Dear Rosetta:
This is the second letter I have started in the last two hours. The first one I decided not to mail since it was written in a very angry mood. You see I was disturbed over your mentioning shopping for birthday presents for X and Y. To me this is the most vulgar purpose for which money which you so badly need for yourself can be spent. Remember, it was a little after Christmas that I left for camp and the aftertaste of the holiday spirit with which they left me is still pungent. Apparently however you cannot see your way clear to avoid playing the ball game according to their rules. I realize, of course, that you have a kind of need for them--on their own terms if necessary but will you understand if I never exchange a civil word with them as long as I live?
The Lt. of whom I have written was picked up on a civil warrant, charged with seduction, jailed, released on $2500 bail and the latest news is that they will be married tomorrow.
The girl and her father feel that the coming child needs a name. They promise that they will make no financial claims or other demands of him and will institute divorce proceedings as soon as practicable. He has intimated that he will not see her after the ceremony.
It is interesting to speculate on what would happen if this marriage were to take hold. Particularly interesting would be the lot of the child of this household since he has stated that he is not the only possible father agent in the case.
On the surface it would appear that a commendable concern is being shown for the legitimacy of an innocent. I like to believe that the highest considerations motivate in this case I cannot help but think that the child is only tangible evidence of a social faux pas that isn't one until publicly known.
I shall see to it that the money you want for the purposes you mention is forthcoming.
Will write again, probably tonight, when I am less irritated. . . .
No Love on the same page as
the unmentionables
Buddy
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
March 25, 1956
Dear Rosetta:
Today is Greek Independence Day, which in itself means nothing. I have no particular fondness for the Greeks or any other national group and consider these celebrations another manifestation of the human being insisting on deluding himself by self-induced hysterias based on false premises of some national excellence or other. Well, March 25 is only 13 days away from April 8 (as it happens the date on which my father died in 2008) on which day I will be hoe. This day will be indeed an event worthy of celebration.
What do you think? Shall we out with another bottle of champagne, that is, after all the other festivities, relatives, etc. are done with-light a candle or two and just plain neck? How does the idea appeal to you? In your next letter please indicate your concurrence or otherwise.
I am spending this Sunday studying. This week has three examinations in store for us--all of them heavily weighted. When I get home I shall show you the mass of technical data that was thrown at us during this thirteen week course. It is unbelievable.
It is a warm and sunny day today. Naturally, the firemen are sending up masses of unnecessary heat. Last night it was cold and there was no steam. I would like to be the Commanding Officer in charge of this group for just one day.
Have you noticed that my letters are becoming more and more labored, now that the time for homecoming approaches. It seems I have explored in my letters every conceivable subject available, in these parts. We seem now to be in a static, unchanging state each and every day.
--------------------------------------
I imagine you have completed plans for the baby's birthday party. I would like to know what day you expect to have it on and where. I will be home definitely on Sunday the 8th. Most probably around mid-afternoon. I would be interested to know what you plan to have for the occasion.
Do you think the baby will find me strange after so long a separation? I wonder how long it will take me to get back into her good graces? I keep thinking how nice it would have been to have both of you with me during this tour. I would have had two dolls to show off to all and sundry.
I shall close, now, since I am running out of things to say.
Will you forgive this poverty of expression and accept a little
Love from Me
in Expiation
Buddy
Today is Greek Independence Day, which in itself means nothing. I have no particular fondness for the Greeks or any other national group and consider these celebrations another manifestation of the human being insisting on deluding himself by self-induced hysterias based on false premises of some national excellence or other. Well, March 25 is only 13 days away from April 8 (as it happens the date on which my father died in 2008) on which day I will be hoe. This day will be indeed an event worthy of celebration.
What do you think? Shall we out with another bottle of champagne, that is, after all the other festivities, relatives, etc. are done with-light a candle or two and just plain neck? How does the idea appeal to you? In your next letter please indicate your concurrence or otherwise.
I am spending this Sunday studying. This week has three examinations in store for us--all of them heavily weighted. When I get home I shall show you the mass of technical data that was thrown at us during this thirteen week course. It is unbelievable.
It is a warm and sunny day today. Naturally, the firemen are sending up masses of unnecessary heat. Last night it was cold and there was no steam. I would like to be the Commanding Officer in charge of this group for just one day.
Have you noticed that my letters are becoming more and more labored, now that the time for homecoming approaches. It seems I have explored in my letters every conceivable subject available, in these parts. We seem now to be in a static, unchanging state each and every day.
--------------------------------------
I imagine you have completed plans for the baby's birthday party. I would like to know what day you expect to have it on and where. I will be home definitely on Sunday the 8th. Most probably around mid-afternoon. I would be interested to know what you plan to have for the occasion.
Do you think the baby will find me strange after so long a separation? I wonder how long it will take me to get back into her good graces? I keep thinking how nice it would have been to have both of you with me during this tour. I would have had two dolls to show off to all and sundry.
I shall close, now, since I am running out of things to say.
Will you forgive this poverty of expression and accept a little
Love from Me
in Expiation
Buddy
Thursday, February 23, 2017
March 24, 1956
Dear Rosetta:
This is the next to the last week-end. It seems that though the individual days drag, the weeks fly by.
We were required to get up early, this morning, for a parade in honor of General Holland, the new Post Commander. Actually, all we did was check in as present and take off.
Last night I fell asleep at seven o'clock and did not awaken till this morning at nine. I had intended to rest an hour or two and then take in the movie, which was "The Desperate Hours." Unfortunately, I did not awaken. This week I see they are showing the "Tender Trap" with Frank Sinatra (again). T. This fellow has certainly made an acting niche for himself. And he is always effective.
The boy I spoke to you about who had that unfortunate encounter with one of the local belles--well, the civil authorities picked him up on a warrant, this morning. I don't know what exactly he can be charged with, but Georgia law is peculiar. The fact that he is a regular Army Officer certainly hampers him considerably. Popular sentiment here is on his side and the wise men of the BOQ are speculating as to what they would do, or what they did in similar circumstance. Though I will not voice this opinion in public, my sympathies are with the girl. In any encounter of this sort, it is still the woman who becomes pregnant. Besides, I have always hated the way the average man will malign a woman because she acquiesced to his demands. No matter how you slice it, her sin is no greater than his.
Camp Gordon has been re designated a Fort, which means it is now a permanent installation with the right to greater appropriations. The City of Augusta is jubilant since their livelihood is wholly dependent on the Post. The newspapers here gave this event front page coverage.
John bought another Boxer (dog) for his uncle. We will have two of these animals to care for on our return trip home.
------------------------------------------------
Believe it or not, one of the things I miss is the big snow you had. I always have been fascinated by snow drifts. I used always to look forward to them when I was a boy. Of course, I realize the hardship it can inflict on business--especially the kind I was in.
------------------------------------------------
It is windy outside. Inside it is dull. I shall miss you very much, this weekend. It is getting more and more difficult waiting for the day I can hold you and discover again what you feel like.
The nights are cold without your Love
Buddy
This is the next to the last week-end. It seems that though the individual days drag, the weeks fly by.
We were required to get up early, this morning, for a parade in honor of General Holland, the new Post Commander. Actually, all we did was check in as present and take off.
Last night I fell asleep at seven o'clock and did not awaken till this morning at nine. I had intended to rest an hour or two and then take in the movie, which was "The Desperate Hours." Unfortunately, I did not awaken. This week I see they are showing the "Tender Trap" with Frank Sinatra (again). T. This fellow has certainly made an acting niche for himself. And he is always effective.
The boy I spoke to you about who had that unfortunate encounter with one of the local belles--well, the civil authorities picked him up on a warrant, this morning. I don't know what exactly he can be charged with, but Georgia law is peculiar. The fact that he is a regular Army Officer certainly hampers him considerably. Popular sentiment here is on his side and the wise men of the BOQ are speculating as to what they would do, or what they did in similar circumstance. Though I will not voice this opinion in public, my sympathies are with the girl. In any encounter of this sort, it is still the woman who becomes pregnant. Besides, I have always hated the way the average man will malign a woman because she acquiesced to his demands. No matter how you slice it, her sin is no greater than his.
Camp Gordon has been re designated a Fort, which means it is now a permanent installation with the right to greater appropriations. The City of Augusta is jubilant since their livelihood is wholly dependent on the Post. The newspapers here gave this event front page coverage.
John bought another Boxer (dog) for his uncle. We will have two of these animals to care for on our return trip home.
------------------------------------------------
Believe it or not, one of the things I miss is the big snow you had. I always have been fascinated by snow drifts. I used always to look forward to them when I was a boy. Of course, I realize the hardship it can inflict on business--especially the kind I was in.
------------------------------------------------
It is windy outside. Inside it is dull. I shall miss you very much, this weekend. It is getting more and more difficult waiting for the day I can hold you and discover again what you feel like.
The nights are cold without your Love
Buddy
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
March 22, 1956
Dear Rosetta:
Received your letter in which you described our charming little imp. You have no idea how anxious I am to see and hear her I can almost visualize from your comments how she must look and sound. You can be sure that the disposition you describe is not usual among children, and if someone must take credit for the way she is exhibiting her personality, it can only be attributed to you. I have known since the early days of her coming that you are a perfect mother and ideally suited to the guidance of the little angel.
Today we spent a rather easy day in the field, watching a prisoner of war demonstration. The delay in transporting us and the coffee break, plus the fact that the instructor released us early, made it a very pleasant day.
