October 9, 1943

Dear Gang,

I'm writing this in D.V.'s old office which I have inherited along with his red address book. As I looked over his file of letters to you I became increasingly discouraged because they were, as so many of you have said, very swell letters. They have real style. My letters won't get in his class, but I'll do what I can to get you the good words as they come in.

I gather from your letters that all of you want to know whether there are any men left at college and what there is to be said for the new crop of lasses. Well, there were sixty-five men the last time I heard--that subtracts three who left yesterday. About forty of them are freshmen, most of whom are under eighteen, with a smattering of F4's. As for the upperclassmen, known as "the wolf pack," a good many are in reserve units of one sort or another and awaiting call, but at present seem to be doing pretty well. The freshmen women were hand-picked by Milt Nelson, Doc Dorwaldt, and yours truly. The real story of how we did it can now be told. The three of us went all over the state last spring and before we were done we had it down to a system. After dinner we'd go to some busy corner with comfortable lamp posts to lean against. Then as soon as a good looking pair of gambes came along one of us would whistle (Milt's wonderful at it). Then Doc would speak up, "What do ya say to a little college education, honey?" You ought to hear the way he can make it sound exciting, mm mm! The rumor is false that the only other entrance requirement was that they be able to make a cross in place of their name. No sir, every girl in the class can sign her name and some of them can do it in ink. We got 375 freshmen this way. I don't want to boast about my services to the college but there were a remarkably high percentage of red heads and blondes.

The college itself, as usual, is undergoing physical improvement. The new floors in Draper and Husted are just slippery enough that you damn-near break your neck every time you walk down one of them. The most significant change of the times is that we've taken down the commando hurdles--not enough men to make it worthwhile, and it was too easy for the girls. You will be amazed to hear that we're getting edible food in the cafeteria, which is running to capacity. Fresh paint and another room have been added and the counter is now in the hall.

The P.O. has been done over in a bilious green and everybody has been kicked out except the NEWS staff. All of the organizations have offices down on the Commons now, which will be opened for public view on Activities Day. So things change. About the only things around college that remain the same are the ceilings in the Boul, which, praise God, changeth not.

A number of the faculty have joined you in uniform. Bob Rienow has been shipped out of Camp Upton, where he was doing classification for some time, and no one yet knows where he is. He and Paul Bulger worked side by side. I don't know whether or not they were responsible, but Ralph Baker was shipped out of Upton to teach basic English and allied subjects to social studies majors at Fort Ontario. At least that's the way I hearn it. Varley Lang whom some of you knew in the last couple of years, has gone in for gold-bricking in a big way, as paymaster at Jefferson Medical College in Philadelphia. Lt. Hank Sisk is at ATSP at John Hopkins. When Hank was here in August he had a wonderful story about how he nearly did and died for his country. It seems that Hank went out on a quiet little three or four day party and came back to camp a little worse for wear. He no sooner landed than they told him he'd have to go out and squirm along his belly while some cherry wombat shot a machine gun over his head. So Hank went out, after much argument and started crawling his way along the sod. Then something happened to his pants. Something drastic. The result was that the last half of the course was run with Hank trying to keep his pants up with one hand and his balance with the other, close to embarrassing and a very pretty sight to think about.

No word has come recently from Lt. Commander Hatfield, last heard of at Naval Pre-Flight School at Chapel Hill, N.C. Hayfield's colleague, Miss Hitchcock, is now in the Marines.

Bill Hardy's back at State with his new doctorate nice and shiny. Tom Candlyn, as you may have seen by the Times, has gone to be organist at a big church on 5th Avenue, NYC. I saw Doug Dillenbeck during the summer (he'd just gotten his gold bars), and he was expected to marry into the Candlyn family the next time he got home.

I've had a letter from DV and at that point he was living a in a sorority house--and smacking his lips about it too. I didn't gather whether the girls had arrived yet or not, but I don't suppose it really matters. Before he left he and I had a talk during which he gave me memos or correspondence that he'd had from some of you and had not had a chance to answer. So figure that this next is unfinished business.

Corp. Howie Anderson had written him a couple of times from Africa where he had been seeing some action and salting away some honest to God money that he seems to have made playing cards. It just goes to prove the value of a college education. A recent V-Mail letter from Howie to me raised a question the last page of this ought to answer. Howie met Al Oetkin and they had an unfortunately dry foregathering. Al's put on weight and apparently is able to get enough to eat with his "Mahar French." Word of this also came in from Al, so it must be true.

