This will close out my Christmas series.  Two themes:

First, Christmas morning.  As I alluded earlier, we took pride in being the first up in our neighborhood.  My sisters began this tradition, and I will be ever grateful to them.

We would typically awake at 4:00 a.m. or so to begin the negotiations.  One would be appointed to approach the still darkened door of our parents' bedroom and ask whether it were time.  Strategically, of course, the parents could never accept our opening offer...it would be perceived as weakness, and we would have arisen earlier each year.  As it was, it typically took 4-5 approaches to wear them down, so by 5:00 a.m. we were in the kitchen awaiting Dad's getting the light right for his movie camera, and filming a panoramic scene of the still pristine, gift-laden living room.  He would at intervals stick his head out and predict our disappointment at the dearth of booty to be seen.  95% of our brain wrote this off as typical Dad  nonsense, but there was always that 5% that worried that maybe this year he was being truthful.

At last we were allowed to enter, and, counter to the tradition Jeanne thankfully introduced into our family, mayhem ensued where it was every wo/man for him/herself, and you didn't come up for air until everything with your name on it had been unwrapped and undone.  The formerly lovely display (Dad had it on record!) became a wasteland of paper and ribbon scraps.  Only then did we try to sort out Mom's and Dad's gifts and take any interest in our siblings presents.  There was no thought of breakfast.

Two interesting asides: first, no matter what we had asked Santa for, we were so excited by what we got, we usually forgot what we asked for that was not received; second, because we were first to arise in our neighborhood, we had to wait to show off our new things to our friends, usually for as much as an hour, which seemed like forever.

The second theme: while Christmas Eve was a time for our immediate or nuclear family, with few guests, Christmas Day was another thing entirely.  Once we had showed off our toys to our friends and straightened our Christmas mess to a reasonable degree, we usually made a pilgrimage to Payson where 80% of my Mom's living siblings and their families resided: Lionel & Geneva; Mike and Annie; Erma and Roy (Jasperson); and Vera and Claude (Newton).  Grandma would join us in the early years (until her death in 1963), and so whatever home in which the gathering occurred was stuffed to the brim...and we loved it.  These were times of getting to know and love our extended families.  We always returned to Orem filled to the gills with home-made delights and memories to last a year.

An errata from the last post...Mom or Dad haunted my dreams last evening and reminded me that we also owned an Eddie Arnold Christmas album which included a song near and dear to my Dad's heart, Will Santy Come to Shanty Town...also a Jim Reeves album with one they both liked, Old Christmas Card .

Short one in the wee hours...early Christmas gifts.  I remember going to Skagg's or Woolworth (mentioned previously) with my sisters to purchase some inexpensive cologne for Mom, and a bow-tie or cuff links for Dad.  When I got a little older, I remember saving my lunch money so I would have a little autonomy over my purchases, at the stores within range of my bicycle. Two were most memorable.  The first was a LP Christmas album featuring some group of singing nuns performing what was then a newly popular Christmas song, Little Drummer Boy.  Unfortunately, at least in my memory, although it was in a beautiful cover and the lead song was fine, it was the only really good song on the record.  The second was a pen and pencil set for each member of the family...procured by obtaining five pens from a dispenser at Bob's Army-Navy for .25 each, and a high quality wooden pencils at Woolworth in Orem for about .10 apiece.  All I can say is, my heart was in the right place.

As there were no DVD or even VCR players in our day (we did have television, though not color until my adolescent years), we found our Christmas entertainment by being vigilant in watching TV.  Almost every TV series (including westerns and Twilight Zone) would have a special Christmas episode the week before Christmas.  In addition, every variety show would also have a Christmas special...Andy Williams was one of my favorites.  Bob Hope did not have a weekly show, but he also always had an annual Christmas special.  Most of the above mentioned can be found on Youtube.

There were also very few Christmas movies extant of which we were aware.  Certainly "A Christmas Carol" was available on several channels throughout the season.  Later, if you were lucky, you might catch an airing of "Its a Wonderful Life" if you stayed up late.  "White Christmas" did not come until later, after TBS (Ted Turner's media company) began "colorizing" old movies...White Christmas was one of the first.  I don't believe I ever saw the black and white version.