I think it is a good idea that you come to the Army Day Parade. Perhaps you might even come to the week-end at Ft. Dix, which is in New Jersey. I do not contemplate leaving you out of my sight in the future. We must take all our enjoyment together from now on because. . .
I love you,
Buddy
Received your letter in which you described our charming little imp. You have no idea how anxious I am to see and hear her I can almost visualize from your comments how she must look and sound. You can be sure that the disposition you describe is not usual among children, and if someone must take credit for the way she is exhibiting her personality, it can only be attributed to you. I have known since the early days of her coming that you are a perfect mother and ideally suited to the guidance of the little angel.
Today we spent a rather easy day in the field, watching a prisoner of war demonstration. The delay in transporting us and the coffee break, plus the fact that the instructor released us early, made it a very pleasant day.
I think it is a good idea that you come to the Army Day Parade. Perhaps you might even come to the week-end at Ft. Dix, which is in New Jersey. I do not contemplate leaving you out of my sight in the future. We must take all our enjoyment together from now on because. . .
I love you,
Buddy
Tuesday, February 21, 2017
March 21, 1956 II
Dear Rosetta:
As I promised here is the review of "Picnic", which I saw last night and thoroughly enjoyed.
It is an excellent play done on a really basic theme. The amazing thing is what emanates in the way of acting and dialogue from what is a very ordinary and every-day situation. I don't exactly know the locale but it could almost be this area, here. If I am not mistaken, the Ozark Mountains are mentioned in the dialogue--and these are certainly South.
William Holden did an excellent portrayal of an earthy type. He had mannerisms that were typically apropos. His portrayal of animal vitality really came across and fortunately he has the physique to carry it through.
Susan Strasberg? Is that her name? Well, she is certainly a very talented actress. My only objection to her is that she reminded me of so many of the current television actresses. They depend strongly on voice inflections to convey emotions--the trouble is, they are all using the same ones for the same emotions. Of course I like it when it's done well, and it was.
Rosalind Russell gave a startling performance as the frustrated, repressed and vindictive school teacher.
I saved Kim Novak for last. And before I say anything, let me qualify a little. I'm afraid my comments must be viewed in the light of an enforced abstinence which must inevitably color my opinions. Well, anyway, she has a cameo-like beauty that is hard to match. Hair, eyes, mouth--sheer perfection. She exuded the kind of sensuality necessary to the part with an ease that is unusual.
She acted the part effortlessly and convincingly. It was certainly a worthwhile production and a real answer to imported films--finally.
Last night, the Iranian Officers celebrated their New Years in the BOQ. They pulled John and myself out of bed to atend. It was interesting to note how similar they are to Greeks and most of the Mediterranean races in music and custom. They sang and Lt. Sayyar, a chubby dark 1st Lt. danced in imitation of the Harem dancers. He was very good and had every nuance of the belly dancer down pat.
They are an interesting people in many ways. Among other interesting facets of their culture, is the affectionate disposition they have towards each other. They kiss and fondle and hold hands--just as the Arabs do (I remem ber we were warned by the Army in those days not to ridicule or indicate surprise or displeasure). These actions have a curious incongruity in our Army atmosphere. Fortunately, most of our officers are world travelled and did not affect any kind of displeasure. Shades of the "Symposium".
I am enclosing a card I was given. It depicts, I am told, a wedding ceremony. Notice the highly civilized approach--from the male viewpoint, I mean. Pay particular attention to the lovelies who are supplying him with music, food and wine. I am sure that there should be dancing girls in the picture. Now there is a country.
No further comments just
Love, Buddy
As I promised here is the review of "Picnic", which I saw last night and thoroughly enjoyed.
It is an excellent play done on a really basic theme. The amazing thing is what emanates in the way of acting and dialogue from what is a very ordinary and every-day situation. I don't exactly know the locale but it could almost be this area, here. If I am not mistaken, the Ozark Mountains are mentioned in the dialogue--and these are certainly South.
William Holden did an excellent portrayal of an earthy type. He had mannerisms that were typically apropos. His portrayal of animal vitality really came across and fortunately he has the physique to carry it through.
Susan Strasberg? Is that her name? Well, she is certainly a very talented actress. My only objection to her is that she reminded me of so many of the current television actresses. They depend strongly on voice inflections to convey emotions--the trouble is, they are all using the same ones for the same emotions. Of course I like it when it's done well, and it was.
Rosalind Russell gave a startling performance as the frustrated, repressed and vindictive school teacher.
I saved Kim Novak for last. And before I say anything, let me qualify a little. I'm afraid my comments must be viewed in the light of an enforced abstinence which must inevitably color my opinions. Well, anyway, she has a cameo-like beauty that is hard to match. Hair, eyes, mouth--sheer perfection. She exuded the kind of sensuality necessary to the part with an ease that is unusual.
She acted the part effortlessly and convincingly. It was certainly a worthwhile production and a real answer to imported films--finally.
Last night, the Iranian Officers celebrated their New Years in the BOQ. They pulled John and myself out of bed to atend. It was interesting to note how similar they are to Greeks and most of the Mediterranean races in music and custom. They sang and Lt. Sayyar, a chubby dark 1st Lt. danced in imitation of the Harem dancers. He was very good and had every nuance of the belly dancer down pat.
They are an interesting people in many ways. Among other interesting facets of their culture, is the affectionate disposition they have towards each other. They kiss and fondle and hold hands--just as the Arabs do (I remem ber we were warned by the Army in those days not to ridicule or indicate surprise or displeasure). These actions have a curious incongruity in our Army atmosphere. Fortunately, most of our officers are world travelled and did not affect any kind of displeasure. Shades of the "Symposium".
I am enclosing a card I was given. It depicts, I am told, a wedding ceremony. Notice the highly civilized approach--from the male viewpoint, I mean. Pay particular attention to the lovelies who are supplying him with music, food and wine. I am sure that there should be dancing girls in the picture. Now there is a country.
No further comments just
Love, Buddy
Monday, February 20, 2017
March 21, 1956
Dear Rosetta:
The end approaches. Only 17 more days before we are released. Now that it is almost over it appears to have gone by fast. I shall probably look back on a large part of it with nostalgia.
It has been cold the last two days or so. Those peach trees I wrote you about barely escaped being destroyed by the frost. There were a few snow flurries in Augusta which was enough to make headlines in the papers.
We have been receiving news of the blizzard in the North. It must be very difficult for you to get around. I wonder if it has been cold in the apartment.
One by one, the members of ACO 42 are coming to me for editing jobs on their theses. So far I have corrected 11. John says I should not correct them since it will bring the curve-grade up but I don't see how I can refuse. Besides, the corrections I make are really minor--spelling, rephrasing, a sentence or two, etc.
Rita wrote to me again. Curiously enough, her letters are light and entertaining. She writes quite well. I shall answer her letter tonight or tomorrow.
Tonight, right after I complete this letter, I shall go to see 'Picnic'. From the reports I have so far, it is an excellent picture. I will review it in my next letter.
One of the things I have been dissatisfied with is our food. It has been quite tasteless and ordinary. There seems always to be a shortage of the meat course and this is depressing. They do have an abundance of potatoes, desserts, syrups, hot rolls and plenty of salad. But I eat none of these things and the salad dressing is always mayonnaise or French dressing, neither of which I can abide. One ray of sunshine: there is all the coffee you want available. I consume gallons.
The barracks is very quiet. Everyone has gone to see the movie. I will venture to say that many of them will be disappointed, having merely gone because of the pressure of opinion which says is it a "good" picture.
You remember I told you that the Iranian likens a woman to a snake. To him the snake is sensuous, and I suppose it is, if you can forget conditioned prejudices. . .
I shall close now since in this mood I should write nothing but trivia. Will you forgive me if I close with all my love
Buddy
The end approaches. Only 17 more days before we are released. Now that it is almost over it appears to have gone by fast. I shall probably look back on a large part of it with nostalgia.
It has been cold the last two days or so. Those peach trees I wrote you about barely escaped being destroyed by the frost. There were a few snow flurries in Augusta which was enough to make headlines in the papers.
We have been receiving news of the blizzard in the North. It must be very difficult for you to get around. I wonder if it has been cold in the apartment.
One by one, the members of ACO 42 are coming to me for editing jobs on their theses. So far I have corrected 11. John says I should not correct them since it will bring the curve-grade up but I don't see how I can refuse. Besides, the corrections I make are really minor--spelling, rephrasing, a sentence or two, etc.
Rita wrote to me again. Curiously enough, her letters are light and entertaining. She writes quite well. I shall answer her letter tonight or tomorrow.
Tonight, right after I complete this letter, I shall go to see 'Picnic'. From the reports I have so far, it is an excellent picture. I will review it in my next letter.
One of the things I have been dissatisfied with is our food. It has been quite tasteless and ordinary. There seems always to be a shortage of the meat course and this is depressing. They do have an abundance of potatoes, desserts, syrups, hot rolls and plenty of salad. But I eat none of these things and the salad dressing is always mayonnaise or French dressing, neither of which I can abide. One ray of sunshine: there is all the coffee you want available. I consume gallons.
The barracks is very quiet. Everyone has gone to see the movie. I will venture to say that many of them will be disappointed, having merely gone because of the pressure of opinion which says is it a "good" picture.
