14 February 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

14 February, 1945       1000

Germany

My dearest sweetest Valentine –

I hope you’ll excuse me for neglecting you – I so enjoyed the Valentines you sent me, dear – and I felt terrible that I hadn’t been able to send you at least one. You’ll just have to understand that Valentines were farthest from all our minds about the time they should have been sent out and they were unobtainable, anyway. I hope, though, that you received some notice of the day from me.

The Germans don’t know about Valentine’s Day, it seems, and so the War goes on with no display of hearts and flowers. We’re not making the news these days, darling, but believe me when I say that for some of the boys the fighting and the horrors of war are just as bitter as if we were making the headlines.

Yesterday was a dull, boring, long day – and I was glad when it was over. It seemed to drag more than even other slow days. I did manage to get over to a bath-house they have in this city and soak in a tub for about an hour – and then I took a shower. Boy! That’s really something. When we were in this city last – the place wasn’t open. Since then it was taken over by an American outfit which employs German laborers and they draw the water for the tub and clean up after you. When we first got here we all took 3 baths in a row to soak some of the dirt off us – it really was a relief.

I came across a letter of yours written 26 Dec. You had been to a party and had met a Bob Sherman and a Herb Almtuck. I believe I remember the Sherman boy. I can’t understand why he’s not in the service. As I remember him – he was a harmless enough sort of fellow and not overbright. I don’t know the other guy. He must have been in another class although he’s right about Leo Waitzkin. We were very friendly at Harvard and at Tufts although I’ve lost track of him since the war. He was doing Public Health work in Virginia when I last heard from him. He was quite an English scholar, by the way and got a Summa Cum and Phi Bet at Harvard for writing a brilliant thesis in his senior year on some obscure details about Shakespeare’s early days. It attracted the attention of Kittredge at the time.

I’m glad and happy, darling, that you can meet so-called eligible young men and not feel that you’re wasting your time waiting for me. I hope and feel certain you won’t be sorry. If you can still feel that way – that’s the test, I guess. I haven’t had a similar opportunity – although we did meet quite a few people in England. Needless to tell you again, sweetheart, you’re the girl for me and no one else will do!! I love you so deeply and earnestly – I don’t believe I’ve ever really been able to convey to you how much – and I left too darn soon to be able to show you. You must believe me, sweetheart, when I tell you that I love you more than anything or anyone in the world and from the day I knew we were engaged – my entire vision of my future life became centered on you. You’ll never doubt that either – when I get back and show you what I mean –

All for now, darling, got to do a couple of things. Love to the folks – and

My deepest love is yours –

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Personal Accounts of
The Bombing of Dresden

Here are a few personal memories of the bombing of Dresden. The first is from the list of stories on 384th Bomb Group Heavy website. The last two are from survivors of the bombings.

Jules Levison (Radio/gunner) describes the mission in this extract:

I was not scheduled to fly but Jerry Jerome's brother decided to get sick, so I had to fly in his place. I was kind of sore at first but later on was glad. Russ Holtz also flew on the crew and the pilot was Lt. Russell E Carlson.

At the request of the Russians, the target was Dresden as the Germans were sending a lot of traffic through that town. We hit the Marshaling Yards with eight 500GPs and two M-17 incendiaries. The Germans say that all we did was kill a lot of evacuees but personally it wouldn't surprise me to find out that we knocked out a locomotive or two.

On the way in we had to fly over the Zuider Zee, which is the home of Herman and his 4 guns. Herman is a German stationed on the Zuider Zee who fires his 4 guns at you when you fly over. He was a Corporal and one day he actually shot down a plane and they made him a Sergeant. Well, they must have made him a Staff because he got a plane in the group ahead of us. We saw it go down in a tight spin and only saw one chute open. It wasn't a pretty sight.

On the way home our gas was getting low so after much discussion we decided to land in Brussels, Belgium. I sent in a message to Combat Wing that we were landing there so we wouldn't be MIA.

We had quite a time in Brussels until our money ran out. Night clubs, clean sheets, good food, etc. We were there four days. On the second day the weather cleared and we could have taken off but the pilot was in town drunk. The next day we were all set to take off, there were 19 men in the plane as we were taking back a crew that had crashed. Everybody had a bottle of beer and the pilot was running up the engines with one hand and drinking beer with the other.

Here is an excerpt from a 1999 eye-witness account by Lothar Metzger, a survivor of the bombing:

About 9:30 pm the alarm was given. We children knew that sound and got up and dressed quickly, to hurry downstairs into our cellar which we used as an air raid shelter. My older sister and I carried my baby twin sisters, my mother carried a little suitcase and the bottles with milk for our babies. On the radio we heard with great horror the news: "Attention, a great air raid will come over our town!" This news I will never forget.

Some minutes later we heard a horrible noise - the bombers. There were nonstop explosions. Our cellar was filled with fire and smoke and was damaged, the lights went out and wounded people shouted dreadfully. In great fear we struggled to leave this cellar. My mother and my older sister carried the big basket in which the twins were lain. With one hand I grasped my younger sister and with the other I grasped the coat of my mother.

We did not recognize our street anymore. Fire, only fire wherever we looked. Our 4th floor did not exist anymore. The broken remains of our house were burning. On the streets there were burning vehicles and carts with refugees, people, horses, all of them screaming and shouting in fear of death. I saw hurt women, children, old people searching a way through ruins and flames.

We fled into another cellar overcrowded with injured and distraught men women and children shouting, crying and praying. No light except some electric torches. And then suddenly the second raid began. This shelter was hit too, and so we fled through cellar after cellar. Many, so many, desperate people came in from the streets. It is not possible to describe! Explosion after explosion. It was beyond belief, worse than the blackest nightmare. So many people were horribly burnt and injured. It became more and more difficult to breathe. It was dark and all of us tried to leave this cellar with inconceivable panic. Dead and dying people were trampled upon, luggage was left or snatched up out of our hands by rescuers. The basket with our twins covered with wet cloths was snatched up out of my mother's hands and we were pushed upstairs by the people behind us. We saw the burning street, the falling ruins and the terrible firestorm. My mother covered us with wet blankets and coats she found in a water tub.

We saw terrible things: cremated adults shrunk to the size of small children, pieces of arms and legs, dead people, whole families burnt to death, burning people ran to and fro, burnt coaches filled with civilian refugees, dead rescuers and soldiers, many were calling and looking for their children and families, and fire everywhere, everywhere fire, and all the time the hot wind of the firestorm threw people back into the burning houses they were trying to escape from.