Capt. Bob Benedict wrote DV and me a cheery pair of notes during the summer from Hawaii. I see Lizette every once in a while and she seems as gay and chic as ever, but lonesome. Ensign Bill Baker reports that Bourbon and coke is the best drink in Atlanta, where he's been assigned to Instrument Flight Instructor's Squadron, Gordon Airport and has been busy trying to make "decent teachers out of naval pilots." It was Bill that sent word that Fred Byrnes was married in May and is now in the Coast Guard. He wants word from Amyot, Bancroft and Decker. I'm writing in their address on Bill's copy of this and will do the same for you if you want somebody's address and I have it.

Johnny Caramia, when last heard from, was in England where he was having a grand time. I've been meaning to write him some English addresses but I might better give them to any of you who land on that benighted isle. Even in peace times it's almost impossible to get decent cooking in England, and it must be a lot worse now. But if anyone is cooking well there, it'll be at a little inn about an hour out of London call the Apple Orchard, in West Wycomb. Miss Donald, who runs it, is an old friend of mine, and if anyone wants to get away from London for a pleasant change, it's a good place to spend a weekend. In the Liverpool area there's a former member of the State College summer school staff, Prof. John Bradbury, a very good guy who'll do anything respectable he can to give you a good time. He's at Liverpool University. A sort of British Adam walker only 20 years younger.

Chapell is at Camp Rucker, Alabama, and some time during the summer he saw Bob Combs in Montgomery. He's in the same barracks as Walt Harper's brother and seemed to think that Walt was in Naval Intelligence, but Will Frament, who dropped in the office the other day, tells me that Harper is stationed at [illegible] Hall, Harvard, with the Navy Supply Corps. Chapell wants Johnny Alden's address, which is Squadron A 43 Foater Field, [illegible]. Bill Sivers, also in the Navy, was playing tag with his clothing when last heard from and not sure whether he'd get a ship without a shirt or whether his ship would go to sea without him. Ben Comi has been riding the waves, which he reports can be plenty rough, on a mine sweeper.

John Dooley wrote DV in August and me in September. He's down at North Carolina State College in the ASTP and they seem to be making an engineer of him. Says it will be a year before he can relieve a WAC for active duty. He had the low-down on a lot of the boys. Graham Duncan, Dick Beach and Joe Harder are in the same outfit with him. Several others were also there in the STAR unit. Rolf Toepfer was one of them and has just written me from Chapel Hill. The army has taken advantage of Toep's language background and he's polishing up his Deutch. The Mary Mac-Toepfer affair seems to keep clicking. Dooley said Art Cornwell had been in the STAR unit and then he was shipped back to Bragg. The latest word is that A.C. was sent to Camp Wheeler, Ga. I got that from Joe Higgins, who dropped in to see me when he was home a week or so ago. Joe discovered Art's whereabouts when he was doing a trick as mail clerk and forwarded mail to him. No word form Cornwell in these parts and same would be welcome. Frank Woodworth's with the marines at Treasure Island and Stan Gipp is at Hobart. He says that Red Evans is at Camp Marshall, wearing the high boots of the Parachute Infantry. The Parachute Infantry looks like the answer to those people who used to tell Dr. Norris on their freshman tests that they'd like to jump from high buildings, but I doubt Red was one of them. DV had a letter from Tom Feeney with a New York APO. By the middle of July he had found Africa hot, dull and uninteresting.

Lt. Fred Ferris wrote both DV and me from Camp Lee, Va., which, he says, is a swell joint. He ran into Jim Quinn at officers' mess and says that Jim is now a first Looie. We saw a lot of Fred around here when he was up at Syracuse, but since then it's been long time no see. There is another letter from Rex Finster who says he saw Mike Walrath at Camp Wheeler one day, apparently just before Mike shuffled off to Camp Campbell, Ky. Rex wrote his letter in a terrific fog--actual, not figurative. But he seems pretty happy to have his wife within whistling distance all the time.

Len Friedlander is Assistant Personnel Officer at Ft. Jackson and wrote his last letter to DV in the midst of two weeks of maneuvers. He apparently kept one eye on the general and the other on the best bar in the locality and, if I know Len, began polishing as soon as the General arrived. What, by the way, is the service equivalent for apple-polishing? The only ones I've heard I can't dictate to the wench that takes this down. Does anybody know a decent euphemism that will pass both the censors and dictation? Len had heard from Dick Lonsdale and I've seen Dick's wife a number of times. He's with the Amphibious Force and apparently missed the Sicilian snow by merest chance. That seemed to be all right with Carol who, I should report, is looking fine.

