[Note from FOURTHCHILD:
Sent in advance of November 23rd, Wilma's birthday]
Sent in advance of November 23rd, Wilma's birthday]
[CLICK ON IMAGE TO ENLARGE]
16 November, 2010
15 November, 2010
15 November, 1943
438th AAA AW BN
APO 4916 c/o Postmaster N.Y.
Nov. 15, 1943 1120
Dearest Girl –
I have just returned from the Western Union where after a few deletions they finally agreed to send a night letter to you – which you no doubt have received some time ago. The message was self-explanatory, dear.
Guessing from Wilma's underlines and note in pencil,
"SEE WELL" was a pre-arranged signal for "On the way."
I don’t know, darling, when you began to get letters from me – but presumably you are getting them by now. As yet, no word from you – and frankly I see no reason at all for the delay from your direction. I know you are writing frequently, darling, and I can at least look forward to a nice juicy batch of letters, which I will carefully arrange in sequence, find myself a corner and read over and over again the things you wrote me when I first left Massachusetts.
Sweetheart – there is actually nothing at all to write about. The week-end was the longest I ever remember and just dragged and dragged. I read the N.Y. Times from cover to cover, page by page; I played cribbage for hours; we sat around and talked and finally in the evening went over to the Officers’ Club for some beer.
Today we gave some more shots. After the war, darling, I swear I will want to inoculate everyone for everything. There’ll be special consideration for my wife, however.
Well I’ll stop now, darling. I know these letters aren’t very long, but I’m limited in many respects – and as long as you hear from me frequently, dear, I know you won’t mind.
So long for now, darling, and all
I have just returned from the Western Union where after a few deletions they finally agreed to send a night letter to you – which you no doubt have received some time ago. The message was self-explanatory, dear.
Guessing from Wilma's underlines and note in pencil,
"SEE WELL" was a pre-arranged signal for "On the way."
I don’t know, darling, when you began to get letters from me – but presumably you are getting them by now. As yet, no word from you – and frankly I see no reason at all for the delay from your direction. I know you are writing frequently, darling, and I can at least look forward to a nice juicy batch of letters, which I will carefully arrange in sequence, find myself a corner and read over and over again the things you wrote me when I first left Massachusetts.
Sweetheart – there is actually nothing at all to write about. The week-end was the longest I ever remember and just dragged and dragged. I read the N.Y. Times from cover to cover, page by page; I played cribbage for hours; we sat around and talked and finally in the evening went over to the Officers’ Club for some beer.
Today we gave some more shots. After the war, darling, I swear I will want to inoculate everyone for everything. There’ll be special consideration for my wife, however.
Well I’ll stop now, darling. I know these letters aren’t very long, but I’m limited in many respects – and as long as you hear from me frequently, dear, I know you won’t mind.
So long for now, darling, and all
my love.
Greg.
P.S. The moon has not helped
these past few nights.
Love
G.
14 November, 2010
14 November, 1943
No letter today. Just this:
* TIDBIT *
about Camp Shanks
Camp Shanks
about Camp Shanks
Camp Shanks
Camp Shanks, named after Major General David Carey Shanks (1861-1940), was a US Army Point of Embarkation installation in the area of Orangeburg, New York, 18 miles north of New York City. It's location was chosen partly because it was near the junction of the Erie Railroad and the Hudson River, linking it to the docks in New York City. On the evening of the 25th of September in 1942, over 300 Orangeburg residents met at the Orangeburg School (now the city library) to learn that their homes, lots, and farms were being seized for the immediate construction of a military camp. At the end of the war, they would be given the opportunity to buy everything back for the same price. One hundred thirty families were out of their homes within two weeks.
The camp, constructed by 17,000 workers over 6 months on 2,040 acres (8.3 km2) of land, contained 1,500 barracks in addition to mess halls, theaters, a hospital and other buildings. Opened in 1942, approximately 40,000 soldiers a month were issued combat equipment and underwent final inspections here. Most soldiers spent 8-12 days at this camp before shipping overseas, earning it the nickname “Last Stop, USA.” In all, 1.3 million G.I.s were processed through Camp Shanks, including three quarters of those who participated in the D-Day invasion.
Camp Shanks
Piermont Station, built in Orangeburg in 1839 as a terminus by the Erie Railroad, included the Piermont Pier, which jutted into the Hudson River. When the soldiers were notified that they were on "Alert" status, they knew they would be shipping out within twelve hours. The soldiers removed their division sleeve patches and their helmets were chalked with a letter and a number, indicating the proper marching order from the camp to the train and the railroad car to ride in. Some troops took a short train ride from the Piermont Station to the New Jersey docks, where a harbor boat ferried them to a waiting troopship. Other troops marched the four miles from the camp to the mile-long Piermont Pier where they boarded a troopship.