I cannot forget these terrible details. I can never forget them.

Here is another extract from the memory from a survivor in the city, Margaret Freyer.

The firestorm is incredible, there are calls for help and screams from somewhere but all around is one single inferno.To my left I suddenly see a woman. I can see her to this day and shall never forget it. She carries a bundle in her arms. It is a baby. She runs, she falls, and the child flies in an arc into the fire.

Suddenly, I saw people again, right in front of me. They scream and gesticulate with their hands, and then — to my utter horror and amazement — I see how one after the other they simply seem to let themselves drop to the ground. (Today I know that these unfortunate people were the victims of lack of oxygen). They fainted and then burnt to cinders.

Insane fear grips me and from then on I repeat one simple sentence to myself continuously: "I don't want to burn to death". I do not know how many people I fell over. I know only one thing: that I must not burn.

Finally, an extract of what Edda West, in the April 2003 "Idaho Observer", wrote of this eye-witness account from a woman named Elisabeth. Elisabeth, who was a young woman of around 20 at the time of the Dresden bombing, has written memoirs for her children in which she describes what happened to her in Dresden. She was in her late 70’s at the time of her writing. First she sought shelter in the basement of the house in which she lived. Her story continues..

Then the detonation of bombs started rocking the earth and in a great panic, everybody came rushing down. The attack lasted about half an hour. Our building and the immediate surrounding area had not been hit. Almost everybody went upstairs, thinking it was over but it was not. The worst was yet to come and when it did, it was pure hell. During the brief reprieve, the basement had filled with people seeking shelter, some of whom were wounded from bomb shrapnel.

One soldier had a leg torn off. He was accompanied by a medic, who attended to him but he was screaming in pain and there was a lot of blood. There also was a wounded woman, her arm severed just below her shoulder and hanging by a piece of skin. A military medic was looking after her, but the bleeding was severe and the screams very frightening.

Then the bombing began again. This time there was no pause between detonations and the rocking was so severe, we lost our balance, and were tossed around in the basement like a bunch of ragdolls. At times the basement walls were separated and lifted up. We could see the flashes of the fiery explosions outside. There were a lot of fire bombs and canisters of phosphorous being dumped everywhere. The phosphorus was a thick liquid that burned upon exposure to air and as it penetrated cracks in buildings, it burned wherever it leaked through. The fumes from it were poisonous. When it came leaking down the basement steps somebody yelled to grab a beer (there was some stored where we were), soak a cloth, a piece of your clothing, and press it over your mouth and nose. The panic was horrible. Everybody pushed, shoved and clawed to get a bottle.

I had pulled off my underwear and soaked the cloth with the beer and pressed it over my nose and mouth. The heat in that basement was so severe it only took a few minutes to make that cloth bone dry. I was like a wild animal, protecting my supply of wetness. I don’t like to remember that.

The bombing continued. I tried bracing myself against a wall. That took the skin off my hands – the wall was so hot. The last I remember of that night is loosing my balance, holding onto somebody but falling and taking them too, with them falling on top of me. I felt something crack inside. While I lay there I had only one thought – to keep thinking. As long as I know I’m thinking, I am alive, but at some point I lost consciousness.

The next thing I remember is feeling terribly cold. I then realized I was lying on the ground, looking into the burning trees. It was daylight. There were animals screeching in some of them. Monkeys from the burning zoo. I started moving my legs and arms. It hurt a lot but I could move them. Feeling the pain told me that I was alive. I guess my movements were noticed by a soldier from the rescue and medical corps.

The corps had been put into action all over the city and it was they who had opened the basement door from the outside. Taking all the bodies out of the burning building. Now they were looking for signs of life from any of us. I learned later that there had been over a hundred and seventy bodies taken out of that basement and twenty seven came back to life. I was one of them – miraculously!

They then attempted to take us out of the burning city to a hospital. The attempt was a gruesome experience. Not only were the buildings and the trees burning but so was the asphalt on the streets. For hours, the truck had to make a number of detours before getting beyond the chaos. But before the rescue vehicles could get the wounded to the hospitals, enemy planes bore down on us once more. We were hurriedly pulled off the trucks and placed under them. The planes dived at us with machine guns firing and dropped more fire bombs.

The memory that has remained so vividly in my mind was seeing and hearing humans trapped, standing in the molten, burning asphalt like living torches, screaming for help which was impossible to give. At the time I was too numb to fully realize the atrocity of this scene but after I was “safe” in the hospital, the impact of this and everything else threw me into a complete nervous breakdown. I had to be tied to my bed to prevent me from severely hurting myself physically. There I screamed for hours and hours behind a closed door while a nurse stayed at my bedside.

I am amazed at how vivid all of this remains in my memory. It is like opening a floodgate. This horror stayed with me in my dreams for many years. I am grateful that I no longer have a feeling of fury and rage about any of these experiences any more – just great compassion for everybody’s pain, including my own.

The Dresden experience has stayed with me very vividly through my entire life. The media later released that the number of people who died during the bombing was estimated in excess of two hundred and fifty thousand – over a quarter of a million people. This was due to all the refugees who came fleeing from the Russians, and Dresden’s reputation as a safe city. There were no air raid shelters there because of the Red Cross agreement.

What happened with all the dead bodies? Most were left buried in the rubble. I think Dresden became one mass grave. It was not possible for the majority of these bodies to be identified. And therefore next of kin were never notified. Countless families were left with mothers, fathers, wives, children and siblings unaccounted for to this day.

13 February 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

13 February, 1945     1100

Germany

My dearest darling Wilma –

I was literally overwhelmed yesterday when I received 18 letters in the mail, the biggest haul in a long while and it was truly wonderful. Furthermore – quite a few were recent letters – particularly from you. I also – in addition to 5 letters from you – heard from several friends of mine in the service, the Salem Hospital, Steve L., Bea Caplan, Mary W., Lil Zetlan, Dr. Curtis from Salem and a couple of others I can’t think of – off hand. It’s the best reading material in the world and nothing makes me feel better or raises my morale more successfully, dear.

Your letter written to me on my Birthday, sweetheart, was wonderful and it was awfully decent of the girls to take the trouble to jot me separate notes. I know you’ll thank each of them for me, dear. You know by now that I did, in fact, have a Birthday and that your surprise worked as successfully as if I were home. I was completely dumb-founded by it and it was certainly original.

