Dear Rosetta:
Enclosed you will find the sum of $500 which I told you I would send. Be sure to put four hundred of this amount into an account immediately. The other one hundred should be sufficient for your expenses until I get home next week.
With regard to that letter from Bond. I owe them a small sum--about 40 dollars. If they call or write, send them ten ($10) and no more. When I get home I'll pay the rest. Be sure not to go into the money set aside for the bank.
Saw two movies yesterday, Carousel, which was excellent--beautiful voices, particularly the leads, and The Tender Trap, which was quite enjoyable except that the hero ended up with Debbie Reynolds which showed poor judgment on his part considering the other gorgeous girls that were available to him.
Will write soon again--probably call you tonight.
Buddy
Sunday, March 5, 2017
Thursday, March 2, 2017
Remembering Monsignor Jeremiah Murphy
Some years ago, probably close to 18, I was walking along Holloway Drive in West Hollywood back toward my parish, St. Victor. I saw a man with a wide brimmed hat and a Notre Dame sweatshirt working on the patch of grass and trees in the front. I didn't realize I knew him until I heard, "Hello, Djinna." In those days, Monsignor Murphy who became Pastor after our last long time one had become debilitated with illness, was a strong, athletic man. He loved to garden. He loved to run. He loved sports, football in particular. He had been the Superintendent of the Los Angeles Archdiocese Catholic schools, as well as a principal and a pastor in more than one Church, the one before ours, St. Brendan's in Hancock Park. For the first one or two years at St. Victor, he deferred to the Pastor Emeritus, by not making any significant changes in the way the parish was run. And, he allowed that former pastor to continue to live in his old rooms, something that demonstrated a particular kindness that was inherent to the man, but quietly so.
His homilies were always strong. He never used notes, and always full of history in discussing the saints.
To be honest, I was a little skittish around him, as I had been with the former pastor. Both were men of pronounced personalities, and neither suffered fools. In Monsignor Murphy's case, I particularly recognized the Irish reserve. People don't realize that. They think the Irish are always "hail fellow well met" sorts, but many are not demonstrative. He was not, though people always wanted to hug him and engage him in both spiritual and idle conversation. He was always on the move, thinking ahead to the next thing he needed to do, or to found, like McIntyre House, the drug and alcohol recovery home that bears the name of the late Cardinal, and Isaiah House, for transitional homeless, or serving on one or another Board. And serving the parish, doing a herculean number of Masses. When he decided that St. Victor, which still is a mostly single adult parish should have a pre-school, a few folks thought it was nutty. Where would the kids come from? But he persevered and St. Victor has a thriving pre-school, well attended by 2 to 5 year olds who put smiles on everyone's faces. He increased the number of Holy Hours, so the people could adore Our Lord in the Eucharist. He created Christian Meditation Classes. A few years ago, he gave a temporary home to the Extraordinary Rite of the Mass and a couple of priests from the FSSP.
He could be perfunctory. You might be having a conversation with him, or so you thought, and then suddenly he'd be gone. He had the ability to seem opaque, but then he'd break down with a little joke.
His family says it was about 12 years ago that the strong man began to have the physical ailment that would now debilitate him. Well, actually, it wasn't debilitated in a way, because he never stopped. He got some help from wonderful priests to fill in as necessary, but he continued to do more than his share of celebrations of the Mass. What he had, he kept to himself, except surely to those few people who tended to him, and his family, and maybe closest friends. I have always guessed, from that old reliable Google, that it was some form of ALS, given the way it took away his musculature and rendered him unable to move at all. For the last about six years, he had been in a wheelchair, effectively a quadraplegic. And the miraculous thing, though there was some talk he should give up the ghost, is that it worked. Parishioners and volunteer staff and servers and lectors helped him make sure that few beats were missed in the life of the parish. He had Jayvil, and Virgil Sr. and Virgil Jr. who could anticipate his every need and mood. In the summer of 2011, after I lost my job and transitioned into retirement from the 9-5 lifestyle, I became blessed to become one of the volunteers, in a manner that kept me so close to the "action" of the altar that was truly Awe-some. Sometimes I was so worried about making sure everything was as Monsignor wanted it, when he wanted it, the placement of his wheelchair, the turning of the pages, the placement of the vessels, that I might have not always realized the extraordinary Gift of Grace that was given to me, through the man who stood in representio Christi and the the moment of Transubstantiation.
