Oct. 30, 1942
Just a note tonite, as I don’t have much time, and I do want to let my darling wife know I’m still madly in love with her and I miss being with her more and more every day. The time is beginning to drag just a bit now that we’re in the last stages. Today was especially long, but I went thru it in sort of a rosy fog. We are the junior class now, so to speak. The 12th class graduated yesterday, and the 13th on the second Wednesday or Thursday in November. I found out some new customs yesterday, too. The first one is that you give a dime to the first person who gives you an official salute after graduation, and the second is that it’s bad luck to wear bars which you have bought yourself. Someone is supposed to give you your first set of bars. So, darling, will you be a real sweet girl and buy me my first set of bars? I don’t want you to think your husband is a gold-digger, please. Just a plain old pair of second lieutenant’s bars. Be sure not to get silver ones, as Joe’s wife did. Inasmuch as you are the person nearest my heart, I’m letting you have the honor. You can probably get them at the military store in Salem.
Tomorrow is pay day again, Mrs. Hopkins. I’ll send you $3000 as soon as I can get to a post-office. That will be all I can send for quite a while, darling, because uniform, etc., will take up the rest of Oct. + Nov. pay and leave living expenses for December. I’ll get paid 25 days in November on graduation day, and then there’ll be no more pay day until January 1st. Wish we weren’t poor folks.
During next week, we get only one hour off all week. No Saturday afternoon at all. We go out on a night problem Monday, so we get one hour off Tuesday morning. We’re certainly earning our money, and no fooling.
Some of those lucky guys in the 12th class were assigned right away to Camp Adair, I understand. That would really be a break for me, but I’m afraid to even hope for it. They were a horse cavalry class, which makes quite a lot of difference. I’m going to try for Camp Adair, but whether I get it or not is another thing.
Darling, you don’t know how much I want to be with you. You can’t realize how much I want to hold you and give and take all the kisses we’ve missed out on during the past couple of centuries since I kissed you goodbye in Portland. I close my eyes every once in a while, and imagine how we will catch up on our kisses. Do you think you’d like to take some of my surplus kisses right now? There’s so much I’d like to talk to you about. About you, and how sweet you are and how much I love you and how beautiful you are and how much I love you, and how good a sport you are and how much I love you. By now, you should have gotten the idea that I love you very much. Aren’t I mushy? Ever since I first wrote you, my letters have been inclined toward mushiness, haven’t they? But really, darling, I can’t help being mushy. Each time I think of you, I just seem to turn to mush. In case you’re interested, I’m still very crazy about my birthday gift from the world’s most beautiful and lovable wife.
Margie, darling, I must close. Please write soon to the one who loves you more than anyone else in the world.
Ed. Note—This letter has a bit of shorthand at the end. If you can read Gregg shorthand and you’d like to take a stab at what it says, please do type it out in the Comments!