in touch.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I'm guessing things will shift a bit when he gets to boot camp.</span></div><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-55234713232545510282021-09-13T12:00:00.001-04:002021-09-13T12:00:00.209-04:00September 22, 1944: No longer a Civilian<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiHGnClaRAByw9Qr0IzB2zwOA46uL3NnVM6kg3DRwMegO9oLEuk9DThoCoILkVqM6DpItvy_iOPWAtIaCFSQbg8SiUbtn4aedJ8R9OsMZdeZ2Q86VIwp4czc9SJGzMCFb88T5lxqwgRHg/s2048/September+22%252C+1944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1568" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiHGnClaRAByw9Qr0IzB2zwOA46uL3NnVM6kg3DRwMegO9oLEuk9DThoCoILkVqM6DpItvy_iOPWAtIaCFSQbg8SiUbtn4aedJ8R9OsMZdeZ2Q86VIwp4czc9SJGzMCFb88T5lxqwgRHg/w490-h640/September+22%252C+1944.jpg" width="490" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLcQn6B53pczYTOsW7MmPgmhvXKiBGeCjGd-mq0t6ZOS5FpbX1WNt7-xwJovWepaOBRsk5WgIlTEGgVCF7-JsH5B48VAxb01QmdAyazdkmDd9oYmwpDp56EvoVLi14rhNYJ8KIqSlcjgE/s2048/September+22%252C+1944-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1555" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLcQn6B53pczYTOsW7MmPgmhvXKiBGeCjGd-mq0t6ZOS5FpbX1WNt7-xwJovWepaOBRsk5WgIlTEGgVCF7-JsH5B48VAxb01QmdAyazdkmDd9oYmwpDp56EvoVLi14rhNYJ8KIqSlcjgE/w486-h640/September+22%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="486" /></a></div>Letter from Opa to Grandmother, September 22, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Sept. 22, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Preposterous as it may seem, I am no longer a civilian, but any ignoramus who has more stripes or bars than I do, can tell me what to do.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">This morning, we found out that we passed our physical with flying colors, so we were inducted. Naturally, it was the Army for me. The officers were especially nice to me, and I gathered many undeserved laurels for having taken this step voluntarily. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">If they only knew that I am not yet quite off that fence... Now, however, I'll have to stick to it, for I was sworn in this afternoon. It was a very nice and almost genuine ceremony, conducted by the colonel.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tomorrow sometime, we are to receive our uniforms and the rest of the G.I. equipment. I'll send my civilian clothes to you and let you take care of them. Let's hope the day is not too far away that I can wear them again. Our captain told us today that we shall be in the army for at least two years, even if the war should end tomorrow.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Honey, I need a copy of our marriage certificate before you can get your allowance, and I need it as soon as possible. Have somebody sign as witness and have a photostatic copy made right away and send it to me. My address is going to change soon, but all mail will be forwarded. You will receive your first allowance within a few weeks if I get the marriage certificate in time, otherwise it will be postponed for another month or so.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">There are many things I would like to tell you, but it is hard to write about them. If I should stay here another week, I may get a weekend pass to K.C. next Sunday; if not, you may visit me here on Sunday (or any day) from 1 to 6pm.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa announces his induction into the US Army with a bit of a shoulder shrug in this letter. He admires the ceremony, and I understood what he meant about it being "nice and almost genuine." There's a lot of ritual and pomp and circumstance with the military Many times you can't help but be moved, and yet in the back of my head I know that part of the theatrics of it all is a for the morale and keeping folks in line with the mission. It's an interesting line to straddle. I love ritual, but I have a healthy skepticism for the motives behind emotionally manipulative rituals.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">It's helpful for me to see that Opa really wasn't all-in at this point, with his pacifist background still a recent feeling. He is happy for the opportunity and stability that the Army will offer him, but he hasn't been won over... yet. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">When Opa wrote his autobiography, and when he spoke with us, we were under the impression that the Army was a natural procession in his plan. We never knew that he avoided it until it was his only option. I've wondered throughout this project when his opinion shifted. He's not quite off the fence yet, as he points out.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">So now, Opa's officially in the Army for at least two years, a commitment he is willing to uphold (though he seems to be eager to skip to the end). He gives Grandmother some instructions in order to get the most out of his service: the dependent allowance. This was a war-time benefit for the families of military individuals and Opa was eager to begin providing for Grandmother. I thought it was funny that their marriage certificate didn't have a witness signature yet. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa misses Grandmother, and he has things he wants to tell her and share with her. Now that he's in the Army, his time is not his own and even his thoughts are not particularly welcomed. He is anxious to have some alone time with her. I wonder what he's thinking about. There is a lot to process.</span></div><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-41593729786581055902021-09-10T12:00:00.001-04:002021-09-10T12:00:00.237-04:00September 21, 1944: Clunky Machine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnQUkqcbyHJ0wTYKWFTpTwcqYd1wwllhpvL1MTNsbzlaRdpGB6kSLc5q0J_USit22MnCovGZ_tBBSnSP-T0G9I1-213PP1NoywwPg18qnk4mNFnEDut1mfkVGlOrnVIIdeveDjA5KkAw/s2048/September+21%252C+1944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1631" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnQUkqcbyHJ0wTYKWFTpTwcqYd1wwllhpvL1MTNsbzlaRdpGB6kSLc5q0J_USit22MnCovGZ_tBBSnSP-T0G9I1-213PP1NoywwPg18qnk4mNFnEDut1mfkVGlOrnVIIdeveDjA5KkAw/w510-h640/September+21%252C+1944.jpg" width="510" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNy_EPJNMKYwtH1ZNCFlRBlBT-4nFebx2GUKwE8r4OWcO6EdTQvcoae-SErz-Rw0F9EOxBAP6tSyZWkKOlpti2-mSQQ4tQuyK2PeanjzE-h1QhsuHjDXmFbV6hIM27oHbMbvpd3gml4s/s2048/September+21%252C+1944-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1594" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNy_EPJNMKYwtH1ZNCFlRBlBT-4nFebx2GUKwE8r4OWcO6EdTQvcoae-SErz-Rw0F9EOxBAP6tSyZWkKOlpti2-mSQQ4tQuyK2PeanjzE-h1QhsuHjDXmFbV6hIM27oHbMbvpd3gml4s/w498-h640/September+21%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="498" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnuwtJrsSh_VUqcPVH3zIUzQoVkl-RYqQAfQNZ4hyj3eGcE7C3kYsPMPy82cLK52OUinWEdDskaBneo8rc7c3ssqRkFPYuWGhrbm5Gb_Q-NInj2iQfKDm4JYgv4ycXFtqY1Ke4_ue011E/s2048/September+21%252C+1944-2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1507" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnuwtJrsSh_VUqcPVH3zIUzQoVkl-RYqQAfQNZ4hyj3eGcE7C3kYsPMPy82cLK52OUinWEdDskaBneo8rc7c3ssqRkFPYuWGhrbm5Gb_Q-NInj2iQfKDm4JYgv4ycXFtqY1Ke4_ue011E/w470-h640/September+21%252C+1944-2.jpg" width="470" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK17tZm7EyBghyphenhyphencoeIYjY0xtvBR0SCIf8yp3PtjtFyTwMwMShEcGeVTteEnoq7MBkFaxyI504ZObYhlaqOeeNyK80rA5EjqNrdQyjzqTZlAnjtI9hYLmQ92nGiM1N3CTM4jHiIPSBw2aU/s2048/September+21%252C+1944-3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1578" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK17tZm7EyBghyphenhyphencoeIYjY0xtvBR0SCIf8yp3PtjtFyTwMwMShEcGeVTteEnoq7MBkFaxyI504ZObYhlaqOeeNyK80rA5EjqNrdQyjzqTZlAnjtI9hYLmQ92nGiM1N3CTM4jHiIPSBw2aU/w494-h640/September+21%252C+1944-3.jpg" width="494" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, September 21, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Sept. 21, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Darling;</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I'll start this now, since there seems to be some free time before we get started. It is about quarter of seven a.m. now. We got here last night shortly after nine. With traditional army efficiency, they had to look into half a dozen barracks until they finally found one which seemed to provide sufficient space for the whole bunch. We went to bed right away, and inspite of the fact that the noise made by those 18-year olds continued for an indefinite period, I didn't find it hard to fall asleep. Next morning, the boys told me that about every hour a new bunch came in, made noise and had to be reminded that they were in the army now, but I slept through all that and didn't wake up till reveille at 5:00am. It was the best sleep I have had for a long time. The barrack beds were soft and much wider than I had expected them to be. In the morning, we had about 30 minutes to get dressed, shave, and make our beds (we made them twice; first, individual style; then after a little demonstration by a cute little corporal, we unmade them and remade them in army style.) Breakfast at 5:40. And what a breakfast! Ham and eggs, choice of breakfast food, toast, butter, milk, coffee, and an orange. Didn't even have to do the dishes. Then back to our barracks for a wait which is still going on. So far, everybody has been friendly, from corporals up to captains. They seem to pity us for some mysterious reason.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Last night, the gang seemed to be gay and exuberant; today, they are a little more quiet and reserved. It seems as though they begin to become aware of the fact that they are no longer with mother. I feel sorry for some of them who have never been away from home before.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">It's ten o'clock now, and I am through with my physical. I don't know yet whether or not I passed, because the X-ray reports aren't in yet. One thing I know: if I pass, it will be the Army, since the Navy doesn't take aliens. The Physical wasn't bad; just routine stuff. For 50 minutes, we were dressed in Adam's costume. Right now, we are waiting out in the sun. Just waiting; nobody knows what for. A sergeant just came and gave us footballs, softballs and bats, so we will probably have a long wait. Anyhow, it's nice of them to care for our entertainment, isn't it? All the time so far, I have been surprised at the courtesy and relative decency with which we are treated. Just doesn't seem like Army life yet. (That's going to be different though, I suppose.) </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">It's three o'clock now since dinner time (good dinner and more than enough; I didn't even go back for a second helping) we have been waiting around. Now, finally, we are assigned temporarily to some barracks. Nothing else to do all day; tomorrow morning we'll find out about the outcome of our Physical and will probably be classified. So far, I haven't seen any familiar faces yet; the boys are mostly *awfully young and scared.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">It feels strange to be married, doesn't it? However, I think it's a wonderful feeling. I am so glad we went through with it; our brief honeymoon has been so wonderful, darling. it gave a tempting preview into married life, and I am terribly anxious to get back to you. Sleeping alone isn't too much fun, especially now where I know what it means to wake up with my Margie in my arms.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">If I should stay here a while, I might get a weekend pass next Saturday, but if the possibility for immediate shipping out exists, I'll stay in. Naturally, I have no address yet, so save your letter (but write them anyhow!)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Keep the homefires burning!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa is in the registration process, with a lot of "hurry up and wait" mixed with ample samplings of food and comfortable beds. So far everything has been pretty decent, different from what Opa expected. He mentions the younger recruits with empathy- knowing that many of them haven't been away from home (and likely most of them are there from the draft, not as volunteers). </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Age and experience are helpful for Opa in this case. He's been away from home for over a decade, he's had less than ample servings of food, and he's slept in far more uncomfortable beds. This introduction to the Army exceeds Opa's expectations and experiences. Opa's perspective shifts his whole experience. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">If I were to show up at this way-station before boot camp, I would not be as enthusiastic. I'm not a morning person by any means, and I would be so annoyed with the idea that they got up, showered and ate, only to sit around the rest of the day. There are many reasons why I would not be a good military recruit. Luckily they don't want me: deaf people are not eligible. For once I don't mind being excluded, although I know others have fought to change this rule.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Grandmother must be in a weird place emotionally. She just got married, her parents didn't show up, and now after a whirlwind honeymoon, she's back at her grad school and job. She has no idea when she'll see her husband next, where he is (or where he's going), or if this whole crazy thing was a stupid idea. They don't know for sure if he'll make it all the way into the Army or if he'll get citizenship, or if he'll ship out in a week. Technically they know even less about their future now.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa's report on this time is fascinating, it shows what a huge process the army had going. Imagine what it was like at the height of the draft and war?! It's a huge clunky machine.