Ben Felson’s WWII letters

EDITOR’S NOTE

Dad wrote these letters over 70 years ago. Since he states several times that he is writing every other day, it looks like we have most of them. This is a little surprising, since before I started thinking about this project in 2015 there were at least three boxes of loose letters – sometimes just loose fragments of letters – in the possession of various family members and therefore moved from one house to another many times. We were lucky.

My editing philosophy was to leave the letters as dad wrote them with the following exceptions. While he was a careful speller and grammarian, there were many discrepancies and I decided as editor to conform some of them. For example, he often mentioned reading a magazine called P.M., which I decided to write the same way every time even though he did not. On the other hand, I left the time indications “a.m.” and “p.m.” as he wrote them.

There are also discrepancies arising from the fact that perhaps 10-20% of what you read here are from Aunt Sophie’s typed versions, the handwritten letter having been lost. It’s hard to tell how much editing she did, but she definitely did some (“personal material left out”). She also eliminated the greeting at the beginning of each letter and the closing endearments. I did not re-supply any “darlings” or “sweeties” or “loves.”

Then, as you will see, there are lots of references to people or events which are hard to identify because we do not have mom’s letters. When he answered her questions or commented on her statements, I was left to guess in many cases what they were talking about. In italics and brackets I attempted either to explain a reference, guess at it, or note that it was un-clear. For example, dad referred to “your little disturbances” in a letter dated 2/12/45. Without seeing her letter I had no way to interpret this phrase, and said so in italics and brackets.

Next category of editing: Since I hope this collection will have at least a few younger readers, I wanted to deal with references dad made that people of his generation would know, those of my generation might remember, but that younger folks would have little chance of recognizing. I decided to identify these through editorial comments, again in italics and brackets. In some cases I just added a first name and dates of birth and death to a lesser-known composer or writer. However, on occasion, and especially in a historical context, I did more. For example, dad met a man who fought against Franco in Spain “along with Bottcher (of New Guinea fame).” I did not know this name so I looked him up and added a short bio. I hope the value of the information conveyed in such comments outweighs the breaking up of the text.

As to Army abbreviations, I usually identified them only the first time they appeared, again to avoid interfering with the text too much. Just re-member that “E.M.” means “enlisted man,” “M.C.” is “Medical Corps,” and “E.T.O.” refers to “European Theater of Operations”– abbreviations dad took for granted that mom would understand – and you will do fine without continuing reminders.

Finally, I hope you will pay attention to some of the themes in these letters which were quite surprising to me, especially in light of the fact that dad told me what I thought was a great deal about his wartime experiences. For example, nurses, parties, and booze comprise a good part of these letters, along with the implication that “anything goes” on both sides of the Atlantic.

Another surprise was dad’s strong affinity to the Soviet Union, Comrade Stalin, and the fighting prowess of the Red Army. In fact, radical poli-tics make up a much higher portion of the letters than I would ever have guessed, and mom was obviously on board with his views all the way.

You will also note how great a time dad was having overseas and away from his kids for the better part of two years. From knowing him I understand that he would make the best of any situation, conduct medical meetings, go out and meet people, and be positive in all respects, at least as much as possible with buzz bombs falling and a hospital full of wounded soldiers. For example, this is a passage from England, dated July 25, 1944:

This morning I went on a hike with the enlisted men for 7 miles. The pace was terrific and 47 men fell out, but not your old man. I hung on despite blisters on both heels and was even able to report for the athletic program this afternoon. Many men came really dragging this afternoon and I had trouble getting the games started. I am now going for a swim in town, so goodbye dear.

However, he might have dampened his enthusiasm a bit in his letters – after all, mom was not having a great time on the home front, as you can see from reading between the lines regarding friction with her family plus caring for two very young children. On the other hand, the letters are more interesting because of the positive attitude and how much he got out and about. Looking back, maybe I would have been more surprised if his letters had been more negative. Another factor, mentioned in one of his letters, is that the Army generally encouraged soldiers to write cheerful letters home for morale purposes, and dad was nothing if not a team player.

As to his later thoughts on his service overseas, I never heard him start a conversation with “In the war…” On the other hand, if you asked he was happy to talk about his experiences. For example, I remember very clearly his description of being in Liège in December 1944 and suddenly seeing the American forces going the wrong way as the Battle of the Bulge began. He and his unit were plenty worried until the 101st Airborne Division “saved everybody’s bacon,” an expression he used often. (In the 1970s I met a veteran of that unit in the small Israeli town of Karkur, adjacent to Pardes Hana, where I was living.)

My point is, for Ben Felson the past was past, the future was bright if you worked hard enough, and he was always ready to get on with it.

In any event, there were lots of revelations for this humble editor, and I hope those readers who knew him will also enjoy learning about these different facets of dad’s supremely interesting personality.

Steve Felson, Editor, Cincinnati, Ohio, September 2016

DEDICATION AND THANKS

I naturally dedicate this work to the memory of my mother, Virginia Felson, 1914-2016. In the last year or two of her life she asked to go over the letters again, and we printed many of them out in big type for her to read. She asked me lots of questions about them, as her memory was failing at the end and she needed to be reminded of matters she surely would have remembered earlier. However, she got great joy out of them the second and third time around. She is also the one who saved them, before they were in great demand. Thanks, mom.

I would also thank profusely my cousin Judy Duchan, whose collection of her father Walter’s war letters preceded mine and got me going in the same direction. Judy and my sister Nancy looked through many boxes at various institutions and found Benjamin Felson letters which had been donated earlier which I would never found by myself.

My siblings, Nancy, Mark, Rich, and Ed, tried their best to answer at least 50 questions of family history over the last couple of months. Their responses figure into quite a number of my notes.

Finally, the miracle of the electronic age permits the updating of this piece at any time. If you see a mistake or want to add or subtract some-thing, please let me know.

ITINERARY

Because of wartime censorship, dad could not state in his letters precisely where he was located. Even the concert brochures he sent home had holes in them where he (or someone) had cut out the name of the city where the concert was held. Later he was allowed to say more, but he never put together a comprehensive itinerary.

In addition to the letters, I have a printout from the World War II US Medical Research Center entitled “28th General Hospital, Unit History,” which contains bare place names and dates. Finally, there is a group letter from the Protestant Chaplain of the unit, Capt. Oscar R. Powell, dated May 25, 1945, which recaps his travels with the 28th General up to that point and adds some detail to the story. Combining these materials we have a pretty good look at his travels.

By the way, dad was apparently quite close to Chaplain Powell, whom he called “Chappie.” Dad often talked about him in my presence, corresponded with him after the war, and, deep in my memory, possibly visited him or was visited by him.

Here is my best shot at dad’s wartime whereabouts:

October 11, 1942: Reports for duty at the headquarters of the 28th General Hospital, Indianapolis, Indiana. Official enlistment date is the next day. Mom must have joined him soon after-wards, pregnant with Nancy (born January 21, 1943), since the next letter to her is not until the fall of 1943. Most of the next nine months is spent in and around Fort Benjamin Harrison in Indianapolis.

Fall 1943: Spends 4 ½ months at a base in Swannanoa, North Carolina, near Asheville, training and waiting to ship out over-seas. Grandpa Jake brings mom and the kids down for much of this period, so there are only a couple of letters.

December 22, 1943: Unit leaves Swannanoa for its port of embarkation to England – Camp Kilmer, New Jersey.

December 24, 1943: Unit boards HMS Queen Mary [His Majesty’s Ship; George VI was King]– 11,990 troops aboard.

December 29, 1943: Queen Mary docks at Greenock, Scotland, near Glasgow.

December 31, 1943: Unit arrives by train in Tilshead, Wiltshire, in the South of England, near Salisbury and north of Bournemouth, a city on the English Channel.

January 8, 1944: Unit moves into Royal Victoria Hospital, Netley, Hampshire; Hospital where Florence Nightingale worked.

February 15, 1944: Unit now in Trowbridge, Dorchester, and is billeted in a private home. During this period dad was on Detached Service to Weymouth, on the South Coast, for about one week.

April 6, 1944: Unit moves to Kingston-Lacy, Dorchester, an estate 2 miles from Wimborne and a little north of Bournemouth and the Channel.