Troops equipped and boarding a train at Piermont
Today the pier is a tree-lined public walkway used by local fishermen. After later housing 1200 Italian and 800 German prisoners of war, as well as homebound US Army soldiers, Camp Shanks closed in July of 1946. Most of the original Orangeburg inhabitants who left when the camp was built never returned. When the veterans came back from the war, more than half a million of them came back up the Hudson and onto the Piermont Pier. To fill the need for temporary housing, Camp Shanks was converted into Shanks Village. Many of the personnel who had staffed the camp — doctors, cooks, teachers, and the like — and their families stayed in the area. Within the next 10 years, the construction of the Palisades Parkway and the Tappan Zee Bridge would obliterate any remains of the base and complete the transformation from farm community to bedroom community. Shanks Village was dismantled in 1956.
The camp, constructed by 17,000 workers over 6 months on 2,040 acres (8.3 km2) of land, contained 1,500 barracks in addition to mess halls, theaters, a hospital and other buildings. Opened in 1942, approximately 40,000 soldiers a month were issued combat equipment and underwent final inspections here. Most soldiers spent 8-12 days at this camp before shipping overseas, earning it the nickname “Last Stop, USA.” In all, 1.3 million G.I.s were processed through Camp Shanks, including three quarters of those who participated in the D-Day invasion.
Camp Shanks
Piermont Station, built in Orangeburg in 1839 as a terminus by the Erie Railroad, included the Piermont Pier, which jutted into the Hudson River. When the soldiers were notified that they were on "Alert" status, they knew they would be shipping out within twelve hours. The soldiers removed their division sleeve patches and their helmets were chalked with a letter and a number, indicating the proper marching order from the camp to the train and the railroad car to ride in. Some troops took a short train ride from the Piermont Station to the New Jersey docks, where a harbor boat ferried them to a waiting troopship. Other troops marched the four miles from the camp to the mile-long Piermont Pier where they boarded a troopship.
Troops equipped and boarding a train at Piermont
Today the pier is a tree-lined public walkway used by local fishermen. After later housing 1200 Italian and 800 German prisoners of war, as well as homebound US Army soldiers, Camp Shanks closed in July of 1946. Most of the original Orangeburg inhabitants who left when the camp was built never returned. When the veterans came back from the war, more than half a million of them came back up the Hudson and onto the Piermont Pier. To fill the need for temporary housing, Camp Shanks was converted into Shanks Village. Many of the personnel who had staffed the camp — doctors, cooks, teachers, and the like — and their families stayed in the area. Within the next 10 years, the construction of the Palisades Parkway and the Tappan Zee Bridge would obliterate any remains of the base and complete the transformation from farm community to bedroom community. Shanks Village was dismantled in 1956.
13 November, 2010
13 November, 1943
438th AAA AW BN
APO 4916 c/o Postmaster N.Y.
Nov. 13, 1943 1900
Dear Sweetheart –
Here it is Saturday evening, and if you’re thinking about some other Saturday evenings, you must be feeling the way I do right now. But I must make myself clear, darling. When I write and intimate I’m blue or lonesome, it is never that in the ordinary sense of the word. Those words mean being alone and somehow, dear, ever since I felt I loved you and that you felt the same about me – I have never felt that I was ever alone. Your being always becomes a part of my thoughts and plans and reminiscences, until you are so inextricably a part of everything I think, that I sometimes think I’m going to see you in the next few moments.
This feeling, darling, is not a new one and is not a result of my present situation. It is something I have felt for some time, and when I first became aware of it, I was really sure I loved you.
So, darling, when I imply I’m lonesome – don’t worry. I have you with me at all times, and you are a great comfort to my thoughts.
As yet I haven’t heard from you, dear – and I suppose the same is true for you. By this time it becomes apparent that there must be a definite reason for it, and I suppose any day now the letters will start to trickle through.
Last night, sweetheart, when I finished talking with you, I called my mother. She was glad to hear from me, of course and asked if I had called you. When I said I had, she was glad. She said she believed you must be missing me very much, – so one way or another, dear, you have left the impression that you love me. My folks know how I feel about you – and needless to say, they are happy.
My brother was out. He was actually on his way to a fraternity dance and has been practicing how to dance. I’m tickled because he has never shown the slightest interest in things like that before.