</span></div></div><br /><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-31382813696781435872021-09-08T12:00:00.001-04:002021-09-08T12:00:00.192-04:00September 20, 1944: Mysterious Oath<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkSIqf7ai-vmdq4O7S1s8OwSeeuu-FVOfQMUC1rtG9Wc_aaNoUVeKhOfQ6wmPUZiLKJ0z8ENXkJTTMj_xei5DpcGLuwjRf-AukoGEDQjnT7-WBsnhlq9ZRxuuRHo0xfKgKMloqquRGyU/s2048/September+20%252C+1944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1556" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkSIqf7ai-vmdq4O7S1s8OwSeeuu-FVOfQMUC1rtG9Wc_aaNoUVeKhOfQ6wmPUZiLKJ0z8ENXkJTTMj_xei5DpcGLuwjRf-AukoGEDQjnT7-WBsnhlq9ZRxuuRHo0xfKgKMloqquRGyU/w486-h640/September+20%252C+1944.jpg" width="486" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga1MF44ftMhpHyLSxzdnPPm2b4ylJ2GpyY_keJduFX9ER72kHrA4clwDplEZCXavPvvnNTSqR_Wv9yNCcCv6qWZrLNn86M-9OG_SMkOSLMxoH6K0bEap0P70x83P5Fb6uQ7L6HZmXrV7w/s2048/September+20%252C+1944-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1599" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga1MF44ftMhpHyLSxzdnPPm2b4ylJ2GpyY_keJduFX9ER72kHrA4clwDplEZCXavPvvnNTSqR_Wv9yNCcCv6qWZrLNn86M-9OG_SMkOSLMxoH6K0bEap0P70x83P5Fb6uQ7L6HZmXrV7w/w500-h640/September+20%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="500" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, September 20, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Topeka</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">September 20, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">My darling wife,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">It seems strange to address the letter like this and to write from this town; it hasn't been long, has it, that we swore some mysterious oath here at the courthouse.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">So far, Uncle Sam has been nice to us; meals up to a dollar. If he keeps feeding us like that, I'll love that man.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">We left Salina at 12:45, got here shortly after five, and leave here at seven. It's a little tiresome to ride all day, but the gang seems to be nice. Haven't been any poker games yet.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I am wondering how and when you got home; did you see Marjorie on the way? How did you spend the rest of the McPherson time? You didn't cry any, did you? How is Skunkie?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I'll write again as soon as I know what's going to happen. We won't arrive in Leavenworth till late tonight, so will not be examined till tomorrow. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Be good and write when you get my address. Say hello to your (my) folks.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">P.S. I'm the only married guy in the bunch.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa clearly jotted this down quickly to mail before hopping on the next train to Ft. Leavenworth, and the beginning of the next phase of his life. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">He's getting used to calling Grandmother wife, as most married couples giggle and marvel over in the beginning of their marriages. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I remember feeling so weird and old when I would mention or introduce Jason as my husband. It felt like we were playing grown-up. Perhaps because that was how we played grown up as children, mimicking our parents and the families around us. I don't think getting married is the pathway to adulthood, but it is one of many rituals of growing up. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa is on his way to the Army, with a new boss: "Uncle Sam." He's facing his own realities of growing up. He's in the army, a fate he had never imagined for himself. He's in the US with an engineering degree, and most happily and surprisingly of all, he is married. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa is still marveling at this "mysterious oath" that makes him joyfully bound to Grandmother. Soon he will make another oath that will bind him to his new country, the USA. </span></div><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-49250102029203244152021-09-06T12:00:00.001-04:002021-09-06T12:00:00.219-04:00September 16-17, 1944: The Wedding<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4fBeKRdlORN_3baydexq-YM-KCVIrATr9jCQGu6GOMrmRBTXN0zAgQAUyIQhJLmuawHsM9lsc_BccZguhtVgu-mvnAUnubYYAKfY7QGGiJ8rT73LlbC8puL8u5gRJfcIsgVHZglLcrL4/s1136/September+16%252C+1944+-+Marriage+Certificate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1136" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4fBeKRdlORN_3baydexq-YM-KCVIrATr9jCQGu6GOMrmRBTXN0zAgQAUyIQhJLmuawHsM9lsc_BccZguhtVgu-mvnAUnubYYAKfY7QGGiJ8rT73LlbC8puL8u5gRJfcIsgVHZglLcrL4/w432-h640/September+16%252C+1944+-+Marriage+Certificate.jpg" width="432" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Marriage Certificate for Grandmother and Opa, September 16, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">Certificate of Marriage</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">This Certifies That</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">Thomas Walter Doeppner</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">and </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">Marjorie Ann Sloan</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">were</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">United in Marriage</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">at Manhattan, Kansas</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">according to the Ordinance of God </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">and the laws of the State of Kansas</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">on the 16th day of September 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">Witnesses</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">Phylis J. Sloan </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">Gayle Buckholz</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;">B.A. Rogers Minister</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCF5phtAUlJdwe8hDPPEQkI0vI3Puu1dBMinXpIzng6REXfAK2MhLMN8bv_pRzj-wpBw1cCvowMyzurqiXp9aJJvdy4_oErSY7e9vhH8kS17MOjWAf82M_DkEXVeZWGS3UvKhOzBYrf9E/s2320/September+17+-+Mercury+Chronicle+Announcement+for+Marjorie+and+Tom%2527s+Marriage+Announcement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCF5phtAUlJdwe8hDPPEQkI0vI3Puu1dBMinXpIzng6REXfAK2MhLMN8bv_pRzj-wpBw1cCvowMyzurqiXp9aJJvdy4_oErSY7e9vhH8kS17MOjWAf82M_DkEXVeZWGS3UvKhOzBYrf9E/s16000/September+17+-+Mercury+Chronicle+Announcement+for+Marjorie+and+Tom%2527s+Marriage+Announcement.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Wedding Announcement in Mercury Chronicle Newspaper, September 17, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">K.S.C. Graduates Married in Temple</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">At 4 o'clock Saturday afternoon, September 16 in the Methodist Memorial Temple, Mss Marjorie Ann Sloan, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. W.J. Sloan of Selden, and Thomas Walter Doeppner, son of Mr. and Mrs. August Doeppner of Amsterdam, Holland, exchanged vows of marriage. The Rev. B.A. Rogers read the double ring service which was preceded by Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" played by Miss Elna Hanson. While candles at the altar were lighted by the bride's niece, Miss Betty Sloan of Topeka in a pink dress, Miss Hanson payed "To the Evening Star" from Tannhauser. Mrs. Irene Wagar, soloist sang "Ah Sweet Mystery of Life" and "Because." Miss Hanson during the ceremony played Schubert's Serenade and the traditional wedding marches.