July 22, 1944: Unit moves to the village of Honiton , near Exeter, west of where they had been. During his 3-4 weeks there he went on Detached Service for 10 days to a hospital outside of Warminster and Frome, near Trowbridge.

August 14, 1944: Unit leaves Exeter for the port of Southampton on the English Channel, spends 48 hours at a staging area, and then boards a British ship to cross the Channel.

August 16, 1944: Unit lands at Utah Beach, France; it’s D-Day + 71. They arrive late in the evening, march 5 miles inland, and board army trucks.

August 17, 1944: Unit is near Carentan, in Northern France, living in tents for five weeks. During this time dad visits the grave of his close boyhood friend, Mutty Kruke, at the 29th Infantry Cemetery outside of Longuville.

Mid-September 1944: Unit now in Clichy, just north of Paris.

September 26, 1944: Unit arrives in Liège, Belgium; hospital is located in and around the old Fort de la Chartreuse; first patient arrives October 5.

July 5-6, 1945: Unit leaves Liège for a hospital in Sissone, North-Central France, 40 miles northwest of the cathedral city Reims.

September 6, 1945: Moves to Mourmelon, France, near the Belgian Border, a temporary stop at a French army base on the way home.

September 11, 1945: In a staging area outside of Marseilles, on the Mediterranean in the South of France.

September 24, 1945: In Paris waiting for a plane home.

January 5, 1946: Officially discharged, two years and one week after landing in the UK.

The lack of any further letters is puzzling. I always heard that dad was overseas for more than two years, even as long as two and one-half years. However, if he got on a plane in late September or early October of 1945 he would’ve been back only 22 months after sailing. It is also possible that we have lost a box of letters. Perhaps he was simply en route from late September, arrived home a week or so later, and simply served the last three months of his tour of duty in Cincinnati.

I have no way to resolve this. All I know for sure is that he showed up in dress uniform outside Glueck’s Drugstore, at the corner of Clinton Springs Avenue and Reading Road, Cincinnati 29, Ohio, to be picked up by mom in our 1941 Plymouth as Nancy and I cried in the back seat.

I was a little over four years old but I swear I remember one bit of conversation as we entered the front door at Dickson Avenue. Mom said to dad, “You have to sleep downstairs tonight,” and they laughed. Later, when he started to go upstairs, we grabbed him and said, “No, mom said you had to sleep down here.” They laughed again.

I have no memory of what he was carrying when he came home; a duffle bag over one shoulder? I do, however, recall many of the items he brought home with him. There was a large trunk with metal fasteners all around the top and bottom; I think it ended up in the attic. For years he kept in his office several dark-olive-colored ammunition boxes the size of large lunchboxes in which he kept important documents, probably including his discharge papers (which I wish I had now). For a long time I kept in my room an M-1 rifle which made a disappointing click when you cocked it and pulled the trigger; on the top of the stock I scratched the words “Chinese Death” during the Korean War, plus notches for every enemy I killed in the back yard. I also recall a helmet which I wore occasionally; I think it was German and that dad would wink mysteriously when I asked how he got it. The same is true for the indentation he had on one side of his body, which he passed off as a bullet wound until I got wise. There was also an artillery shell casing and a bayonet with a circular mounting on the back end where you could attach it to your rifle. I remember that the blade was dull, but he must have put it away somewhere; I was never able to use it against those charging North Korean and Chinese ground forces.

The Letters

10-15-42 [Indianapolis]

Dearest Ginny:

Well, I’m a veteran of 4 days in the Army, and well pleased with my lot. There is much good news to be broadcast, but I’ll mention things in chronological order, beginning when I left off in my first letter [which we don’t have].

The morning after my arrival, I reported to Major Booher, head of the station hospital. By now I have learned to salute so I gave him one helluva snappy one. He is an Indianapolis man, gruff and business-like and very efficient. After welcoming me (he apparently knew I was a radiologist) he said that I would remain here until the Unit is called, which he believes will be some months. He then placed me in charge of X-ray. The 2 men there were in the “Pool” and therefore only temporary. The Major, Wulff by name, a helluva swell fellow, was to break me in. Major Booher then dismissed me and I went to X-ray and was shown around.

The X-ray Dept. handles about 100-150 pts. a day with good equip-ment but only 2 X-ray units, one of which is only used for minor work. This puts a tremendous burden on the other outfit and causes a lot of delay. We average 5-7 fluoroscopic patients per day and a couple of other time-consuming procedures, so that the X-ray technic room is by far the busiest in the hospital. [Dad uniformly uses this spelling for the word “technique.”] There are 2 civilian technicians, both of whom are quite capable, but full of excuses and evasions as well as complaints. There is also an Army technician (sergeant), and 5 recent graduates of the technical school here (a 3 months course) who are little more than beginners. The work, considering the quantity of it, is exceptional in quality, but the department is somewhat of a madhouse. When we move downstairs to a more secluded spot, it should be easy to get a more smoothly-running organization. So much for the set-up.

My job is to do the fluoroscopic work and read the films. Because there are so many normal cases, it is not too much for one man. At present there are 2 of us doing the work, so I have had time to get outfitted.

I have, so far, spent some $65 on clothes here, but haven’t bought an overcoat and a few other things. I plan to buy a $29 short overcoat and fig-ure $35 will cover my remaining needs. Since my uniform expenses in Cincy were about $75, and my uniform allowance was $150 (which I will get in a few days, I think), I only will be about $25 behind on the deal—but I don’t have any summer uniforms (about $30 more).

As to Army life—it has proven very pleasant so far. I have met many swell guys, medical and otherwise, and there is a fine esprit de cama-raderie throughout the camp. The meals are amazingly good and I’m afraid I will increase in girth unless I get exercise (which I will shortly tell you about). Post Exchange prices are exceedingly cheap and their merchandise has so far covered practically all my wants.

Our quarters are comfortable, though plain. I have a room on the second floor of an unpainted wooden quarters. The room is much like the interior of a hunting lodge with dozens of beams at all angles, forming convenient shelves and hangers. The floor is bare wood but fortunately splinterless. The room is about as large as my room in Contage at the C.G.H. and I have furnished it so that I am quite comfortable. [Reference must be the contagious ward at Cincinnati General Hospital; don’t know why he had a room there.]

The walls are made of very thin cardboard and planks. Fortunately when my neighbor breaks wind, I hear the deafening sounds in time to put on my gas mask. There is a phone in the corridor for which we pay 25¢ a month. There is only one large men’s room in the building and it is down-stairs. I have the choice of limiting my fluid intake after dinner, dreaming of distended balloons, which might terminate in a swim in the English Channel, or softly stealing down the bare chilly corridors in the dark night. I have so far chosen the latter.

The apartment situation looks good. I have several people looking including Bernie Segal (remember him?) who works as a civilian in the post-exchange, and Mannie Blatt. [Dad seems to be kidding about Bernie, since I believe they were already close friends; Bernie must have already been married to Sadie Singer Segal, who was a friend of mom’s as early as college; their oldest son, Paul, had to have been born around 1942 or 1943.]

I will call Mrs. Q. tonight and perhaps Olga Hyman. I’m sure I will find something in the next week or two. Dave Graller [Cincinnati doctor; other names unknown] hasn’t had any luck yet, though.

Last night I went to Kirschbaum Center [Jewish Center in Indianapolis] and guess what—you’re right—played basketball. I’m in fine physical shape and plan to do it often. I went over to see Ebner Blatt afterwards and he took me home with him. I met an Eye Man (civilian) and his wife over there and we all had an interesting discussion on the post-war status of medicine, Ebner’s sister and I arguing for government regulation, and Mannie and the others taking the opposite view. I waxed hot and heavy and we all left invigorated.

Tonight there is a medical meeting at the Hospital and I am to present the X-ray findings of the cases presented. We have a very capable staff and I have seen some interesting cases so far. The scientific interest here is, for the most part, good.

Well, this is about all. So far my own circumstances are unusual, as only a small percent of the medical men are happily situated. I only add, dear, that the cup will be full when you and Steve get here. How is the little S.O.B. anyway?

I expect you to write me all about him and yourself as well as about my family and yours. So far I haven’t had time to be homesick.

I got a card from Walt. You’ve probably heard he’s on the way to Camp Shelby. I hope he likes it there better than Iz Sharon does. [Isadore Sharon was a Cincinnati doctor.]

