[Written to Alice in Frankfort, Indiana. Return addressed: Richard, Co. G, 2nd Bn., 1st Mar., c/o F.P.O., San Francisco, Calif. Postmarked at U.S. Navy, on 2 Feb 1945. Envelope stamped on front, “Passed by Naval Censor,” and initialed by the Censor.]
Feb. 2, 1945
I don’t feel so good tonight Sweetheart. I’m tired and I have a splitting headache. The headache is from my eyes and that I hope will be taken care of in another week. One week from Monday I’m supposed to go get a new pair of glasses. These lenses aren’t strong enough now and I’ve been having some headaches from them. I hope I get the new glasses. I’ve been pretty busy lately. That hasn’t helped my eyes a bit. Of course, this candle I’m writting by doesn’t help much either. Don’t worry though, Sweetheart, I’ll write you ever chance I get. I think about you all the time. I love you so much, Sweetheart. I tell you and I know you can’t hear me and I write it when I write. But it just isn’t often enough, is it? The letters may be few and far between, Sweetheart, but I’m thinking of you and I write when I have a chance. I love you, Sweetheart.
What’s the matter with that little camera and all those films I had in Diego? Aren’t they any good?
As for my hair, it hasn’t changed a bit. As far as I know, it is still the same color and just as short as ever. As for the rest of me, physically I’m O.K. I have a few odds and ends to break up the monotony though. They are: fungus, heat rash, athlete’s foot, crud, and a general breaking out all over. There is a little itch thrown in for good measure. Is that enough? It’s enough for me. I don’t want any or any more. Let’s see, now for a little location. The fungus is around the top of my shoes; the heat rash is under my arms and on my stomach; the athlete’s foot is where it should be; the crud or acne, or what ever it is, is on my back and sholders; and the breaking out is general. The breaking out is supposed to be from our blood and the food. The blood gets thin and impure, and there are too many starches and fried foods. The itch is between my legs. All in all, I’m in good health. That stuff just mars the surface. There isn’t anything wrong with me that can’t be cured by a cooler climate and a change of food. That will be taken care of one of these days. I’ll be with you one of these days, Sweetheart. Then everything will be O.K., won’t it?
We were issed issued (that, in this case, means they let us buy) 14 cans of beer this week. I sold all of mine to the carpenter for cost and some of his services. He fixed me a tray for my locker-box. I hope I’ll be able to take this box back to the States with me. It’s a good box. I probably won’t be able to, but I can try anyway.
I’m sorry Sweetheart, my head is splitting. Sleep is the only thing that will help and so I’m going to hit the sack. I love you Sweetheart. I miss you night and day. You don’t ever have to worry about me getting tired of being with you all the time. I don’t care if I never see anyone else. Just so I’m with you.
I love you with all my heart