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">The attractive bride wore a street length dress of marine blue wool jersey, featuring a side draped skirt. Her accessories were brown. She wore a necklace of pearls and her corsage was of gardenias and pink roses.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">As maid of honor, another niece of the bride, Miss Phyllis Sloan, wore a yellow dress.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">The altar was banked with palms and a large basket with a fall bouquet of varicolored aster occupied each side. A Kappa Phi mystic candle burned on the mantle.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Following the ceremony Mr and Mrs. Doeppner received the guests in the Temple parlor where they cut the two tier wedding cake on which were a miniature bride and groom. Mrs. Nora Meister, Miss Eilleen Roberts and Miss Doris Paustian served cake and punch.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Following a brief honeymoon, Mr. Doeppner will report Wednesday to Fort Leavenworth for induction into the armed services. Both the bride and groom received their degrees from Kansas State last spring. The bride who has a degree in home economics and child welfare has a graduate assistantship in Child welfare at Kansas University. She will return to her work there. Mr. and Mrs. W.G. Shelly and Hubert of McPherson were out of town guests at the wedding.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">-Manhattan Mercury- Chronicle </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Sunday, September 17, 1944.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">They got married!!!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">This wedding was anything but typical. If you look at the guest list (we have a copy) and the mention of the out of town guests in the article, who is missing? Grandmother's parents. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">My Grandmother was private and keen on not stirring up drama, but she told us that her parents were not at the wedding because they did not approve of Opa. She would always follow that up with "but they sure loved him later!" I got the impression that it didn't take him long to win them over but we'll see if that shows up in the letters.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Grandmother's folks didn't show up to their daughter's wedding That's pretty severe! I fact, only two of Grandmothers relatives showed up from what we can tell: the two nieces mentioned in the article. That probably took a lot of courage from Grandmother to go through with it.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">It was a quick wedding, and not traditional in dress either. Grandmother wore a blue skirt suit with pearls. And a corsage with gardenias and roses. No white dress or veil. We have a picture... (look how cute and young they are!)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzfDKnCU1vgztAfX4ylcHyed8iABmOH8DinFJMOsSePMNpHcqx7gG8MUslmawkG5VCdYCenXbZMmhNJbJJ1v37qFONJeBC8n-ek2oDLUBv-Eby-4Kp0zqV0B6eqhwbhCEFKrMirxwwc8/s992/Grandmother+and+Opa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="992" data-original-width="736" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzfDKnCU1vgztAfX4ylcHyed8iABmOH8DinFJMOsSePMNpHcqx7gG8MUslmawkG5VCdYCenXbZMmhNJbJJ1v37qFONJeBC8n-ek2oDLUBv-Eby-4Kp0zqV0B6eqhwbhCEFKrMirxwwc8/w474-h640/Grandmother+and+Opa.jpg" width="474" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Grandmother and Opa Wedding Picture, September 16th, 1944.</div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;">Some close friends were there, and some missing (even Winton couldn't come). The reception was simple, and the honeymoon in Kansas City was simple and short, but I have a feeling that Grandmother and Opa were pretty happy. They were married. Opa had a future. Grandmother could continue to do her work in the college. Everything was working out!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">It was a good day. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I wonder how many people bet against them. Losing bets, all of them.</span></div><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-44763813070370309262021-09-03T12:00:00.020-04:002021-09-03T12:00:00.203-04:00September 13, 1944: Opa Joins the Army!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1TmBhW-NlbODTVPS00jnKNMztyr6N_LbxXoj0-yy0mXlPnXrUUyt2NSgC_hoBZVygZX2WYIuBjst9wljTYVtUSYYpRXnGWXNi2AfZQbtcJNJcS2IJc4PWxwUEJpwvvkKX3xBt4erjIao/s2048/September+13%252C+1944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1332" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1TmBhW-NlbODTVPS00jnKNMztyr6N_LbxXoj0-yy0mXlPnXrUUyt2NSgC_hoBZVygZX2WYIuBjst9wljTYVtUSYYpRXnGWXNi2AfZQbtcJNJcS2IJc4PWxwUEJpwvvkKX3xBt4erjIao/w416-h640/September+13%252C+1944.jpg" width="416" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Ueb-wuoG_VcCGRucogjBsgINmeJ9SaQcrB-IrpOXLUcajTIIFOY5Gtc1mmxAPsMj4v9T9fDo8KQ9Kaq1IxJ5_3LlFYZpAnlAVo3J59qz7UZTinIFA8CbIfI4xKjy4HwJVTJu1G0Yi00/s2048/September+13%252C+1944+p+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1335" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Ueb-wuoG_VcCGRucogjBsgINmeJ9SaQcrB-IrpOXLUcajTIIFOY5Gtc1mmxAPsMj4v9T9fDo8KQ9Kaq1IxJ5_3LlFYZpAnlAVo3J59qz7UZTinIFA8CbIfI4xKjy4HwJVTJu1G0Yi00/w418-h640/September+13%252C+1944+p+2.jpg" width="418" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwA2t9TE7VEkP2VUTFUZcVjSPTtplCCSvYJ59p3PpvNSPi2Qw4Fv5R3T_qf5uj5fq5AB0OF3hZnS2Iv2CX50Em5uHc6SlQ7JKZTfq8MEnZg64_DIzZsz8KShgSFjWsihoILEZ56NR5yM/s2048/September+13%252C+1944+p+3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1321" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwA2t9TE7VEkP2VUTFUZcVjSPTtplCCSvYJ59p3PpvNSPi2Qw4Fv5R3T_qf5uj5fq5AB0OF3hZnS2Iv2CX50Em5uHc6SlQ7JKZTfq8MEnZg64_DIzZsz8KShgSFjWsihoILEZ56NR5yM/w412-h640/September+13%252C+1944+p+3.jpg" width="412" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, September 13, 1944.</div><div><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Kansas City</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">September 13, 1944</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Honey-Bunny,</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">I really ought to beat the life out of you. Here I am telling you, broken-hearted, that I have to leave home(?), wife(?), and child(?) in order to go on the war path, to meet the foe and to die a hero's death on the honor field of battle, and you even laugh and be happy about it. So you want to get rid of me, heh?