You mention an interesting point about my age, darling, namely that you didn’t believe I was 31 when you met me until you saw my draft card. That’s probably because I act so silly at times. I know only that I don’t feel or act differently now than I did six or eight years ago and I think I’ll behave the same for some time to come, probably. That reminds me to mention something you’ve brought up in a couple of your recent letters which sounds a bit mysterious to me; mysterious isn’t the exact word. You wrote in one letter that you would get something for Eleanor and then let me know how much I owe you for her gift and the Levine’s. Then you said I wrote some strange things at times and you couldn’t exactly understand me. In another letter you wonder whether I am affectionate enough a person to match your affection – and you doubt it; and still another place you write that you think I have the power to talk myself in or out of almost any situation – in an almost impersonal fashion.

Now – dear – is there one thing troubling you or three – or are all the same thoughts inter-connected? I’d much rather you wrote what’s on your mind, sweetheart. We know each other much too well now to have an argument over an exchange of ideas – or in an attempt to know each other better. I honestly don’t know if I’ve changed since I went away – it’s easier for others to say it. I don’t think I have. I have undoubtedly the same peculiarities, good and bad that I always had. But in reference to you I’m positive I love you, sweetheart. I’ve never lost the thrill in knowing I’m engaged to you and in the thought I’m going to marry you. My affection or ability to be affectionate I’ve never wondered about. If it’s not as open as some people’s, dear – I’m sure I compensate with depth and sincerity – which is of prime importance and more lasting, I think; and that is not to imply that I’m entirely devoid of the more obvious kind; just wait and see. I don’t know what you have in mind about my power of speech, darling. I think I think clearly most of the time – but I’m often wrong. If I think something, I try to express it as clearly as I know how – for what I believe in I believe in fully.

If I’m strange, dear – I honestly don’t know how – unless I have some peculiarities you’re just finding out. But I do wish you’d tell me about them rather than have me wonder. We’re attempting to keep stride with time and the war by knowing each other as much as possible while I’m away – thereby shortening our period of waiting when I get back. I suppose I write things at times that don’t sound right to you or reveal some characteristic of mine you weren’t aware of. If so, sweetheart – tell me about it – will you? I want you to know me completely as I’m trying to know you, too.

I’ll have to stop now, darling. It’s nearly chow time – and Pete just came in, by the way, and sends his love. I told him some time ago about my Birthday cake and he got almost as big a kick out of it as I did. Love to the folks, regards to the office crew – and

All my love is yours for always

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about The Bombing of Dresden
and Frauenkirche

CLICK TO ENLARGE PICTURES

It was on 13 February 1945 that Allied planes began the bombing of the German city of Dresden in World War II. At the beginning of the war, both Hitler and Churchill vowed that they would not attack civilian targets. But the German’s broke their promise and used incendiary bombs on London, and Great Britain quickly followed suit. By 1943, the British had begun firebombing cities like Hamburg, creating firestorms that reached 2,700 degrees Fahrenheit, with hurricane-force winds, which boiled all the water in the city and sucked all the oxygen out of the atmosphere, killing tens of thousands of people. The Allied military commanders argued that saturation bombing of German cities was the only way to force the Nazis to surrender.

Before World War II, Dresden was called "the Florence of the Elbe" and was regarded as one the world's most beautiful cities for its architecture and museums. Although no German city remained isolated from Hitler's war machine, Dresden's contribution to the war effort was minimal compared with other German cities. In February 1945, refugees fleeing the Russian advance in the east took refuge there. As Hitler had thrown much of his surviving forces into a defense of Berlin in the north, city defenses were minimal, and the Russians would have had little trouble capturing Dresden. It seemed an unlikely target for a major Allied air attack.

On the night of February 13, hundreds of RAF bombers descended on Dresden in two waves, dropping their lethal cargo indiscriminately over the city. The city's air defenses were so weak that only six Lancaster bombers were shot down. By the morning, some 800 British bombers had dropped 1,478 tons of high-explosive bombs and 1,182 tons of incendiaries on Dresden, creating a great firestorm that destroyed 15 square miles (39 square kilometres) of the city center and killed numerous civilians. Later that day, as survivors made their way out of the smoldering city, over 300 U.S. bombers began bombing Dresden's railways, bridges, and transportation facilities, killing thousands more. It was one of the most controversial actions of the Second World War, rocking the historic core of that great European city and reducing irreplaceable masterpieces to ash and rubble. A total of 3,900 tons of high-explosives and incendiary devices were delivered in four air raids carried out by 1,300 bombers.

The Allies claimed that by bombing Dresden, they were disrupting important lines of communication that would have hindered the Soviet offensive. This may be true, but there is no disputing that the British incendiary attack on the night of February 13-14 was conducted also, if not primarily, for the purpose of terrorizing the German population and forcing an early surrender. It should be noted that Germany, unlike Japan later in the year, did not surrender until nearly the last possible moment - when its capital had fallen and its Fuhrer was dead.

Because there were an unknown number of refugees in Dresden at the time of the Allied attack, it is impossible to know exactly how many civilians perished. After the war, investigators from various countries, and with varying political motives, calculated the number of civilians killed to be as little as 8,000 to more than 200,000. Estimates today range from 35,000 to 135,000. Looking at photographs of Dresden after the attack, in which the few buildings still standing are completely gutted, it seems improbable that only 35,000 of the million or so people in Dresden that night were killed. Cellars and other shelters would have been meager protection against a firestorm that blew poisonous air heated to hundreds of degrees Fahrenheit across the city at hurricane-like speeds. A funeral pyre was built that burnt for five whole weeks.

But from the rubble, a triumph - the re-building of Dresden's Baroque icon, Frauenkirche, as decribed in these excerpts from an article on a site that was called "Repost", and in a excerpt from a YouTube video, below:

An 11th century church site is the foundation of Frauenkirche, or the Church of Our Lady. Despite its name, this is a Protestant place of worship built between 1726 and 1743. The dome is called the Steineme Glocke, or Stone Bell, rises 96 meters/315 feet above the altar. It is an engineering marvel and the anchor to the city’s skyline. Johann Sebastian Bach, from nearby Leipzig, performed a concert on its new organ.

On 13 February 1945, temperatures of 1,000 C/1,832 F surrounded Frauenkirche, collapsing the dome. Miraculously, the altar was spared.

Post-war East Germany chose not to repair Frauenkirche, believing the ruins symbolized Western atrocities. In 1989 a determined group of Dresden citizen’s formed the “The Society to Promote the Reconstruction of the Church of Our Lady.” This grassroots organization grew to thousands of German citizens with donations from all over the world, including Great Britain.

