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19 October 1944 Dear Howard: Guess you have wondered what happened to me. I received your letter of the 9th of August and was tickled to hear, but since then we have moved so often and I have been so busy, as you might gather by the headlines, that I have only managed to write Dorothy about once a week. Had you been here and I had seen you irregularly you would have been saying, with a lot of us, "Glad to see you -- alive!" And there would be some real reason for the remark, in some cases. Oh I am not speaking for appreciation or compensation, or any of that. Hell, there is no compensation for this -- none whatever. We may dream of home, of the bank account, of the happy days later, but all of us, soberly, know that without even the next hour secure, it is only a pipe dream. We learn to minimize the constant worry about tomorrows, and tomorrows, by an absurd concentration on humor, light-heartedness. We act like mad men over the cartoons of Mauldin, or the Sad Sack, or Bob Hope, but no one is deceived. We would all of us give everything we own for an assurance that we would some day have the return trip home. And I don't mean, in this heavy-heartedness, that we envy the fellow in the rear area -- not at all. From where I am, we feel those boys ought to have a sterner sense of duty than they have, or can possibly acquire, but it doesn't follow that we feel we have anything priceless, valuable, in the integrity, the brotherhood, we have acquired here. I for one, remember the shotgun wedding of the Army, the Infantry, and me, and I only believe that the youngsters that come after me must have a better sense of citizenship, of duty, than I grew up with. I mean they can't feel someone else may be prepared to die for them, to fight for them. Well, after all that guess I better get off the soapbox. Here I am in a warm room, with a soft chair, even a typewriter. What have I to kick about? This is the way to fight a war, I say. 'Course it is only walking distance (infantry mile) to 'rest period' or 'rest area.' They still whistle overhead and drop suddenly. I like it here though, and the wood fire we have in our fireplace make the mud, the rain, the cold, the damp foxholes, and the black, black, nights and woods, seem a long way off. This is a Jerry typewriter, Howard, and the keys are a bit mixed up, but like their guns and bazookas I can use it and still get a job done. We picked it up on the scene of the rout at Chambois. Did you ever hear of that place? Believe me, I will never forget it. You may have heard of it as the Argentan-Falaise Gap. Well, we know it as Chambois. We closed that gap, made mince meat of a goodly number of the supermen. What I mean is mincemeat! Many were burnt alive in their half-tracks and tanks -- by our artillery and TD's and incendiary shells. For forty-eight hours we threw all we had at them and they came back again and again, in columns, and droves, half-tracks, tanks, 205MM guns!! While I was writing this just now the 1st Sgt showed me a clipping from the Bridgeport Conn. Telegram giving the remarks of Lt Col Durfee, a West Pointer and an observer at Chambois. He calls it the greatest ambush in France. I knew someday the story must get into print. I have written what I saw from a company's position, and it has taken fourteen pages to describe only two days. I will send it on to you when I have another copy (the clerk is trying to mimeograph it). We met the Poles (they are fighting fools) in the streets of the town, and the gutters were actually running in blood -- German, SS trooper blood! There is a lot I could write you, but I might as well wait till I see you. I haven't been to Paris, nor Rheims, nor anywhere you would call interesting. There has been no passes, no leaves. Just plain War, nothing fancy, nothing delightful. Cordially yours, Hayes (Donated by Tom Burnham, Junction City, KS)
Dear Father: There is an old saying which goes something like this: "Cowards die many deaths, but a brave man dies but one." If this saying be true, then I am not only a coward myself, but I am fighting this war with a lot of other cowards. A story in the 8th Air Force tells about a group commander who read an over-zealous advertisement in a magazine which asked the question: "Who’s afraid of the new Focke-Wulf?" This group commander cut out the advertisement, signed his name to it, and pinned it on the bulletin board. After all of the pilots in the group had confessed their fear by signing, the page was mailed back to the US advertiser. We are all afraid and only liars or fools fail to admit it. John
May, 1943: Dear Mom, I wish there was something I could say or do to make the next few days less unhappy and lonely for you. I have had the rare pleasure -- and joy -- of living my life almost completely as I have wanted to. And it has been -- and is -- a vivid, amazing, wonderful world -- so full of winter and spring, warm rain and cold snow, adventures and contentments, good things and bad, that the experiences already crowded into my days have answered every wish and need of mine for fullness and plenty. I do not want to live forever. The past has been splendid enough in the intricacies of living which I have so loved. And yet -- to live on in the hearts of those I love, and who have given me so unsparingly of their love through the years, is a hereafter that makes me very happy and alive. The ideas, the emotions, the large and little things that were the essence of me, are still bright and potent: the music of a piano playing, rainy nights in spring, laughter and its attendant absurdities, fine books and warm hearts, surround you and are always near you. And I am there all the time, part of them and part of the world we both love. How often you will have me near you when wood-smoke drifts across the wind, or the first tulips arrive or the sky darkens in a summer storm. Think of me today, and in the days to come, as I am thinking of you this minute; not gone or alone or dead, but part of the earth beneath you, part of the air around you, part of the heart that must not be lonely. It seems curious that all the thoughts I have had, all the emotions I have felt, all the songs I have heard, the color and zest of living I have known, will not leave a trace of themselves. Yet my life has been an intensely personal one that is part of my friends and the people I love. Being forgotten isn't very important if the ideals and thoughts that one was made of go on and keep alive. Oh, my dearest, I hug you and I hold you near. Be happy, as I am! I am so close to you, and always will be. We must keep the garden blooming and the driveway neat. And in the spring, some new bulbs and a few fragrant shrubs. And I am hoping this letter will be for you as a seed catalog in January. Love, Caleb.
