This six-pager from Dart has a sweetly intimate vibe. After thanking her for her long New Year’s Eve letter and commenting on how well written all her letters are, he writes “There’s no girl, dead or alive, who comes within miles of you in any way.” Quircky, but cute.

He compares her recent New Year’s Eve of babysittiing to his “celebration” the previous year. (Laying tracks on his model railroad in the basement, while listening to his parents’ radio wafting down from the floor above.) Both events draw a portrait of practical, sensible people with little interest in wild partying.

He seems to have figured out that Doug is a younger brother. It must be hard to keep the large Chamerlain clan straight in his head, with five kids, some spouses and numerous cousins running through Dot’s letters at a regular clip.

I was interested in his comments about the hot jive blasting through the radio in his hospital ward. It was driving him crazy and making him want to “kick, throw something or scream.” That’s the reaction I’ve always had to certain kinds of jazz, but I always thought my father was enough of a music lover to enjoy nearly every kind. It seems both of us find the cacophony of tuneless noise disturbing. Is that genetics at work? Don’t get me wrong – Dad enjoyed lots of jazz, and so do I, but some music just isn’t our cup of tea.

He tells Dot he called his parents on Sunday, having tried for two days to get a line through to Cleveland. Imagine! He was a little worried about the expense because he talked for 15 minutes, but was so happy to hear their voices. I suspect his folks were equally glad to hear his, despite the considerable cost of the phone call. My, how easy we have it today!

During the call with his parents, he learned that the annual Peterson family spaghetti bash did not happen this year. It seems most of the family is far from Cleveland working on the war effort.

There’s a lot more included, so I hope you’ll read the letter for yourself. As usual, he closes by sending all his love.