The most challenging part of the quest was creating a jigsaw puzzle out of the rubble. All of the rocks at the site were categorized. Divers searched the depths of the Elbe for more pieces of Frauenkirche. 8,500 of the original stones joined millions of others in the rebuilding. Typically German, the original architectural plans survived. From them and photos came three-dimensional models. No drawing existed for the elaborately carved entrance doors. Undeterred, the re-builders requested old wedding pictures from the residents of Dresden. From the photos the doors were replicated. Seven new bells were cast for the Steineme Glocke. Frauenkirche reopened on 30 October 2005, over 60 years after it collapsed.

Here is that YouTube video:

12 February 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

12 February, 1945      0945

Germany

Dearest darling, Wilma –

Shall we chalk up Lincoln’s Birthday as another Holiday we owe each other – or shall we just let it ride? You know what? – I’m going to let you decide that all by yourself – and don’t let me ever hear you say I’m not fair and square about things! I don’t suppose it’s much of a Holiday in Boston either – and boy! Oh boy! Are you ever getting the snow! I guess about the one nice thing the Army has done for me has been to keep me out of three tough New England winters. We had a b–h of a January here but it started raining about the 31st and in 3 days of February the snow and cold disappeared – and fingers crossed – it’s been mild, though rainy, ever since. If it would only dry up a bit!

And what do you think – Yesterday I got a letter from you written on the 30th of January. That’s wonderful and entirely unusual. But you chided me for the type of letter I wrote or had written to you recently because they were cheery and you thought I was fooling you. Well, sweetheart – I’ve still got you fooled. You wrote – “Now that I know” – and I’d like to know dear, what do you know now? I’m sure you haven’t yet grasped the difference between being very lonely for home, fed-up with the Army, being utterly blue – and – being uncomfortable, being cold, being shelled, being raided. The two sets of reactions don’t necessarily go together, sweetheart – and very often don’t, because when the latter of the two conditions exist – you just don’t have the time to be lonesome. I write you blue letters, dear – not often, I’ll admit – but often enough. The fact is I am not a mope by nature and I don’t stay that way long. I force myself to be cheerful – and after a half hour or so goes by – I do actually feel better. It may be that at such times – I’m writing to you – and my cheeriness doesn’t seem real – but it isn’t, darling, because I’m trying to impress you – but rather that I’m trying to impress myself. Is that confusing? Anyway, dear – I’ll be hard to change –

1300

Hello again – darling!

Sorry I had to leave you so abruptly this morning – but I was called away because of some developments in that civilian trial. When the case was referred to a higher court – the defendant was returned to jail. It was my contention that the wrong person was being tried and that the defendant should at least be released until the next trial. Well today I was notified that she was released – so I’ve won a partial victory. I’ve been told that the civilians who were at the trial couldn’t understand how the lawyer for the accused was wearing a Red Cross on his arm. That had them all mixed up, dear – but I had some fun anyway.

I couldn’t for the life of me think of any Jewish girl I knew in Salem who is now a Wave – but I didn’t know a heck of a lot of them. I know a couple of Ensigns – but they’re not Jewish. And what do you mean – “Never can tell – I may live there some day”. We certainly will, dear unless something much better turns up for us before then. Right now I’d say Salem was our best bet.

You must really feel tough with all these married couples chasing around from city to city having good times – Irv and Verna, Nancy and Abbot, Betty and Stan – and a few others you mention from time to time. All I can say, darling, is that married to you or not – I’d have sweated out the war harder at home than I am here – and I know what I’m writing. I could never have been thoroughly happy in the realization of what some are putting up with and my taking it easy. Or maybe it’s lack of realization that allows some of these people to live with themselves. I excuse artists or talented people. All others, it seems to me, could be doing something towards helping this war. No, darling, don’t be envious of the trips and the parties that some of your friends are having. We’ll have ours too – and we’ll really enjoy them and be able to hold our heads high. Because I’ll bet that secretly – these same couples – have just a slight enough amount of conscience to detract from a full enjoyment of what they’re doing. I may be wrong, of course, but I think not. I know only that I love you and want to be with you as soon as possible. But when that time comes – we want to feel that we did our part when there was a part to do – and I honestly think we are.

Well – so much for the flag waving, sweetheart, which I don’t do too often – I hope. I’ll have to do a little work now – so I’ll be with you again tomorrow. All my love to you, sweetheart – and remember always that I love you more than anyone else in the world.

Yours for always,

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about The Fuel Crisis

In May 1941, even while the US was not yet in the war, Roosevelt appointed Interior Secretary Harold Ickes to the additional position of Petroleum Coordinator for National Defense. Becoming once again the nation’s top oil man, or Oil Czar, Ickes had to turn around an industry that was coping with surplus to one that would maximize output and avert shortage. He had a huge liability as the oil industry detested him from previous encounters. While he had come to their aid in 1933, he subsequently had become very critical of the industry. Mobilizing the oil industry into one giant organization under government direction had been done quickly and efficiently in Britain but turned out to be different and difficult in the United States. Ickes however managed to work closely and pragmatically with the industry and succeeded in disarming the hostility and ensuring effective cooperation.

Harold L. Ickes

Harold Ickes’ hand was strengthened when he was promoted to Petroleum Administrator for War (PAW) from Petroleum Coordinator, while still Secretary of the Interior. Even as PAW, Ickes realized that unlike the case in Britain, coordinating unity among the many competing US forces (Congress, the Administration, the companies, the press etc.) in the United States was very difficult. He managed to gradually establish an effective government-industry partnership and sought antitrust exemption from the Justice Department. The U.S. was producing 514,000 barrels per day of 100 octane fuel by 1945 compared to 40,000 barrels per day in 1940. In fact, between December 1941 and August 1945, the Allies consumed 7 billion barrels of oil, 6 billion of which came from the United States.

Although there were temporary shortages, there was never a serious oil supply crisis in the United States. One such temporary shortage was described by TIME magazine, (February 12, 1945, Vol. XLV, No. 7), in this article titled "Cold Facts":

To Middle Western cities which have gone through the war in a nighttime blaze of neon lights, the brownout that went on last week was a shock. In Chicago, the usually bustling Loop was deserted; there were no long queues at theaters. In Detroit, late shopping housewives complained that they could not find stores. In Denver, barnyard lanterns blossomed on store fronts.

