[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 9 Mar 1945 P.M. Envelope stamped on front, “Passed by Naval Censor,” and initialed “RMR” by the Censor.]
Mar. 7, 1945
Well, I have some time so we’ll try it again today. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I run out of letters to answer. It will be rather difficult to write then. About all there is to write about other than that is what I doing. That’s out. That’s a deep, dark foolish secret. Most anyone could guess if they tried very hard, bit I still can’t put it down in writing. I just have 3½ more of your letters to answer. It still the same group. I haven’t gotten any more.
I got my glasses O.K. You should see them. I doubt if you would like them any more than I do. They are GI glasses of course – made to take punishment not to look decent. The lenses are a little stronger than my old ones. I think I told you about my 2 visits with Mundell. I only went over twice and I spent most of my time with him. Had a swell time – good food and we had some nice long talks. He’s a pretty nice guy. I like him. He wanted me to come over and spend a week-end with him. He told me all about the steak and ice cream they were going to have. Well, I tried everything I could think of except going AWOL and I couldn’t make it. I hated to miss the good food, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
Sweetheart, if you don’t want my folks to know about the apartment, it’s O.K. with me. What ever you say. I won’t tell them if it would make you happier. They don’t need to know anyway. Right at the present, I wondering what you will do about Dad’s being sick. For some reason, I don’t know why, it doesn’t worry me in the least. I know it should. Maybe it just hasn’t sunk in as yet.
Well, I now have fungus spread all over me. There isn’t any on my face, hands or feet yet. It’s not so bad. You get little blisters; and if you break them, another blister is formed where the fluid goes. That’s what makes it so hard to get rid of the stuff. The Sick Bay has been painting it for me and it is getting better. It seems like I clear it up in one spot only to find it worse someplace else. It’s nothing to worry about. It’s a little annoying at times but it isn’t serious. About every other fellow has some on him someplace.
My memory must be slipping. Who, where, and how does Edna fit in? You are always talking about her, but I can’t seem to remember where she lives or how you happen to be with together all the time. It’s foolish, I know, but I can’t make the connections. From all you have written about her and W—–, I seem to know them pretty well.
You sure didn’t give me much to write about in those 3 letters. I can’t find any more questions to answer. Now is when it is going to be hard to write. All I can hope for is more mail. The prospects don’t look any too good though.
I love you, Sweetheart. Did you know that? I don’t believe I’ve told you for quite a while. I’ve just thought it. It’s so much easier to dream. For instance, you never will catch me paying $8 for rooms at the Hotel Sherman. It was rather foolish to do it that time, but we enjoyed ourselves, didn’t we? I’m kind ‘a glad I paid it. I can see that kind of thing now. All I’m interested in now is a certain apartment in W. Lafayette. I want you Sweetheart. I love you so much. I’d give most anything to see you – to be with you. You’re all I want in this world Sweetheart. You’re my interest in life. We’ll be together again one of these days. I’m waiting, – just putting in the time and dreaming of you.
I love you with all my heart
I love you.