Today has been a very busy day, and tomorrow appears to offer just as much as today. Darling – I will be unable to contact you. I will be unable to celebrate your Birthday or Graduation and I feel badly about that. Please remember that I’m thinking of you on those days, even though I won’t be able to express my feelings.
There have been several interruptions darling since I started this letter. I’m tired and I think I’ll go to bed soon. I’d give anything to be with you tonite, but since I can’t, I’ll do the next best thing and think hard of some of the Saturdays when I could be with you and was.
Good nite for now darling and you have my deepest love
Here it is Saturday evening, and if you’re thinking about some other Saturday evenings, you must be feeling the way I do right now. But I must make myself clear, darling. When I write and intimate I’m blue or lonesome, it is never that in the ordinary sense of the word. Those words mean being alone and somehow, dear, ever since I felt I loved you and that you felt the same about me – I have never felt that I was ever alone. Your being always becomes a part of my thoughts and plans and reminiscences, until you are so inextricably a part of everything I think, that I sometimes think I’m going to see you in the next few moments.
This feeling, darling, is not a new one and is not a result of my present situation. It is something I have felt for some time, and when I first became aware of it, I was really sure I loved you.
So, darling, when I imply I’m lonesome – don’t worry. I have you with me at all times, and you are a great comfort to my thoughts.
As yet I haven’t heard from you, dear – and I suppose the same is true for you. By this time it becomes apparent that there must be a definite reason for it, and I suppose any day now the letters will start to trickle through.
Last night, sweetheart, when I finished talking with you, I called my mother. She was glad to hear from me, of course and asked if I had called you. When I said I had, she was glad. She said she believed you must be missing me very much, – so one way or another, dear, you have left the impression that you love me. My folks know how I feel about you – and needless to say, they are happy.
My brother was out. He was actually on his way to a fraternity dance and has been practicing how to dance. I’m tickled because he has never shown the slightest interest in things like that before.
Today has been a very busy day, and tomorrow appears to offer just as much as today. Darling – I will be unable to contact you. I will be unable to celebrate your Birthday or Graduation and I feel badly about that. Please remember that I’m thinking of you on those days, even though I won’t be able to express my feelings.
There have been several interruptions darling since I started this letter. I’m tired and I think I’ll go to bed soon. I’d give anything to be with you tonite, but since I can’t, I’ll do the next best thing and think hard of some of the Saturdays when I could be with you and was.
Good nite for now darling and you have my deepest love
Greg
12 November, 2010
12 November, 1943 (to her Mother)
438th AAA AW BN
APO 4916 c/o Postmaster N.Y.
Nov. 12, 1943 0905
Dear Mrs. B,
Just a short while ago I could say and write what I darned pleased; right now my mail is censored. The worst part about it is the fact that I have to censor my own mail; that puts you on your honor too much to my liking.
Well first of all I’m still in this country. As a matter of fact I’m where I thought I would go. It’s very pleasant here – and the conveniences are many. We’ve been pretty busy here the past few days, but the work has gradually tapered off.
I’ve managed to call Wilma twice; the last time being last evening while I was on pass in the City. We’re allowed 12 hour passes and I believe I spent 3 hours trying to get through to Holyoke. When I finally got connected, it was only to find that the phone was out of order. I then called the College directly and got hooked up with Wilder, only to find that Wilma had left for some meeting or other and wouldn’t be back until 10 p.m. At any rate I finally spoke with her at that hour, and I think at least eight telephone operators breathed sighs of relief. Wilma seems to be studying hard and catching up with her work which I have no doubt was partly neglected on account of me. I’m sure she isn’t too far behind though.
I sure would have liked to be around for Wilma’s Birthday and Graduation, but I just missed out. I’ll be with her in spirit though, and I know she knows that. There’ll be other Birthdays to celebrate, fortunately, and don’t think that I don’t plan to celebrate them all, let alone making up for those I miss.
Well, there’s lots more I could say, but little more I’m permitted to write. I can say this, though, that the past months since I’ve known Wilma have been very happy ones for me, and in no small way at all this has been due to the thoughtfulness and friendliness which both you and Mr. B have shown to me. I certainly have appreciated these things, and if I haven’t expressed my feelings too openly it’s simply because we sometimes feel things we find hard to express.
For the time being I’ll have to say ‘so long’, – and give Mr. B my best regards.
Just a short while ago I could say and write what I darned pleased; right now my mail is censored. The worst part about it is the fact that I have to censor my own mail; that puts you on your honor too much to my liking.