You remember I told you that the Iranian likens a woman to a snake. To him the snake is sensuous, and I suppose it is, if you can forget conditioned prejudices. . .
I shall close now since in this mood I should write nothing but trivia. Will you forgive me if I close with all my love
Buddy
March 19, 1956
Dear Rosetta,
There are only nineteen days remaining. . .
I should like to inform you that I took a drink or two or three for my birthday. Your letter advising me to do so arrived too late for me to say I was acting on your suggestion. Nevertheless, I thank you for the thought.
Last night I danced all night--that is till 12 midnight--to the music of Russ Carlyle. My dancing partners were provided by five very charming and acquiescent officers all of whom are unhappy on the dance floor. All the girls were excellent dancers and were delighted to find someone to rumba, samba and mambo with, to say nothing of jitterbug. I understand by the various comments heard round and about that I am a good dancer. Probably was the scotch. Will you forgive this infidelity?
It is now Iranian New Year, 1355 to be exact. My Iranian friends have been in to extend me holiday greetings. . .Also, I enclose Russ Carlyle's autograph, which you can dispose of as you see fit. He was at our table and we had a lot of laughs and repartee out of which came the autograph--asked for so he would not feel unwelcome. He complained that no one had asked him for one--jokingly of course.
Tomorrow there is another examination. Next week will be three and the following week the Comprehensive. That does it. On the 5th of April we are holding our class party and on the 6th we leave for our various homes. I shall be happy to return. Happier because you are there waiting for me. And happiest because I know I don't want to be away from home.
Now I shall study for the exam. Just one more kiss and
Bye for now
Love Buddy
Sunday, February 19, 2017
March 15, 1956
Dear Rosetta:
Received your birthday card and the St. Patrick's Day greeting, which I have tacked up on the wall.
So far, it has caused quite a little hilarity, since obviously I look anything but Irish.
Have just come back from the mess hall where for the last hour I have been listening to Major Carrol recount his experiences as a Prisoner of War Camp Commander during the Korean War. He was involved in that much publicized North Korean uprising of prisoners. Life and Time Magazines gave him quite the spread. Some of the tales he relates are hair-raising. When I come home I shall tell you some of them.
The last third of this course is quite hard to take. The strain is beginning to tell on all of the officers. Eight hours of constant sitting and listening to lectures is grueling. Restlessness is apparent in almost everyone. Curiously enough, the most uninteresting subjects are the ones being given now. Also, the poorest instructors seem to be teaching. Apparently, they are trying to cram as much as possible into the remaining three weeks of instruction. We still have five more examinations to go plus a comprehensive and a thesis. Withal I am neither restless nor tired. I has proven not difficult at all.
Have you received any of the erotic letters I sent? (These appear not to be in the package which have survived). You must forgive my crudeness.
It is a rainy and depressing night. I shall stay in BOQ and write a few letters. I have quite a few correspondents since coming to this camp. Some of the boys from the Reserve outfit keep me posted as to current developments in the unit. I hear that we will have two days at Ft. Dix, New Jersey towards the end of April and that Army Day Parade takes place in May about the second week.
With regard to stamps for Margo (the daughter of Dad's brother Tony)-don't trouble yourself. Just keep them and I will give them to her when I come home. . .As I've told you, there are only three people in this world for whom I have any affection. Everything else is surface.
I should appreciate your letting me know how your financial status is to date.
Give Djinna a big kiss for me and a hug.
A Kiss for you,
Buddy
Saturday, February 18, 2017
Two letters combined, March 13 and 14, 1956
Full Disclosure: I do redact some of Dad's letters where he is less than favorable toward members of the family. I understand many of his observations, and there are times I agree with them from my own memories of other events. But one thing my father and I did fight about was his tendency to be cutting. He was a good, wonderful, kind man. He did a lot for many, but this was a trait, which was his way of channeling a life long repressed anger. I was an object as well of remarks I could never put out of my mind. I could not get him to see it. I used to say, "Dad, once you say something, even if you don't mean it, it's out there and cannot be taken back." I understand the anger. It comes unbidden. I have had it more often than I can say. But I have tried always, perhaps remembering how hurt encrusts the heart, to avoid saying what I thought at those moments. Only others can say whether I succeeded.
Another thing that somewhat saddens me when I have read these letters, which I have done since I found them as a child behind books in the single bedroom of our apartment near the Grand Concourse, is that the love my father expresses in poetic terms, for my mother never seemed to characterize the relationship I observed between them. I don't mean the romantic part, which of course a child will not likely see, but any sense of affection. The secrets which engendered this clear change in attitude will never be known to me. In that sense, the regret they likely felt, is also my regret, because it seems to have impacted, like my anger, unbidden, my own response to relationship.
And yet, when I think of the two of them, I feel fortunate to have been their only daughter and grateful for the exotic upbringing in ordinary surroundings. They were extraordinary people who I wish more than anything had had more happiness than they did. At this stage of my life, I have come to see what they gave to me, and how they made my current comfortable existence possible. They are responsible for my religious faith (though they weren't practicing it at the time they gave it to me), for my intellectual pursuits, for my drive, and though I have never succeeded at romance, for my general passion and curiosity about the world around me.
Dear Rosetta:
Little by little, almost imperceptibly, the days are slipping by. Already it is the middle of a new week and this leaves only three full weeks to go. I shall look back on this separation as the means by which I was taught loneliness for you. In that respect it will always have a fond place in my memories.
. . .
The book you sent arrived and was appreciated. Capt. Lee of the Democratic Republican Forces of Korea, sends his thanks.
I am delighted to hear about the recalcitrant new Super. I shall join the list of complainants on my return.
My clothing is adequate. The laundry does all my cleaning and washing. Picked up a few things to tide me over. Now have enough of everything.
Tonight I shall go to the Post movie. They are showing a picture called, "The Man Who Never Was." For a camp movie, this is not bad. This post has had the worst type of D pictures I have ever seen. Of course, I understand the director's choice of movie fare since I was present when the "Rose Tattoo" was shown. The GI does not care for this type of drama. He is more likely to go for "The Creature Returns."
Two Iranians and two Koreans just passed my room. They are going to the Officers' Club to play Bingo. There is a large prize at stake.
I shall have to close now, since one of them is visiting.
Love,
Buddy
------------------------------------
Dear Rosetta:
To complete yesterday's letter. Lt. Shirazi--his real name is Fakour, just like in the "Arabian Nights"--left after reading some poetry from Persia, in Persian, by the way, which I did not understand. He claims that the poet Hafiz, whose verse he reads and rereads though he has already memorized most of it, can foretell the future. He claims also to be able to read your mind with the aid of this poet. For example, he asked me to think of something, keeping it to myself, and he would read an applicable stanza. The verse he read depicted a woman 'burning' with desire for her love far, far away. Of course, I know I have a love burning for me far away, but at this particular time I was thinking of an 80 Kilo-ton atomic bomb. Possibly some analogy, n'est-ce-pas ?
After this visit, I betook myself to the Post movie where I saw "The Man Who Never Was," a rather interesting spy story with some claims to actual fact. Lt. Rosen states that Rommel mentions the basic incident in his memoirs. Gloria Grahme was the only low spot in the the presentation. Her speech was wooden and her action hammy and out of place in an otherwise well-acted melodrama.
------------------------------------
End of Yesterday's Letter
Dearest Love,
Today I "have much lahve for heem which is far avay," as Lt. Shirazi would phrase it. "Heem" is feminine in this case, though he uses it indiscriminately for masculine and feminine gender.
But to continue; I have much burning in 'house' which is my heart. And it is fortunate that the burning is so thusly localized.
I can sit here, now, and conjure your image with all its symmetry, all ifs subtlety of line and curve, all those natural splendors of nature in which it abounds. Away! though temptress, lest thou benumb my brain. If thou must come, come while yet I sleep; Some dark, just before dawn, while Morpheus sits heavily on my brow. Thus, in a dream, we can wander hand in hand beside a waterfall. Listen! canst thou hear the rush of wind in the treetop? Hurry! Morning hastens with unfriendly light. Tarry here a while---close--here in my arms-cling, sweet lips, beat wildly dear heart, closer, closer--closer. . .
Will you come some night, and wind your fingers gently through my hair and softly breathe my name, and take my hand, and lead me to some grassy spot where we can lie and love. Will you come, tonight, and every night until I die?
Buddy
Another thing that somewhat saddens me when I have read these letters, which I have done since I found them as a child behind books in the single bedroom of our apartment near the Grand Concourse, is that the love my father expresses in poetic terms, for my mother never seemed to characterize the relationship I observed between them. I don't mean the romantic part, which of course a child will not likely see, but any sense of affection. The secrets which engendered this clear change in attitude will never be known to me. In that sense, the regret they likely felt, is also my regret, because it seems to have impacted, like my anger, unbidden, my own response to relationship.
And yet, when I think of the two of them, I feel fortunate to have been their only daughter and grateful for the exotic upbringing in ordinary surroundings. They were extraordinary people who I wish more than anything had had more happiness than they did. At this stage of my life, I have come to see what they gave to me, and how they made my current comfortable existence possible. They are responsible for my religious faith (though they weren't practicing it at the time they gave it to me), for my intellectual pursuits, for my drive, and though I have never succeeded at romance, for my general passion and curiosity about the world around me.