We also didn't have many Christmas albums until Michelle got to be a teen...she provided us with an Andy Williams Christmas album, as well as one by Johnny Mathis, and one that became a favorite of mine by the Lettermen.  The only two I remember Mom and Dad owning were a multi-performer album put out as a premium by Firestone Tires, and a pretty peppy one by the Mexicali Brass (no relation to Herb Alpert).  The former, however, introduced me to one of my all-time favorite Christmas songs, sung (but mostly spoken) by Cary Grant!  Christmas Lullaby   

Most of our Christmas music thus came over the radio, by virtue of the goodness of the various stations, all of whom seemed to give some of their programming over to Christmas music...God bless them. 

We did not really a solid tradition as far as Christmas Eve dinner.  I think int was mostly normal food with a little bit of nuts, candy, and other junk food thrown in (how else could we dream of sugar plums?)  Our main intent was to get to bed so Santa could come, and so we could awake all the earlier to begin the arduous task of wearing down Mom & Dad's resistance to waking up (more about this later).

Some time during my teenage years, though,  we decided we could afford Kentucky Fried Chicken, and since we all loved that, and it was so convenient, we tried that for a few years.  That was a wonderful idea except one year (it was either my sophomore or junior year in high school) I got so nauseous in the wee hours (either food poisoning, or, more likely, over-indulging) that I almost made an eternal oath to swear of  KFC for eternity.  I am glad I never made that oath, as I have enjoyed it many times since (though not for a year or two after that experience); and KFC has even made an appearance or two in Jeanne's and my celebrations over the years...but I was very close. 

But no matter the fare, Christmas Eves were always magic...from the announcement on TV every year that NORAD had detected a unidentified aircraft taking off from the North Pole during the 10:00 news on Christmas Eve, to a little boy who swore he heard jingle bells outside his window in the middle of the night.

Mom told the story of a time when Maurine and Michelle came to her (in tears?) because one of the older kids in the neighborhood had told them there wasn't a Santa.  Mom sat down on the living room couch with them to reconcile their doubt as best she could. This was a more innocent time when you weren't afraid to leave your curtains open, and before she got very far, a face appeared at the picture window just opposite them...it was the Jolly Old Elf  himself!  Her jaw was as far open and her eyes as wide as theirs.  Case closed!

It turned out to be my Uncle Mike dropping by for a visit, but his timing was ...magical.  There would be a time later to move on from the this piece of innocence from childhood, but on this evening it was preserved for a few more years.

Maybe a short one tonight...

I only remember two times as we were growing up that we didn't have a standard evergreen tree with all the great decorations, and tinsel and silver icicles to top it off.  My personal favorite decoration, though I was never sure how these made it past Underwriters' Laboratories for their approval, were the lights that had a bulb at the bottom, and a clear glass tube extending out which was filled with some liquid  As the base heated up, the tube began to bubble.  I just looked on Google, and the most official name is "bubble lights".

Anyway, one year after aluminum trees had been in vogue for a year or two, Dad decided to try one.  As I remember it was a nightmare to assemble, which may have contributed to the slightly bent appearance of  many of the branches.  I believe we hung only blue balls on it, and I believe Dad also bought a multi-color light wheel (red, blue, yellow and green) to reflect off the metallic branches.  I do not believe this tree lasted more than a year.

After a few more years passed, there was another trend...regular Christmas trees "flocked" with some snowy white goop.  Dad once again felt adventurous.  If things went well, you had a tree that looked like it was coated with fluffy white snow.  For most people, however, their trees looked like a cat had gotten into a large container of cottage cheese, then decided to mount the Christmas tree to spread the joy.  We put only pink balls on this time, but we did still have the multi-colored light wheel, adding an eerie touch.  That was Dad's last foray into creative Christmas trees.   

I am back, a day later than I promised.