</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">No kidding, when I got that letter today, I just about shouted for joy. I told the clerk with a gleam in my eye that I am going to the army and he couldn't understand why I'm so happy about it. Next Wednesday, I am to go to McPherson for my physical; they will probably send me to Leavenworth the same day.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Oh yes; today an officer of the Immigration and Naturalization Service visited and told me that, since I have not filed an application for the extension of my student visa, I am subject to deportation as soon as that would be possible, i.e. after the war with Germany. I explained the situation to him, and calmed him down; he really was more concerned and excited about the deal than I was. Anyhow, I had to file application for my student permit, even though I am no longer a student. That red tape of Washington democrats is enough to furnish harnesses and leashes for an entire army of skunkies. Naturally, I was a little worried about the deal, for I feared the possibility that the several odds against me might catch up with one another, accumulate, and then really start something. On returning home, however I found the letter from my draft board and decided that, unless they do something before September 20, the entire combination of Immigration Service, F.B.I., Alien Registration Division, Department of State and Justice department can all bite me in the rear. It must be a wonderful feeling.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">I wrote a long letter to the Immigration Service, explaining in detail (for the third consecutive time) why I had not filed an application for extension of my stay, send in the application which I now filled out after all, and, at the end of the letter, told them I am going to be in the army. I was in the best mood I have been in for quite a while, and wrote a letter in the real typical Washington style, with lots of "above mentioned" and "of said act" and similar stuff. They ought to recognize their brain child. (By the way, I suggest you either hide or destroy this letter; on reading it, someone might say my attitude is none to his liking, and I am not at all cooperative.)</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Last night, I went to that lecture I wrote you about. Mr. J.F. Lincoln was a pretty good speaker, even though he did think so himself and acted as though he was Mr. Abraham Lincoln, but what he said was a little amateurish and dillettant. According to him, all the government does in the industrial world is to get in the way. Specific examples which may have been true for his particular industry and for the present particular administration, he generalized into the assumption that government should have no control whatsoever over business and industry. Not a word did he mention about the danger of trusts, about imperfect competition, about monopolies, etc. which would exist had it not been for government control; about the miserable position in which the worker would be. Since his audience was mainly Republican, however, he harvested a considerable degree of applause. He did make some good statements though; namely, that he stands for the abolition of any kind of protective tariff. So I guess he is a pretty good egg after all.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Well, we can't set a date tonight, but when I call you tomorrow, I'll probably have one in mind, I hope. Remember, it isn't me who will set that date; it's our common uncle.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">What would you think of me having Skunkie as my best man? I really may have to call on Ray, though. Don't say anything to him yet, for I might get Herb.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Here's hoping that I'll have some time before getting in khaki. Better get those kids of yours used to the idea that they'll have to call you Mrs. Doeppner. Also, think of some not-too-distant place for a possibly very brief honeymoon. I don't think our financial resources permit anything like Colorado anyhow. Kansas City itself won't be too bad, would it? Swope Park is here to furnish the mountains, the Missouri to furnish the sea, 12th Street to furnish Society, and you and I to furnish the happiness. What else can we ask for?</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Smootches,</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Tom.</span></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDVj0rciGjEyuyM9E6dfi3bgSlWP5IaxfHacSZJl-rxFEtk4wLYYCekhQ59RE4hCA7OJnCW4Eqak77xmOkLI06uE5r4UpIYfeIuzqkdtFAEu7_AChoEseyLb4fQw47etFE28SLPUwkH6o/s761/September+13%252C+1944-1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="761" data-original-width="587" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDVj0rciGjEyuyM9E6dfi3bgSlWP5IaxfHacSZJl-rxFEtk4wLYYCekhQ59RE4hCA7OJnCW4Eqak77xmOkLI06uE5r4UpIYfeIuzqkdtFAEu7_AChoEseyLb4fQw47etFE28SLPUwkH6o/w494-h640/September+13%252C+1944-1.jpeg" width="494" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to IRS rep Mr. Avery, September 13, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Kansas City, Mo.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">September 13, 1944</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Mr. T. Avery</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Acting Chief, Status Section</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">U.S. Immigration and</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Naturalization Service</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">70 Columbus Ave.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">New York 23, N.Y.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Dear Mr. Avery: </span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Today, an officer of your Service in Kansas City visited me and informed that I have been delinquent in filling out the enclosed form. As I mentioned in my letter to you of August 20, 1944, the reason for my failure has been that I am no longer a student and, therefore, could not claim to be continued under the student status.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">According to the suggestion of the above mentioned officer, I am filling out the application for extension of my student visa anyhow. As you will notice, I referred in this application to this letter a number of times. The following will explain these references:</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">1.) I was admitted as a non-immigrant under section 3(2) of the Immigration Act of 1924, on November 15, 1939. On May 28, 1942, my status was changed to that of a student under section 4(e) of the said Act, effective to October 1, 1942. On October 23, 1942, I received an extension to June 30, 1944. Prior to that time, I have corresponded with your office, and later with the State Department and the American Consul at Winnipeg, Canada, concerning preexamination procedure.