May 23, 1945. My dearest sweetheart: Received your letter of May 13th. It was nice and long - just what I needed. I agree with you about the diaphragm - but may I be so bold as to ask where you learned so much about the article? After all, Charlie! Anyway, it's a great idea - and although I do want several children - not just two, if you please - I would like to plan for the next ones. So with a diaphragm it would be better, of course. Do you mean that you want me to get a diaphragm now? You once said to wait until you knew for sure when you were coming home - so let me know, I mean, answer this pronto! No, I wouldn't mind getting pregnant on my second honeymoon, but frankly, I'd rather not. The only disadvantage of a diaphragm - if I am capable of explaining what I mean - anyhow, well, most sensible people - from what I hear - have only one sexual intercourse in one evening. But some others - me, for example, when I really get excited, and I'm sure I will when I see you again, for it gives me goose-pimples to even think about you coming home!!! Anyway, as I started to say, well, in the case of more than one SI in an evening, it isn't satisfactory on account of - well, guess you know what I mean. Therefore, one has to be good! Therefore, you, my friend, will have to control your feelings in order to make it good. See? So it's all up to you, as usual. Write as often as possible and remember I love you. Always, Barbie
1942. Dear Dad: What is going on there? Yesterday my July 13 issue of Time arrived. Today, as I read it, it makes me sick and bitter, and fills my mind with unanswerable questions. The drive for scrap rubber is a disappointing failure, the sale of war bonds is 200 million per month below government expectations, aggressive war must wait until after the November elections, steel laborers seek a dollar-a-day increase in raises. What kind of game is this that is being played in those United States? Is that our invincible, our proud country? While all over the world men are being shot to pieces, other men -- the steel, the aluminium, the textile, the rubber workers -- are quibbling about dollars, and Washington is still activated by politicians. Where is the common sense of which we Americans were so proud? Or maybe the true fact underlying this "greatest" war effort is the very simple fact that everyone is out to get whatever he can from this unprecedented opportunity. And all the while the young gallant sailors and Marines and soldiers are dying in the Pacific, and in Ireland the boys wait with the realization that they may be next. And we in the outposts who feel guilty because we are so far from the actual fighting, we sit and rot in stinking, malarial jungles and have time to think -- and my mind becomes corroded with what I read. Personally I think we shall win this war, but only after tens of thousands of people have been needlessly killed. But let me offer this warning: If this generation of soldiers returns home to a collapsed and chaotic economic system due to inflation or any other cause that might easily have been prevented had the people realized the dangers of their shortsightedness, we shall not stand docilely on street corners selling apples; we shall not ashamedly wait in line to receive bread. The American soldier is not a child who can easily be fooled, Dad; he is too well informed. Is it asking too much of civilians to give up a little of their comfort so that someone else might win security for them? The President speaks of more and more sacrifices. Sacrifices -- hell! Is it a sacrifice to defend one's self against impending disaster? What a ludicrous and tragic situation that soldiers must beg, actually beg, for arms to defend people who, by their very actions, don't seem to give a damn. Yes, Dad, tell them that my mind is sick and bitter. Tell them that I want to believe in my country but find it increasingly difficult to believe in its people. But who will listen? Who will want to listen to a solitary soldier crying out for justice? Who will be interested in mere words when big money can be made -- and the boys are dying in the Pacific. Lee
May 23, 1943. I am in the Air Corps. No, they don't teach us to tote and shoot a gun - curse the luck. You know, there are some guys in the Army who resent women being soldiers. Of course, the women of Russia and China are doing it, and a good job they're making of it. Also, I understand some of the English women are learning to handle arms. Our men have been taught and trained to believe such backward notion's about women's rightful place and abilities. The war is breaking down many prejudices and false conceptions, whether we like it or not. Life moves on and we must move with it or be left behind. Louise Janus The Revolutionary War
Dec. 20, 1951. Herbert just phoned from work to Gloria. He was reading a New York paper and Jerry's name is listed! Thank God! Get down on your knees Rosemary and Clarence and thank God! I did and I am not ashamed to tell anybody. That's all I wanted for Christmas, to hear that his name would be on the list. What a wonderful feeling! Thank God again! We still must pray for him. Love to all, Mother.