Well first of all I’m still in this country. As a matter of fact I’m where I thought I would go. It’s very pleasant here – and the conveniences are many. We’ve been pretty busy here the past few days, but the work has gradually tapered off.
I’ve managed to call Wilma twice; the last time being last evening while I was on pass in the City. We’re allowed 12 hour passes and I believe I spent 3 hours trying to get through to Holyoke. When I finally got connected, it was only to find that the phone was out of order. I then called the College directly and got hooked up with Wilder, only to find that Wilma had left for some meeting or other and wouldn’t be back until 10 p.m. At any rate I finally spoke with her at that hour, and I think at least eight telephone operators breathed sighs of relief. Wilma seems to be studying hard and catching up with her work which I have no doubt was partly neglected on account of me. I’m sure she isn’t too far behind though.
I sure would have liked to be around for Wilma’s Birthday and Graduation, but I just missed out. I’ll be with her in spirit though, and I know she knows that. There’ll be other Birthdays to celebrate, fortunately, and don’t think that I don’t plan to celebrate them all, let alone making up for those I miss.
Well, there’s lots more I could say, but little more I’m permitted to write. I can say this, though, that the past months since I’ve known Wilma have been very happy ones for me, and in no small way at all this has been due to the thoughtfulness and friendliness which both you and Mr. B have shown to me. I certainly have appreciated these things, and if I haven’t expressed my feelings too openly it’s simply because we sometimes feel things we find hard to express.
For the time being I’ll have to say ‘so long’, – and give Mr. B my best regards.
Sincerely,
Greg
P.S. I hope I hear from you again.G.
12 November, 1943
438th AAA AW BN
APO 4916 c/o Postmaster N.Y.
Nov. 12, 1943 1130
Dearest Wilma –
Well it really was an ordeal trying to contact you last nite, dear. I was fit to be tied, and were it not for the mellowing effects of 2(?) Martinis – I would have liked to kill a couple of Springfield operators.
I was at the Commodore and after involving about 6 telephone girls in a mixup, I finally learned that your phone was out of order. For a moment I was frustrated, but then I remembered the presence of that other phone in the compartment and called the College. Well – as you know, darling, I missed you and the rest you know.
It was swell talking with you again – especially after having tried so long to get you. I wish the plans you had in mind could materialize, dear. It would be wonderful. But I’m afraid that’s out, from the way things look now. As for Saturday, dear – well – by the time this letter reaches you, Sweetheart – you will know of course what happened..
I’ll try to call you tonite, dear – and we’ll see what can be arranged.
Pete and I had a quiet, but mentally relaxing time last night. After leaving the Commodore, we visited the bars of the Roosevelt, Biltmore and Astor – in succession. It was then time to eat and we went to Taffeneti’s – at Time’s Square. It was from there that I called you, dear.
This cocktail napkin from the evening of
November 11th, 1943 at the Hotel Astor
was enclosed in this letter.
Again we went back to the Astor and later to the Taft. Finally after wandering the streets until 0300 – like a couple of goons from the country, we took the subway to 167th St, then the Bus to our destination. The result, darling, is that I’m tired today.
I’m O.D. at the Dispensary today and there’s been a steady stream of sick soldiers coming in – but in the p.m. I ought to be able to get a little rest.
A little while ago, darling, I managed to get a letter written to your mother. I hope she writes again.
Well, Sweetheart – so much for now. I’ll try to call tonite – as I said. As yet there’s been no mail – but maybe today. I hope you finally start hearing from me. I’d say it’s about time!
So long dear and you have
Well it really was an ordeal trying to contact you last nite, dear. I was fit to be tied, and were it not for the mellowing effects of 2(?) Martinis – I would have liked to kill a couple of Springfield operators.
I was at the Commodore and after involving about 6 telephone girls in a mixup, I finally learned that your phone was out of order. For a moment I was frustrated, but then I remembered the presence of that other phone in the compartment and called the College. Well – as you know, darling, I missed you and the rest you know.
It was swell talking with you again – especially after having tried so long to get you. I wish the plans you had in mind could materialize, dear. It would be wonderful. But I’m afraid that’s out, from the way things look now. As for Saturday, dear – well – by the time this letter reaches you, Sweetheart – you will know of course what happened..
I’ll try to call you tonite, dear – and we’ll see what can be arranged.