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">2.) If an extension of my stay can be granted under my status of 4(e) in spite of the fact that I am no longer a student, this extension should cover the time from now till my preexamination case has been acted upon. </span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Will the following information have any bearing on my status? I have volunteered for immediate induction into the land or naval forces of the United States with my local draft board, and am to report for the preinduction physical examination on September 20, 1944.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Very truly yours,</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: courier;">Thomas W. Doeppner</span></span></div><div><br /><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa joins the Army! He finally found the solution to most of his problems, and since he tried pretty much all of the other ones, this was his Hail Mary toss. He signed up for the draft in order to solidify a path to citizenship that wasn't fraught with detours and red tape and false accusations. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">In his autobiography, they way he remembered (or told it) was this: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><i>I really wanted to get into the Army "to fight the Nazis." As an "enemy alien," however, I was not eligible to enlist. Someone suggested I could volunteer for the draft (probably thinking, if you are stupid enough). Also, Marjorie and I were engaged to be married.</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><i>I called the draft board, and, sure enough, I </i>was<i> allowed to volunteer, which I did right then. The military must have been desperate, because they ordered me to active duty at Fort Leavenworth, KS, within 10 days. (pg 30)</i></span></div></blockquote><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">So... that's not exactly how it went, now is it? But I will give Opa the benefit of the doubt. First, he wrote his autobiography in 1996, about fifty years later. Second, he had just been diagnosed with dementia and had Grandmother helping him remember details. Third, I can understand why Grandmother and Opa both would be tempted to leave these peeping tom details out, even if they both remembered (which I think they did).</span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">The Army has its own adventure in store for Opa, but at least he can be sure that he has a future in the US, he has a paycheck, and he and Grandmother can now get married (now that they know what the next 6 months of life look like). </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">The draft board notice came just in time as Opa was on the edge of the bureaucratic cliff with the INS. I love how Opa gleefully wrote them for the third time with all his Washington language, and then stuck the landing with "oh by the way- I joined the army suckers!" </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">At the time joining military service provided an expedited process to citizenship (not forced, but accessible). Opa signed up for that. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">So now it's time to plan a wedding. Grandmother and Opa had agreed that they would get married if Opa were called up, so in a way Grandmother was like a war bride, but it's a little different in this context. I don't think either of them expected Opa would see combat, as the war appeared to be winding down at least in terms of sending mass transports of troops overseas. Already the rumors of a slow down in draft had been going around. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa finds out on September 13 that he is to join the Army and report for his physical on September 20. That's one week away! </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I alluded earlier when Opa had his peeping Tom incident that it would change the trajectory of his entire life. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Now it's played out: he got falsely accused of a crime, lost his reputation and job as result, found a new job but held a tenuous position as a visitor in the US, signed up for the draft as a last ditch effort to secure citizenship and give a solid foundation for his relationship with Grandmother. Grandmother had been pushing off the wedding for some time, though their relationship seemed to improve and become more solid after Opa gave her an out and she stuck around. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Now he's been drafted and within the week, my Grandparents will be married. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">All because of that one random lady and the landlord who didn't like the looks of Opa.</span></div>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-36342353325927448442021-09-01T12:00:00.001-04:002021-09-01T12:00:00.184-04:00September 12, 1944: Who Knows Where I'll be next Spring?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7altfmGwDg5Y_r2nb0IlyjirEeVvDqYq27TMgKxnY_9y_hU6_RUaCNmVOq5lovm1BU3U26u3AJcdYjKfzhHcgKHSW7a-VOr46VnfqqLNpGWpxQ7D3yc0kERZXL7JdcwNUjmckH5eCAQ/s2048/September+12%252C+1944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1344" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-7altfmGwDg5Y_r2nb0IlyjirEeVvDqYq27TMgKxnY_9y_hU6_RUaCNmVOq5lovm1BU3U26u3AJcdYjKfzhHcgKHSW7a-VOr46VnfqqLNpGWpxQ7D3yc0kERZXL7JdcwNUjmckH5eCAQ/w420-h640/September+12%252C+1944.jpg" width="420" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTXuAppJBjT1JQ_1RlfHEioZQL46b7wmh0JNiE-8Ncby70We0bf_P_omDWEccwfn8QgAv5iykLrHOa9cvvADfvakpElmzJNCM1lIhN0BXSwCs9mENoCJx1wPKCM9XnP8ZDbFwpPR-XqM/s2048/September+12%252C+1944-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1304" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTXuAppJBjT1JQ_1RlfHEioZQL46b7wmh0JNiE-8Ncby70We0bf_P_omDWEccwfn8QgAv5iykLrHOa9cvvADfvakpElmzJNCM1lIhN0BXSwCs9mENoCJx1wPKCM9XnP8ZDbFwpPR-XqM/w408-h640/September+12%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="408" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, September 12, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Kansas City</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">September 12, 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Darling,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">There was no letter from you today, but I didn't expect one. It has been raining; everything looks gray and foggy.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">We are still working on the same job; electric rate analysis. Bruce, the fellow who heads this work, seems to be a swell guy. We just found out that we had a common passion: sailing. He has his own boat, but unfortunately it is too late in the season to use it. Who knows where I'll be next spring?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tonight, I'll go to a meeting of the American Institute of Electrical Engineers; a certain Mr. Lincoln from Cleveland, Ohio, is to speak on "Feudalism versus Private Enterprise;" sounds as though it may be interesting. Wished you could hear it with me.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">How about your coming this weekend? Shall I ask the clerk here to reserve a room for you? It will be cold outside, and no place to go. Suit yourself, though; if you think it better to come only Sunday, we'll manage somehow.