Write me soon, dear.

The Old Man

P.S. This is chain letter no. 2. Read to the family and then forward as follows:

1. Leo
2. Chippy
3. David and Louise
4. Walt

Each to add a page and forward to next guy. Walt: forward to me or send to Ros first and let her forward it.

P.P.S. Forward any first class mail. Save my journals at home.

Leo: Are you tough enough to take me on yet, shorty?

Irv: I’ve given up tennis for the season—courts but no one to play. There’s a free 9-hole golf course here but I don’t care for golf.

Chip: Thanks for the Caduceus etc. and note the spelling. [Ancient Greek or Roman herald’s wand typically with two serpents twined around it, carried by Hermes or Mercury and symbolizing healing or medicine.] Hope you and Helen get settled quick.

Walt: don’t worry brother—15 medical guys left camp today for port of embarkation—Seattle. Time in service averaged about 1 month. No leave be-fore going—wow! Goodbye brother, take keer of y’self. (two bits I beat you across.)

Ros: don’t pine.

Louise and David: wherinhell are you now?

Soph and Edie and Roselyn: Fine eating here—best cooking I ever ate (or almost).

Bennie the Diamond [Pet name his mother called him.]

May 10, ‘43 [Location unclear, but from the marching he may be in training of some sort.]

Dear Folks [not mom; see last sentence below]:

I’m trying something new. I’m such a stinker with the typewriter, that I don’t enjoy writing letters. If page 5 is legible, I’ll write instead of type. I just looked at page 5—hot dawg! It works!

Well, first for the big news: I have good reason to believe I’m going to be transferred! Here is the evidence: On April 24 I received orders transferring me to Billings General Hosp. [at Fort Benjamin Harrison in Indianapolis] Med. Officers Reserve pool (directly under Washington) with temp assignment at Station Hosp. (my regular job—which is under the Ⅴth Service command). My C.O. [commanding officer] called Col. Redland about it, in my presence. He, Col. R., knew about it, and explained that the 4 best X-ray men in the Ⅴth S. Com. had been selected for jobs with bigger units and I got the impression that it was for foreign service, but this wasn’t definite. From overhearing one end of the conversation, I got the impression that Redland paid me some compliments. He has a terrific memory for people and seemed to know all details about me (including my resignation from the unit). [Reference to resignation unclear.]

Being in the Pool has not affected my status here, except that I’ve taken an awful razzing, since both Billings and Pool officers are not highly regarded here. [Exact nature of these distinctions unclear.] I may remain in the pool for a long time, however. In the meantime, our landlady wants to move back into her apt. July 1st. This really leaves me on the fence. Naturally, I’m thrilled, but I wish to hell they don’t forget me now.

The news that Chippy’s C.O. is the new Surgeon Gen. had already reached here. I have a hunch that Chip’s ability has not gone unnoticed. I expect Chippy will be called to Wash. in the S.G.O. [Surgeon General’s Office] as Chief of Medical Service—tsk, tsk.

Fortunately I’ve seen no anti-Semitism in the Army, but I’m not surprised at what Walt wrote in his last letter. I haven’t heard from Leo since he got to Texas, nor from Louise. What’s wrong? [Walter wrote from a training camp in Louisiana about a clique of inebriated Gentile doctors who saw to it that “all the duties were delegated to the Jewish officers.” An outside inspector finally came in and cleared up the problem.]

We went on a bivouac last week, marching 6 miles each way under full pack and staying overnight in our pup tents. We were most un-military throughout, and had a helluva swell time. After pitching our tents, Felson and several other officers were detailed to dig the latrine for the officers. We then had chow (including beans) and then played the enlisted men softball. It was a pitcher’s duel which we finally won 20 to 17. We then all got around the fire and sang after a few beers. I led them all in singing— me, imagine! Well, after I got them all hoarse, and myself slightly more tipsy, we turned in. I was a little obstreperous and noisy about this time, and suddenly a light flashed in my tent. I yelled out, “Who’s that sonofabitch with the flashlight.” Reply from the C.O. [Commanding Officer] “Go to sleep, Felson.” No demotion so far. Later on, I got lost looking for the latrine. A guard challenged me and I made him lead me to the latrine. I felt like a little kid being taken to pee by his poppa.

We’ve been out on the range twice this past week with 22s. I shot about 198 out of a possible 275, and the next day 215. At that rate I ought to get up to 290 out of 275 soon.

We met an enlisted man last week who fought in Spain against Fran-co. He is an avowed Communist and has run into a lot of difficulty in the Army though he has never expressed his views since he enlisted after Pearl Harbor. His mail is censored, he was placed in non-combat though he is itching and able to fight (he was a Capt. in Spain and there for 2 yrs.), and was considered subversive. He is a charming, interesting fellow, gentile, quiet-spoken and modest. He was bounced out of O.C.S. [Officer Candidate School] in the last week when his record caught up with him, as he knew it inevitably would. Just recently, Drew Pearson wrote about him by name in his column; since then he has been transferred to a combat unit and is now about to leave for foreign service, to his great delight. He fought along with Bottcher (of New Guinea fame) in Spain, and is apparently similar in makeup. How he hates Fascism! [John Bottcher (1909 –1944) was an American soldier, born in Germany, who was awarded the rank of Captain in two different armies, the International Brigade during the Spanish Civil War and the United States Army during World War II.]

The weather here is atrocious for tennis—I’m lucky if I can get out once a week. And I haven’t found any competition at all. Disgusting, isn’t it.

I may be able to get a week’s leave if I can find another X-ray man in the pool. Here’s hoping.

The family is fine—Steve and Nancy are rapidly growing up—I won’t care much to leave them and Ginny, but I still want to go.

Love to all

Bennie

May 24, 1943 [Indianapolis]

Dear Folks [to the family, not mom]:

Well, we’re all writing oftener, which is as it should be. Except I haven’t heard from Texas, yet, what’s the matter Leo?

Well, Chippy, so you know the new Surgeon General personally. Tsk, tsk. Rumor has it that he probably won’t be the new one at that. At least there’s some delay.

And Walt’s hoping to go to Sunny Calif. Fun stuff—the steady travelling Felsons are still in Indianapolis and nothing, so far, has happened to them (but will soon, I hope). As a matter of fact, Ginny and the kids are moving back to Cincy on the first. Our landlady is moving back into the apt. and it is virtually impossible to find another place. Children are worse than the plague. And since my transfer is imminent, we’d probably get stuck for 3 weeks rent. So I’m taking a week’s leave beginning on the 1st and moving the family down. Get the racket out Irv [Dad’s oldest brother]! Can any of the others get leave?

We’ve been having floods here and the MPs [Military Police] have gone out on duty. Several of our men are out also. All this rain sure plays hell with my tennis!

I have an assistant now, a man from the pool, who will take my place while I’m on leave. He’s plenty good and I hope he doesn’t show me up. It’s a real pleasure not to work so hard. They had him teaching students surgery technic—and he a well-qualified radiologist.

We have been firing on the range until the rain came, and I sure smell to high heaven. I can shoot lying down flat, but when I stand or kneel, I shake like a leaf in the wind. Leo, how did you ever get to be such a good shot?

So David is having typist troubles again. Congratulations on your book, David. Pay no attention to Soph, Louise—a woman’s place is behind the typewriter. You can have more children, but probably only 1 book. And the latter take longer than the former.

It pays to cooperate in the Army! An Air Corps installation 10 miles away has a small hospital but not portable X-ray machine and no Radiologist. I have been giving them good service and we have gotten along well. Recently they needed a portable X-ray of a patient injured in a crash. They called Billings, who turned them down. They then called me, and I sent the machine and technicians by ambulance stat. I next learned they sent a letter to Ⅴth service Hq. [headquarters] commending me. Yesterday they called me and invited me to come over etc. I asked if all the men here (15) couldn’t spend an afternoon there so they have arranged the following for next week: an hrs inspection of their field; an hrs ride in a bomber; a buffet supper; and a stag in the evening. Not bad, eh.