Dear Rosetta:
Little by little, almost imperceptibly, the days are slipping by. Already it is the middle of a new week and this leaves only three full weeks to go. I shall look back on this separation as the means by which I was taught loneliness for you. In that respect it will always have a fond place in my memories.
. . .
The book you sent arrived and was appreciated. Capt. Lee of the Democratic Republican Forces of Korea, sends his thanks.
I am delighted to hear about the recalcitrant new Super. I shall join the list of complainants on my return.
My clothing is adequate. The laundry does all my cleaning and washing. Picked up a few things to tide me over. Now have enough of everything.
Tonight I shall go to the Post movie. They are showing a picture called, "The Man Who Never Was." For a camp movie, this is not bad. This post has had the worst type of D pictures I have ever seen. Of course, I understand the director's choice of movie fare since I was present when the "Rose Tattoo" was shown. The GI does not care for this type of drama. He is more likely to go for "The Creature Returns."
Two Iranians and two Koreans just passed my room. They are going to the Officers' Club to play Bingo. There is a large prize at stake.
I shall have to close now, since one of them is visiting.
Love,
Buddy
------------------------------------
Dear Rosetta:
To complete yesterday's letter. Lt. Shirazi--his real name is Fakour, just like in the "Arabian Nights"--left after reading some poetry from Persia, in Persian, by the way, which I did not understand. He claims that the poet Hafiz, whose verse he reads and rereads though he has already memorized most of it, can foretell the future. He claims also to be able to read your mind with the aid of this poet. For example, he asked me to think of something, keeping it to myself, and he would read an applicable stanza. The verse he read depicted a woman 'burning' with desire for her love far, far away. Of course, I know I have a love burning for me far away, but at this particular time I was thinking of an 80 Kilo-ton atomic bomb. Possibly some analogy, n'est-ce-pas ?
After this visit, I betook myself to the Post movie where I saw "The Man Who Never Was," a rather interesting spy story with some claims to actual fact. Lt. Rosen states that Rommel mentions the basic incident in his memoirs. Gloria Grahme was the only low spot in the the presentation. Her speech was wooden and her action hammy and out of place in an otherwise well-acted melodrama.
------------------------------------
End of Yesterday's Letter
Dearest Love,
Today I "have much lahve for heem which is far avay," as Lt. Shirazi would phrase it. "Heem" is feminine in this case, though he uses it indiscriminately for masculine and feminine gender.
But to continue; I have much burning in 'house' which is my heart. And it is fortunate that the burning is so thusly localized.
I can sit here, now, and conjure your image with all its symmetry, all ifs subtlety of line and curve, all those natural splendors of nature in which it abounds. Away! though temptress, lest thou benumb my brain. If thou must come, come while yet I sleep; Some dark, just before dawn, while Morpheus sits heavily on my brow. Thus, in a dream, we can wander hand in hand beside a waterfall. Listen! canst thou hear the rush of wind in the treetop? Hurry! Morning hastens with unfriendly light. Tarry here a while---close--here in my arms-cling, sweet lips, beat wildly dear heart, closer, closer--closer. . .
Will you come some night, and wind your fingers gently through my hair and softly breathe my name, and take my hand, and lead me to some grassy spot where we can lie and love. Will you come, tonight, and every night until I die?
Buddy
Friday, February 17, 2017
March 12, 1956
Dear Rosetta:
Received two letters from you today, dated 8th and 9th of March. From your letters, I take it that the moments of boredom must be long and numerous. That is why I try to write about almost everything I do so as to try to share with you some of the pleasures I derive, if any.
As I wrote in a previous letter, I enjoyed a ride of almost 200 miles. I spoke about the peach and pear trees in bloom. Meant to tell you a little more about the peach tree, which like the olive tree, which it resembles, fascinates me.
The are small, usually, I would estimate about 15-20 feet tall, with short trunks and myriads of branches all reaching upward in a flowering patter, irregularly symmetrical and almost supplicatory in posture. They differ from my recollection of the olive tree in that they symbolize youth and beauty whereas the olive trees are bent and twisted by the winds, gnarled and ancient in mien.
But why bore you with a description of trees.
Went to the Officers' Club last night. Had a delicious steak dinner, with some Chablis wine, which wasn't bad Music for my dinner was provided by Tony Pastor and his orchestra. He was excellent--both with the smooth and jump music. He played a few rumbas and two very fine mambos. I had a dance or two and a scotch or two, and since the music only continues till twelve, I was in bed by 12:30. Slept well after conjuring into mind your image--in a most intimate and revealing attitude.
It would surprise you to know how photographic my memory images of you are.
I have taken to smoking little cigars. I find I like them occasionally. Hope you do not mind. On of the brands, a filter tip, has a pleasant rum and maple aroma--tout a fait masculin. I am sure you will approve.
. . .
Do you find my handwriting legible? I find it most difficult to write in longhand--even develop a cramp.
I guess this letter is sufficiently discursive for now. Why not tell me what you would like to hear about--anything at all--people, fashions etc.
For now a kiss or two or three and lots and lots (crude) mountains of love from your
paramour, Constantine
Paterson: Ode to the Ordinary Poetry of Life
I had completely other plans for today. I was in my rented car (another story yet to be told on these pages-why I am in a rented car) on the way to Whittier for a memorial service for a colleague from the State Bar--someone I really wanted to say a personal good bye to--when I realized that there was no way to by pass the bumper to bumper traffic, punctuated by unsafe turns and lane changes, brought on by the rare occasion of torrential California rain. Since bi-weekly housekeeping was going on in my apartment, I decided to take refuge upon my return to my neighborhood in a local mall and see if there was a movie about to begin at the Sundance.
I hadn't been eager to see Paterson because if the trailer moves slowly, one might worry that the rest of the movie moved slower still. But I am so glad I did. It was slow indeed but poetic, as befits the rendition of the week of the bus driver in Paterson, New Jersey, who is also a poet. His name also happens to be Paterson, and his icon is a former resident, the famous Poet and doctor, William Carlos Williams. Everything about the film is fluid, from when Paterson wakes up between 6:10 and 6:30 every morning, and places his watch on his wrist and cuddles his girlfriend and eats his glass of cheerios, and walks to his garage and moves through his day listening to the chatter of the riders, but also composing his poems in his head, or putting them down in his "secret book" by hand. His girlfriend wants him to publish, but at least to make copies of them. She is an artist of sorts herself, painting on fabric, a lover of triangular and circular patterns, and a lover of her bull dog, that Paterson tolerates and walks out of his affection for her. Nothing really happens in this film, and yet all of life happens in it. It made me appreciate the commonplace of my own life as I never have done.
There is a small progression from day to day, a bus break down, Paterson's meeting with a young girl waiting for her mother who also has a special book in which she jots her pre-adolescent poetry (which just happens to sound a great deal like the ones Paterson writes) and supporting his girl friend in her sudden decision to buy and play a guitar and to sell a massive amount of home made cupcakes at the local Farmer's Market. Every night when he walks Marvin, he stops at the local bar where other stories are unfolding. The bar owner has a love of the city Paterson's history and maintains an informal wall of pictures of and articles about people from there, including not only William Carlos Williams, but Lou Costello. Paterson is a quiet man, once a Marine (as was the actor Adam Driver), who nonetheless is content with the small, but not somehow not insignificant life, he leads. When the dog, Marvin, who grumbles and gurgles companionably throughout the movie, chews up Paterson's normally protected poetry journal, of which there is no copy, you can feel that Paterson is bereft and you sense that he just might give it all up. His only emotional outburst is to say to the dog, "I don't like you Marvin", before his girlfriend banishes Marvin to the garage. (A note: The dog who portrayed Marvin, named Nellie, apparently passed away after the making of the movie). But while he is sitting at the Great Falls of Paterson (never heard of them and I am from the East Coast), a Japanese tourist, who is a poet visiting the home town of William Carlos Williams, gives Paterson a blank note book. The man somehow knows that as for him, poetry is breathing for Paterson. And he begins again.
I felt an amazing sense of peace as I watched this movie. I felt like I was part of Paterson's moments, in time, with him. And so I end with "Another One", a poem from the film,
When you're a child you learn there are three dimensions
Height, width and depth
Like a shoebox
Then later you hear there's a fourth dimension
Time
Hmm
Then some say there can be five, six, seven. . .
I knock off work
Have a beer at the bar
I look down at the glass and feel glad
I felt glad as I watched this movie.
I hadn't been eager to see Paterson because if the trailer moves slowly, one might worry that the rest of the movie moved slower still. But I am so glad I did. It was slow indeed but poetic, as befits the rendition of the week of the bus driver in Paterson, New Jersey, who is also a poet. His name also happens to be Paterson, and his icon is a former resident, the famous Poet and doctor, William Carlos Williams. Everything about the film is fluid, from when Paterson wakes up between 6:10 and 6:30 every morning, and places his watch on his wrist and cuddles his girlfriend and eats his glass of cheerios, and walks to his garage and moves through his day listening to the chatter of the riders, but also composing his poems in his head, or putting them down in his "secret book" by hand. His girlfriend wants him to publish, but at least to make copies of them. She is an artist of sorts herself, painting on fabric, a lover of triangular and circular patterns, and a lover of her bull dog, that Paterson tolerates and walks out of his affection for her. Nothing really happens in this film, and yet all of life happens in it. It made me appreciate the commonplace of my own life as I never have done.