Pete and I had a quiet, but mentally relaxing time last night. After leaving the Commodore, we visited the bars of the Roosevelt, Biltmore and Astor – in succession. It was then time to eat and we went to Taffeneti’s – at Time’s Square. It was from there that I called you, dear.
This cocktail napkin from the evening of
November 11th, 1943 at the Hotel Astor
was enclosed in this letter.
Again we went back to the Astor and later to the Taft. Finally after wandering the streets until 0300 – like a couple of goons from the country, we took the subway to 167th St, then the Bus to our destination. The result, darling, is that I’m tired today.
I’m O.D. at the Dispensary today and there’s been a steady stream of sick soldiers coming in – but in the p.m. I ought to be able to get a little rest.
A little while ago, darling, I managed to get a letter written to your mother. I hope she writes again.
Well, Sweetheart – so much for now. I’ll try to call tonite – as I said. As yet there’s been no mail – but maybe today. I hope you finally start hearing from me. I’d say it’s about time!
So long dear and you have
All my love
Greg
11 November, 2010
11 November, 1943
438th AAA AW BN
APO 4916 % Postmaster, N.Y.
Nov. 11, 1943 0905
Wilma, darling –
It sure was swell talking with you yesterday evening. The sound of your voice was so good to hear, I could hardly believe I had actually managed to contact you. It really hasn’t been a long time, but sometimes a short time can seem interminable, and the last few days have seemed just like that.
Your plans, whatever they are, sound wonderful, but I’m not sure they’ll materialize. It would be swell if I could meet you in the City somewhere, but it will all depend on whether or not I can get off, and for how long. I really won’t know until almost the last minute – but I’ll call you as soon as I can. As a matter of fact I’ll probably have a pass tonite and if so I’ll call you, darling.
I called my folks after speaking with you last nite. My father had left for Ohio in the p.m., but I was able to speak with my mother and Lawrence. Both send their regards, by the way, dear.
Charlie, who was with me, and I then walked up to the Officers’ club. It’s a nice place, well decorated – but it seemed sort of dead, dear. They have a nice snack bar and some swell sandwiches; No hard liquor – but plenty of beer.
We stayed until 2130 and then headed for bed.
Gosh, darling, all I think about is the chance of seeing you again soon. I do hope we can get together and certainly I’ll try my best. If I can’t meet you, Sweetheart, it’s because it will be impossible.
I’m glad dear you’re finding use for the lighter. The fact that it holds only 10 cigarettes – isn’t too bad. Maybe you can ration yourself that more easily.
You said something about an exam on Saturday. If that’s true I hope you hit it, darling.
And don’t forget and get your license after school is over. I want my wife to be able to drive.
Well, Sweetheart – there isn’t any more right now that I can write except to say I love you deeply, more and more each day. By war’s end, darling, I’ll be a dangerous man. You’ll have to be on your toes – I warn you, dear.
So long for now, then – and
It sure was swell talking with you yesterday evening. The sound of your voice was so good to hear, I could hardly believe I had actually managed to contact you. It really hasn’t been a long time, but sometimes a short time can seem interminable, and the last few days have seemed just like that.
Your plans, whatever they are, sound wonderful, but I’m not sure they’ll materialize. It would be swell if I could meet you in the City somewhere, but it will all depend on whether or not I can get off, and for how long. I really won’t know until almost the last minute – but I’ll call you as soon as I can. As a matter of fact I’ll probably have a pass tonite and if so I’ll call you, darling.
I called my folks after speaking with you last nite. My father had left for Ohio in the p.m., but I was able to speak with my mother and Lawrence. Both send their regards, by the way, dear.
Charlie, who was with me, and I then walked up to the Officers’ club. It’s a nice place, well decorated – but it seemed sort of dead, dear. They have a nice snack bar and some swell sandwiches; No hard liquor – but plenty of beer.
We stayed until 2130 and then headed for bed.
Gosh, darling, all I think about is the chance of seeing you again soon. I do hope we can get together and certainly I’ll try my best. If I can’t meet you, Sweetheart, it’s because it will be impossible.
I’m glad dear you’re finding use for the lighter. The fact that it holds only 10 cigarettes – isn’t too bad. Maybe you can ration yourself that more easily.
You said something about an exam on Saturday. If that’s true I hope you hit it, darling.
And don’t forget and get your license after school is over. I want my wife to be able to drive.
Well, Sweetheart – there isn’t any more right now that I can write except to say I love you deeply, more and more each day. By war’s end, darling, I’ll be a dangerous man. You’ll have to be on your toes – I warn you, dear.
So long for now, then – and
All my love
Greg.
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