During the season, Mom & Dad frequently had occasion to shop without our help and advice (we could never imagine why) and before they were old enough to date, that put Michelle and Maurine in command.  They were pretty reasonable baby-sitters, and I have always admired their  techniques.  It was on one of these evenings that Maurine, with able assistance from Michelle, taught Dave and I not only how to belch on demand, but how to do it in complete sentences (Jeff was still an innocent baby at the time). It is probably a good thing, but I sometimes regret that I have lost that ability.

They would tell us of their legendary instructors and wonderful exploits at the ancient Lincoln Junior High School (by the time we youngers came of age, a new junior high had been built on our side of town, so the stories would remain stories. Maurine would also regale us with various Christmas tunes using her folded hands for an adjustable whistle.  While I did not acquire that skill at the time, it provided me the inspiration that led me to become a pretty good hand whistler, my debut occurring inadvertently in the middle of my 8th grade science class...another story for another time.

Ice skating in those times meant a trip to the Provo Boat Harbor, a small man-made pond which opened onto Utah Lake and, during warmer seasons provided a place for the various floating craft that populated the lake a place to launch.  During most winters it froze over so firmly that a jeep with a blade could be driven out on it to scrape of the snow and provide a suitable skating surface (early version of a Zamboni, I guess:-).

My Dad was an accomplished figure-skater, and passed his skills on to Michelle and Maurine, both of whom could skate backward with ease.  The boys in the family apparently did not pick up that gene, and could only skate forward...but we did have such great times.  The skating was free, and there were always a few fires on the shore to warm us up and to provide the evocative scent of wood smoke to our outings.  We would often return home to hot cocoa or deep bowls of Mom's home-made chili.

To be continued...

Among other delights, my Mom made gingerbread houses...not the kits like they have now, or the graham-cracker simulations  to which Jeanne and I resorted, but a self drawn pattern she used to mark and cut the rolled-out gingerbread into all the necessary pieces for construction...including windows and doors and of course, a chimney,  The smell of the gingerbread baking was marvelous, and she would have to keep us from snitching while it cooled enough to work with.

To glue the large pieces together she used, not royal icing (that came later), but some kind of melted sugar concoction that I will mention again later.  After it was thus "glued" together, she used royal icing to decorate and put all the candy pieces in place.  It was a delicate operation,with not a few flustrations along the way, but when it was finished, it would pass a few city building codes for sturdiness.  Of course, after Christmas it must come down, and we all waited for our chunks.  The royal icing was sweet and crunchy, of course, the gingerbread was no longer fresh but we still loved it, (and it was covered with candies); but my most vivid memory was of that burnt sugar.  Some didn't care for it, but I liked its somewhat darker sweet flavor, like hard molasses...it was a perfect offset to the sweet gingerbread.

My mother also made divinity every year, though for the life of me I could never determine why.  IT was the hardest of candies to get to turn out properly...it had to be heated to just the perfect temperature, and then beat while something white into it...timing was critical.  You could also add flavorings or colorings or nuts, but not too much.  And if it turned out perfectly, everyone involved was so proud.  I really think that is why this candy was made...to compete with other divinity makers to see who could make the most beautiful batch of divinity.  It couldn't have been for the purpose of eating...I thought it was awful!

Cut our sugar cookies were a must, and we sometimes got to help decorate them.  Mom's fudge was a special treat, and I still use her recipe to this day...I have found none easier nor better.

I will be taking a hiatus until next Tuesday evening as we are in Utah over the weekend...when I will unveil my father's role in all the doings. 

At our home in the '50's and '60's, Christmas decorations didn't go up until two weeks into December.  That was probably because we ordinarily got our tree Charlie Brown-style...we went to the nearest lot and picked out the best-shaped one we could find.  It seemed like all the trees were of the short-needle varieties.  They would nail a wooden stand on it for you for free.  My recollection is they ran $4-$5.  It would go tied on top of our old Mercury or Buick or whatever car we were driving a particular year, with bailing twine provided by the lot owner.  The trees still smelled vaguely of pine, but were decidedly not fresh...thee were no tree shaking devices in those days to shake out your excess needles, but no need...all you needed to do was give the tree a hard glance and needles would come down...so I am sure it was pushing the limits of safety to have them up even two weeks, but once they were decorated, with the shimmering icicles providing sort of a magic veil, I was sure there was nothing in the world more enchanting.