There is a small progression from day to day, a bus break down, Paterson's meeting with a young girl waiting for her mother who also has a special book in which she jots her pre-adolescent poetry (which just happens to sound a great deal like the ones Paterson writes) and supporting his girl friend in her sudden decision to buy and play a guitar and to sell a massive amount of home made cupcakes at the local Farmer's Market. Every night when he walks Marvin, he stops at the local bar where other stories are unfolding. The bar owner has a love of the city Paterson's history and maintains an informal wall of pictures of and articles about people from there, including not only William Carlos Williams, but Lou Costello. Paterson is a quiet man, once a Marine (as was the actor Adam Driver), who nonetheless is content with the small, but not somehow not insignificant life, he leads. When the dog, Marvin, who grumbles and gurgles companionably throughout the movie, chews up Paterson's normally protected poetry journal, of which there is no copy, you can feel that Paterson is bereft and you sense that he just might give it all up. His only emotional outburst is to say to the dog, "I don't like you Marvin", before his girlfriend banishes Marvin to the garage. (A note: The dog who portrayed Marvin, named Nellie, apparently passed away after the making of the movie). But while he is sitting at the Great Falls of Paterson (never heard of them and I am from the East Coast), a Japanese tourist, who is a poet visiting the home town of William Carlos Williams, gives Paterson a blank note book. The man somehow knows that as for him, poetry is breathing for Paterson. And he begins again.
I felt an amazing sense of peace as I watched this movie. I felt like I was part of Paterson's moments, in time, with him. And so I end with "Another One", a poem from the film,
When you're a child you learn there are three dimensions
Height, width and depth
Like a shoebox
Then later you hear there's a fourth dimension
Time
Hmm
Then some say there can be five, six, seven. . .
I knock off work
Have a beer at the bar
I look down at the glass and feel glad
I felt glad as I watched this movie.
Back to the Letters from Georgia: March 11, 1956
Dear Rosetta:
Took a ride today. The countryside is blooming. The peach blossoms are out and they are beautiful varying shades of pink. Some have a fuchsia-purple color. The pear trees are smothered in snow white buds. It is certainly a sight to behold.
Went to the movie in town yesterday and saw Frank Sinatra in the "Man with the Golden Arm". It is a violent, terrible, stark melodrama, excellently acted. Frank Sinatra was good, as usual, but Eleanor Parker and Kim Novak were excellent. The street accent necessary to the parts may have come easily for Kim Novak, but Eleanor Parker did a wonderful job with hers. Robert Strauss was effectively repulsive but there was another fellow, whose name I don't know--played a dope peddler--who was unusually good. The theme music keeps sticking in my mind. I have a feeling it is very good music.
Tonight I shall go to the Officers' Club and take in some good music. Tony Pastor is appearing tonight. I shall eat at the club--probably a steak, and watch the elite meet and greet. I wish you were here tonight.
This week we are required to write a thesis. At least that is what the director of instruction calls it. Actually, what he really wants is a 500 word composition. The subject is supposed to be about some phase of Military Police work, with which I have had little or no experience. I pointed this out to Capt. McDowell, the class director and he said, "What are you worried about the way you write." He said that actually what they are interested in is the literacy of the writers rather than the subject matter. Obviously the last composition impressed him.
Received a short letter from Mr. Chack in which he informed me that "things are about the same." I was delighted to hear this and shall answer his letter forthwith with the comment that things here are different.
Lt. Rosen just walked out splendidly replete in the new Army Blues, a magnificent uniform, somewhat like the Civil War Officers' uniform with massive epaulets and huge stripes of gold braid. It stood him $140 not counting the cap, which is $35. Actually, he should be wearing a cape, which is called for, but that costs $95 simoleons. The cape is a blue matching the uniform with a satin lining bearing the color of your branch--blue for the infantry, scarlet for the Artillery and yellow for the Military Police. I have never seen one, but they should be very effective. The uniform is worn with a white shirt and black tie. For formal occasions a black bow-tie is worn.
Miss you terribly. Shall we ever allow ourselves to be separated again? I dread the thought. . . .
My Love
Buddy
Took a ride today. The countryside is blooming. The peach blossoms are out and they are beautiful varying shades of pink. Some have a fuchsia-purple color. The pear trees are smothered in snow white buds. It is certainly a sight to behold.
Went to the movie in town yesterday and saw Frank Sinatra in the "Man with the Golden Arm". It is a violent, terrible, stark melodrama, excellently acted. Frank Sinatra was good, as usual, but Eleanor Parker and Kim Novak were excellent. The street accent necessary to the parts may have come easily for Kim Novak, but Eleanor Parker did a wonderful job with hers. Robert Strauss was effectively repulsive but there was another fellow, whose name I don't know--played a dope peddler--who was unusually good. The theme music keeps sticking in my mind. I have a feeling it is very good music.
Tonight I shall go to the Officers' Club and take in some good music. Tony Pastor is appearing tonight. I shall eat at the club--probably a steak, and watch the elite meet and greet. I wish you were here tonight.
This week we are required to write a thesis. At least that is what the director of instruction calls it. Actually, what he really wants is a 500 word composition. The subject is supposed to be about some phase of Military Police work, with which I have had little or no experience. I pointed this out to Capt. McDowell, the class director and he said, "What are you worried about the way you write." He said that actually what they are interested in is the literacy of the writers rather than the subject matter. Obviously the last composition impressed him.
Received a short letter from Mr. Chack in which he informed me that "things are about the same." I was delighted to hear this and shall answer his letter forthwith with the comment that things here are different.
Lt. Rosen just walked out splendidly replete in the new Army Blues, a magnificent uniform, somewhat like the Civil War Officers' uniform with massive epaulets and huge stripes of gold braid. It stood him $140 not counting the cap, which is $35. Actually, he should be wearing a cape, which is called for, but that costs $95 simoleons. The cape is a blue matching the uniform with a satin lining bearing the color of your branch--blue for the infantry, scarlet for the Artillery and yellow for the Military Police. I have never seen one, but they should be very effective. The uniform is worn with a white shirt and black tie. For formal occasions a black bow-tie is worn.
Miss you terribly. Shall we ever allow ourselves to be separated again? I dread the thought. . . .
My Love
Buddy
Wednesday, February 15, 2017
I Didn't Expect the Future to Come This Fast
After re-reading the article, my first impulse was to look up Thomas Mallon and see what those years had wrought for him. He was only a few years older than me in 1984. I had just turned thirty. I had been in California for only three years and my experience of the private practice of law (I worked for a practitioner) in this state had already disillusioned me. I still had hopes of becoming a television comedy writer, but slowly I saw that my need to make a living was making that hope more remote. My hope of marriage and children had already become remote as I wended my way into my fourth decade, but was not yet completely extinguished.
The whoosh of time. I googled Mr. Mallon. Back in 1984, the idea of being able to find information in a flash wasn't on anyone's radar. A Book of One's Own was apparently his first book on the glories of individuals preserving their past and thus the accumulated pasts of which make up history. He has written several books since that first, novels and historical fiction. He teaches English at a college in Washington.
I am always startled when I see the impression time makes in other faces. He is still handsome, still vibrant, still engaged fully in life, but it is hard to recognize as I consider his face that mine too has changed, probably as much. I see myself as I was, mostly, when I look in the mirror, a little droop here and there, some crevices but still fully recognizable as I was. But of course that is self-delusion. The future came fast. Our ancestors have always warned us that this is one of the features of human existence, but it is only in retrospect that we realize that it is so.
I had a long career as at attorney (30 years) and I have been retired from that career (though I keep active on the rolls) for several. I am doing more writing than ever; maybe some of it will one day be published officially, though in this world of technology, I am fortunate to have a forum right here. And it is here that I am trying to freeze my past so that it makes its way, in photos and words to connect with someone I shall never meet, in the future I will not see.
Friday, February 10, 2017
March 8, 1956
Although I know that this letter isn't intended to be, there is something both lovely, and paradoxically, sarcastic about how Dad viewed romance and marriage. My Dad had a tendency to "pronounce" about things, and sometimes, those pronouncements assumed that there were no other possible facts or opinions. It used to drive me crazy, when I was old enough to argue, which was a long time after he wrote this letter to my mother.
Dear Rosetta:
Today we had winds of unbelievable velocity and the loose sands were driven in blinding clouds about the camp. There was damage to the paint of many cars and one Office had his windshield completely pitted.
We hear the East is suffering blizzard conditions. This weather is probably the tail end of North-East storms.
Tonight it has gotten cold--forecast thirty. I shall go to bed early since the barracks are a little bit chilly. Besides, I had a drunk on last night and lost some sleep.
Lt. Rosen was in tonight for some advice. Sees he has the urge to get married. The object of his affection is a General's daughter from a Jersey camp with whom he has been going for some time. He says she is either cold or inhibited. This he attributes to a mid-Victorian mother and an authoritarian father. He claims he likes her but does not know if she will be responsive. So far he had made no advances of any kind. The girl is 22, teaches grade school and is, he says, attractive and well-poised.
A few words about the Lt. He is average in height, slight in build, dark complected and boyish, is pallid with ever present dark circles under his eyes; has thick dark hair and a birthmark above his right eye. He is quite intelligent. When talking, he has an annoying habit of scratching himself now in one place, now another, which indicates to me that he has a superabundance of nervous energy. He is obviously a misfit in the Army, though he proposes to make a career of it.
