Thursday, June 7, 2012

75 years ago -- from Rosa Morgan, 8 May 1945 -- "First Day of Peace"

Mom was in Seward, Alaska, with Murray on VE Day, posing as his sister so they could be together after his year in the Aleutians. She wrote to her mother in Tacoma. Soon after, he was transferred to Washington, D.C., where they remained until he was discharged in 1946.

First Day of Peace, 1945

Dearest Mother,

It was on a day something like this that you first heard from me, wasn’t it? [Rosa was born on Nov. 9, 1918, the “False Armistice” just before the end of World War I. Her mother said people were cheering in the streets] So we think it an appropriate time for you to hear again from your long-silent daughter. I have more to say on the occasion of this war’s ending than the last. 

THIS IS A HAPPY DAY!

The sentiment is far from unique but, Mother, it comes from the heart and it is about the only coherent thought I can produce today, what with four or five night and days of hanging over the radio trying to coax the right words out of the rising and fading roar of the short wave, followed by a period of celebrations shared with other peace-happy GIs. We didn’t beat the dishpan out of shape or derail any trolleys (Seward hasn’t got ‘em), or stampede the reindeer, but four happy people talked away the hours until morning in the bare (except for radio and army cot) living room of the ACS house, building dream castles we hadn’t dared to think about even two weeks ago. One of the two who shared our watch was a former newspaperman from Iowa assigned for some obscure army reason to the Medics. Besides a wife at home, Dave has a small daughter and a son he has never seen.  Mac, a mess sergeant, has a 2½ year old girl back in New York left in her aunt’s care. Her mother died when she was born and Mac cherishes nothing else in the world but this tiny Jessica whom he hasn’t seen since she was a year old. 

Compared to the longing of these two to have the war over and to be allowed to go home and take care of their families, our own enthusiasm for release to a peaceful world must seem insignificant. But it isn’t. We just add their desire to ours and all the others around us, and the collective total of wishes for a post-war world beginning right quick is staggering, even in this small post.  

How did Tacoma take the news? I can't help thinking that, not having been forceably detached from things and people who both love them need them, people at home were cheated out of some of the exaltation that is almost suffocating, happiness that can't possibly be compared with anything I have ever seen or felt or heard about. Talking about the new feeling of lightness -- probably no more than the forgotten pre-war normal sensation of freedom from the dead weight of absolute army authority that sits on an enlisted man’s chest and interferes with every breath, we all agreed that today, if we wanted to try, we could fly. 

Possibly there are people, in places less appealing than Seward, who are even happier today than we, but I think that must be reserved for the next, better world.

The picture postcard showed you all of Seward -- those docks where ocean-going boats tie up once a week bringing a transfusion from Seattle -- meat, vegetables, eggs, shoes, chairs, doormats -- every single thing an Alaskan needs to stay alive except air and water. Some of the shipped supplies stay in Seward, most go inland and north to Anchorage and Fairbanks on the train that leaves the bay twice a week. Last time I wrote I was just about to leave on the rattling Alaska R.R. myself to join Murray in Anchorage. the train winds around mountain peaks and glaciers, burrows through suffocatingly long tunnels, and races across trestles that look far from substantial. The trip is beautiful, with some of the most spectacular views from dizzy heights to be found on any line in the world, but I didn't appreciate the full beauty until the trip back to Seward three days later, with Murray beside me. 

The army moves in strange fashion, yea, verily. With the result that packing up our things has become almost a reflex action for me. It will be so nice to have our future not completely dependent on the passing whim of a second lieutenant again. Murray's transfer back to Seward, which we much prefer to overcrowded, alcoholic Anchorage, was the result of another officer's preference, this one an admirer of Murray's writing. 
 ... 
Now about the way I earn my living here in the far from frozen north. It is honest, but I think it will surprise you a little. I'm a soda jerker part of the day and the rest of the time I work behind a gift and curio counter. Among the carved ivory bracelets, pins and necklaces in the collection which I try to interest the tourists and the soldiers and sailors (who certainly can't afford any of them) are lots of pretty things I'd like to send you and Shirley but -- just to give you a sample of what is holding me back temporarily, a card of six ivory buttons, flat, uncarved, but of interestingly colored fossil ivory, probably from Siberia, is priced at $14.00. Bracelets are from $22 up. but then a cucumber here costs 75 cents and a small head of cabbage 90 cents. 

All of the time I have spent on the receiving side of a soda fountain should have taught me the technique of mixing them but I still fumble them occasionally. It's a nice job. I know practically everyone in Seward and his favorite flavor. The native kids with their ice cream cones are very good picture material. 

In our shop -- the address is simply "Sylvia's" -- all of the local photography is done and in time I may be able to move on that. I have taken one assignment for Mrs. Bedford (local photog), flash pictures at an Eastern Star affair, and she was pleased with the results. I took the pictures only and turned the negatives over to her, since I had no place to finish them myself. 

... Thanks for all the forwarding -- the bills do keep coming indefinitely it seems. Next month there shouldn't be any but probably will. 
 
We'd like to hear from Glenn and Shirley and if the miracle should come to pass, from Bob. 

All our love -- R&M

P.S. We had a nice happy letter from Dad Morgan in the last mail. Give him our love when you see him. I think Murray has slipped a little behind on his correspondence too. Best news before the end of the war was the probability that Vic was out of danger zones at last. These months must have been rough on Marie.
More love,
R

All our love,
R&M                                                                                     


                                                                        

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