The following incident actually happened here last week. During a fire drill I was the first one finished with my allotted duty, and reported to the C.O. He asked me to check the Officers’ ward to see if it was cleared of patients. I go back and find only 1 patient remaining, a retired colonel, sitting on the toilet. I said, “Col. there is a fire drill and all the pts. must leave the building.” A worried frown crossed his face and he says pleadingly, “But they gave me an enema.” So I tell him, while he grunts and strains, that he can stay there (to his obvious relief). I then went back to the C.O. and said, “Sir, Capt. Felson reporting. Officers’ Ward is evacuated, all except the Colonel, who hasn’t evacuated yet!” So help me, it’s true.

The kids are both fine. Nancy gives signs of out-Steving Steve. Steve has changed from a baby to a boy, almost overnight. As a matter of fact he doesn’t wet himself at night and frequently asks to peepee like Daddy. I had him out on the post one day and Colonel Churchill, the C.O., passed by. He patted Stevie’s head and said “How are you little boy.” Steve looked up and said, “Make peepee” and proceeded to do so! Was the Col’s. face red!

Regards to all of you

from

Ginny, Ben, Steve, and Nancy.

Wed. night, Fall 1943 Swannanoa N.C. [East of Asheville, about an hour from the Pisgah Creek cabin]

Darling:

Still here sweetie. Got your letter promptly and enjoyed it. Sorry about the trip. Did you run across my dogtags. If so, airmail special it to Swannanoa.

Miss you a lot but have been kept busy with my paper, which I finally finished. Oh, Boy! Also a little Poker and Black Jack—at present I’m 20 bucks ahead. Tsk, tsk. The men are really swell and one bull session follows another.

Yes, I taught Steve, “My Daddy’s going over the Ocean.” I got a big bang out of his actions as you describe them.

The pictures are the same size as the proofs which you have. I’ll mail anything interesting to you. Under separate cover, I’m sending the notes on my paper and some other things. Put the notes away for me, honey, in case I have to have them later.

Soph just sent me some cookies.

I’m rushing off to a medical meeting at Moore General now, honey. Goodbye love—more later. Kiss the kids for me.

Ben

P.S. You are to pay the insurance premium of J. Hancock and Metropolitan.

Thurs. AM [Undated but must be late fall 1943 in Swannanoa because of Moore Hospital]

Darling:
My last night’s scrawl was written more hurriedly than I like. Today I have had more time for a leisurely letter, so here goes.

Considering the restrictions and the fact that we’re all still blue from the goodbye to our families, we’re all having a pretty good time. I spend my days working (about 8 hours) on my paper, bulling with the fellows, throw-ing a football around, and playing a little poker, at which I’m doing some tall winning up to the present.

The men are really a fine lot. The bull sessions generally occur in Bloom’s room (where I sit writing my paper) as he generally has refreshments. I haven’t seen much of Hulse (the German) but I see a lot of Bloom and the Chaplain. [Wilfred C. Hulse was a German-born physician, mentioned often in these letters but not known to the family after the war. It turns out that he became a very well-known child psychiatrist at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City who died in 1962. The Wilfred C. Hulse Award is still presented for outstanding contributions to the field of child and adolescent psychiatry.]

Others drift in, and we talk about everything imaginable. I moved in with the Chaplain, sleeping on a mattress on the floor at his feet, because the other barracks was so cold. I have been accounting for my poker luck by stating that I lie at the feet of the Lord. The Chaplain is really a wonderful man. Last night we talked religion until 3 AM lying in our respective beds. He is a regular fellow, very honest, and really stimulating.

We had a curious incident the other day. One of the Jewish boys, a fellow named Laffer, developed gang-plank fever and became so de-pressed he had to be transferred out of the outfit. It was pretty disgusting to some of us. No, it didn’t give me any ideas. [This reminded me of Philip Roth’s 1959 short story, Defender of the Faith, in which a Jewish sergeant has the same sort of disgust about a Jewish recruit who seeks special favors.]

Col. Sackett has been proofreading my paper and seems to think it’s a good one. He’s a perfect gentleman about everything, though, and prob-ably is just being kind. Tsk.

Your trip home must have been a mess. That boy of ours, though, is worth going through anything for. I guess you needed my soothing influence on the way back.

Did you know, I got a carbon letter from Irv telling the family that I ought to be leaving any day and would probably join Walter at … (mentioning the Port of Embarkation). As you can guess, such a letter might prove very dangerous and serious to me. You just can’t watch these things too closely, honey. I didn’t say anything like it on the phone. What I did say was, “I’m sending Ginny home and may leave soon and would like to join Walter.” Please be careful about these things, dear. I threw the letter away.

We went to a medical meeting at Moore last night, and I got up and said 3¢ worth, duly impressing the audience with my superior etc. etc. Afterwards, I indulged in a small amount of that favorite indoor pastime better known as the pasteboard pastime, winning an additional $14 to bring my 2 day total to $32. (Now don’t run out and spend it.) I’ll probably lose it next time. [Connection between poker and pasteboard (cardboard) unclear. Chips? The cards themselves?]

My luggage was overweight about 15# but I don’t think they’ll do any-thing about it. [With 16,683 troops on board (the record) you can see why they had luggage restrictions.]

The Chaplain’s very capable in religious arguments. He, like your father, believes that any good, honest person is really a religious person, and since he believes in a personal God, concludes that such a person has a bit of God in him. He points out that “God” is a term, somewhat old-fashioned, but so far irreplaceable. He points out also that when I can give him a chemical formula for “goodness” or explain the advantage of being against injustice in my world of science (which would assume the right of the fittest to survive), he would come around to my way of thinking. Cute, eh wot!

Well, that’s all for now, honey. Nothing new as far as the outfit is concerned. Will see you soon.

Love and kisses to both Steve and Nancy and yourself—

Ben

Friday [Undated but must be late fall 1943 in Swannanoa because of Moore Hospital]

Dear Ginny:

Hope everything’s going along all right. I certainly miss you all. How are Steve and Nancy by now?

Had an interesting time yesterday. In the afternoon, I went down to Moore General X-ray and had Col. Sackett and his secretary read my paper. They corrected a few minor errors and were a great help in their criticism. They thought the paper was very fine, praising it highly.

After dinner Hulse and I went down to hear Chaplain Powell’s ser-vices. He gave a slightly disjointed but good sermon about going away. The services were simple including some hymn singing, in which we joined. It was really very nice. I know the Chaplain was thrilled to see us there. I doubt if you would like his presentation. He’s quite a poor orator, his voice is OK but he has the mid-western twang which I do not like. It’s not how he says it, but what he says, which is important, I guess.

Afterwards, Hulse and I went to the movies to see Bette Davis in Old Acquaintance [1943; serious authoress vs. hack authoress]. Fair, not good.

There was an impromptu party for the 28th at the Officers Club with orchestra supplied by Moore Officers Club. We went down there and I started drinking beer (3.2). When I reached the 15th bottle, I became very full but only slightly drunk. I was really having a swell time. Then I saw Col. Sackett and he dragged me over to his table and started pouring whiskey into me. Finally, I found myself behind the bar, working as bartender. Inevitably I became sick. Col. Sackett took care of me, and when the party was over, took me home. He was also quite looped and exceedingly friendly. We sat aside for a while, throwing compliments at each other, and I meant everything I said. He wants to meet me again, and I shall correspond with him. There sure are some swell fellows in this Army!

This A.M., the men dragged me out at 6:30 A.M. and I sure had butterflies. I’m feeling better now, after breakfast.

By now, you’ve probably received my APO [Army Post Office] number. Please write your next letter using that number.

Goodbye darling.

Your drunken husband

12/29/43 At Sea

Hi honey:

Nothing new, but had some time, so I decided to write a letter, standing up in the Officers’ lounge aboard troopship X. [Reference is to the Queen Mary]. I am very weary of sea travel and wish I could get the good earth under my feet once more. I think the crowded quarters are the chief reason for my ennui. The food is palatable, the camaraderie good, the beds comfortable, but the privacy, alas, is not. I am forced to play poker (at which I am still winning) by the fact that our room is headquarters for the 1-2-3 Club, a select group of Hoyle’s favorites, all members of which (except of course myself) prefer poker to sleep.

I haven’t done any reading but offer as excuses the facts that this is my first voyage and I have recently finished my paper after months of hard work. Tsk, tsk.