He is frank about his lack of affection for his family, particularly his father, who, he says, "has been a failure all his life." Father is a school teacher. He vows he will never spend so much as thirty days at home during the remaining portion of his life.
His education was accomplished in a Catholic College. He finds Catholics the least prejudiced of all the denominational groups; was never confirmed in his faith and is apparently desirous of being assimilated.
Of course I gave no advice--just listened. He is going overseas and has that feeling of not belonging. Marriage appears to be the panacea for this kind of loneliness. Then, too, he has had a number of dates but based on one occasion when I was able to observe his technique with women, he appears unsure and boyish in his advances and is probably rebuffed more often than not. This, also, turns a man's thoughts to marriage.
By this summer he will be in Germany where I am sure he will find a little Fraulein who will effect for him a transition from boyhood to manhood. If he takes her as a mistress his loneliness will pass. If she says,"Ich liebe die," in a husky contralto and runs her fingers through his hair, he will probably marry her.
The days are flying by. Tomorrow ends another week. There are only four more to go. I shall be quite happy to return home.
Received the prints of the baby's picture. I shall keep them a while and send them home later. They are cute. In one of them she looks exactly like me. Naturally, she is a doll.
There is so little of interest happening lately that I'm running out of things to tell you about. I hope the little accounts of camp life are somewhat interesting.
I miss you very much and many times long to hold you in my arms and tell you of my love.
Buddy.
Sunday, February 5, 2017
March 7, 1956
Dad often described some of his colleagues at Fort Gordon. This was the deep South in the late 1950s. In this letter, Dad described one of the African-American Officers, whose historical and personal conundrum he considers.
The letter ends though with a bit of teasing about writing loving (and slightly) hot letters.
Dear Rosetta:
I am always surprised when you report that there is no mail "from you today." You see, I write every day so as to insure a daily letter for you. Of course, I know the delay in transportation may cause a bunching up of mail shipments, in which case you might receive two or three letters in one day and none for the next three. I shall try to figure out a way to beat the system.
It was hot today, somewhere around eighty. This area goes from winter to summer without an intermediate season. Tomorrow it may be cold and rainy. There is no predicting weather.
I saw the production of Caesar and Cleopatra you spoke of. I thought it was quite good. There are numerous television sets in camp and even one in our BOQ. Lt. Banks, a colored Officer, pays $5 a week to rent one. He has plenty of company every night in his room.
Lt. Banks never leaves camp. He does not attend our social functions, though he has been assured by many he is welcome. I spoke to him about it once and he said it would be foolish for him to venture into town in this area. He is without a doubt right.
The last class party it was pointed out--while he was not present--that any function of this type would have to be held at camp since private facilities in town will not rent if a colored person is attending. There is a State law that covers this, so in a case of violation, they can break in on a private party with a "John Doe" warrant.
So even though we held the last social in camp, Banks did not come, which is what I think I would have done if I were in his place. This time though we have the assurance of the County Sheriff that we would not be molested, Banks has flatly stated he will not attend. I still think he is right.
Banks is quite a nice fellow, quiet, with a ready laugh. He is an accountant from New Jersey with a wife and three children. The Officers, including the Southern Officers who predominate the class, treat him as an equal and friend in every way. On an Army Post there is no apparent prejudice. I guess the actual difference is the presence of a woman. Clearly, the Negro-white prejudice is psychosexual.
. . .I shall soon run out of people to write about. Then I shall have to write only love letters and I know you don't care for that sort of thing. I shall have to resort to such as. . . .
This. . .love I long to see again, to hold--sensitive to moist warmth the length of my body, the quick breathing in my ear. Skin velvety to touch. Bosom full and firm with carmine spots.
Can you imagine receiving such erotica regularly. Of course you wouldn't like it. Or would you?
My. . .
Love, Buddy
The letter ends though with a bit of teasing about writing loving (and slightly) hot letters.
Dear Rosetta:
I am always surprised when you report that there is no mail "from you today." You see, I write every day so as to insure a daily letter for you. Of course, I know the delay in transportation may cause a bunching up of mail shipments, in which case you might receive two or three letters in one day and none for the next three. I shall try to figure out a way to beat the system.
It was hot today, somewhere around eighty. This area goes from winter to summer without an intermediate season. Tomorrow it may be cold and rainy. There is no predicting weather.
I saw the production of Caesar and Cleopatra you spoke of. I thought it was quite good. There are numerous television sets in camp and even one in our BOQ. Lt. Banks, a colored Officer, pays $5 a week to rent one. He has plenty of company every night in his room.
Lt. Banks never leaves camp. He does not attend our social functions, though he has been assured by many he is welcome. I spoke to him about it once and he said it would be foolish for him to venture into town in this area. He is without a doubt right.
The last class party it was pointed out--while he was not present--that any function of this type would have to be held at camp since private facilities in town will not rent if a colored person is attending. There is a State law that covers this, so in a case of violation, they can break in on a private party with a "John Doe" warrant.
So even though we held the last social in camp, Banks did not come, which is what I think I would have done if I were in his place. This time though we have the assurance of the County Sheriff that we would not be molested, Banks has flatly stated he will not attend. I still think he is right.
Banks is quite a nice fellow, quiet, with a ready laugh. He is an accountant from New Jersey with a wife and three children. The Officers, including the Southern Officers who predominate the class, treat him as an equal and friend in every way. On an Army Post there is no apparent prejudice. I guess the actual difference is the presence of a woman. Clearly, the Negro-white prejudice is psychosexual.
. . .I shall soon run out of people to write about. Then I shall have to write only love letters and I know you don't care for that sort of thing. I shall have to resort to such as. . . .
This. . .love I long to see again, to hold--sensitive to moist warmth the length of my body, the quick breathing in my ear. Skin velvety to touch. Bosom full and firm with carmine spots.
Can you imagine receiving such erotica regularly. Of course you wouldn't like it. Or would you?
My. . .
Love, Buddy
March 6, 1956
Dear Rosetta:
Tonight I completed arrangements for the class' final party which will be held on April 4. We will have the whole club to ourselves with an orchestra, a steak--filet-mignon dinner preceded by hors d'oeuvres. There will be approximately 60 people attending, 10 of which are guests. Some 18 of the officers expect to have their wives preset. The orchestra is a pretty good one, though it specializes in jump music with an occasional Latin-American number which is invariably unappreciated. All in all, a good time should be had by all.
As I had anticipated, there were the usual dissenters, those who must always place obstacles in the path of every body else's fun, but finally our committee, headed by old CG carried the day. Only six will not attend.
It would be nice to have you here for the party, just so I might show off a little. Without a doubt you would be the sensation of the night and many a Southern Belle would bite her nails and say la de da or fiddle dee dee. I wish it could be.
Did you ever receive a letter in which I described my visit to the ice-show? Curious because I know you would not let a mention of anything to do with ice shows go without mention. Perhaps the letter got lost.
The perfume you have ben using on your letters this last ten days of so is intoxication. Is it something new?
Had a chicken dinner tonight--southern fried. They bread it somehow and deep fry. It is pretty good. The chickens in this area are cheap and they are meaty. I have chicken quite often.
The waitress that served us reminded me of X. Not in looks of course since she is a once pretty girl of about 37, padded to make up for nature's cruelest oversight to a woman, with muscled, scrawny red arms and rough red hands. The similarity I saw was in the way she continually glanced at herself in the mirror. Mercifully, the lights in this combination restaurant and bar are dim. I have seen her in the day and her face is a wrinkled as a crone's.
Among other interesting features of this place is the requirement by the boss that the girls dance with the clientele. Those men who take advantage of this cruelest form of exploitation of stupidity and need handle the girls in the most overtly familiar manner you can imagine. It seems to have no visible effect on the girls. They are apparently used to it and not the least bit offended. Cauldwell and Faulkner do not exaggerate in their descriptions of various phases of Southern life.
I was flatter to hear that you dreamt of me or thought I was asking you something. Clearly, I am on your mind, which is good, because you are in my heart.
Love, Buddy.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
March 1, 1956
My father had excellent powers of observation. As to members of our family, well, I suppose, as to anyone, for he was a bit of a perfectionist, he could be exacting and unforgiving, albeit it was true that families are not always altruistic. But then again, human beings struggle with that always. In this case it appears my grandmother, who lived in one of our triangle buildings, needed help and my mother seems to have been in danger of being imposed upon, though she was the first of the girls to have any children. Jerry was my Aunt Rita's stepson, about 16 or 17 at the time. My father was highly protective of my mother. So, there are some edits I have made on the more sarcastic comments.
Received your letter of the 29th in which for the second letter in a row, say you received no mail from me. This is curious in view of the fact that I write every day and sometimes twice in one 12 hour period. Of course, you may be receiving more than one letter at a time.
I agree with you that your primary concern is to take care of your child and yourself. Do not let any one or anything pressure you into a feeling of obligation or guilt with regard to your mother. If necessary, make your position plain. . . You cannot be running up and down five flights of stairs with a two year old baby. Nor do I want the baby walking up and down so many stairs. And certainly I forbid you running over the roof. If you must, make it plain that I, Buddy, Constantine--your husband--and of course your sweetheart, FORBID, PROHIBIT any activity that is not consistent with OUR BEST INTERESTS. If this concern is so great, there are trained nurses, there is Jerry and if there is no one, then it's just too bad. . . .
Received a letter from Rita, yesterday, and I shall answer her right after I finish this letter.