Bill Forrest sent DV news about a member of the gang. Item 1: Lt. Dennis Dole is in the Adjutant's Office in Drew Field, Tampa. Item 2: he complains that Combs is one of the worst correspondents that he ever knew and that Marsland, over at MIT, is having the time of his life.

The word from Bob Hertel comes in august whispers from the very edge of Robert E. Lee's grave. Bob moved shortly after that letter and Mrs. Underwood, over in the Alumni Office, tells me he's at Camp Roberts, Cal. He certainly does get around, that boy.

Avrom Koblenz wrote in August that he'd gone through Bragg with the Flaxes and Bernie Bernhardt and then moved on to the ASTP. From there he went to Raleigh, North Carolina State College, where he hit the crew that Beach, Toepfer, and Brenni and Declay were in and word comes from the underground that he's on his way to California, address unknown. Higgins said that Abba was studying Japanese. Nick Morsillo is flying for the Marines and DV gathered that he was missing his Maine-born bride considerably.

Bolo Marsland was in Albany in June when he saw big John Sussina. He wrote DV that Stan Gipp and Jim Ryan were sent to Hobart, while of course, the larger number of naval reserve men went first to Union. He also had had, when he wrote, word from Frank Hansen that he was then at Dartmouth with Ben Reed, Red O'Leary and Bill Tucker, all of the USMC. Speaking of Hansen, the Southwick gal is flashing sparkling hardware in our faces these days and, and my agents report that as a news item it belongs at this point in the letter. Bolo was to have left MIT is September, but whither away I don't know.

Howard Merriam sends in word that he's Communications Officer on the USS Stanley. He says somewhat nostalgically that on his job the homework doesn't after the dorm closes. It just doesn't stop. I gather that he's somewhere out of San Francisco. Saddlemire (Ensign G. L. S. of the USS Hala to you) reports, as do many, of these distinguished officers of the United States Navy, that come the wave, they oops like hell. However, Gerry adds that by strong control of the mind and stomach muscles he is now able to look at the ocean without making a contribution. He's run into both Charlie Quinn and Hal Duffey (quite another Duffey is now Mrs. Quinn--did you guys all know? Handsome picture in the society column--big write up violent social stir up!) They planned a little party together but somebody with lots of gold braid sent them in opposite directions before they could get together. Characteristically, Gerry thinks there is a future for radar in street-corner wolfing. John Stromei wrote in from New Guinea and reports it's very pleasant there. Everything his little heart desires except some cold beer and some hot women. There seems to be a general feeling among the boys that get to the South Sea Islands that Hollywood producers have a lot to learn about what really goes on in these parts. At least as late as July Strommei had seen nothing that resembled Dorothy Lamour. What's sarong out there, Strommei? The machine the letter was written in was a refugee from the Dutch East Indies and apparently, said John, had never recovered from the shock--putting it in the class with all the typewriters DV ever used. (What say, Cortland?)

Ralph Tibbetts was getting his basic training in Miami Beach before going on to Pre-Flight. Rich Young finished up his pre-flight in late July and went on to the training detachment at Clarksdale, Miss., where, he reported to DV, they have air-conditioned barracks, wonderful food, and a small school.

There was a little card in Don's file saying that Ray Walters is to be reached through the Maritime Commission and this correspondent for one would like to hear from the elegant TRW. Zubon wrote that the Engineers at Camp Chaffee had loads of fun during the flood hoisting people off tree tops and roofs, with one especially charming job in which they had a race with the stork, which Zubon seems to have won.

I think that clears up the bulk of notes that DV gave me in the midst of the rush of Summer School. My notes were a little crude and I may have gotten some of this dope wrong, but I think substantially that's the story. That then clears up the unfinished business and brings me to the fat file of letters that have been accumulating--some of them for an indecent length of time--on my own desk. Here, for example, are some Christmas cards about which I did nothing. That was Xmas 1942, and just to keep the record clear, Merry Christmas to Bernie Arbit.

Bob Agne has been writing a good deal of poetry in between learning to fly transports--some of it very good stuff, especially the one long piece called "Course 13 Has the Honor to Report," which was printed in the Embry-Riddle Flypaper. Bob was in to see me in September with gold decorations on his shoulder and a first-rate state of mind. Had lived for a while with some British pilots in Florida and found them good fellows after they relaxed a little.

Marshall Ackerman and I have been carrying on a name-calling contest by way of the luscious Rhona Ryan for some weeks. He seems to think I owe him mail--and I guess he's right. There's a card from Camp Upton sent out in May when he says that he was company librarian and the only catch was that they didn't have any books. At the present time he's in Jefferson Barracks, Mo., and herewith owes me a letter as long as this one.