But no one had to be told why the lights had to go out: as civilians shivered in the coldest, snowiest, blowiest winter in years, the U.S. was smack up against a first-rate crisis in fuel.

The trouble had been on its way ever since December, when zero weather and blizzards and a manpower shortage first snarled up the overloaded railroads and disrupted fuel deliveries. The three-day embargo, clamped on all non-Government freight in the East, had helped (TIME, Feb. 5). But it was not enough. Last week, the Office of Defense Transportation clamped on another, this time for four days. Coal was the only civilian freight that could be moved.

In a wide belt from Ohio to New England, many schools were closed and offices went on shortened weeks. This did not always help. Workers celebrated their holiday by trips on already overloaded trains.

After a plea from Solid Fuels Administrator Ickes, some 65,000 miners labored underground an extra day, getting out the coal. But production dropped anyhow, mainly because there were no rail cars to haul the coal to the freezing cities. On top of this, a temporary food shortage was on the way in many an Eastern city. Freight trains as far west as California were shunted on to sidings to wait till the snarl untangled. While they waited, many a grocer cleaned out his shelves.

Trouble in the Tub. War plants were hard hit. In Pittsburgh, 200 were shut down (see BUSINESS). There was not enough heating gas for both plants and householders, so the householders got what there was.

In Detroit all plants sent workers home on an extended weekend after WPB curtailed their fuel. Then by newspaper and radio pleas they frantically tried to get them back after WPB changed its mind. Householders in Columbus, Ohio were told to cut down on their baths, flush their toilets only once a day per person so that the huge Curtiss-Wright plant would have enough water. Reason: the severe cold had kept snow from melting normally, lowered water in reservoirs.

Trouble on the Way. In New York, the rail jam was the worst. Huge drifts stalled trains in the open country. Passengers had to wade through drifts to nearby farmhouses to spend the night. State troopers went along the highway dynamiting 14-ft. drifts, clearing the roads so that emergency auto caravans could get through with feed for livestock and food for isolated villages and farms. Improvised or ancient sledges turned up in the streets.

Fuel oil was so near exhaustion in Manhattan that the Navy released 400,000 barrels to help tide civilians over. The Army chipped in with 5,000 tons of coal. Nightclubs, theaters got ready to close their doors. One theater, its coal burnt, was kept warm with loads of cordwood. But even wood was scarce.

This week there was more trouble to be met. Much of the East was lashed by a new sleet storm. There were gloomy predictions that the railroads had got so far behind that the crisis might not be completely over until April.

11 February 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

11 February, 1945

Germany

My dearest sweetheart –

When we’re on the move and the days are long and difficult we don’t know Sunday from any other day – but today I know it’s Sunday and by that I imply then, dear, that we’re taking things easy. Despite that – and I hate to write this darling – we suffered our first casualty in the medical detachment since landing – the other day. Oh – we’ve lost one fellow before this due to combat exhaustion – he never came back to us – and a couple due to illness, but this was the first actual case of being wounded in action – and I’m worried about the effect it will have on the family. I’ll make myself clearer, dear – although I can’t be too specific due to security reasons – and because there’s some regulation about not mentioning casualties until a certain time period has elapsed. I wouldn’t mention it to you either, dear, because I know you’ll worry – but the soldier was one who lives near us and I know that when his mother is notified – that he was wounded – she’ll certainly call Mother A and tell her about it – and that’s all she’ll need. So far I’ve been able to keep her reasonably convinced that all is well with our set-up and that we’re hardly ever exposed to danger. I’m writing all this – darling – so that if and when she hears about it and perhaps tells you – you’ll be able to tell her that the soldier in question was at a line battery and nowhere near me and that I never go or have to go where the others have to and anything else you can think of dear. I know you’ll do this for my sake and the folks – and that includes yours too. I debated long before writing this to you but I know what would happen and it’s best that someone at home be informed – and darling – it had to be you – naturally. Incidentally – he was severely wounded.

Well I didn’t intend to become morbid on the first sunny morning in a long while so we’ll change the subject – right? Yesterday was a comparatively quiet day except for a visit by the Provost Marshall. He had heard about the trial involving one of his Sergeants and he was investigating the facts. When he heard the story – he called his office and had the Sgt. arrested and put in solitary confinement – because there’s nothing worse over here than an M.P. doing something himself that he’s arresting other soldiers for. What will come of it all, I don’t know – but the whole thing smells. In the evening we had a movie – the first in some time. I thought it was lousy – E.G. Robinson in “Tampico”. I thought I had seen the last of the German sub – torpedo – oil tanker – rescue-at-sea – German-spy pictures – but apparently there are still some in circulation.

I came across one of your letters yesterday, darling, which discussed rotation etc. – and I don’t remember whether I answered your questions or not. You asked me to apply for rotation as soon as my 18 mos. overseas were up. I don’t know where you got your information, darling, but if there is such a plan – they’re keeping it a mighty big secret. We’ve had 3 fellows go home for 30 days in this outfit so far. All three joined us as replacements in France and had been in Iceland for 2 years – so that up to a few weeks ago when they left – they all had about 30 mos. overseas service. There hasn’t been an inkling of news concerning rotation in less than two years. So you see, dear – I couldn’t very well apply. And you don’t apply, you get selected; and furthermore – almost every rule that’s written applies almost always to GI’s and not to officers. Certainly I’d love to come home, dear – although I’d like to be around when the firing ceases. There are outfits here – overseas longer than we – infantry mostly – but we are pretty well up on the list. Our seven months in England helped a lot. Also – we’ve had about 8 mos. of continuous combat duty – and that’s quite a bit. Well – we’ll see, dear. I hardly know how I’d respond to a transfer to the States. I know darling that I’d be terribly happy to be back with you and that I’d want to get married soon. Suppose I got 30 days leave some time in the future – would you want to get married some time during that period or would you prefer to wait until the whole thing is over with? Oh – yes – I’ll propose all over again, dear – and when you say “Yes” – I’ll put the ring on your finger myself. I still get the biggest thrill imaginable out of the realization that we are in fact – engaged, that more than that – we still love each other after all these months, and that separation and distance haven’t led us away from one another. It’s a wonderful thought and there must be quite a bond between us that has kept us so. May it continue – and I know it will.