I remember a story of one of my first efforts to help him. Monsignor was still walking, but his arms had failed him, and he couldn't lift them up to any height. I had never opened our Tabernacle before, and did not realize there was a particular angle at which the key had to be held and used. I couldn't do it. Monsignor turned around and had me try to lift his hand to guide the key. It was a seemingly endless and impossible process. I could feel the heat of embarrassment and incompetence and frustration that would usually cause me to utter something profane--though I do so rarely, this was the kind of moment that could provoke it-but I didn't. I knew where I was. And then we did it. Monsignor was still able to dispense communion, and he took Our Lord in his fingers, and said, with a little humor in his voice, but not so much as not to be improper to the occasion, "Assuming you are still in the State of Grace, Body of Christ." He was real, this man, this priest.
His homilies became more, how would I describe it, as they were always good ones, but more I guess, sensible of the eschatological, of last things, of living well as God intends for us. Happily, someone in our parish thought long ago to record them, and we will have them for posterity.
He would have bouts that accompany the disease that afflicted him. He would fight it until he absolutely had to be hospitalized. But he always came back to St. Victor. The last time I saw him was on Thursday the 23rd. It would be the last time I would assist him during Mass. Then I heard on Saturday morning he was hospitalized, in the ICU. Information was sparse. They said he was doing better, on the very day that he died, while Fr. Anthony was celebrating the 12:10 weekday Mass that Monsignor did when he was well (and the 8).
I love the idea that he is no longer bound by his body. I don't like that he is gone. But I also know that he suffered as God's good disciple in the last years, and I believe God is pleased with him.
Once, when I helped at a funeral, I wondered if as many people would show up to mine. He said it didn't matter how many people came; what mattered was my relationship with God.
Amen to that. But still I bet there will be a lot of people at his funeral to send him off. And no worries about his relationship with God. I am pretty sure the Lord will be saying, "Well done, My good and faithful servant!"
His homilies were always strong. He never used notes, and always full of history in discussing the saints.
To be honest, I was a little skittish around him, as I had been with the former pastor. Both were men of pronounced personalities, and neither suffered fools. In Monsignor Murphy's case, I particularly recognized the Irish reserve. People don't realize that. They think the Irish are always "hail fellow well met" sorts, but many are not demonstrative. He was not, though people always wanted to hug him and engage him in both spiritual and idle conversation. He was always on the move, thinking ahead to the next thing he needed to do, or to found, like McIntyre House, the drug and alcohol recovery home that bears the name of the late Cardinal, and Isaiah House, for transitional homeless, or serving on one or another Board. And serving the parish, doing a herculean number of Masses. When he decided that St. Victor, which still is a mostly single adult parish should have a pre-school, a few folks thought it was nutty. Where would the kids come from? But he persevered and St. Victor has a thriving pre-school, well attended by 2 to 5 year olds who put smiles on everyone's faces. He increased the number of Holy Hours, so the people could adore Our Lord in the Eucharist. He created Christian Meditation Classes. A few years ago, he gave a temporary home to the Extraordinary Rite of the Mass and a couple of priests from the FSSP.
He could be perfunctory. You might be having a conversation with him, or so you thought, and then suddenly he'd be gone. He had the ability to seem opaque, but then he'd break down with a little joke.
His family says it was about 12 years ago that the strong man began to have the physical ailment that would now debilitate him. Well, actually, it wasn't debilitated in a way, because he never stopped. He got some help from wonderful priests to fill in as necessary, but he continued to do more than his share of celebrations of the Mass. What he had, he kept to himself, except surely to those few people who tended to him, and his family, and maybe closest friends. I have always guessed, from that old reliable Google, that it was some form of ALS, given the way it took away his musculature and rendered him unable to move at all. For the last about six years, he had been in a wheelchair, effectively a quadraplegic. And the miraculous thing, though there was some talk he should give up the ghost, is that it worked. Parishioners and volunteer staff and servers and lectors helped him make sure that few beats were missed in the life of the parish. He had Jayvil, and Virgil Sr. and Virgil Jr. who could anticipate his every need and mood. In the summer of 2011, after I lost my job and transitioned into retirement from the 9-5 lifestyle, I became blessed to become one of the volunteers, in a manner that kept me so close to the "action" of the altar that was truly Awe-some. Sometimes I was so worried about making sure everything was as Monsignor wanted it, when he wanted it, the placement of his wheelchair, the turning of the pages, the placement of the vessels, that I might have not always realized the extraordinary Gift of Grace that was given to me, through the man who stood in representio Christi and the the moment of Transubstantiation.