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Did I tell you that I bought some cards? I'm really going to beat you in Romme and poker this weekend! Please bring Eilleen's letter along, also my chauffeur's license. There is a U.P. train leaving Saturday afternoon at 4:43, arriving here at 6:00p.m., just in time for supper if the train isn't late. It would be fine if you could come on it.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I haven't hear a word yet from my draft board, and the papers say that they are going to cut down on the draft quite a bit now. Whatever that may mean.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I am reading an interesting book: "The Voyage," by Heinrich Herm, a German author. I'll let you read it after get through; it's a nice psychological study of people, panic, and fear on board of a ship which is in danger far out in the ocean. You'll like it.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">It's time for my meeting. I'm waiting for your letter tomorrow!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I forget that Opa enjoyed sailing as a kid on the river in Berlin. I believe at one point his Dad owned a sail boat. I think it's weird that all the boats are already winterized and Opa talked about it being cold in the middle of September. I've been to Kansas, I don't think it's that cold yet?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa's meeting sounds interesting and a bit deep for an Engineering gathering. The group name sounded familiar so I did some research, and sure enough, this group merged with another in 1963 to make the IEEE (Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers). Opa was a long-time member of the IEEE, in fact he was the editor-in-chief of the newsletter, the SCANNER for many years.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I can't tell if Opa assumed he would be drafted or hoped for it. He is waiting to hear from them and mentions that the papers are saying that less people are being drafted. Does that mean that he doesn't think he'll be drafted? Or is he thinking it's inevitable, but just a matter of how long before they get to him? I'm not sure, I think this is the main reason for his general posture of "who knows where I'll be?" </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">When Opa described the book to Grandmother, I seriously wondered if he was being sarcastic. I really don't know. Maybe Grandmother liked psychological thrillers? If so- I am intrigued. </span></div> <p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-77410626884683357162021-08-30T12:00:00.001-04:002021-08-30T12:00:00.240-04:00September 11, 1944: As Soundly as Never<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhooxFBQcmvkbh9Jba_fsfpgnx2cpxH32WuiHwhm431UekPUei9E1r2trJJFpFG6Rx6vP8y2qduVOcR_XQMMfko_J507ekgn8jBon1Mvp7yupw2cChbcqi9UULDo-wuOaLfiSmB0CsLvVs/s2048/September+11%252C+1944.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1356" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhooxFBQcmvkbh9Jba_fsfpgnx2cpxH32WuiHwhm431UekPUei9E1r2trJJFpFG6Rx6vP8y2qduVOcR_XQMMfko_J507ekgn8jBon1Mvp7yupw2cChbcqi9UULDo-wuOaLfiSmB0CsLvVs/w424-h640/September+11%252C+1944.jpg" width="424" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLOTGTq62DHtW0rs-zZBlako3qCjRK56Lk2eD2tHv98tbLPW1EsuD5aSkPeBl-DvBW_phfFjoxAU1u3hwuNxQKiXrrUHXXBGz_OAQF8_raBumhV-rDfvfh_lym2TQp7DPGU0RFZOStqKo/s2048/September+11%252C+1944-1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1298" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLOTGTq62DHtW0rs-zZBlako3qCjRK56Lk2eD2tHv98tbLPW1EsuD5aSkPeBl-DvBW_phfFjoxAU1u3hwuNxQKiXrrUHXXBGz_OAQF8_raBumhV-rDfvfh_lym2TQp7DPGU0RFZOStqKo/w406-h640/September+11%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="406" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother, September 11, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Kansas City</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">September 11, 1944.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Darling,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">For some reason, I am rather sleepy today. I give you three guesses why.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Winton and I had a perfect weekend. He got here at eleven Saturday night, we met at the Piccadilly Room. There was only one hour left till closing time of the bars, so we couldn't even get drunk; even if we had wanted to. We went to Town Royale for a while, then had coffee (!) and cake at the Muehlebach, and then went home. We talked till three o'clock in the morning but then, in spite of the presence of an army of mosquitoes, went to sleep. You know what time we had breakfast. After a vain attempt at boating, (boats are shelved till next May) we strolled through the zoo, dined at the Plaza. Next Saturday or Sunday I'm going to take you there; it is a swell section of the city with beautiful apartment houses. In the afternoon, instead of going to bookstore as intended, rain kept us inside, so I showed Winton how to play poker. He is a good student, as you know. At night we ate at the Continental Coffee Shop, pretty good but just as expensive as ever. It was worth it, though. At about 10, Winton left again. I went right back home and slept as soundly as never.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I hope the doctor got you fixed up now. Isn't that going to cost you a fortune? Operation and everything?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">It was nice that Marjorie was there that day. I know now why you wanted her to go to the Waves so badly: it was just so you could have her clothes. If that doesn't beat anything; and here I thought you were such a patriotic girl. Shame on you!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I imagine Dorothea and Miss Miller were very much pleased when Skunkie showed up again. I'll get him that harness, rope, etc. as soon as you send me his size. As far as I know, he can stay in any K.C. apartment, if we get one in the first place. It may be a little difficult to find one, but that's the least of our worries. If we know we'll have time and money to use one it will be fun to even spend weeks looking for it. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Well, I guess I'll go to the library for a while, and then to bed. It feels good to be sleepy again. I'm counting the days till weekend. When are you coming; Saturday or Sunday?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Your would-be hubbie,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa must have struggled with some bouts of insomnia due to all the stress he had. He got to have a long weekend with a good friend, filled with staying up almost all night talking. But finally he was sleepy.