Also heard from the Colonel and he made the following remark about his former no. 1 boy, Major X, who you remember was recently deposed. "Tony is making an attempt to adjust to the duties of Economics Officer," which can mean only that some one of our esteemed Captains with enough time in grade has lined himself up for a Majority. "Vae Victis," said an ancient Gallic conqueror, meaning Woe to the Vanquished, and truly our modern concept of sportsmanship and loyalty calls for a kick in the face after you are knocked down. No, never fear, I shall never again defend loyalty or decency at the expense of any material loss to myself. These are not the times for ethical concepts of honor; Judas has been resurrected instead of Christ; and what did Cain say?
Our course continues without abatement--8 hours a day of sitting and listening to lectures. The seats sometimes become very hard. If you count the number of class hours, you will see that this is the equivalent of more than a year of college compressed into thirteen weeks. Much of what is presented, though essential from a Military standpoint, is quite boring and drawn out. On the whole, though, the instructors try to make their presentations as entertaining as possible.
It appears that the Foreign officers--as has always been the case in my military experience--have an affinity for me. I receive all kinds of requests, from help in translation--though I don't speak Iranian, Thai or Chino-Japanese, I do get the intent of what is meant--to instruction in the operation of a camera Lt. Sayyar, an Iranian, is . . .pleased that I was able to photograph him "looking tall." He also insists I helped him get pictures without a blur.
Major Agahian, who is the chief of G-2 (Intelligence) in Iran--the leader of the equivalent of the Secret Service with the sole mission of guarding the King, is a most interesting man. As you know, Iranians are Mohammedans. This Major is devout. He neither drinks, nor smokes and considers the pleasures of femininity or any other so called vices. I am told by his fellow officers that he prays and meditates until two o'clock each morning. He is quite a good-looking man with very white even teeth and extremely kind eyes. Possibly well over forty, he appears thirty-five.
Lt. Shirazi, also Iranian, is rather an ugly man with a low forehead and hooked nose. His eyes are a beautiful gray. He speaks in a high-pitched, excitable manner and is a Company Commander. I get a picture of him haranguing his company in an alto falsetto, hands waving as he screeches. He is a poet, and likes solitude. He also like his whiskey straight.
Lt. Sayyar looks like a short, plump and jolly short-order cook one would find in any Greek restaurant. He even speaks English with a Greek accent. He is good natured and helpful.
I often think of the precarious position these officers are in. It is not without the realm of possibility that one day they might find themselves lined up against a wall and hot. Their country, which as you know is constantly under the threat of the Russian Bear and the internal Fifth column. The party in favor can easily be deposed and then. . .
I mentioned this to Lt. Shirazi, our poet, and he quoted something unintelligible to me from Saadi, or some such poet and he said, "Government our pay gives for ONE DAY, that DAY WE MUST DIE." "You cannot die," he said, "on the day it is not for you to die, but on the day is is for you to die, you must"
It is possible that these officers plus the Koreans may call on us sometime in the future. You might find them interesting. I will write about the Koreans at another date.
And now, since I think this letter is sufficiently long I close with
Love, Buddy
Received your letter of the 29th in which for the second letter in a row, say you received no mail from me. This is curious in view of the fact that I write every day and sometimes twice in one 12 hour period. Of course, you may be receiving more than one letter at a time.
I agree with you that your primary concern is to take care of your child and yourself. Do not let any one or anything pressure you into a feeling of obligation or guilt with regard to your mother. If necessary, make your position plain. . . You cannot be running up and down five flights of stairs with a two year old baby. Nor do I want the baby walking up and down so many stairs. And certainly I forbid you running over the roof. If you must, make it plain that I, Buddy, Constantine--your husband--and of course your sweetheart, FORBID, PROHIBIT any activity that is not consistent with OUR BEST INTERESTS. If this concern is so great, there are trained nurses, there is Jerry and if there is no one, then it's just too bad. . . .
Received a letter from Rita, yesterday, and I shall answer her right after I finish this letter.
Also heard from the Colonel and he made the following remark about his former no. 1 boy, Major X, who you remember was recently deposed. "Tony is making an attempt to adjust to the duties of Economics Officer," which can mean only that some one of our esteemed Captains with enough time in grade has lined himself up for a Majority. "Vae Victis," said an ancient Gallic conqueror, meaning Woe to the Vanquished, and truly our modern concept of sportsmanship and loyalty calls for a kick in the face after you are knocked down. No, never fear, I shall never again defend loyalty or decency at the expense of any material loss to myself. These are not the times for ethical concepts of honor; Judas has been resurrected instead of Christ; and what did Cain say?
Our course continues without abatement--8 hours a day of sitting and listening to lectures. The seats sometimes become very hard. If you count the number of class hours, you will see that this is the equivalent of more than a year of college compressed into thirteen weeks. Much of what is presented, though essential from a Military standpoint, is quite boring and drawn out. On the whole, though, the instructors try to make their presentations as entertaining as possible.
It appears that the Foreign officers--as has always been the case in my military experience--have an affinity for me. I receive all kinds of requests, from help in translation--though I don't speak Iranian, Thai or Chino-Japanese, I do get the intent of what is meant--to instruction in the operation of a camera Lt. Sayyar, an Iranian, is . . .pleased that I was able to photograph him "looking tall." He also insists I helped him get pictures without a blur.
Major Agahian, who is the chief of G-2 (Intelligence) in Iran--the leader of the equivalent of the Secret Service with the sole mission of guarding the King, is a most interesting man. As you know, Iranians are Mohammedans. This Major is devout. He neither drinks, nor smokes and considers the pleasures of femininity or any other so called vices. I am told by his fellow officers that he prays and meditates until two o'clock each morning. He is quite a good-looking man with very white even teeth and extremely kind eyes. Possibly well over forty, he appears thirty-five.
Lt. Shirazi, also Iranian, is rather an ugly man with a low forehead and hooked nose. His eyes are a beautiful gray. He speaks in a high-pitched, excitable manner and is a Company Commander. I get a picture of him haranguing his company in an alto falsetto, hands waving as he screeches. He is a poet, and likes solitude. He also like his whiskey straight.
Lt. Sayyar looks like a short, plump and jolly short-order cook one would find in any Greek restaurant. He even speaks English with a Greek accent. He is good natured and helpful.
I often think of the precarious position these officers are in. It is not without the realm of possibility that one day they might find themselves lined up against a wall and hot. Their country, which as you know is constantly under the threat of the Russian Bear and the internal Fifth column. The party in favor can easily be deposed and then. . .
I mentioned this to Lt. Shirazi, our poet, and he quoted something unintelligible to me from Saadi, or some such poet and he said, "Government our pay gives for ONE DAY, that DAY WE MUST DIE." "You cannot die," he said, "on the day it is not for you to die, but on the day is is for you to die, you must"
It is possible that these officers plus the Koreans may call on us sometime in the future. You might find them interesting. I will write about the Koreans at another date.
And now, since I think this letter is sufficiently long I close with
Love, Buddy
Thursday, February 2, 2017
Dad's letters of February 27, 1956
It's speculation as to what my mother wrote to my father that triggered a somewhat angry handwritten response, and a typed more chastened one. It was clearly about money, and five dollars was the amount. It was, I think, bigger than that. My mother wanted a different life (as I am sure many women of the day) than the one she had in the Bronx. She claimed friendship with all these up and comers in the modelling world, who had only first names to us. We came to believe over time they didn't exist. She was 30 years old and her life was still entrenched in a narrow world. My father I think felt responsible for her sadness, her desires that he could not fulfill in a world where she did not feel she could fulfill them on her own.
Letter 1:
Received two letters from you today. I thought I always answered your questions but obviously I was wrong. So here goes.
I will assure you enough money to defray whatever costs the birthday party may incur. The day after tomorrow is payday and I will send you $300.00 for your monthly expenses. Since this month you will not have gas and electric and since your bills should be Rent $43.000, telephone $8.00, personal finance $30 and television $13.00, a total of $94.00, you will have about $50.00 a week left over for living expenses. Nevertheless, on the first of April, I will send additional money to make sure of Djinna's party.
With regard to my plans. I shall have on my return between $800 and $1000. $500 is to be banked immediately, and the rest is to go for some clothes for you and whatever immediate expenses we have.
Other plans. I do not intend to return to Shapiro or selling. I have decided that I must get with some concern that offers security and advancement. Eve if this means leaving N.Y. In any case, as soon as I get back I shall find an immediate job.
I am enclosing the $5 you requested. Nothing in my whole life has ever made me as ashamed as that little P.S. I know now what would impel a man to robbery. I am so ashamed that I can only send what you asked for and not 100 times the amount.
Buddy
Letter 2: Typed
Dear Rosetta:
Happy Birthday--and Happy Awakening. . .
The letter I wrote you earlier, the one in longhand was by a badly confused and angry person. And still--some five or six hours later an angry knot persists in my insides. How terribly in need you must have been to make that pathetic little request. And how pathetically inadequate was the reply I was able to make. I think I shall always hate myself--always dread the reappearance of that self-image I had to look at today.
If you are afraid or apprehensive about things to come, I can't even say, "I promise", can't comfort, can't even lie, though at this moment I would gladly make the utmost bargain to give you the happiness I want for you. But even that would be nothing but a gesture.