I forget who told me about Vito Brenni, but there comes a sad story up from Camp Ritchie that, last heard from, Vito was headed for two weeks of KP. When Cappon was in Mississippi I heard from him, and it was just like it always was. When Mac and I are in our eighties we'll still be growling at each other and just as sure that each is a screwball.

Ensign Freddy Day sent in word from Africa that the most hellish part of war in his area was that the nurses were all in Sicily, which looks like things haven't changed much with Freddy. He wants Jim Quinn to unbend his elbow long enough to write. Things must be pretty bad in his neck of the woods because he says that even Hedrick's would taste like the nectar of the gods.

I called Pete Fox's mother the other day and she tells me that Pete is now a Corporal and teaching electronics at Boca Raton Field, Florida. I guess DV told you that Charlie Franklin was here in July. I ran into him when I was rushing for my commuter train, and he looked pretty magnificent with his chest full of ribbons. He had been the Southern Pacific Ferry Command, and now word comes that he's gotten his Majority.

While we were writing this, Ralph Fredricks stuck his head in the door and reports that he and Feigenbaum, and Wise and McLaren have been getting weatherwise down at NYC. There have been a number of kinks in their program and the future seems dark and cloudy. I'd like to have the rich and colorful vocabulary of Mrs. Fegenbaum's little boy on said situation. If the army is treating them badly, however, the Stage Door Canteen is doing pretty well by them. It's like I always say, life is full of little compensations.

Moose Gerber writes from Johnson Hall, Columbia University. Moose, in my day Johnson Hall was the place where all the pretty little girls just come north from the south and all damnedest bunch of old maids you ever saw tried to keep them from spilling their tea. Do any of their ghosts haunt you? Ghosts of some of the former haunt me, but that's beside the point. Bombard, Guarino, Kensky and Greenberg were there together. The whole crowd expects to get their commissions around Thanksgiving.