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I love this intimate insight into a male friendship. Often in movies and other fictional (or even real) depictions of friendship between men, you don't see this kind of "stay up til 3am talking" storyline. It's "got drunk and passed out playing poker." We should know that the talking is happening, but I swear we only think it's possible if they are drunk or playing a game. Sounds like Opa and Winton were neither. (Not that there's anything inherently wrong with a game and drinks.) I wish there were more "bro-scenes" like this. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I'm wondering why Opa has an army of mosquitos inside his home. Maybe that's why he's had trouble sleeping. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa's mention about Grandmother's operation costing a fortune, I about spat out "you think that THEN!" I have good health insurance and I just had two MRIs (at basically the same time) and I now am on a payment plan to pay for them. AFTER insurance I owed around $1200. It's frustrating. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">It sounds like everything worked out OK with Grandmother's surgery, especially since she should be well enough to travel to see Opa the next weekend. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa better catch up on his sleep while he can sleep "as soundly as never." </span></div><br /><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8953231772845306556.post-22873012785860819112021-08-27T12:00:00.001-04:002021-08-27T12:00:00.182-04:00September 10, 1944: Rummy Dummy!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6U2q2Kp7GUQZIc1HsoK4Pa5tn9HM4Dgnijhvw1iAMecZ7laIepRsX0AOt3bvqSuRflGkLkCewociqgQzK_AWm0Q0Y0S_lC_U8y1f94jP6Auopv0zqwDVYMopqnRsG6-LCiVo_2Aj1rHM/s2048/September+10%252C+1944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1324" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6U2q2Kp7GUQZIc1HsoK4Pa5tn9HM4Dgnijhvw1iAMecZ7laIepRsX0AOt3bvqSuRflGkLkCewociqgQzK_AWm0Q0Y0S_lC_U8y1f94jP6Auopv0zqwDVYMopqnRsG6-LCiVo_2Aj1rHM/w414-h640/September+10%252C+1944.jpg" width="414" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQZOtGLHasMetArE1_NAKsrGd3DrqoAI4YhHCi7_WBbCSvfcFxUVWt35oG931EoW4EbvULGD0-guToOOIrT_uHsqkhHDACZtoXkkIQGfGSqVaVrrenKGuLLVOt4cdDgOL3is4duD28VMM/s2048/September+10%252C+1944-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1304" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQZOtGLHasMetArE1_NAKsrGd3DrqoAI4YhHCi7_WBbCSvfcFxUVWt35oG931EoW4EbvULGD0-guToOOIrT_uHsqkhHDACZtoXkkIQGfGSqVaVrrenKGuLLVOt4cdDgOL3is4duD28VMM/w408-h640/September+10%252C+1944-1.jpg" width="408" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Letter from Opa to Grandmother (and from Winton), September 10, 1944.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Transcription:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Kansas City</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">September 10 1944</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dearest,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">This has been a nice day with Winton and your phone call this morning added a great deal to it. I'll write to you more in detail tomorrow when I'll be more at leisure. I am glad that your operation turned out all right, for I had been worrying about it.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Your and Eilleen's letters came today; as you see, there is Sunday delivery for me. I was so glad to get them. Eilleen's letter is enclosed, for I thought you would enjoy reading it. You should have opened it in the first place. Remember you may open <u>all</u> of my letters.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">It is raining now, and I wished you and I were sitting by the fire, reading Faust or playing romme (or poker?). I guess we'll just have to get married soon, no matter what's going to happen.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">I'll be looking forward to next weekend, there'll be so many things to talk about and think about.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Yesterday, I went to a book sale and bought two books: a novel for 25 cents, and an engineer's handbook, brand new, for 3.75 (original price 5 bucks.) I needed the handbook anyway, so I decided to take advantage of the sale.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Winton and I went out to Swope Park in order to get a boat, but the boat house is closed for the winter, so, after getting acquainted with the monkeys in the zoo, we took a stroll over the Plaza, ate there and went back home. Plans for tonight aren't definite yet, but we'll find some enjoyable way to spend it, I am sure.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">What have you been doing today? I hope you got some of your well-deserved rest. Goodbye till tomorrow, when I'll write again.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Love,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Dear Margie,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Tom and I have spent a quiet but very pleasant day together so far. It was a disappointment, however, that you could not be here to share our enjoyment. The army makes seeking pleasure very difficult and planning for it in advance almost impossible. There will be a time, I hope, when that is no longer true. Tom said that you had read and liked my poem for which I am very glad. We shall spend time in the book store, eat dinner together, then very soon I shall have to leave. Sunday I hope we can all be in Kansas City together. In the meantime do take good care of Skunky.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;">Winton</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">Opa must feel relieved in many ways. Grandmother's operation went well, he got to hear from her, and he's enjoying the company of a great friend. I bet that went a long way in light of his tenuous situation, while he watches for what immigration will do. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I love how nerdy he is, and my Grandmother. I didn't fall far from that tree. Romme is "Rummy" the card game that I played a lot growing up, with both sets of grandparents actually. Opa and Grandmother played the Gin Rummy version more. My maternal grandmother and I had a long-running rummy game, and I can still hear her voice in my head when I accidentally discarded a card that could be played: "Rummy Dummy!" Ha. You have to believe me when I say that she didn't hurt my feelings when she said that, it was like a rule that you had to say it. I delighted calling "rummy dummy" on her. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">I appreciate that Opa gives Grandmother open season on any letters that come in for him. She is managing his mail while he is in transition. I think they purposely did not leave a forwarding address beyond Grandmother to make it just a little more difficult for the FBI/IRS/or whoever might not like Opa, to find him. So Opa is saying to Grandmother that she can open any letter he gets before forwarding it to him. That's total trust! Also, knowing my Grandmother, she did not open a single letter. I feel like she would consider it rude even with permission.</span></div><p></p>Sarah Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10680153203009020803noreply@blogger.com0