Korea, Easter, 1952. Dearest Mom, Just think, on the 25th of this month, I'll be a POW one damn year. I never for one moment thought that I'd still be here but someday I'll be home whenever they get ready to settle this affair. From what we see from here, the people hardly know that there is a war going on here. I wonder just what people do think of the war here. It seems that they would pay a lot more mind to such a thing as the so-called police action. It's costing them enough money, not to say anything of all the lives that have been lost here. We see by the papers that it's over 100,000 men killed, wounded and POW. We believe that Korea isn't worth it at all. Oh Well, everything will turn out okay in the long run. Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I still love you the best of all. Jerry. The Revolutionary War
There are lots of things that have been bugging me since I've been over here. I have a lot of unanswered questions. I can't find a satisfactory answer. Who says that it's a certain individual's time to die? What says that this person will die and the man next to him will live? It can't be how they live. I've seen morally good men get killed while the scum of the earth live. I saw a man die because of one piece of metal. It went right through his heart. Not another scratch on him. If it's my time to die, am I going to die no matter where I am? If I charge 1000 NVA soldiers and it's not my time to die, will I live? It just doesn't make any sense to me. Things are really getting me all messed up. I just can't find the right answers. Is it fate? Destiny? If a man can change his destiny, then it really isn't destiny at all. Why can't people be wise when they're young? Why does it have to come with aging or experience? It would save a lot of heartaches and hardships. Not that I think I'm all that wise now. I have some experience, more than most my age. I'll still make mistakes. I'm going to do a lot of things differently when I get home. Sterling. The Revolutionary War
January 13, 1991. I received a letter today from an 8 year old boy from Belchertown, Massachusetts. He hoped there is no war and that I won't die. I hope he is right on both counts. He also said war was bad and he couldn't understand why people want to go to war. I wish the entire world could see through the eyes of this 8 year old. What happens to us all when we grow older? We gain knowledge? Become civilized? Sometimes I wonder what happens to innocence, compassion. I was deeply touched by this little boy who wrote a letter addressed to "Any service member," Operation Desert Shield. It makes me wonder if Dylan was right after all: He means what he says and says what he means. No candy coating words." Robert Roy
Date unknown I can still remember the first time the sirens went off to warn us about an incoming scud attack and to let us know to put our gas masks on. I remember all the girls in my house came out to the living room and huddled together and prayed. After it was all over we all had a sick feeling in our stomach. War was real and we were in the middle of it. Scuds were launched at us at all hours of the day and night. We didn't go anywhere without our gas mask strapped to our sides. After about the sixth night of scud attacks we all started getting mad and each one of us wanted the United States to go after Saddam. When we heard about the barracks that was hit and realized that could have easily been us, I could have killed Saddam and felt no remorse at all. Laurie L. White
January 19th, 1991. Day three, general quarters sounds. Viper 80 miles, closing fast. Missile launch! Missile Launch! Brace for shock. The collision alarm sounds. The men think the alarm is for a poison gas attack. Panic follows. We are still well away from our general quarters stations and the safety of our gas masks. First class petty officers restore orderly conduct. The aircraft was one of our own that had "locked on" for practice. Luckily for him his transponder identified him as friendly. I don't think he will ever really know how close he came to friendly fire from us and our anti air warfare support ships. I pray for our young boys in the desert. I'm sure they pray for me out here in the Persian Gulf. Maybe we should all pray for the future. Robert Roy The Revolutionary War