I remember a story of one of my first efforts to help him. Monsignor was still walking, but his arms had failed him, and he couldn't lift them up to any height. I had never opened our Tabernacle before, and did not realize there was a particular angle at which the key had to be held and used. I couldn't do it. Monsignor turned around and had me try to lift his hand to guide the key. It was a seemingly endless and impossible process. I could feel the heat of embarrassment and incompetence and frustration that would usually cause me to utter something profane--though I do so rarely, this was the kind of moment that could provoke it-but I didn't. I knew where I was. And then we did it. Monsignor was still able to dispense communion, and he took Our Lord in his fingers, and said, with a little humor in his voice, but not so much as not to be improper to the occasion, "Assuming you are still in the State of Grace, Body of Christ." He was real, this man, this priest.
His homilies became more, how would I describe it, as they were always good ones, but more I guess, sensible of the eschatological, of last things, of living well as God intends for us. Happily, someone in our parish thought long ago to record them, and we will have them for posterity.
He would have bouts that accompany the disease that afflicted him. He would fight it until he absolutely had to be hospitalized. But he always came back to St. Victor. The last time I saw him was on Thursday the 23rd. It would be the last time I would assist him during Mass. Then I heard on Saturday morning he was hospitalized, in the ICU. Information was sparse. They said he was doing better, on the very day that he died, while Fr. Anthony was celebrating the 12:10 weekday Mass that Monsignor did when he was well (and the 8).
I love the idea that he is no longer bound by his body. I don't like that he is gone. But I also know that he suffered as God's good disciple in the last years, and I believe God is pleased with him.
Once, when I helped at a funeral, I wondered if as many people would show up to mine. He said it didn't matter how many people came; what mattered was my relationship with God.
Amen to that. But still I bet there will be a lot of people at his funeral to send him off. And no worries about his relationship with God. I am pretty sure the Lord will be saying, "Well done, My good and faithful servant!"
March 29, 1956
Whether rightly or incorrectly, Dad felt that my mother wasn't getting enough help from her sisters during the time that he was away. I don't know. It is true that many in our family were, a little odd, even not reading the needs of others. My mother probably didn't ask for help. She had her own eccentricities, as do we all. I was there only tangentially, so I am not offering opinion. He felt as he felt then.
Dear Rosetta:
Have no fear. The news about that projected California enterprise has little if any interest to me. Perhaps I am a little hardened but mention of any of my erstwhile associates leaves me a little cold. I have little desire to be in any way involved in their lives. . .I actually wish it were possible for us to suddenly disappear from our environment without farewells--without even notifying anyone that we were leaving and never to see any of them again.
This last school week seems to be dragging. It is always this way when one tries to rush the calendar. Today, we were given a break. We were scheduled for an outdoor weapons demonstration but it rained and we were given the afternoon off.
Saturday is pay day. I shall send you almost the entire check. The total will be five hundred dollars. Take four hundred and put it in an acount. From the remainder you should have enough for expenses till I return.
Our Lt. was married, day before yesterday. He neither spoke no had any other contact with his wife subsequently. Now, though the agreement was a marriage in name only, she calls him continually and even followed him home last night. She is quoted as having said, "After all, he is my husband."
From the little I know of her, and the little I've heard, I predict some unpleasant events for the young Napoleon. The agreement calls for no monetary allowance for her or the child and a divorce at some future date. It is in writing but legally not worth the paper it is written on. One of thse days he will probably receive a petition for support and possibly other expenses.
This has been rather a bad break for the Lt. He is very young and not too bright. The girl is also young but apparently not unfamiliar with the ways of the world. Interspersed in their idyll is another boy who did spend the week-end with her. The now husband has not even the satisfaction of knowing for certain whether is from his "loins" that the issue to come emanates. However, it has always been thus since the days of Mother Eve.
About the middle of next week there will be little point in your writing any more since on Friday I shall leave for home. We graduate at nine in the morning and should be through by 12. Noon. I can hardly wait. How about you?
Love,
Buddy
Dear Rosetta:
Have no fear. The news about that projected California enterprise has little if any interest to me. Perhaps I am a little hardened but mention of any of my erstwhile associates leaves me a little cold. I have little desire to be in any way involved in their lives. . .I actually wish it were possible for us to suddenly disappear from our environment without farewells--without even notifying anyone that we were leaving and never to see any of them again.
This last school week seems to be dragging. It is always this way when one tries to rush the calendar. Today, we were given a break. We were scheduled for an outdoor weapons demonstration but it rained and we were given the afternoon off.
Saturday is pay day. I shall send you almost the entire check. The total will be five hundred dollars. Take four hundred and put it in an acount. From the remainder you should have enough for expenses till I return.
Our Lt. was married, day before yesterday. He neither spoke no had any other contact with his wife subsequently. Now, though the agreement was a marriage in name only, she calls him continually and even followed him home last night. She is quoted as having said, "After all, he is my husband."
