My delectable darling...
This is how it was -- The day was dirty grey. Dishwater
clouds hung low over the slate sea and steam rose from the soggy snow. The men
who were getting ready to go to second chow pulled on their gloves without
bothering to button their field jackets; two wore their snow goggles high on
the foreheads, just in case the sun broke through while they were walking down
to the mess hall.
Gene and I hate to stand in the chow line: we make a point
of starting late and sneaking in at the last minute. So, not needing to make
the mess hall before a quarter past, we stayed to listen to the start of the
San Francisco shortwave news, rebroadcast at noon by our local station.
I was busy at the desk logging a couple of messages and Gene
was collecting some money for a cigaret issue -- one of his jobs as hut chief
-- so we missed the start of the show. When we went into the maintenance room
Bob Hart was working slowly on a loudspeaker. "Anything popping?" I
asked. "It sounded like he said Roosevelt is dead," Hart answered. The
voice came in stronger over the radio...Mrs. Roosevelt said...the
nation...Harry Hopkins...Warm Springs...all the world...
"Jesus Christ!" someone said.
I stuck my head into the operating room and said,
"Roosevelt is dead." Someone said, "Yeah, I'll bet." But
everyone started for the door. No one spoke for the rest of the newscast, which
was quite incoherent and ended without repetition of the opening statement. We
still weren't sure if it wasn't one of the Roosevelt sons. Hart fiddled with
the dial and picked up San Francisco direct, another show. The announcer was
talking about Roosevelt's re-election to a fourth term.
Gene said, "Why now?"
I said, "Let's go eat."
We walked slowly down the hill. There did not seem to be many
fellows going to lunch. The clouds were lifting and the tops of the mountains
showed through on either side; they looked very high, cut off from their bases,
and I felt depressed. "Well, he doesn't have to worry about the
peace," I said. Gene didn't say anything for a while and then, "There
might be this about it...there won't be any pretense of it being run right
now."
We went on and where two paths came together met another
pair of censors. They were arguing about whether Betty Grable was pregnant when
the movie Pin-Up Girls was filmed. Gene said, "Did you hear the
news?" "Germany surrender?" "No. Roosevelt's dead."
"Jesus Christ...Truman."
The messhall line had just started to move. It still reached
back through the corridor and outside the building. We could hear the radio
going inside, but only the name Roosevelt came through. The fellows immediately
in front of us were arguing about St. Louis and Boston in the American League.
Most of the talk was about Roosevelt. "His place in history is clinched
now"..."Dewey was right about that...Only thing Dewey was right about
though."..."Oh I donno about that."..."Jesus Christ.
Truman." ..."Who else died in office?"..."Lincoln. Johnson
came after him"..."Nothing to do but give him a chance." ...
"Of course, but San Francisco." ... "I'll bet Henry Wallace
feels sick."
I felt pretty sick myself. Lunch did not taste good.
...
... Your question, after looking at the picture of our hut,
about how we find the door reminds me of a story I forgot to tell you earlier.
We have big barrels of sea water sitting outside each hut. They are, of course,
for fires. Earlier in the winter, when the snow was just about to the rim of
each, they were quite a hazard, especially when approaching an unfamiliar hut.
One of our officers, Lieutenant Blood, had the particular misfortune of
stepping into two of them in one day. So, the next day, when someone was trying
to locate him, the searcher was told, "Oh, he's probably out in the area,
standing in a barrel." ... It seemed funny at the time. Maybe I told it
wrong.
The ACE has two basketball teams which play in local
leagues. One of them is quite good but the other, The Sparks, is terrible. I am
always kidding Chuck Heustis, the center, about the demerits of his club. The
other day they won a game from a good team, a tremendous upset. There was a
great deal of razzing back and forth about it. I told Chuck that it worried me,
for if the Sparks could win a game then Germany could still win the war. But he
came up with the best one. I passed him on the way to the hut and he called me
back and, paraphrasing the warcry of the unsaluted second lieutenant, demanded,
"Hey, soldier, what do you do when you see a Spark?"
[Chuck Huestis, a
Seattle native who was later vice president for business and finance at Duke
University, was also a longtime mountaineer. He combined his climbing experience
with his financial expertise by serving as the director, president and treasurer
of the first American ascent of Mount Everest in 1963.]
Only two weeks and three days now, my darling. I guess I can
wait, but even that seems a terribly long time. There are no words which can
say how much you are loved.
Your adoring,
M
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