Yes, you are beautiful and desirable, and it is not late in life. . .for you, and if, in that perimeter of Angela's and Tian's and Lisa's and Bruce's, a force sets up that draws you toward its vortex, don't turn your head lest your dreams turn to salt--not even for. . .
Love,
Buddy
When Dad returned home, he did not immediately leave his job. In fact, he didn't leave at all. The company went out of business in 1965. It was only then that dad began a career, at 45, where he had a chance of advancement, and a pension. By the time he retired from that job, in 1980, my mother had been dead six years.
Letter 1:
Received two letters from you today. I thought I always answered your questions but obviously I was wrong. So here goes.
I will assure you enough money to defray whatever costs the birthday party may incur. The day after tomorrow is payday and I will send you $300.00 for your monthly expenses. Since this month you will not have gas and electric and since your bills should be Rent $43.000, telephone $8.00, personal finance $30 and television $13.00, a total of $94.00, you will have about $50.00 a week left over for living expenses. Nevertheless, on the first of April, I will send additional money to make sure of Djinna's party.
With regard to my plans. I shall have on my return between $800 and $1000. $500 is to be banked immediately, and the rest is to go for some clothes for you and whatever immediate expenses we have.
Other plans. I do not intend to return to Shapiro or selling. I have decided that I must get with some concern that offers security and advancement. Eve if this means leaving N.Y. In any case, as soon as I get back I shall find an immediate job.
I am enclosing the $5 you requested. Nothing in my whole life has ever made me as ashamed as that little P.S. I know now what would impel a man to robbery. I am so ashamed that I can only send what you asked for and not 100 times the amount.
Buddy
Letter 2: Typed
Dear Rosetta:
Happy Birthday--and Happy Awakening. . .
The letter I wrote you earlier, the one in longhand was by a badly confused and angry person. And still--some five or six hours later an angry knot persists in my insides. How terribly in need you must have been to make that pathetic little request. And how pathetically inadequate was the reply I was able to make. I think I shall always hate myself--always dread the reappearance of that self-image I had to look at today.
If you are afraid or apprehensive about things to come, I can't even say, "I promise", can't comfort, can't even lie, though at this moment I would gladly make the utmost bargain to give you the happiness I want for you. But even that would be nothing but a gesture.
Yes, you are beautiful and desirable, and it is not late in life. . .for you, and if, in that perimeter of Angela's and Tian's and Lisa's and Bruce's, a force sets up that draws you toward its vortex, don't turn your head lest your dreams turn to salt--not even for. . .
Love,
Buddy
When Dad returned home, he did not immediately leave his job. In fact, he didn't leave at all. The company went out of business in 1965. It was only then that dad began a career, at 45, where he had a chance of advancement, and a pension. By the time he retired from that job, in 1980, my mother had been dead six years.
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
Dad from Georgia: February 28, 1956
Dear Rosetta:
I hope you have torn up the letter that precedes this one. No sooner had I dropped it in the mail-box than I was sorry. I should have kept it a day before mailing. It was a poor present and most certainly in very bad taste for any occasion. Will you forgive me if I ask, penitent, barefoot, genuflected in abject misery before that image of beauty I carry with me, the memory of one--you.
For the last two days we have had high winds and rain. Yesterday, they evacuated the camp theatre for fear of forecasted high-velocity gusts. We were alerted to the possibility that our barracks might suffer damage. But, tough the winds were high, there was no damage. This morning, the sun shone and it was cool, moist and fresh--almost like a Northern climate.
TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION:
"Shall we go back to the old way of living?" I sincerely believe not. I think that in coming here I have discovered an intangible that might make the difference. There has been a block between us that was preventing true understanding. This is curious because both of us have an abundance of those things to give away that we both want. I discovered, also, that it was largely my own fault that the obstacle existed, even though the two of us have created it by individual contributions. Perhaps it was action and reaction. I hope so, for if this is true, what I did I can undo. But I suspect this is not wholly the truth. In many of my letters I have purposely planted statements designed to get answers to what I want to know. I know what direction I want to give to what I have but do you? I'm sorry if I can't make this any clearer. I'll try another time.
Stars so distant
Are cool and restful to the soul
But searing to the touch.
A kiss for now, Buddy.
Transcriber post script: I cannot presently find the letter to which dad refers which he regretted. I am not sure that I had it, and I have lost it, or that it never was in the package left behind in the first place. Dad had a tendency--and I am told I inherited it--to seem to be speaking directly without ever doing so. The letter above is an example. He was blaming himself for whatever was going on between them, but looking for her to reach out to him, but what he had in mind, I'll never know. My memories, albeit ones that are inherently faulty as I was young and memories always reconstruct themselves, was that they did not achieve what dad was hoping.
I hope you have torn up the letter that precedes this one. No sooner had I dropped it in the mail-box than I was sorry. I should have kept it a day before mailing. It was a poor present and most certainly in very bad taste for any occasion. Will you forgive me if I ask, penitent, barefoot, genuflected in abject misery before that image of beauty I carry with me, the memory of one--you.
For the last two days we have had high winds and rain. Yesterday, they evacuated the camp theatre for fear of forecasted high-velocity gusts. We were alerted to the possibility that our barracks might suffer damage. But, tough the winds were high, there was no damage. This morning, the sun shone and it was cool, moist and fresh--almost like a Northern climate.
TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION:
"Shall we go back to the old way of living?" I sincerely believe not. I think that in coming here I have discovered an intangible that might make the difference. There has been a block between us that was preventing true understanding. This is curious because both of us have an abundance of those things to give away that we both want. I discovered, also, that it was largely my own fault that the obstacle existed, even though the two of us have created it by individual contributions. Perhaps it was action and reaction. I hope so, for if this is true, what I did I can undo. But I suspect this is not wholly the truth. In many of my letters I have purposely planted statements designed to get answers to what I want to know. I know what direction I want to give to what I have but do you? I'm sorry if I can't make this any clearer. I'll try another time.
Stars so distant
Are cool and restful to the soul
But searing to the touch.
A kiss for now, Buddy.
Transcriber post script: I cannot presently find the letter to which dad refers which he regretted. I am not sure that I had it, and I have lost it, or that it never was in the package left behind in the first place. Dad had a tendency--and I am told I inherited it--to seem to be speaking directly without ever doing so. The letter above is an example. He was blaming himself for whatever was going on between them, but looking for her to reach out to him, but what he had in mind, I'll never know. My memories, albeit ones that are inherently faulty as I was young and memories always reconstruct themselves, was that they did not achieve what dad was hoping.
Dad's Letters from Georgia February 29, 1956
I wish I were more consistent in transcribing the lovely letters my father wrote to my mother when he was at Fort Gordon, Georgia for army post training back in the 1950s. But I am getting there, and if you read prior entries and a couple of my prior blogs which for reasons of computer illiteracy I cannot access any more for additions, you will have the thread. But you don't need to--each letter stands alone. And each is a capsule of a time and place and sensibilities over 60 years past. This one was actually written in dad's hand, so I have scanned it here. I like the idea that my dad's handwriting is in the ether to be seen by generations to come. I follow it by a transcription, in case the reading is difficult. The thing that always amazes me about these letters is that my father talks of love, and missing my mother, and refers to my mother missing him. Alas, when I was more than the baby in this letter, I didn't think they liked each other much. You never know the whole story do you?
The transcription:
Dear Rosetta:
Set your wherewithal this morning via three money orders. This should make it easier for you to cash the. The sum total, for checking purposes was $280.00. If, suring the month, it appears this will not be enough, write immediately and let me know. As far as the baby's party is concerned, be assured you will have eough. First, because I shall send you some money the first of April and second because this month you will receive (sic) check for 45-60 dollars. Should th eneed arise, send it to me, I will cash it and return the case.
Received a letter from Rita today. She tells me how much you miss me, which information coming from a third person is very flattering. Please let me know if her observation is factual.
The last week of so has been very boring. Some of the lectures which deal with confinement of criminals are really interesting but I have little sympathy with our concepts of crime and punishment and I find it hard to keep from saying what I feel. Of course, though, I will.
I was looking through the PX today. They have some cotton baby dresses that do not impress me too much. They have an abundance of your Faberge perfumes. Name some others you might like. By the way, do you still use baby powder and Q-tips, baby oil-do you need diapers?
I miss you very much and will find this last month difficult. It should go by fast, though. In the mea time, keep well and try not to be lonesome
Love, Buddy
Dear Rosetta:
Set your wherewithal this morning via three money orders. This should make it easier for you to cash the. The sum total, for checking purposes was $280.00. If, suring the month, it appears this will not be enough, write immediately and let me know. As far as the baby's party is concerned, be assured you will have eough. First, because I shall send you some money the first of April and second because this month you will receive (sic) check for 45-60 dollars. Should th eneed arise, send it to me, I will cash it and return the case.
Received a letter from Rita today. She tells me how much you miss me, which information coming from a third person is very flattering. Please let me know if her observation is factual.
The last week of so has been very boring. Some of the lectures which deal with confinement of criminals are really interesting but I have little sympathy with our concepts of crime and punishment and I find it hard to keep from saying what I feel. Of course, though, I will.
I was looking through the PX today. They have some cotton baby dresses that do not impress me too much. They have an abundance of your Faberge perfumes. Name some others you might like. By the way, do you still use baby powder and Q-tips, baby oil-do you need diapers?
I miss you very much and will find this last month difficult. It should go by fast, though. In the mea time, keep well and try not to be lonesome
Love, Buddy
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