March 1st, 2000. Today the helicopter came in with a loud thumping noise. When we take the patient in the ER, one of my soldiers tell me, "Did you recognize who that was?" as her eyes fill up with tears. I shake my head, "Yes," in awe that this was really happening. You see, the patient was the Serbian doctor that was in hiding in Gjnilane. My soldiers often went with the Hospital Commander to bring the doctor to the hospital for classes and visits. And I recall often how talk was that these doctors should not be in hiding; thier skills should be used within the community. You see, we choose no enemies. We are like the police or peacekeepers while we are here. We interact both with Serbs and Albanians and it is difficult for us to understand the hatred they have for each other. But yesterday was the anniversary of the massacre of Albanians in Gjnilane and the Doctor was murdered, shot three times by unknown assailants. Our commander talks to us today explaining the uncertainty of the entire situation. He explains the fear and danger Serbs face hidden in Kosovo, unable to disclose thier background, living in fear they may be found out. He also explained the danger for us. Tables have turned and I am certain each ethnic group wants us to pick a side. You see, it is difficult for us to understand when we ourselves are so different in ethnic and religious backgrounds. Americans live with so may different cultures which we have accepted as normal daily life. Slowly we accept the situation that occured, understanding that every action, every word, and every movement is critical in the role we play here. We are walking on pins and needles and we know this. LT. Geraldine Lubekman. The Revolutionary War
13 June, 2002. I am a Technical Sergeant in the Air National Guard. I am presently stationed at a forward location in support of Operation Enduring Freedom. My employer has been very understanding about my being away from work for three months. That makes it easier for me to do my job over here. I was activated for two weeks after September 11th and I was in New York City by September 12th and helped with the clean-up effort. You cannot believe what the devastation was like. I will never forget the sights, or the smell. It was almost like a dream now. Sometimes I wonder if it was real or not. That is why I am so happy to be over here, doing my part in the effort to make sure something like that does not happen again. I am a supervisor at the power plant that supplies the power to the camp we live in. We live in tents, and it is very hot over here. The camp serves as a base for our cargo planes to fly to other locations. So, I may not be on the front line of the war, but I feel I am making a contribution in the effort. Without my power, the tents would not have lights or air conditioners, which would make it impossible to sleep so that the mssion could be carried out. Also, there would be no way to cook food for the troops. I have been in the military for 17 years. I plan on staying until I am 60 years old, when I have to get out. It is an honor for me to serve our country. It makes me feel so good when people smile at me in my uniform, and you can tell that they are happy that people like me are out there, doing our job. If you ever see a service member in uniform, please, go up to them and thank them for the job they are doing. It will make their day. Sincerely, Jeffrey Conant The Revolutionary War
March 6, 2004. Being separated is the hardest part of my job. I want to be there for my son to play with, I want to hold my daughter, and I want to talk with my wife. I am able to overcome the pain first and foremost with a positive attitude. I have so much to be thankful for. My family is able to enjoy the freedom and luxuries that most countries in the world do not have. Every day I am reminded of the greatness of our America government because the country of Iraq has so little. We enjoy running water that is purified. I am in Mosul, Iraq and responsible for a water project to build this same basic necessity for the people in the surrounding villages. Most of the houses do not have running water, and the water they do get comes directly from the river. It isn't purified so they experience a lot of diseases in their lives. The other way I overcome the pain of being separated from my family is the camaraderie with my fellow soldiers. I take great pride in taking care of my soldiers and being there for them. I try to make their lives better by doing my job the best I can. The soldiers need competent leaders who care about them. So although I am sacrificing time with my family, I believe whole heartedly that doing my job the best I can saves my soldier's lives and makes their lives better. Another way I keep motivated while I am here is to remember why I first joined the Army. I came into the Army to say thank you to those men and women who fought and died for our country. I felt the best way to say thank you was to do as they did, to follow in their footsteps. I only ask that you pay attention in school in order to have an education that will continue to win the Peace of world freedom. I remember being in school during Desert Storm, wondering what was going through the minds of our soldiers. How they felt, and what they believed. We are staying safe and praying for the day when we can see our families again. Sincerely, Benjamin Celver The Revolutionary War |
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