The lights on our house were big and colored, and when it snowed (which it always seemed to do in those days) the outline made the house look like Hansel & Gretel material.

Fortunately, two weeks seemed to last forever because you wanted Christmas to come quickly so badly that time stood still...until it was over, and then it really did seem like an eternity until next year's holiday.

We never had a piano in our house,  and our Christmas record collection was limited (though I am sure to Mom & Dad it was so much more than what they had).  I do remember singing carols together in our house, and sometimes Dad would accompany with his harmonica...sweet moments.  The only Christmas movies we had, except the old black-and-white version of A Christmas Carol with Alastair Sim as the miser, was if we managed to catch a late-night network replay of "Its a Wonderful Life" or "Miracle on 34th Street".  Rudolph and Charlie Brown didn't come until my teenage years.

...more to come, (including an expose on big sister babysitting techniques)   

It has been too long since I have posted here.  I don't have the resources at my fingertips that I did in Missouri, but with a prompt from the "Light the World" initiative, I have decided to share a few memories of Christmas with my Mom & Dad, Virgil and Iola Lambson.

I have no memories of Christmas in Spanish Fork...I was only three when we moved in 1956 to Orem...but I have vivid images in my mind from those years.

My mom worked in those days at J.C. Penney which was located at the corner southeast corner of 100 West and Center Streets.  She carpooled  from Orem with a variety of Penney's colleagues (all women).  My Dad would often pick her up when she worked into the evening, and sometimes he would take us.

There was a drugstore next to Penney's called Skaggs...they were kind of like a small version of Wal-Mart (no groceries, mind you), but there was something unique about Skaggs.  They had an upper floor that they kept closed most of the year, but after Thanksgiving they opened it up and it was a fully decorated toy-store...or the closest thing we had to a toy-store growing up.  For us, it was one of the surest harbingers that the Christmas Season would roll forward, and there would be no stopping it (we didn't know about the Grinch at the time).

Penney's in those days also had a bulk candy section right in the middle of the first floor where you could get scoops of cinnamon bears, nonpareils, peanut clusters, orange slices or a number of other extraordinary treats.  Mom & Dad used to like to buy a bag of treats, then keep it hidden at home, only briniing it out as a special surprise.  One of their favorites was "bridge mix", I suppose so-called because it was an appropriate treat for people who played bridge (a 4-person card game) together.  It has an assortment of nuts and creams mixed in, and  am sure is the model you see in older Peanuts cartoons where someone has a bag of candy, invites someone to share it, they stick in their hand and inevitable get something they don't like...usually a coconut creme (I guess Charlie Schultz was "brainless").

Next to Skaggs was a Woolworth's  (one of a number of what used to be called "dime" stores because of the inexpensive things you could buy there), and next to Woolworth's, the big park that surrounded the Provo Tabernacle.  They used to decorate that park with a make-believe "candyland" type maze, made of glossy-painted sheet-metal, that we somehow never tired of....more entertainment if Mom was detained or if we arrived a bit early (one of which I always hoped would occur).  The major buildings were always decorated, and the streets in the "strings of street lights" manner referred to in the Christmas song Silver Bells.

I will post more in coming days... 

My Mother's Compassion

I was blessed to see this every day, but an author, Thomas S. Bollard, recorded a particular instance of it in a book he published in 1996, Divine Compassion: Healing the Heart (Granite Publishing).

                “With Wings on Her Feet” (pp 6-9)

Sister Bell’s battle with cancer ravaged her elderly body.  Weakened from surgeries, she couldn’t bathe herself or change her own colostomy bag.  She needed total care, but no one could get her to budge from her home.

Reared in Australia, Sister Bell didn’t have family nearby to help her.  Her brother, when he telephoned concerning her deteriorating condition, recommended a nursing home.  But being confined to a nursing home would have killed her.