By the way, Hulse states that Steve’s accomplishments in memory are unusual in degree, but not in type. Hulse’s field is child guidance, and I intend to seek his advice wherever possible. Red Elsey [a Cincinnati doctor] tells me the University won’t accept Steve until he’s 3. By the way he’s with me now.

Everything here is fine: we have a hunch that our set-up will be good, but don’t know the details. When you get this letter, I will have safely de-barked. Don’t worry about a thing.

Love

Ben.

Received 14 Jan 1944 [Dad landed in England on 12/29/43]

Dearest Ginny:

Trip uneventful except for seasickness for a couple of days. Oh, misere! If I didn’t have a fine family at home, I’d take up citizenship wherever I’d land because of fear of nausea on the trip back. I’m feeling fine and having fun in moderation. It’s so darned hard to know what I’m permitted to write, because censorship varies with the individual and booklets and rules don’t fit individual cases. When you write me, keep a duplicate, so that if events suggest I haven’t received the first copy, you can send the second. Write or type on 1 side of the page, so that if they cut out anything, I can still have something left.

Buy the kids Xmas [presents?] for their daddy and tell Steve I miss him. Don’t get drunk on New Year—hm—the first New Year we’ve been apart. No, I’m not homesick—the future is still too exciting for that. I think I’ll be able to write more at my next letter. I’m travelling with [Dave] Graller, [Red] Elsey [another Cincinnati doctor], and gang and getting along nicely. Poker winnings continue to keep me. All my love to you, Nancy, and Steve.

The gray-haired “old man”

1-1-1944 [England]

Dearest:

Our first New Year’s Day apart in many moons and I certainly miss you. Happy New Year, darling.

We have finally arrived at a temporary destination [Tilshead, Wilt-shire, England, on the Salisbury Plain] and are now comfortably settled (a relative term). We live in barracks, our outfit occupying most of the area. To a certain extent, it’s a back to nature existence, but there are no real hard-ships.

The boat ride and subsequent train ride were very comfortable and our hosts charming. The American Red Cross served us well (from a refreshment standpoint) on the train. Our location now is very beautiful and the early village is very picturesque.

New Year’s Eve a spontaneous party occurred and developed into a swell affair when we were successful in getting an orchestra from a nearby camp. Firewater is very scarce but present and a rip-snorting time was had by all.

At present I am engaged in laundering my hankies (yes, me! Wait til I get my hands on Hitler!) I’m using Ivory soap but I can’t get away from tattle-tale gray. Those lying advertisements! Just got over a bad cold, cured mostly by the party last night. I had a temp. of 100°, but if you think I would stay in bed while a New Year’s Eve party was going on, you’re crazy.

If we stay put or get a permanent address I think I’ll rent or buy a bike. I’ll never walk unless I have to.

Don’t let the kids forget their father who misses them intensely.

With very much love,

Ben

P.S. Save all my letters.

Jan. 2, 1943 [really 1944; England]

Dear Steve:

How are you, my fine boy. Daddy misses you very much. He is very far away from you and won’t be home for a long time.

Have you been taking care of Mommy and Nancy? You know you mustn’t hit Nancy anymore because she’s just a sweet little baby and she won’t like you if you hit her. And daddy hopes you don’t wet your pants anymore.

I went on a ride in a big boat on the ocean and on a choo choo train. I’m with a whole lot of other soldiers. Last night I heard a soldier singing K-K-K-Katy and thought of my Stevie. Can you still sing K-K-K-Katy and all the other songs you used to sing in our singing bees.

Do you remember how we used to ride on the swings in North Carolina and how you rode down the slide? That was fun, wasn’t it? I hope you get to ride on Shelley’s swing, too. [Shelley Greenfield lived next door on Dickson Ave.; 3 years older than I.]

Has mommy taught you the ABCs and how to count? Have you been outside in the snow? Did Santa Claus bring you any presents? As soon as I can, I’ll send you a book or something.

Give Mommy and Nancy a kiss and hug for me and tell Mommy to write a letter for you. Tell her what you want her to say.

I love you very much.

Your father.

Jan. 2, ‘43 [really 1944], Rec. 1-21-44

Dear Gin:

Just a note today because there is very little to add. We’re still restricted to the immediate area of the camp but these restrictions should be lifted shortly. Tomorrow begins an orientation course of about 8 hours per day, the first formal program since before we left Swannanoa, but I’m not very eager.

So far no mail – you can imagine what an important item this is. If you ever let me down in this respect, I’ll never forgive you. Make your letters detailed and long, sweetie, and often.

We’ve had a swell break in being located on the same military post as the special service outfit which I mentioned yesterday. They service post exchanges, sponsor athletics, have music teachers etc. Many of the enlisted men in the outfit are professional entertainers so they have supplied us with orchestras, singers etc.

Last night they invited all the officers over to their quarters, which is a large hunting lodge 750 years old. They had an orchestra that was really good and some of its entertainers were as funny as could be. In addition, they had an accordionist who was tireless & an excellent musician. We sang for hours, drank beer and a little gin, and a wonderful time was had by all.

This is some war, eh? They’ve also got some serious music musicians over there, and I’m going to try to arrange a concert of some sort. They are extremely obliging. They even supplied a pianist and violinist for church services. Incidentally, Bloom, Hulse, & I went to Chaplain Powell’s services yesterday & really enjoyed his sermon. He spoke much better than the last time and his subject matter was very pleasant to our ears: Forget-ting things of the past. He pointed out that past issues were dead, and we should forget the hard things said of the Russians (whose virtues he ex-tolled), the Jews, labor, and the minority groups. He defined a reactionary as a person who played up this hatred between various groups for his own gain (my idea of a fascist and his too – he thinks they are synonymous). All in all it was a very coherent and well-prepared talk.

Well that’s all for now, my love. Keep writing, dear. I’ll eventually get them.

I’d suggest you send copies of my letters around to the others.

Note carefully: send me Walt’s APO number. I’ve had no opportunity to look him up yet, but soon as I can get to a Red Cross outfit, I’ll go to work on this. [Brother Walter bypassed England in his journeys through North Africa and Italy, so this and all further attempts to meet up with him during the war came to nothing.]

As always,

Ben

Monday, 1-3-44

Darling:

Now I learn that I can tell you more details that I’ve left out in previous letters. We are soon to be better informed on the subject of censorship, but until then we are receiving conflicting reports, because the interpretation of censorship rules in the European Theater of Operations has not yet been clarified to our unit censors. So I am using my own judgment and trust to luck that it coincides with the censors. In your letters to me (none of which have I yet received) you can tell me anything except about military installations etc. that you might learn from one of my brothers.

A curious cablegram has been received by you from me. It’s a routine safe arrival cablegram and I had no control of the wording. I learned it said, “Received your letter, darling. Safe and well.” Sorry dear, no letter received.

We came over on [literally cut out by censor] and are now somewhere in England, ill-informed but comfortable. I say ill-informed because of the absence of radios (our radios will have to be altered to suit the English electric sockets and current), and our temporary restrictions to this military post. We occasionally get an English newspaper but seldom see an Englishman except through the fence and at a distance. I know now that I would never care to spend a long time in a prison camp. I would really feel it!

We met some [censored] on board ship and found them friendly if they were spoken to first, though a little stuffy. There were a few younger ones, even some with high rank, who were quite intelligent and very liberal. One called my friend Glenn a “Red” but seemed to consider the term complimentary rather than derogatory. Mostly, however, there was little discourse between the male officers of the two countries. The female discourse was quite another situation. The [censored] really went for the [censored] and vice versa, at the expense of the American officers who were quite piqued about it, though they wouldn’t admit it. [censored] relations better watch out when women are concerned. The [censored] is quite an immaculate and clean cut looking fellow and so far there seems to be a wider gulf between the enlisted men and officers than in our Army. I’m not sure of this, however, as my experience was limited to the ship. More of this later.

The crew was [censored] and was much more frank and friendly. Scotchmen, Irishmen, and Englishmen were all present. I had difficulty in understanding the various dialects. They showed no reserve whatsoever and gave us a lot of valuable information, kind and friendly. Also I discovered that [censored] was really running an efficient organization, at least in that area. I tasted my first warm English beer at this camp and certainly do not like it. I’ll have to learn to, however, as liquor is practically not to be had.

