And a hand-written note:
I hope that it does, Mother! You are, believe me, although I’m afraid I don’t show it very often. With Love –Carl
Figure 4-2. Mother’s Day card, May 12, 1944. Author collection.
Separate letter
Thursday
You asked whether I liked fudge or something else. Maw, that’s not a very hard choice. There isn’t anything I’d rather have than fudge, than your fudge, rather.
I wish you’d forget about trying to get me out of this because of any physical reasons. If Carson has any pull, push him into getting me into O.C.S. but he’d have to have more than pull for that, he’d have to have a prime mover.
Remember I told you I was trying to get a position as a driver? Well—that’s out. I am now working on something new and 100% better—battalion intelligence. It means interesting (comparatively speaking, of course) work and a chance to use more brain and less brawn. About 50% more men volunteered than there are room for so I won’t know for a while whether I’m one of the fortunate or not.
Yesterday morning we finished that 25 mile hike I told you about. You should have seen everybody hobble, crawl, limp, or what-have-you around the company area all day yesterday—it was like a slapstick comedy. But my God, were my feet tender! And did I wake up stiff this morning! Ah, the rugged life! Nothing like it, thank God! But—didn’t hurt me, I guess.
Bye Love –Carl
. . .
The Lavins’ house in Canton contained two bedrooms, one for Dorothy and Leo and one for the boys. A houseguest in that home meant that Carl would sleep on a couch or on the back porch, and the guest would take the boys’ room. In May 1944, Dorothy and Leo decided to purchase a larger house about six blocks away.
. . .
May 16 1944
Monday
Dear Mother,
Today in the 69th Division, of which I have the somewhat dubious honor of being a part, is celebrating its first birthday. So, after a parade this morning, we are having the rest of the day off. Personally, I think it would have been a nice gesture on the part of the general had he waited two more days to hold this celebration, for then both the 69th and myself could have celebrated our first year in the army, together. Yep, two more days and I’ll be practically an old army man. But the general is a stubborn man.
Since this is my first typing endeavor in about a year, you’ll have to overlook my mistakes and you’ll have quite a few of them to overlook.
The watch is completely good, except for one thing. It really works automatically; I haven’t had to wind it since I got it. But it gains about a minute and a half, or two, a day. By the way, in case you’re wondering why my old watch hasn’t arrived yet, here’s the reason, I haven’t sent it yet. But I will as soon as I get a chance.
If I ever manage to get out of this place over a week-end, I’ll call you some Sunday morning (It takes at least six hours to get a call through from camp.) So far, I’ve been able to get out on exactly one week-end out of eight, what with the transportation the way it is, which is negligible, and the detail list the way it is, which is almost all-inclusive. If I get a chance on other than a week-end I’ll try to call you then, too. But don’t worry if you learn that I’ve called when you weren’t home some time. If anything important ever turns up I’ll let you know by telegraph, not by phone.
Incidentally, what kind of sleeping arrangements are you figuring on when Edith and I get there? It’s going to be a little difficult for you, I guess. I hope all this isn’t going to trouble you too much, but it means quite a lot to me. I may as well warn you now, Mom, we aren’t going to get much sleep during those seven days and it won’t do you any good to try and get us to. Also you might notify the Lavin family and friends that any glimpses they get of me beyond the absolute minimum will be purely coincidental.
Just got your letter. Was surprised to hear you’re really intending to sell the house now. But your plan seems to be a very good one. All I want is that you keep it until after my furlough, which you said you are doing.
Goodbye for now—Love Carl
. . .
May 19 1944
Thursday
Mother,
Friend Carson must really be something, after all. I’ve never seen anything move so fast in the army before. And somebody must have thrown a scare into somebody. Yesterday I was called in out of the field (orders were marked “emergency”!) and sent to the hospital. There two majors and a lieutenant colonel worked on me. While this was going on there were majors and captains out in the field questioning my squad leader, platoon leader, first sergeant, and C.O. about my physical condition.
They put my hands and feet in ice water, asked me question after question and I’m afraid they arrived at the conclusion that I am healthy. They aren’t done yet, though. Today they tried to give me a metabolism shot, which didn’t take. (Remember when I tried to take one before?) But they’re going to try again tomorrow.
Yes, I’ve done everything and said everything I can. Don’t worry about that. I’ll tell you what happens as soon as it does.
But if Carson can do all that, why don’t you put his powers to work along a more helpful line? Maybe he can get me transferred into something requires more brain work. Some kind of specialized job. If he wants to know if I’ve any experience in anything he mentions within reason, say yes. It’s surprising what you can bluff through in the army.
Have you heard again from Fred lately? Let me know. Meantime—Lots of Love –Carl
. . .
May 26 1944
Thursday
Dear Mom,
I’m afraid your hopes that the army will make a neat, punctual person out of me are due for disappointment. Every soldier’s first post-war plans include such things as getting a rifle and throwing dirt on it, never walking in step, never hanging any clothes up, sleeping until two every day, and never walking more than twenty consecutive steps at a time. In other words, to do just the opposite of what he’s been doing under compulsion.11 This may explain daddy’s behavior.12 Maybe if he’d never been in the army he’d be happy in sleeping normal hours. But the stigma of regimentation has probably lasted all this time and so he can’t bear to sleep as everybody else does. So it’ll be the same for Fred and me.
That telephone talk was pretty nice. Shame I didn’t get a chance to talk to pop. But one of these months maybe I’ll get into town again, and there’ll be another chance. After I talked to you, I called up some people that A wrote me the address of. Her roommate’s family, in fact. They invited me out there, along with the guy I came in with, for Sunday dinner (which was the reason I called them up—don’t worry, I was very diplomatic—“Oh, no, I couldn’t think of imposing on you like that, and besides I came in with a friend.”) So we went out there and had a wonderful time, surprisingly enough. We spent the whole afternoon and evening with them. Met about all the family relatives and friends, as they’d drop in and we went for a ride in the car and called on several people. Everyone we met was very nice and treated us wonderfully. It was a week-end just like one back home—everything peaceful and quiet and civilized. Nothing to remind us of the army. There was a fifteen year old daughter—quite pretty and smart—which added to the amusement. We helped her with her homework after supper. (They insisted on supper—what could we do?) By the way, don’t worry about the watch being fast. (sent the old one back on Tuesday—get it yet?) the mother works in a jewelry store—or owns it—father is dead—and so she is having it fixed for me. I’m sure they’ll do a good job. Simple to do anyway.