She was fiercely independent and had strong opinions.  And she wasn’t bashful about telling you exactly how she felt—sparing no feelings.  Her harsh tone intimidated would-be visiting teachers.  Unfortunately, her rough exterior pushed people away when she desperately needed friends.  Her hard life had made her bitter.  She felt all alone, except for one true friend who kept the Relief Society informed of her needs.

But now her poor health demanded help from others.  Her ward members tried as best they could to meet her needs.  The Relief Society arranged sisters to help her bathe, prepare meals, and clean her house. The Elders’ Quorum took care of her yard, painted the house, and took the garbage to the curb on pick-up day.  Nevertheless, despite these efforts Sister Bell remained isolated and painfully lonely.

By this time her ward had grown weary of this difficult welfare assignment.  Some washed their hands of her while others made convenient excuses to avoid the dreaded Sister Bell assignments.  Almost no one had been able to penetrate her heart or earn her trust; that is, until Sister Iola Lambson dropped to her knees and pled with the Lord for guidance.  The pleadings of this new Relief Society President were answered.  Heaven declared, “It’s your stewardship.”

The next morning Sister Lambson picked violets from her garden and strolled into the life of Sister Bell.  Iola countered Sister Bell’s rudeness and resistance with cheery optimism.  She prepared breakfast, fed her, gave her a bath, and even learned how to change her colostomy bag.  She handled her every need.

A miracle unfolded while Iola was caring for Sister Bell.  Iola’s work schedule changed to allow her to spend more time with Sister Bell each morning.  Iola’s eight-hour work schedule, three hours helping Sister Bell and returning home in the evening to fix dinner and do laundry normally would have exhausted her.  But she literally felt as though the Lord had put wings on her feet which took over when she was too tired to move.  With Iola’s encouragement, the sisters in the ward renewed their compassionate service.

Iola drew very close to Sister Bell.  And amazingly, Sister Bell, now softened with love, poured out her heart to Iola.  Pent-up tears gushed as Iola held this abandoned soul in her arms.  Freed from isolation and loneliness, Sister Bell’s fragile heart filled with gladness.  Her last six months were the happiest.  And although the diseased body raged, her heart was at peace.

Iola Lambson took Sister Bell under her wings and quietly nurtured her, just as Heavenly Father wanted.  But her heroic efforts did not go unnoticed.  Her bishop called her “one of the elect ladies in Zion.”  Iola’s friends and neighbors always count on her to come to their rescue at times of illness, tragedy, or even an untimely death.  Her heart and ears are always open to the pain of others.      

    

ADDENDUM

In reference to my Uncle Bill’s letters, Juli had a question:  who was the “Bud” referred to in many of the letters?  Was it my father, another relative or friend, or did it vary?

The answer is, without exception “Bud” refers to my father.  I should have noted at the outset that all the letters I possess were addressed to my father with only two exceptions…one to Bill’s father Byron, which, like the ones to my dad; and one photocopied letter addressed to Mr. Ephraim Stradling.  There were doubtless other letters to other people, including his sister Dorothy (Dot), but I have no record of these.

The photocopied letter introduces an additional mystery that I mentioned to Juli, and attempted a quick resolution, but such was not to be.

As I said, it was addressed to Mr. Ephraim Stradling and was postmarked September 14^th, 1943.  As such, it has particular poignancy to me as it is the last letter we have recorded from him before his plane was recorded missing September 23^rd.  The letter inside is addressed  “Dear Pop and Aunt Mae”.  So who was Pop, and who was Aunt Mae?

Ephraim Stradling would be the brother to Byron’s mother Rose Stradling, so Bill’s Great-Uncle.  His wife was Eugina Elizabeth Williams. 

We know that Byron’s wife Myrle died when Bill was not quite two weeks old (he was born December 31^st, 1921, Myrle died January 10^th, 1922), Virgil and Dorothy both under 5 years old.  Since the kids were farmed out to different families, it is not impossible to believe Ephraim and Eugina had some part in Uncle Bill’s upbringing (after all, My father Virgil was raised by their Great Aunt and Uncle, Mary Stradling Cook and George Cook, who had also had a part in Byron’s upbringing when Rose died).