I’ll have to stop now, sweetheart. I do love you terribly – and there isn’t one little shadow of doubt in my mind that we’re going to be very happy together as man and wife. Love to the folks dear and

All my deepest love,

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about "Tampico"

(1944) Tampico is a port city in Mexico. During World War II, Mexico supplied the US with raw materials. Mexico declared war on Germany after they sank tankers taking crude oil to the United States. Because of its proximity to our country, spies from both Axis and Allied countries were active there. German spies were intent on discovering when U.S. ships were going to leave port and at what speed so their submarines could intercept them.

That is the basis for the story of “Tampico.” The captain of an oil tanker, Captain Bart Manson (Edward G. Robinson), impulsively married Katherine Hall (Lynn Bari) who was rescued by his tanker from a lifeboat from a ship that had been torpedoed by a U-boat in the Gulf of Mexico. When the tanker arrived at the port, the crew was ordered not to breathe a word about their plans.

Subsequently, when Manson's ship sinks under suspicious circumstances, Hall becomes the prime suspect due to her mysterious past and lack of identity papers. Believing his beloved to be innocent of the crime, Manson sets out to uncover the real culprit. Manson discovers that his first mate, Fred Adamson, is a German agent responsible for the sinking.

Here is the review from The New York Times published on 2 June, 1944:

"Tampico," which opened at Loew's State yesterday, has all the elements of good, suspenseful drama. But somehow as yard after yard unrolls it becomes increasingly evident that nothing unlooked for is going to come about. The picture deals with seafaring people along the Tampico, Mexico, waterfront and all the attendant rum-happy espionage and counter-espionage.

A tanker is torpedoed, and that is an impressive, as always, scene, carrying along with it the highly appropriate message of what happens when inadvertent words or actions give away military information. Then there is the business of wiping out a nest of Nazi spies and that is, as always, nice entertainment for a June day. But except in these two scenes the action consists mainly of Edward G. Robinson squaring away for a clinch with Lynn Bari and even that, when it finally comes off, isn't too shattering.

Mr. Robinson's role as a love-chastened ship's captain is carried off in his usual businesslike manner, although his admirers will likely feel that the chastening isn't particularly advantageous to his traditional characterizations. Miss Bari does an appealing and sympathetic job, and Victor McLaglen struggles along with not much of a part.

It would seem the chief difficulty with the Twentieth Century picture is that it starts off with the speed of a tanker and then, almost immediately, slows down.

10 February 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

10 February, 1945      1000

Germany

Good Morning, Sweetheart –

It is now 1020 – but maybe I can get started this time. I don’t remember if I told you – or not, dear – but I had been trying to get an ambulance for the battalion for some time. No one knows why – but we don’t have an ambulance on our table of allowance but there have been many occasions when we needed something better than a jeep with which to transport patients. Well – we finally got one on loan about a week ago and for some reason or other – they changed it this morning and gave us another. Incidentally – the ambulance comes complete with two drivers. With all our vehicles and trailers put together – we almost make up a convoy of our own when we travel now.

Darling – I couldn’t write you yesterday, I was just plain too tired when evening came. I was in court all day and I’m inclined to believe that with all its shortcomings, Medicine has Law beat six different ways. But it was interesting and I enjoyed it. It was really something different – making objections, being objected to, thinking up new questions on the spur of the moment – and trying to anticipate new questions on the part of the prosecution. To add to all the confusion – every question and answer had to be given over again in German. I could have saved a lot of time by doing my questioning in German – but the judge knew no German.

And the result? It was referred to a higher court for another trial – on the suggestion of the judge, who said that the charge against the defendant was too serious a charge for him to rule on. Why he waited until we had spent hours on it, I don’t know. If we’re still around when the case comes up again – I’m still the defense attorney. I’m in it so far – I may as well stick it out – but there’s a lot of work to it, darling. From what I heard the prosecution present, I can’t see how they can prove she knew there was a gun in the store next to her home, or that she was responsible for an unoccupied store. There are half-a-hundred other angles to it – and by the way – before the trial was over yesterday, I was told that the Associated Press was interested in the case. I hope they stay out of it though.

More important than that, though – sweetheart – is the fact that I received mail from you yesterday post-marked 29 January – although the letter was written on the 25th and 26th. But that is far-and-away the most recent mail from you in months and as you know, dear – although all mail from you is welcome – there’s something about a recent letter; it makes me feel just a little bit closer to you. You must experience the same reaction – I’m sure – sweetheart.

Apparently you were really having a cold spell because you sounded – as you said – positively frozen. We were having a very cold spell just about the same time. Fortunately since then it has been much milder and the past several days – although rainy – have been almost Spring-like. I’m sure that the greatest part of winter must be behind us now – and I’m not sorry. And yes – darling – I do use a scarf. I have one I’ve used for the past two winters and I could certainly use a new one – so I’m waiting.

Here are the facts about the weather in Boston
for the week beginning 21 January 1945:

	High	Average	Low
Average High Temperature	37 °F	28 °F	14 °F
Average Mean Temperature	32 °F	20 °F	5 °F
Average Low Temperature	26 °F	12 °F	-4 °F

Click on the chart below to see how
the temperatures that week compared to normal

I was glad to read that you enjoyed my mother’s strudel – and you didn’t make my mouth water. I used to like it and then lost all desire for it. I was surprised to read about Lawrence’s 5 day leave. I suppose he’s thru with Carlisle and sweating out a new assignment. I pray he stays in the States a while longer and if he has to come over – I hope it’s over here – then I’d be able to look him up. The last letter I had from him – he still didn’t know what his next assignment would be.

I think I’ll be the domestic type dearest. I’ll certainly feel like settling down after all this is over, and just the thought of settling down with you, darling – is almost more than I can stand. If only we could get going right away. If we could only be together NOW. I mind the war most, sweetheart, when I think of that and the delay – but hell – it will be and it can’t be too long now.

I’ll stop now, dear. I love you as much as any man can love a woman and I just can’t wait for the time when I can tell you that, show you – and be with you always. Love to the folks.

All my everlasting love –

Greg

* TIDBIT *

about Seizing the Roer River Dam
(Part 3)

[CLICK ON PHOTOS TO ENLARGE]
         
Aerial views of the Schwammenauel Dam Today
Left shows the Reservoir and Right shows the Roer River Below

Below is an excerpt from "Seizing the Roer River Dam," as found on a web site posted by Ralf Anton Schäfer, containing "The Personal Memoirs of General Frank Camm Jr.". Desiring to fight beside his father when he graduated from West Point, Frank Jr. requested assignment to the 78th Division, where his father was an artillery colonel. Here he could serve beside him in the combat engineers - not under him which may have raised concerns of favoritism.