From the little I know of her, and the little I've heard, I predict some unpleasant events for the young Napoleon. The agreement calls for no monetary allowance for her or the child and a divorce at some future date. It is in writing but legally not worth the paper it is written on. One of thse days he will probably receive a petition for support and possibly other expenses.
This has been rather a bad break for the Lt. He is very young and not too bright. The girl is also young but apparently not unfamiliar with the ways of the world. Interspersed in their idyll is another boy who did spend the week-end with her. The now husband has not even the satisfaction of knowing for certain whether is from his "loins" that the issue to come emanates. However, it has always been thus since the days of Mother Eve.
About the middle of next week there will be little point in your writing any more since on Friday I shall leave for home. We graduate at nine in the morning and should be through by 12. Noon. I can hardly wait. How about you?
Love,
Buddy
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
March 27, 1956
Dear Rosetta:
Received a very short letter from you today and this made me realize how difficult it must have been for you to write every single day in view of the dearth of excitement at hoe. I don't think I ever told you how grateful I have been for this consideration and thoughtfulness on your part. I am very--and I have looked forward to receiving those pink and blue envelopes each and every day.
There remain some ten days or so to the course and they are pouring it on. Probably there was a miscalculation on the part of the planning board and the Army requires that a specified course have so many hours of so many given subjects. This week we had three exams, so far and there is still one more to go. Next week we will be given the afternoon off to see the Cincinnati Reds play at the Ft. Gordon Ball Park.
It has been turning warm, which indicates that Spring is here in earnest. So far, there has been only minor damage to "your" peach blossoms in South Carolina. By the way, I don't think I mentioned this before, but South Carolina is just across a little bridge from Augusta.
Some officers from the Military Government Companies in New York arrived, yesterday. One was from my company--Bill O'Connor, a NYC cop who manages to amass quite a sizable income from regular attendance at these Army schools.
I shall miss you very strongly these last few days of the course. Regardless of what you say I shall put my hand on your thigh and continue to do so until you find it quite a natural and desirable thing. Surprise--didn't think there was a prudish bone in your body.
Today, we had one officer missing from the class, which indicates that a wedding was taking place somewhere. I am curious to hear what developments will occur.
This coming Saturday will mark my last weekend away. I should be chez-moi the Sunday following at about noon--if all goes well. Is there any procedure you would like me to follow? Shall I surprise you by just walking in?. . . Shall we have time for ourselves that day?
Sent your mother and Rita an Easter card. Did you like the one I sent Djinna? It was the only child's card in the area. I thought it was a little old for her but there was something about the card that reminded me of her.
No more for now. A hug and a kiss for baby and for you. . .
Wait, my love
T'is soon tomorrow
Buddy
Received a very short letter from you today and this made me realize how difficult it must have been for you to write every single day in view of the dearth of excitement at hoe. I don't think I ever told you how grateful I have been for this consideration and thoughtfulness on your part. I am very--and I have looked forward to receiving those pink and blue envelopes each and every day.
There remain some ten days or so to the course and they are pouring it on. Probably there was a miscalculation on the part of the planning board and the Army requires that a specified course have so many hours of so many given subjects. This week we had three exams, so far and there is still one more to go. Next week we will be given the afternoon off to see the Cincinnati Reds play at the Ft. Gordon Ball Park.
It has been turning warm, which indicates that Spring is here in earnest. So far, there has been only minor damage to "your" peach blossoms in South Carolina. By the way, I don't think I mentioned this before, but South Carolina is just across a little bridge from Augusta.
Some officers from the Military Government Companies in New York arrived, yesterday. One was from my company--Bill O'Connor, a NYC cop who manages to amass quite a sizable income from regular attendance at these Army schools.
I shall miss you very strongly these last few days of the course. Regardless of what you say I shall put my hand on your thigh and continue to do so until you find it quite a natural and desirable thing. Surprise--didn't think there was a prudish bone in your body.
Today, we had one officer missing from the class, which indicates that a wedding was taking place somewhere. I am curious to hear what developments will occur.
This coming Saturday will mark my last weekend away. I should be chez-moi the Sunday following at about noon--if all goes well. Is there any procedure you would like me to follow? Shall I surprise you by just walking in?. . . Shall we have time for ourselves that day?
Sent your mother and Rita an Easter card. Did you like the one I sent Djinna? It was the only child's card in the area. I thought it was a little old for her but there was something about the card that reminded me of her.
No more for now. A hug and a kiss for baby and for you. . .
Wait, my love
T'is soon tomorrow
Buddy
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
March 26, 1956
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
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
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.
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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.
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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
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