23 July, 2012

23 July 1945


438th AAA AW BN
APO 513 % Postmaster, N.Y.
23 July, 1945      1110
Dearest darling Wilma –

I’ve started this letter on 3 different occasions this morning. I ought to be able to finish it this time. It’s just one of those days in which everything and everyone is buzzing about.

Truth to tell, sweetheart, I’ve been missing you terribly – and the big moon of the last few nights hasn’t helped one bit. Gosh. I love you dear – and I’m getting tired of just telling you. I want to see you, tell you, love you – actually. Oh – it’ll come some day, darling, and when it does – boy, oh boy – we’ll be there!

A quiet, uneventful day yesterday. We played Bridge almost all afternoon. (I lost 115 francs – but we had some swell rubbers) – and after that I played tennis with a couple of Frenchmen – and lost again, but it was good experience. Today – the weekly routine.

All for now, dear – love to the folks – and
All my love is yours.


about "Miscellany"

From TIME magazine's section called "Miscellany", published 23 July 1945, Volume XLVI, Number 4:
Where's the Fire? In Albuquerque, N.M., a cab driver bucked a one-way street, crashed a red light, illegally double-parked, collected his fare and a multiple traffic ticket from his passenger, Plainclothesman Bill Bellamy.

Hit & Miss. On Okinawa, a Jap sniper took careful aim, shot Private Kenneth W. Cunningham right through the heart—or where his heart should have been. Private Cunningham, whose heart is on the wrong side, survived.

Breathers. In Bennington, Vt., impatient Murder Defendant Harold Frotten broke out of jail, left a note explaining: "I'm tired of waiting for that damn trial so went out for a little fresh air." In San Francisco,Charles Jones and Clarence Jacobsen, recaptured after a jail break, explained that they were short of cigarettes.

The Way It Is. In St. Louis, Carl Roessler of the American Hotel Association made it official: the odds against getting a steak dinner in a Midwest hotel or restaurant, said he, are 400-to-1.

Fortune. In Pretoria, South Africa, a fortuneteller promised that "tomorrow" would be a G.I.'s lucky day. Next day the lucky soldier: missed connections back to camp, trudged eight miles, scalded his foot, dislocated an arm, cut his leg. But he got a promotion, received a gift of 500 cigarettes, won $40 in a lottery.

Woman's Place. In Ellensburg, Wash., the Daily Record ran a want ad, "Girl or woman for general housework," under Farm Machinery.

Infield Out. In Kansas City, Mo., Joe Infield got his head wedged in the bars of his bed. His wife, his mother-in-law, ten neighbors, two cops, a hacksaw, a chisel, and a hammer finally freed him.

Love in Wartime. In Havana, Ill., the Rev. James L. Dial took pity on a point-short couple he had just married, lent them three pounds of sugar for their wedding cake. In Rochester, N.Y., a ration board heard from an applicant, "I'm getting married, so I need a new pair of work shoes," considerately marked his request "Urgent.

Good Riddance. In Raleigh, N.C., the state board of education sold a piece of swamp land called Purgatory, hoped to dispose next of neighboring Hell.

White Magic. In New Guinea, a Quartermaster Corps corporal got no cooperation from natives until his false teeth accidentally popped out. Thenceforth, reported the Army, he "was looked upon with respect and awe, and his orders were obeyed with alacrity."

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