Jake Powell, now Lt. (j.g) is apparently the big shot in the armory at Columbia. 1st Sgt. Bob Teeter was around college in the summer and said that Les Gerdts now has a captaincy and his APO is still New York. Bob, who had been teaching wild men in Texas, is now at Camp van Dorn, Miss., and anxious to hear from anyone nearby. Ben Gitlin, I was glad to get your letter and I hope they've decided by this time whether they're going to make a linguist or a physician out of you. And I was glad to hear about Santi Forcino. What on earth is a machine record unit? Maybe word had gotten out somewhere but I hadn't heard that you were married and glad to find you so enthusiastic about it. With a little effort and a little luck it can be a very pleasant state of affairs, I find. I guess I said above that Joe Higgins was in to see me. At that time he thought he was going into an ASTP routine. But a week later he sent me a post card with a picture of a moonshine still on one side and word on the other that he'd be at Fort Bragg a little longer. That's all right, Joe. Troy is still the same old place. Ran into Lt Mike Gross of the Chemical Warfare Office who had come up to lecture officers. Mike seems to be doing all right by himself and it was good to see him. Buck Hippick and Gil Snyder have been at the Citadel in Charleston, S.C. Gil has been selected for pre-med work and that's good news for him. Babe Kaplan, I ashamed not to have answered you before, especially since you got your San Francisco APO. I haven't seen Debby for months on end but talked to her about the time she was working on the memorial fund for Sam Dorrance. As she probably wrote to you, they collected something over $1,000, from Sam's friends to buy a war bond for his baby son and to start a memorial in the Medical School Library. I see Harmon Lockrow now and then and he always speaks affectionately of you--as who doesn't? Frank Kluge, DV and I were both glad to hear about your second meeting with Freddy Day, but an in no position to pass judgment until I hear from Freddy about his fouling up the lines tossed to him by the Coast Guard. The gang will be interested, I think, in a sentence in which you remark with an eye to the censor, "we both agreed that we had a swell time in Toniland, though some people there were not so glad to see us." Sorry I don't have an address for Havco. Maybe someone does and will pass it on. Feeney ought to be eligible for your Africa club for the address which I am adding to the bottom of this. Merry Xmas to you too, George Kunz. And just to be sure I beat you to it, Merry Xmas in 1943, 1944, and 1945. After that, to hell with you. And I was glad, too, to hear from Pete Marchetta in August, still at the marine base on Parris Island. Pete says he's on the second phase of his boot training and was on the rifle range when he wrote. From there he goes back to Parris Island and then to Quantico. He says that Walt Griwacz is in the same training platoon and that they've been together constantly since they left these parts. The prettiest redhead in summer school told me she has lived all her life next door to Ed and gave me news that he was doing fine and has his Lieutenancy all right in the Marines. There's a story I want to hear firsthand from Ed about the morning he decided that it would be more fun to stay in bed than get up. The way I heard it, this was the last revolt of a great individualist. Ed Melanson sent a joint letter to DV and me via the Fleet APO in San Francisco. I wondered what happened to Ed O'Hora. The last word I had was when I wrote a letter of recommendation for the Coast Guard. Of course I can't really complain, I suppose. I've always owed Ed three times as many letters as he owed me, but I'd sure like to hear form him. I'm gong to try to send this just c/o University of Cal. as you suggest and see what happens. I know just how you feel about the sea. I've never been on the Pacific, but four Atlantic crossings are among the best of my memories. I realize of course that in my day we weren't watching for periscopes or enemy aircraft. Suppose I just pass on to the crowd your memoranda on the boys you'd heard from, namely that Mike Walko was married in June and is now at Navy Supply Corp School in Boston, that Lt (JG) Bill Sivers relieved Lt (ditto) Carl Schoeffler as Assis Disbursing Officer at Naval Training St., Farragut, Idaho, that Sivers sees Caroline Mattie Ryther and her CPO husband. I hope that by this time the stripe you were expecting has caught up with you. Also that by thus time you've found in at least one of the bars you've been visiting some benighted Statesmen. From the way it looks here, the whole world is just one damned Okkie's after another for all State College men taking care of aching thirst. This doesn't happen to the Africa Club, however, which seems to have a universal complaint. Word from Paul Merritt comes from Charleston. I've passed the word on to the News, and to the Alumni Office. Perhaps I ought to explain to all of you that Mrs. Underwood in the A.O. and the girls in the News staff and I try to work together to that if one of us gets addresses, we pass it on to the others. Gertrude Myers has made it her job to keep my address file up to date, and of course it will help if you can pass the word on when you move from place to place. It was thro' a card to Mrs. U that I heard that A/C Ed Perretz was in Los Angeles. Ed has spent some time out on the Mohave [sic] Desert and seems to be glad to get back to whatever civilization Cal. can offer. A/C Harry Passow also wrote the A.O. saying that he was at Boca Raton. Then he goes to Yale to study communications pretty soon. Harry says that Bob Wesselman, Rook Roberts, Van Schultze, Grant Hermans and Hank Ruback are all down there with him. Looks like a Boca Raton Alumni branch to me. Thanks, Harry Gumaer, for the letter from your part of the Pacific area. Your note "somewhere in the Pacific" is so wonderfully definite--but we got the APO number and I guess that's all we need. Hank Schoen, whose sister is still in college, is up in the Aleutian area and has been moved from one igloo to another. He sent some pictures which looked darned chilly to me but were, nevertheless good to see. Jean Chapman stopped in the office today to show me a news item in the Ft. Benning paper telling how Earl Snow was organizing a glee club. Some people get into bad habits and can't stop. But I'll bet Earl makes 'em sing--and good. Thanks for the card, Bernie Skolsky. "PGFABF," you've got what you wanted. Andy Takas, it was good of you to write me after the long talk we had when you were home. It certainly seemed like old times to have you draping your tail piece over the backside of a chair got an hour or so. Good shoveling, as we say down on the farm. Will Walley sends word from Monroe, La., that he's being made into a Navigator at Selman Field. I'm hereby passing the threat to Jake Powell that you'll tear him limb from limb. You'll see above word of Jake and his doings at Columbia. I wondered what had happened to Bob McGregor. Glad to hear that he got his commission and have fixed up the address to read Shepperd Field, Tex. This ought to reach Bob Seifert about the time he gets his wings at Moore Field. Will say that young McGregar is making tanks at Berwick, PA but expects to be inducted soon, and that Mike Prym holds the money bags at Buckingham Air Field, Fort Myers, Florida. The last item in the file is a notice of change of address saying that north country werewolf, Leonard J. Varmette, has been shipped out of Ft. Sam Houston and now has a San Francisco APO. I guess this is the news we have. I'm hoping to get one of these out to you every five or six weeks, and probably the others will not be quite so long as this one.

Whatever word seeps into this place will be dripped out as soon as we have a bucketful. We aren't forgetting you and we hope that you aren't forgetting us.

Lou

Letter of February 11, 1944
Letter of April 28, 1944
Letter of March 14, 1945