We got on an English train with a small feeble-looking engine and entered compartments with 6 chairs in each. The trains are much more comfortable and roomy than our American trains and the ride is fast and efficient. We can all speak highly of English trains. I wonder who made them run on time in England. Maybe Moseby? [Reference is to Sir Oswald Mosley (1896 – 1980), a British politician known principally as the founder of the British Union of Fascists; dad’s point would be that a selling point for Hitler and Mussolini was that they would make their countries’ trains run on time.]

Before we started, the Red Cross served us fair doughnuts and good coffee and cigarettes. At subsequent stops we were served by British soldiers very efficiently: a bag containing cookies, a bar of chocolate, tarts and a pie containing substitute meat (oh, misere!—my cold, thank god, ruined my appetite) and coffee. It was heart-warming to receive such a nice reception. The people were curious and friendly which amazes me because so many Americans must have preceded us that we should have worn out our welcome.

The English countryside is beautiful. The grass is green though the leaves have all fallen. The land has a well-groomed appearance and is very picturesque and clean. The cities are busy as you might well imagine and the railroads are just as busy as in the US.

After detraining, we rode on trucks to our camp, passing through a picturebook English village. It was exactly as depicted in the movies except for a few chain stores.

Nothing new since my letter yesterday. I’ve been playing a little football with the enlisted man and joining bull sessions, writing letters, and doing a little reading.

Ben

P.S. As soon as restrictions are lifted, hope to be able to contact Walt.

P.P.S. Our trunk lockers and bedding rolls haven’t arrived yet, so I haven’t any pictures of the kids. Believe it or not, I’m having difficulty remembering what Nancy looks like. Oh unhappy day! Show the kids my pictures daily, Maw, or I will retribute you severely.

Wed. Jan. 5, ‘44

Hi honey:

Nothing much new of late. Some of the men have received airmail letters from home, but nothing for me. Please write all letters airmail hence-forth.

I’m trying to contact Walt, if he is here, but I don’t know how successful this will be.

We’ve heard what our permanent assignment will be and are extremely well pleased. Sorry, but I can’t tell you more about it.

We’ve had various jobs assigned to us—mine is assistant censor. I’m pleased about it because now I ought to learn what I may and may not say. We finally had a formal lecture on censorship and I now learn that I made a few (thank god minor) mistakes. I can now tell you only that we are in Great Britain.

Time doesn’t hang very heavy because I find much to do. Plenty of sleep, an occasional lecture, walks, touch football, reading, bridge, poker ($5 more winners – total to date about $65 since Swannanoa), meals and bull sessions pretty well fill the time. The food is getting pretty good as things become better organized and I rather like the life we lead.

We have just been informed we must exchange all our American money for English and the men are griping in an amusing manner. They certainly would prefer to keep their home ties, being reluctant to part with any connection with the homeland. Actually, of course, they’ll more quickly learn English finances this way and save themselves money in the ex-change. But emotions usually sweep away rational thought in circum-stances of this kind.

Yesterday we had a speaker on Anglo-British relations. Among other things, he told us that there will be no color line in Great Britain. I heartily approve (as you know) of this and it was a pleasant surprise to some of us. The Chaplain is going to speak of this next Sunday and I plan to be there.

Nothing else except rumors, honey, so I depart for another meeting with love for you and the kids

Ben.

Note new APO no. 582

Fri. nite, 1-7-1944

Hello darling:

Oh joy! Restrictions were just lifted. This has more significance from a psychological than a material standpoint, since transportation is essentially non-existent and there is only one town within walking distance. Furthermore, our orientation classes preclude our entering this town during the day, and blackout prevents us from seeing it at night. But I may be able to get away Sunday.

Our orientation course has been rather amusing in some respects, though it is given in dead seriousness. Both our men and Officers from main headquarters present it to all personnel. The first lecture was on how to get along with the English. It decried criticism of their ways, superciliousness, and super-pride in the U.S.A. I plan to act in my natural manner and am sure I’ll get along O.K.

Another lecture was on the subject of regulations and laws by an M.P. [Military Police] Officer. There are some Army regulations and English regulations which we have to watch out for and Officers especially must be above reproach in their public conduct and appearance. I’ll have to watch that my buttons are buttoned, my uniform is correct, etc. as these are court martial offenses. Everything is much more GI here than anywhere else I’ve ever been. [”GI” literally stands for “government issue,” but the reference here means “by the book.”] They’re trying hard to make a soldier out of me, honey. Do you think they’ll succeed?

We also had a lecture on inspections, an important item here. The Commanding General of the Service of Supplies has put out regulations as to how they will be made, and everything must be letter-perfect. The wording of each statement, the dress, the split-second timing, etc. of these inspections are all definitely set forth in regulations. For example, I will be in-formed that the Inspector will be in X-ray at 11 A.M. At 10:58 I will be stand-ing outside the door to X-ray and at 11 A.M. salute the inspector, bring down my salute and say, “Sir, Capt. Felson, Chief of X-ray Service.” I will then about face and lead him into the Dept. As we come thru the door, my Sergeant will shout “Attention!” and all personnel and patients will stand at attention. Etc., etc. This is supposed to be the most military outfit in the world. Whatinhell is your unmilitary husband doing here!

Other lectures have included how to protect us from air attacks, fires, incendiaries and the British women. The latter have an amazing high incidence of venereal disease (due undoubtedly to lax wartime morals and shortage of men altho our speaker tried to blame it on negro soldiers, the whelp). Your husband will remain faithful! We even had a talk on disease prevention. As doctors, we chuckled over this, but there was something there even for us to learn.

So you see I am learning more and more, but experiencing little. Your man will become quite erudite at this rate.

Last night the Special Services outfit here presented us with a show including a jazz band, magician, singers, skits, and an excellent violinist. The latter was very outstanding and played such numbers as Souvenir [presumably Tchaikovsky’s “Souvenir-de-Florence”], Indian Lament [Dvorak], etc. This was the first serious music since I left home and I enjoyed it immensely. The show was fairly good and the enlisted men really enjoyed it. Afterwards we danced for about ½ hour, the orchestra staying for this period. I danced with several cute nurses (oh, maybe I shouldn’t have said it —but don’t worry, dear—I’ll come home chaste—by every gal that I can get to chase me). [”Special Services” was the entertainment branch of the American military, with soldiers and local talent as the principal entertain-ers. United Service Organizations – USO – was a military-sponsored pri-vate group that brought in outside entertainers such as Bob Hope.]

My censorship job has continued and has lost much of its original interest. It is now quite a chore. I’m so tired of reading love letters, letters to Mom etc. I could scream. There are amusing letters however, such as when a fellow writes love letters to 3 or 4 different gals, another who tells a married woman that she isn’t the only one who has fallen in love with him, another who reminds his girl of their last night together in such a vivid manner that even the censor drooled a little, and the various attempts at poetry, some of which is very good. Most of our enlisted men are not too literary but a few are exceptionally fine in this respect. One fellow wrote a beautiful letter to his mother. It was good enough to be published. I can’t get over the feeling of prying into the business of others in this job and am poorly suited for it as I tire of it too easily. There has been practically no attempt by the men to transmit information of military significance. What little is found is entirely accidental. Some of the men gripe a lot in their letters and this is considered unfit for home consumption, so these men are called in and in-structed to write more cheerful letters.

Well, darling, I’ve wandered thru 4 pages, but you’re easy to talk to, especially when you can’t talk back. I have received no mail yet but keep writing often and long letters. If you let me down in this respect, I will haunt your conscience and give you insomnia.

Did you get my portraits from Asheville? I have not yet developed the pictures we took in the Vanderbilt Estate. I hope my wonderful children are causing their beautiful mother no unusual difficulty.

Take care, my sweet, and remember, I love you.

Your ever-faithful (I hope) husband.

Jan. 9th, 1944

Still no mail. I am the only one in the barracks who hasn’t received any mail from home. I should be blue because my wife (I assume) didn’t have foresight to write airmail or V-mail. But I’m not. As I said to Hulse today, I really expected to be the last one to get mail. Of course I’m dying (not really) to hear about you and the kids and worrying about my scientific paper and it’s a helpless feeling, but patience, brother, patience!

As a matter of fact, I’m enjoying things so much that I really haven’t had too much time to be bothered with the “blues.” I will now proceed in chronological order since my last letter. All the men complain they can’t think of things to write and all the mail I censor is short (except for love letters). Not me! There’s so much to say I have no… [His sister Sophie censored the next few sentences and the original is not available.]