The “Aunt Mae” part, on the other hand, is more confusing.  Neither of Ephraim’s wife’s two names could be shortened to “Mae”.  So the plot thickens.  They had two daughters and a son.  We will eliminate the son, William, from contention.  The daughters were Myrtle, born in 1906, and Merline, born in 1909.  We have a photocopy of a photo purported to be of Myrtle and Merline holding a pre-toddler Bill on their laps, probably close to 1923 (he looks to be about a year old).  Myrtle was married to Roland Brimhall in 1923, Merline to Alma Barney in 1927, so it is possible that either of these might have had a role in Bill’s upbringing, and you could probably reduce either Myrtle or Merline to “Mae”.  They would both be Byron’s cousins, so technically not aunts to Bill, but here is what persuades me to believe Merline may be the elusive “Aunt Mae”.

In another photocopied page I have, there is a picture of Merline and Alma Standing on a porch.  On the same page is a photocopy of a picture of Bill in uniform (the one most of you have seen), and a photocopy of a news clipping reporting Bill missing in action (I will have to send this in an e-mail).  Also I have a Provo Herald Veteran’s Day Tribute insert section from November 11^th, 2007, with the same photo of Bill, and this tribute: “I always loved you and was proud of you - sis (Aunt Merline)”.

So what do the rest of you think?  Who is Pop?  Who is Aunt Mae? I have some contact information for a few members of the Alma Barney-Merline Stradling Barney family.  Perhaps one of them can shed some light?

Love,

Dad

         

 

                                          

Letters from the field from my Uncle William Stradling Lambson, in chronological order from December 4th, 1942 to September 11, 1943. These are my transcriptions, mostly from originals, a couple from photocopies. The language is unvarnished and uncorrected. The last is especially poignant, as his aircraft was officially listed as MIA on September 23, 1943, and after the war, the crew declared KIA.       

Postmarked  Dec 4 1942

                                                The American Hotel

          Market Boulevard at Seventh                                   Saint Louis

Hi Kid,

      Just a few lines to let you know I haven’t forgotten you.  This is a hellava time to be writing a letter but Well anyway it is two o’clock in the morning I am writing from the hotel.  My Buddie & I just got in to St. Louis and we are just going to Bed.  You see its like this we should stay at camp on our day off but you can’t sleep like you can in in a hotel so we come in mainly to get a good night sleep.

      I received a letter from Dot the other Day.  She told me that you made the C.P.T. at Last.  I sure was glad to hear it.  I only hope you can make the grade now Who knows we might be on the same plane.  You see they take the radio operators from the school here and put them in the Ferry command.  Say that would be a piece of luck.  Well kid I am getting a little sleepy so I had better close.  This letter is just a line to let you know I haven’t forgotten you.  For hell sakes write me.  After all we have been such good pals for so dam long that Well you know what I mean, hell a letter from you compensates a little for not being home and having the times we did.  Say how do you like that.  That word must be all of a .25 cent word.  Anyway.

      Well as I said before I had better close.

                                    Your Bud

                                    Bill

Take care of Aunt for me and tell her Im always thinking of her.  Bless her heart.

This letter might sound like I have been drinking but I haven’t.     

Postmarked Jan 4 1943

Scott Field, Illinois

Hi Bud,

      Well the old K.P. Kid has set down to write another master piece of Literature.  So lend an ear while the Bull Shit flows.  Well to begin with I am a man now so I can talk like one. (I hope)  Say I sure wish you could have been hear for New Years boy did I have a time Im telling you I never consumed so much whiskey in  my life.  The way it began was myself and a pal from Texas decided to go in and really start the year of write.  So we began as soon as we got in town which was about 4:00 in the afternoon.  Anyway when we let up it was about 6:00 oclock the next morning. 

