Susan Writes

On Thursday, January 4, 1944, at 7:30 a.m. Dad wrote to Mom. “Didn’t get a letter yesterday.  Guess you didn’t have time since you are so busy canning meat.  It’s a little greasy and messy, isn’t it?” The letter’s return address is Camp Bowie, Texas. 

In last week’s column, I shared that Daughter and two Grands helped me sort the many letters that Dad wrote Mom while he served in the Army from October 1943 until April 1946.  These letters give glimpses of 2 ½ years. 

Dad wrote about daily life: food served, letters received from family and friends, fellow soldiers he met who had lived near his Byrdstown, Tennessee home town, weather, frustrations of letting the hem out of pants to make them long enough. And he always asked about Roger, my brother who was almost one when Dad enlisted.

In one January 1944 letter, Dad wrote that he hoped Mom was feeling fine after having ‘those old tonsils removed’ and that her headaches disappeared as a result.   For about two months, letters were rerouted from Byrdstown to Albany, Ky, and Akron, Ohio, where Mom’s two sisters lived.  So, Mom and Roger must have stayed with her sisters after her tonsillectomy.

From an October 1944 letter, I learned that Dad worked as a dentist assistant.  A job that was envied by others because he worked shorter hours and had time off. 

Dad wrote, “Do what you like with the roll top desk.  Paint it or anything.  Big job to sand it down tho and get it looking decent.”  Someone made it look decent.  It was Dad’s office desk at the service station he owned in the early 1950’s.  Without the roll top, it was Mom’s back porch office desk.  For many years, my brother and sister-in-law used it and two years ago, it was moved again – to my oldest Grand’s room.

February 1945, Dad mailed a signed Power of Attorney form. 

Letters written in March show an APO address: New York, NY.  He wrote, “I am still

very much in love with a certain beautiful young lady and this loneliness is only natural.”  One heading reads At Sea.  Another is Somewhere in France.

            Dad tells of travelling by truck convoy through several French towns and seeing some rather beautiful farm county.  People along the way were eager to get the cigarettes and candy thrown to them.

            April 1945, Dad wrote from Somewhere in Germany. He assured Mom that he wasn’t in danger, far from the front, and working as a carpenter.  An August letter reads, “We heard today about the new atomic bomb and our paper says something about a plant near Knoxville.”

            I’ve skimmed letters through March 1946, including those returned to Mom because Dad was on his way home. 

            My favorite parts are the greetings and closings.  Dear Darling.  Hi Sweetheart. 

Good night, Dearest I love you. I love you and always will.

            I share these glimpses to encourage others to get letters out of boxes.  Such writings make us who we are.

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A tattered cardboard box filled with letters has been in a corner of a room at our house since 1992.  Not long after Mom’s death, Dad moved from his home in Byrdstown, Tennessee.

            Dad sold the house that he and Mom built in 1947, the house I grew up in, and he moved to an apartment here in Cookeville. My emotions were too raw to read those letters so soon after Mom’s death and after helping Dad clean out the only house I’d known as his and Mom’s home.

            The letters were tied with narrow satin ribbons.  Some red.  Some pink and blue – the soft hues that would be wrapped around a baby’s gift.  I looked at those ribbons and thought Mom tied those.

            At the time, Dad explained that most were letters he’d written to Mom while he was in the Army.  He served from October 1943 to April 1946, the last two years of World War II and seven months after the end of the war.  

Dad didn’t want to talk about his letters – only to tell me that the signatures on the bottom left-hand corner of envelopes that he’d mailed while stationed in Europe indicated that the letters had been approved by an examiner. 

Dad died in 1997, never looking at the letters. He did identify himself and friends in some black-and-white photos. He was a really good looking solider when he was stationed in Camp Barkley, Oklahoma for basic training.

            Through the years, I’ve read a few letters and every time I had to be careful that my teardrops didn’t smudge the ink.  And every time, I’d think that I needed to get the letters out of the box, but the task seemed overwhelming and I didn’t know how to best store them. 

            About two months ago, I gave up the excuse that I didn’t know how.  I met Megan Atkinson, Tennessee Tech University archivist, and told her about Dad’s letters.  “What should I do to save them?” I asked.

            Her response, while kind and gentle, was immediate and direct.  “Get them out of the envelopes and lay them flat.”  She explained that folded paper becomes weak and tears easily.  “Use a plastic paper clip to attach each letter and its envelope to a blank sheet of paper and store them in acid free folders.”

And I learned that I shouldn’t lay the folders on top of each other because weight weakens paper and to use acid-free storage boxes.   

I asked for help.  Following Megan’s directions, Daughter, two Grands, and I sorted and stored Dad’s 147 letters. We reminded ourselves to stay on task, but my two teen-age Grands found some treasures.  One is a picture of their great-grandfather standing in front of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris.

            Since Mom’s birthday is November 7 and Veteran’s Day is November 11, it’s a good time to honor Mom and Dad.  Time to read and share these letters with their grandchildren and great-grands.    

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