Yesterday we received a lecture by the Catholic chaplain on sex morals. Something about taking Christ’s word for it. It was about what one would expect from this type of speaker, presented with much oratory and little logic.

Subsequently we were informed by our C.O. in a private meeting that altho restrictions were lifted, the nurses couldn’t leave the post after blackout. He wasn’t sure he was correct in doing this and called on several officers for their opinion (his order was obviously prompted by the Chief Nurse). They, of course, agreed with him. I’m lucky he didn’t call on me, champion of the down-trodden. If they expect to come home with 105 virgins, they are crazy! The Chief Nurse probably will have a hemorrhage when she learns that babies aren’t the result of kissing. (Maybe they are, indirectly).

Later I took a walk with Hulse. He is really a brilliant person and I enjoy talking to him very much. He seems to see things much more clearly than I and to express himself better. We are quite friendly.

Last night we were again invited to the castle or hunting lodge near-by, by the special service group. They had a new band this time and more professional entertainers, beer and sandwiches. A violinist who had played with the Phila. Symphony ([Eugene] Ormandy, successor to Stokowski [as conductor]), played a Chardash [often spelled Czárdás; a Hungarian folk dance], Meditation [a symphonic intermezzo from the opera Thaïs by Jules Massenet], and another number very beautifully and the other entertainment was likewise good. I’m getting a lot of practice in dancing at these parties but nothing else, dammit. And despite all lectures, I do not, definitely not, and will never, like English beer. I drank 4 glasses with absolutely no effect. Some of the men bought English wine of fair quality at the outrageous price of 2£ per bottle ($8). There were some very young English 2nd Lts. (artillery) present and they had all their characteristics of country bumpkins. Nothing like the worldly debonair Air Force officers we had previously met.

This a.m. I again went to church services. It may surprise you, my going to church. No dear, I haven’t gotten religion. Several things prompted me to go. First, respect, friendship and admiration for the chaplain; secondly, agreement with his liberal viewpoint and interest in how he puts it across; third, nothing else to do on Sunday a.m.; and fourth, to hear the excellent violinist who plays. Today the chaplain very beautifully attacked anti-negro sentiments. When you realize that a high percent of our officers and nurses are from the South and that they are all (the Northerns too) in-censed by the English friendliness for the negro, you can understand the task he attempted. I expected trouble because he told me the subject in advance. To my pleasant surprise, he did it so well and subtly, that he got the point across without antagonising anyone. He worked it in as part of the broader subject of the social teachings of Christ, using parables and examples frequently. He pointed out that attitudes (emotional reactions) were as important as scientific facts and among the topics of various attitudes on which Christ expressed himself were those towards the proper education of children (no prejudices), a proper attitude toward the morally weak, and a proper attitude towards those considered inferior (the negro). He quoted Booker T. Washington and G.W. Carver [two African-American intellectuals] and discussed shortly the fallacy of our anti-negro sentiments. In other words, he gave them a small concentrated sugar-coated pill which was swallowed without complaint or regurgitation. Incidentally, the violinist played superbly.

This afternoon Hulse, the chaplain and I took our first trip to the near-by village. It was quite enchanting, just like the storybooks. The community looks quite prosperous. The houses are old but immaculate. The roofs are thatched, i.e. composed of cut wheat or rice straw, clipped smoothly. The kids are well-nourished, cute as buttons and very polite. The farms are well-kept and no land is wasted. We ran across two churches, both fairly old and appearing just as I anticipated. A graveyard in the Anglican Church contained gravestones at least as far back as 1777. Others were too moldy to read. The few British we met nodded and smiled. We didn’t go into a pub, we’ll save that for later, but that’s the place to meet the people. On Sunday afternoon, the adults stay home. The streets were almost deserted except for a handful of soldiers and a few children. We saw a sign stating that the building in the town – Oh, I can’t say it because of security reasons. It might tell where we were. Sorry dear.

[Sophie censored the rest.]

[Undated] received Jan 22, 1944

My dearest wife:

I am still in excellent spirits—as Red Elsey used to say, “I’m happy about the whole thing!” The weather’s good, the food’s ample, my supplies are holding up (except absolutely no liquor) and my time’s filled with censoring the mail, classes on how to get along in England and why (in easy lessons), touch football, writing letters, and reading. The days are not long enough for this Pollyanna.

We have been informed of our permanent stations, and even you would be pleased. Though still insisting we look forward to the day when the bars are lifted. I’m going to buy a bike at the first opportunity and scout around the countryside and villages. I hope I can know soon.

I think and talk of you and the kids often, perhaps too often for my friends, but they’re polite and soon change the subject to their families, so none of us is bored.

You may send a pkg. of 5 lb. or less per month and anyone else may send a similar pkg. per month. Actually I don’t need anything, but you might send me a good book now and then, Let Jake wrap it. Send all mail by air.

Our mail, lockers and bedding rolls have not yet arrived, nor have we been paid (I have plenty of traveler’s checks). Gosh, it seems a long time since. I miss you. Much much love.

Ben

Jan. 10, 1944

Did very little since my letter yesterday except read the X-ray year-books that I brought along. By the way, did my 1943 yearbook of Radiology come? If so, send it on. Also played poker with British money—6 pence limit—and lost a shilling (12 pence of about 20 cents). Heard a big shot Army man speak today and he told us some interesting things which will have to wait til I come home. By the way, I’m keeping a journal of my experience for you. [I have a pocket-sized notebook in dad’s handwriting covering the period 12/17/43 – 1/22/44, 17 small pages in the form of a shorthand diary: “thatched rooves – pubs – churches – tombstone 1777 – two English girls – Sunday afternoon in England – medical care for poor – flood of 1841.”]

I haven’t yet told you of the English weather. It’s almost constantly misty and not too cold according to the thermometer but the cold is very penetrating. A fire is very comfortable here. We heat with little coal stoves which tend to go out unless carefully watched. The ground retains moisture because of the high humidity and when the temperature rises, the muck increases. My rubber boots have been very welcome for this reason.

There’s a show over at Special Service tonight: Stars without Garters. Hm! I think I’ll go. English girls, too. Am still faithful, though, Dammit!

Am pulling some strings to get transportation to nearby towns and cities … may be successful. I fervently hope so, as I would like to see as much as possible.

1-11-44 [England]

My Sweet:

So much has happened today and I can tell you so little. Oh, mores! Oh, censores!

I’ll tell you as much as is safe. The rest will be gleaned from my journal at some future date—may it be soon. [Journal entry for 1/10/44 has material about bombings and paratroopers, so I guess that is what he was referring to but not putting in his letter.]

At 7:30 P.M. yesterday, I was notified that I would go with the second advance party to our new station. At 8 P.M. I attended another GI soldier’s revue which was excellent: skits, hot music, talents of various kinds. I was in a good mood for this type of entertainment and enjoyed it immensely. At 10 P.M. I rushed back to the barracks and packed, throwing my belongings helter-skelter into my bedding roll and trunk locker. Up at 7 to finish packing and then via ambulance to the station after a mediocre breakfast. We waited 2 hrs. for the train (we were ½ hour early) and passed the time at the station observing the English people—especially kids—and American troops. It was quite a busy little station. We finally boarded the train, 5 of us being in 1 compartment. This time it was a 3rd class compartment and a very slow train, stopping at every cattle crossing. The compartments were cold and not so comfortable. To make matters worse, somebody Snafued our lunch so we didn’t eat. [Snafu in army slang = “Situation Normal, All Fouled Up,”at least in polite circles.]

Furthermore, though the distance was short (to our new station) we went roundabout and took much too long a time. This time there was no Red Cross or British soldiers to feed us. We finally arrived at our destination, threw our hand luggage in a truck and marched at attention thru the town. The populace gaped at us. Apparently they were unaccustomed to seeing Yanks (this pleases me to no end, as I feel the British tire of too many Americans, as I would if they became commonplace)!

Our first view of this hospital was exciting from outside. I only wish I could describe it to you, but it might too readily be identified. We signed in and then were quartered in very nice rooms. Believe it or not: nearby bath and toilet in same building (right outside the door)! Two in a large room! Sheets on the bed, and clean! A British valet-waiter! Oh joy!