Well anyway when we figured it all up we had spent $38.00 on whiskey, which is a lot of whiskey for two guys to drink.  Im telling you I have never drank so much in my life, Boy oh Boy though we really got on one.  I hope if I come home one of these far off days that we can do the same thing.  Well kid Im beginning to run out of Blab.  So I will close (so until then?)

                                                Your Bud

                                                Bill

PS    Say how do you like the ending (mistifying isn’t it)  If you can figure out what it means you’ll get $36.00 and a try for the $64.00 question on our next program.  Until then this is the K.P. Master Mind signing of from Scott Field 

Postmarked  January 13, 1943    Scott Field. Illinois

Dear Dad,

      Just a few lines to let you know that I haven’t forgotten you.  I received a letter from Dot the other Day and she told me that you hurt your hand.  I hope it isn’t bad.  I am writing this letter in class, so don’t expect to much, between the instructors and the code I am having quite a job.  Well Dad this old army is sure tough And Its getting tougher every day.  This dam radio work sure gets on a persons nerves and I’ll sure be glad to get through with it.  After I finish hear though I will be shipped to another base.  If I have any luck at all I may be able to get a furlough in the summer sometime I sure hope so as I would like to see home again.

      I hope you are getting along alright and that the world is treating you okey.  I guess you are working out at the plant making good money.  anyway doing anything would be better than being in the army.

      Say I guess Virg has told you what I am doing in the army.  Well if he hasn’t I will try and tell you I am at a radio school.  This school is in Illinois it is known as the Radio University of the world.  Boy does that name fit it they turn out more operators hear than any place else in the country.  Im telling you we have more fellows hear than I thought there was in the whole country.  If you could see the crowds we have when it comes chow time then you would know what I mean.  Well Dad I could sit hear all day and tell my little gripes but time is growing short so will close.

                                          Your Devoted Son

                                                Bill

Postmarked Feb. 13, 1943         Scott Field, Illinois

Hi Bud,

Received your letter and just in time to.  I was just getting ready to write you a hot one, however I won’t have to now.  I was getting a little worried when I didn’t receive a letter from you for such a  long while, well anyway three weeks here at camp seems like a lot longer than it does on the out side.  So you can understand my position.  Ha, kidding though your letters mean a hellava lot to me and if I don’t hear from you once in a while I dam near go nuts.  It isn’t like when we were in California because here I know I can’t take off whenever I want to and see you, while If I was on the outside I could.  Well enough of the Sob Story.  I was glad to hear that dad got my letter and that It made him feel better.  I wrote one to Bell the other day because I didn’t know whether dad was home or in Delta.  He moves (P.2) around so much I don’t know where the hell to write.  So I just take a good guess and write where I think he might be.  Say if he happens to be home when you receive this letter tell him hello for me and that I sure would like to hear from him.  After all It isn’t a thing of the past for a Dad to drop a line to his son once in a while.

Well Bud I guess your kind of supprised that I am writing like this, well its this way, today is my day off and I have a hellava lot time on my hand so I just set Down and started to write, and whatever comes to my mind I put down on this scribble sheet.  So don’t be alarmed if this turns out to be a big long dry sheet of gab.  Well I was suprised surprised to hear you hadn’t been called yet.  However I guess you may get it any day now.  I hope you get a good deal out of the school because you’ll need it.

So George is turning all his guns and warfaring implements over to the scrap drive well that fine they will probably be given right back to him when he gets in the army (which won’t be very long) won’t he be surprised.

Gab Sheet no II (P.3)

Say, I received a letter from June the other day I’ll bet you can’t guess what she’s doing well she is working in a radio tube factory in Salt Lake.  Some coincidence, her working in a tube factory and me working with them.  As I sit here writing I begin to think of a date I should have it St. Louis today and am I mad.  She a nice young specimen too, and does she like to …read funny papers.  She is a trim little job with big brown eyes, ebony black hair, and a chassis that would knock your eyes out.  And I can’t go see her all because I happen to be barracks guard which make me very unhappy (oh unhappy day).  Oh well the world is full of sweet young things so I should worry (am I  kidding?)  Say that reminds me.  How is the casanova of Utah making out.  Come, come now, don’t be modest, break down and tell me about some of your thrilling heart throbs of late. (P.4) There should be some pretty nice stuff floating around town and you should be sampling it.  Well my feelings aren’t hurt to badly because there’s some pretty nice stuff here to and they sure take advantage of us poor soldiers (oh well such is the fate of us handsome heroes of the day).  Boy do I love myself.  Well enough of this kind of gab.  I don’t want to let you in on all of my success.  (after all you have already had a sample of my success with the women, of course they were just truffles, that was in my younger day).  Now that I am a man---yes you read right the first time, well anyway now that I am a man I have acquired such heights that will never be equaled and you can quote me on that.