Phelan's patrol tried again at midnight. Dashing a thousand feet across the dam through rifle fire and bursting artillery, they found the spillway inaccessible. Sliding down the two hundred-foot face of the dam to a tunnel entrance on the enemy side, they slipped into a six-foot causeway, surprising and capturing six German machine gunners and riflemen. Within a few minutes, the patrol reached the tunnel entrance, and the engineers entered to make their inspection, while the doughboys took up defensive positions at the entrance. Groping their way through the inspection tunnel in the very bowels of the Dam, the engineers knew that an already lighted fuse could be burning closer to a mighty charge. Nervously but quickly, they searched for explosives set to blowup the dam, scouting for wires and fuses, any shred of evidence the dam was mined. It was a ticklish job, but it had to be done. Phelan later told reporters, "We expected to be blown to bits by hidden charges."

Lt. Phelan's patrol returned to the 1st Battalion CP at about 0300 hours on 10 February 1945. Incredibly and much to everyone's surprise, the dam itself had not been prepared for demolition! The logical place for explosives in the tunnel contained no prepared charges! The Germans had not mined the structure. A bridge across the sluiceway and the control houses on the far side had been demolished. The control to the penstock tunnel was also destroyed, sending a thirteen-foot diameter stream of water gushing out of the reservoir. It would take several days for the Roer River to subside. Schwammenauel dam no longer was a menace to four Allied Armies in the north. Fearful of being engulfed by the eighteen-foot wall of water that the Germans could unleash on them within four hours, these armies had been waiting since November to cross the river.

Meanwhile, Staff Sergeant Ed Naylor from our 303rd Engineer S-2 Intelligence Section led another reconnaissance party with a bomb-disposal sergeant from Army and seven infantrymen to the gatehouse. They blasted its door open with a bazooka and returned about 0400 to confirm that the outlets had been blown and water was rushing into the valley below.

Later on the morning of 10 February, the 303rd Engineers dispatched the following message:

"THE GREAT DAM THAT HAS SO LONG IMPEDED ALLIED OFFENSIVES ON THE WESTERN FRONT, HAS NOT, AND WILL NOT, BE BLOWN -- THE OFFENSIVE MAY PROCEED ON SCHEDULE."

By blowing only the valves in the underground flume and keeping the great structure intact, the Germans created sufficient flooding of the Roer River to delay Allied crossings for another two weeks. Had they demolished the dam itself, the flash flood would have lasted only about one day. Thus, the Germans delayed us substantially longer with their partial demolition than they would have if they had blown the full dam.

Following seizure of the dam, Major General C.R. Huebner, V Corps commander, dispatched a commendation to our 78th Division stressing the strategic importance of our accomplishment, "Without which further contemplated operations against the enemy on the northern front would have been impossible... Although the 78th Infantry Division is relatively new in combat, you have given ample proof that in future operations you will add new honors to those you have already achieved in this..."

09 February 1945

No letter today. Just this:

* TIDBIT *

about Seizing the Roer River Dam
(Part 2)

Below is an excerpt from a site set up by Ralf Anton Schäfer of Betzdorf, Germany, containing "Personal Memoirs of General Frank Camm Jr., called "The Battle of the Huertgen Forest." Desiring to fight beside his father when he graduated from West Point, Frank Jr. requested assignment to the 78th Division, where his father was an artillery colonel. Here he could serve beside him in the combat engineers - not under him which may have raised concerns of favoritism.

Lieutenant General Frank A. Camm, Jr.

We spent the night of 8 February 1945 standing by to undertake an assault crossing [of the Roer River], but the order never came. Instead, I received instructions to provide a patrol to inspect the Schwammenauel dam once we reached it. We had to be sure that the Germans had not prepared it for demolition to flood the Roer River valley while our forces were in the midst of crossing it downstream. If the Krauts were to blow the dam, an 18-foot wall of water would crash 36 miles down the Roer across our front. Within four hours, this German-made flood would trap any allied forces that had ventured across the Roer into the Cologne Plain. I designated my company executive officer, Lieutenant Maurice Phelan, to organize and lead the patrol. A sharp and reliable officer, Phelan selected Private First Class Pearl Albough, Private First Class Harold Fisher and Private Kenneth Hart from Bill Monroe's 3rd Platoon and Private Kurt Storkel from Glen Timm's 2nd Platoon to accompany him.

About mid-morning on 9 February 1945, radio operator Joe Grimaldi was with the commander of the 1st Battalion, 311th Infantry, when they reached an exposed hilltop overlooking the dam. He reported that as they were watching their troops assault at the hill on their left, a tremendous explosion erupted near the center of the dam, carrying water and debris up several hundred feet. Shortly thereafter, there was a second, lesser explosion on the dam.

As our 311th Infantry reached the final approaches to the dam on the afternoon of 9 February, the 1st Battalion, 309th Infantry passed through them and slogged down the final way to the dam. The shell torn road behind the advancing doughboys was strewn with burned-out tanks, jeeps, wrecked trucks, and dead horses.

The 1st Battalion, 309th Infantry had spent the previous four days preparing for the final assault on the dam. Lieutenant Phelan and his engineer patrol had worked with them, studying aerial photos and blueprints of the dam. Built in 1934, the earthen dam was 188 feet high, 1000 feet long, and 1000 feet thick at its base. Directly under the road leading across the dam was a massive concrete core. Running lengthwise inside this core was an inspection tunnel that we visualized could be packed with demolitions, with the Germans waiting for the opportune moment to press the button and send it sky high.

One hour before midnight, the leading riflemen of the 1st Battalion, 309th broke out of woods at the bottom of a steep hill, and there was the prize -- the Schwammenauel dam! Enemy flares from the far side of the river lighted up the area. Machine gun fire spattered all around. The crash of mortar shells mingled with the whip-cracking reports of flying lead. Registered-in 88's whined over the dam to burst at knee height among the doughboys. As the battalion drove forward to seize the dam, they heard the unmistakable, dull rumble of demolitions. Fortunately, only the valve house exploded -- not the dam itself. Meantime German resistance at the gatehouse was overcome only after the Krauts had succeeded in damaging the intake valves and jamming them in an open position. The damaged intake gates and blown outlet valves indicated a thorough German demolition plan had been executed!