Tea was served later and we met some of the British medical officers, and saw our 1st advance party, who were quite friendly. Tea included a meat paste, bread, butter, cookies, and tea. I was really famished and ate large quantities. We cleaned up, unpacked, then had dinner consisting of bouillon, good fish, mutton, potatoes, beets, Welsh rarebit (dessert), all in relatively small portions. The service was fine (British waiters) and we had so many implements it was hard to make it come out right so that the last fork was used with the rarebit. Then demitasse and saccharin with newspapers (my first newspaper in a month) in the Officers’ lounge—and radio music! I hadn’t heard one in so long that I got a real thrill out of it. The news is so wonderful, too. [The good news at this time might have included the Russian army moving west, a British victory in Burma, or the launching of the first “Victory Ship,” a larger version of the “Liberty Ship;”US shipyards produced over 3000 of these two cargo vessels from 1941 to 1945, a major factor in winning the war.] Then to a free movie: Greer Garson and yes! Ronald Colman (maybe I oughtn’t mention him in my letters if I’m to retain your love) in Random Harvest [a 1942 amnesia-based love story]. The audience was composed of mostly British enlisted men, British WANCs (AVT) [meaning unknown], nurses, nurses aids, British medical officers including a few females, American officers, [enlisted] men, and nurses. The movie was beautiful. I mistakenly thought I had seen it before, but curiously it was because I had read the book, and Garson and Colman’s pictures were on the cover. I would have liked to hold your hand during this romantic movie, sweetheart. I’ll bet you would have cried your heart out. [I cannot for a moment visualize dad reading this type of romantic novel, written by James Hilton, author of two other very popular and sentimental novels made into movies, Lost Horizon and Goodbye, Mr. Chips. I once made a great effort to get dad to read a work of fiction, You Know Me Al, a great baseball story by Ring Lardner which was perfect for him. He never quite got around to it.]

Oh, my love, I wish you were going thru this with me. With your adventurous and romantic spirit added to mine, I know how much we’d enjoy it together.

Still no mail from you, but I know you’re thinking of me. Goodnight dearest.

My children are smiling at me from their photographs on my mantel. What an emotional father, they seem to say.

Love

Ben

Jan. 12th, 1944

Am highly elated at least momentarily. I started doing X-ray work to-day and tomorrow will have my own department at this hospital. We are replacing British officers but retaining their enlisted men until ours arrive. The officer I replaced was an exceptionally competent X-ray man who is leaving this A.M. and here am I again my own boss. While this hospital will not be our permanent station, I’ll enjoy my stay here, I’m confident.

The X-ray equipment is modern and satisfactory but not quite as good as Levine’s setup. [Reference unknown.] The technicians are very, very fine and the work is interesting, tho relatively light. I anticipate an increase in business when we take over completely.

Plan to go to a nearby city soon, but as no pay has been received, I will probably have to cash a traveller’s check. Heard my first radio program tonight: British Broadcasting Co. Symphony; a beautiful Brahms. I drank it all in. Later I spent several hours in chit-chat with British officers; who says they are unfriendly or shy? Nothing of the sort. By the way, at least at first, we will have British patients.

Jan. 13th, 1944

Well, I was on my own today. Read X-rays and saw many interesting cases. The material here is splendid and I am certainly fortunate in getting to work here so soon even though it is temporary. Saw 3 ulcers in each of three G.I. series—much higher than our average in the States.

The news we get here of the Russian front is amazing. The discussions I have had here with the British indicate they share our respect for the Russians but not our fears. Read an English editorial attacking socialization (i.e. Govt. control) of business after the war. Evidently they expect it or at least fear it. “Methinks you protest too much.” The arguments were rather miniature: it will permit the govt. to enter the home and invade our wonderful privacy. Also the physicians are complaining of the English panel system and fear further socialization. A good sign! You see, I still have some serious thoughts.

Darling, it might not be a bad idea to send me a salami and cheese, etc. Can’t seem to get enough to fill this large stomach of mine. Don’t forget each one of you may send a package, if it weighs less than 5#. No mail yet —soon I hope. Get the family to write also, V-mail or air mail, only. [V-mail, short for Victory Mail, was a process in which an original letter would be censored, copied to film, and printed back to paper upon arrival at its overseas destination.]

Jan. 15, ’44, [England]

Hello my sweet:

There’s still so much to write and little time to write it now that I’m working, but I’ll keep up my correspondence. Please note that I am writing daily, darling; I certainly hope you are doing the same. I still have not heard from home, but I have become resigned to it and no longer get palpitations each time the mail comes in. But, oh! that first letter will certainly be welcome.

I have learned much more about the British since my last letter by talking with the enlisted men and with a few civilians. I don’t know how much I dare say in a letter but I see no relation between this subject and security or morale, so here goes. By the way, please let me know if any or all my letters are censored and whether anything has been cut out or blacked out, because if I have unwittingly broken any rules, I must know of it in order to correct it.

In the first place the British worker and enlisted man are very, very class conscious. There is small pay and much poverty in both the Army and civilian life despite a mild inflation and a tremendous shortage of food and certain commodities. These facts have been intensified a growing dissatisfaction among the underprivileged and a fairly widespread swing to the left. Many people are in fear of state ownership of varying degree and look to such leaders as [Lord William Henry] Beveridge and [Sir Stafford] Cripps [British Labor Party politicians] who have a large following in this group. The upper class, as might be expected, are strongly against it and are still in the driver’s seat. However, there is little doubt that, after the war, these present leaders [such as Winston Churchill] will be unseated for more liber-al ones. [A correct prediction.]

(Time out for my morning coffee)

However, it is believed that the English commoner, in general, is too apathetic (as we are, only more so) to do very much about it. The labor unions, which are quite strong, are fighting fiercely.

In general, there is an undercurrent of bitterness which is slowly but inevitably coming into the open. In view of the greater control which the public has over the members of the Parliament than we do over our congressmen, something may come of it.

I went to a nearby village yesterday and arrived there as the factory closed for the day. Myriads of bicycles and a few cars burst forth from the place. Americans are enough of a rarity around here that I was stared at by everyone, and the kids followed along silently behind me, whispering to each other. Needless to say, I was ill at ease and self-conscious until I be-came absorbed in the town itself, which was quite friendly-looking and at-tractive. I stepped into a hardware store and was surprised at the amount of unrationed merchandise. Candy, of course, is severely rationed so I generally give my weekly supply away to the British, who seem to crave it more than I, especially the kids. I had a spot of tea and returned to camp.

On my arrival, some of the men were going into a nearby city for dinner. They asked me to join them so I went along. By the time we got started, blackout was already in effect and when we got to the city it was plenty dark. However bus lights, flashlights, and light leaks were surprisingly present and we got around well. The first hotel we came to served the same food we had at the hospital, so Danish [Abe Danish, later Al Danish, lived in Denver after the war and remained close to the family], who was with us, went into action. First he called another hotel, made reservations, and got us a cab (quite different here). When we arrived at the hotel (a very nice place) we discovered a dinner dance was in progress. We ate a very nice dinner—roast pigeon (delicious)—and had a scotch and soda. Then Danish went out and got 4 English girls from nowhere—quite cute and friendly. We developed quite an enjoyable party, and danced until about 11 p.m. All the girls were swell dancers. No dear, we didn’t pair off. We discovered that regular transportation back to the hospital was impossible, and that the scarce taxis were not running because of the fog. Danish again went into action and got us a private hired car back to camp. All in all, it was a quite enjoyable evening, chiefly because it was our first encounter with English girls. They are little different from ours, I’m sure.

This A.M. we had official ceremonies and took over the hospital. The British and American troops lined up on opposite sides of the entrance. Generals of both Medical Corps walked up, the band played, troops were present, speeches made, and then the hospital was inspected. All in all it apparently was a historic occasion, but I was duly unimpressed, as I am by all ceremonies. Amusingly, some of our troops did a wrong facing, and all the Americans are walking around with bowed heads. The English were quite snappy.

The pictures of the kids are being developed [this] week. I think we’ll get some fine ones. Will send you the negatives when and if they turn out. [Apparently mom sent him negatives for development in England; I’m not sure why.]

That’s all for now Sweetheart. All my love to you.