Well Bud I am nearing the end of this gab sheet so will close.  Tell dear old aunt hello for me and tell her to take care of her self.

Yours Truly –(Guess Who)  That’s right the KP Kid Willie

P.S.  Write soon = or else I will have you picked up on vagrancy charges also failure to do so will end immediately in disciplinary action---Buck Private Lambson, Commanding Officer                                  

  

Postmarked Mar 24 1943

Kingman, Arizona

Hi Bud,

      Well Boy I finally arrived at my new school Boy is it a pip (am I kidding) Well I’m telling you it’s a hellava long ways from know where and we don’t have to worry about going into town.

      This school is just a new school so I didn’t expect anything fine and swell so I wasn’t surprised when I arrived here.  Well I won’t have to stay here to long so It won’t be so bad.  In fact I will only be here 6 weeks if I pass the physical and if I don’t I won’t be here that long so I’m not worried.

      Well pal you told me If I needed anymore cash to let you know; well I(m) just the guy who takes advantage of everybody’s generosity so I am going to ask for another {   }.  All kidding aside though I thought that I would get paid the last of the month but to my horror I found out I won’t get paid until I have this field so that the reason I am asking you for another loan.  I really hate to keep pestering you all the time But I just don’t have anyone else to trouble with my financial troubles.  so don’t be too damn hard in your judgment on me (will ya huh).

      Well now that I have that off my mind I will proceed to write the rest of my little tale of woe.  AS I was telling you I would be here six weeks.  Then I don’t know where I will go from here.  WE have a pretty good Joe for a sargent here though he sure tells us fellows how much he thinks of gunnery school, and that’s a lot.

      Well pal I can’t think of much more to gab about so will close.  Excuse the terrible handwriting If you can.  If I don’t hear from you soon I will know that you couldn’t read the letters so----?

      Tell Aunt hello for me and to take care of herself.  And by the way take care of yourself.  after all, if anything happened to you I would be a “financial flop” (So do be careful.)  Oh yes here’s a pun for you.  Do you know what an eskimo with a hard on is called?  Well here it is.  They call him a “fridgid widget with a ridged digit” oh horrors what a smell.  Better I should stop listening to the older Boys. 

Your Bud and co-owner (of  your fortune)

Willie                            

P.S.  I just took out another $5,000 worth of insurance and made you second beneficiary (Don’t that make you feel good?)  Well anyway that’s one way you can make sure of quick payment on the dough you lend me.

                                         

Postmarked May 18, 1943

                                          Monahans, Texas

Hi Bud,

      Would you please deliver the letter inside to Donna for me as it is very important.

      Thanks, Pal---I knew you would.

                            Bill

Sept. 11, 1943

Dear Pop and Aunt Mae,

Just a few lines to let you know that I haven’t forgotten you.  I know that I should write you more often but it seems that everytime I sit down to write I don’t think of anything to write about. So today I decided that I would write no matter what I might say.  So if this letter seems a bit mixed up just don’t pay to much attention to it.

Well everything is about the same as usual and I can’t complain so there isn’t much to talk about the only thing that is new is that I have made a few missions over enemy territory and I would like to tell you about them but it would only be sensored so I can’t say anymore than what I have already said.

I sure would like to hear from you though so if you can find time drop me a line.

Well as I said at the beginning of this letter its just a few lines to let you know I haven’t forgotten you.

So I will sign off for this time.

With Love,

Your Son Bill