As the firefight raged unabated at 2300 hours, Lieutenant Phelan's patrol started across the four hundred yard exposed roadway atop the Dam. German flares revealed them almost immediately, and machine gun fire from high ground south of the dam drove them back. It seemed every available enemy weapon was aimed at the dam. Phelan later said, "It was like a ten-minute artillery barrage repeated every ten minutes; between shell explosions, we heard the burp-guns." Dad's division artillery had lined up every piece of artillery within range to support seizure of the dam - approximately forty-three battalions of all calibers. Within a few minutes, thirty of these battalions were firing a "time-on-target" concentration. It was truly impressive to watch it hit along the German side of the river. This intense fire covered the area a half mile east and west of the dam and 200 yards inland to the south, momentarily illuminating the river and dam.

08 February 1945

438^th AAA AW BN

APO 230 % Postmaster, N.Y.

8 February, 1945

Germany        1030

Wilma, darling –

I’m getting an earlier start today than I did yesterday – but I expect to be busy for the rest of the day. I told you yesterday about the military government case I was working on and that’s really got me running around. But since I undertook to handle the thing at all – I might as well do as good a job as possible. Today is the last day before the trial and I’ve got to re-drill some of my witnesses. I’ve had lots of good help from some of the officers in the outfit – including the Colonel.

Last night I wrote you that I was trying to relax and take it easy – if I could. Well it didn’t work, darling, it just didn’t work. One of our officers had his Birthday yesterday and the boys insisted on celebrating. I really didn’t feel like it – but hell – you just can’t refuse. Well – we started out playing Michican Poker – or Rummy – I don’t know which – but the game didn’t go along too well due to the liquid diversion – in the form of French 75’s; that dear, in case you’re not aware, is a mixture of champagne and cognac – and it’s just a little bit stronger than strychnine. You know, sweetheart, bartenders in the States are going to have a helluva time with the returning soldiers because they’re going to get requests for the oddest drinks. Just having a Scotch and soda or rum-coke seems too uninteresting after the variety we’ve learned to drink. For example a mixture of Scotch or Cognac with Benedictine – is one of the nicest drinks you can get and I know a bartender back home will think someone crazy for asking for it.

Say – since you wrote me about Lennie Bernstein – a lot has happened to him – hasn’t it? I refer to his two write-ups in Time Magazine 8 and 15th January – and if Time takes the trouble to write him up he’s all set, of course. He certainly is off to a grand start – and more power to him. I never knew him but I believe Lawrence knew him pretty well at Latin School. I hope for his own sake though that it hasn’t spoiled him. He seems like a nice chap.

I have one of your letters, darling, written at the time of the German break-through. You write about the reaction of the Belgian populace on seeing us roll by – backwards – during the break-through. It was really tough to see. In the first place – the Germans we left behind were obviously tickled – most of them – although in reality they had plenty to fear also. Everyone of them had been ordered to leave with the retreating German army and all who stayed behind were – in the eyes of the German Army – traitors to Das Reich. What the Germans actually would have done had they reached a fairly large German city – is hard to say. But the Belgians had mute fear on their faces and with good cause. They didn’t know what to do and plenty of them took quite a beating from the Germans. Many were shot and whole villages were burned – even though there was no fighting in the vicinity. I passed thru such towns and the devastation was terrible – and in the middle of the winter, too. On top of all that – we had lost a good bit of our prestige – although it has probably been regained by now.

Well – darling – enough for now except to save the best for last – namely that I love you more and more each passing day and that time and distance apart have served only in making me feel closer to you. I’m happy over that fact and I know you are too. My love to the folks, say hello to Mary and so long for now.

All my sincerest love

Greg

P.S. Enclosed makes the 20th photo I’ve sent – I believe. Let me know how many you get, dear.

Love, G.

* TIDBIT *

about the Four-Way Flash

Greg referred to an article in TIME magazine's 15 January 1945 issue, (Vol. XLV, No. 3), about Leonard Bernstein's success. Here is that article, titled "Music: Four-Way Flash."

The brightest young man in the U.S. musical world was just practicing last week. Leonard Bernstein was brushing up on Ravel's Piano Concerto, and getting ready to go on the musical warpath. He was about to leave Broadway—where his rollicking musical, On the Town (TIME, Jan. 8) is packing them in—for a triple-threat appearance with the Pittsburgh Symphony as conductor, composer and piano soloist. Leonard Bernstein can do more things than most musicians and he can do them better.

Last year, when tall, wirehaired, 26-year-old Lenny Bernstein conducted Richard Strauss' Don Quixote with the New York Philharmonic, critics acclaimed him as one of the most gifted of U.S. conductors. When he played the Ravel concerto at a Lewisohn Stadium concert, they had to admit that he was one of the slickest of young U.S. pianists. His Jeremiah Symphony, first performed in Pittsburgh, put him in the first rank of contemporary U.S. composers. His ballet Fancy Free (written in collaboration with Choreographer Jerome Robbins) became the hit of Sol Hurok's ballet season at the Metropolitan Opera House. On the Town topped his year's record for versatility.

Four-ring Musician Bernstein would probably have been equally successful in his father's Boston beauty-parlor supply business. But his Aunt Clara's old upright piano, which was stored in the Bernstein home when he was a child, attracted him first. Lenny Bernstein took to the old upright like a duck to a puddle, went on to major in music at Harvard, where he did his first composing and conducting.

After that, he roamed Broadway unsuccessfully as a would-be songwriter, advertised for piano pupils, taught Ramon Novarro's sister singing at $2 a lesson, finally gota $25-a-week job doing routine orchestrations for the Harms music-publishing house. Summers he spent at Stockbridge, Mass., studying conducting with Serge Koussevitzky at the Tanglewood school. There he caught Conductor Artur Rodzinski's eye, was offered the assistant conductorship of the New York Philharmonic-Symphony.

Lenny Bernstein is somewhat amazed himself at his remarkable musical facility —and a little leary of it. "I don't have any faith in facility," he says. "I think it might turn out to be a handicap in that I might rely on it too much. Things come to me in a kind of inarticulate flash — I don't understand it. It's like an atavistic memory — as though I'd done these things in another lifetime, say, seventy years ago."

While admitting his gifts, critics point out that Bernstein has yet to show any real evidence of originality, that he composes at will in the manner of anybody from Russia's Serge Prokofieff to Cole Porter, but seldom Leonard Bernstein's. His brilliant, ingenious, coldly satirical music for On the Town lacks the heartwarming quality and really first-class tunes that make music memorable.

Bernstein is not yet a Stravinsky, a Gershwin, a Toscanini or a Horowitz. But he is half way toward being all four at once.