This brief note from Dart has a sense of desperation about it. He has eight letters to answer but this is just the second one he’s written and the day is nearly over.

He attended church that morning. He says he’s still supposed to avoid sitting too much, yet must learn to sit again. What has he actually gained from these months in the hospital?

He felt pretty low all day. He claims that if he doesn’t get home before Dot leaves, they may as well just transfer him to a padded cell in a ward reserved for other unfortunates who cannot see their sweethearts.

He ends the very short letter with the comment that he dreams of their near future (and far future too.)

As I read Dart’s letter, I recalled a childhood trip to the zoo. I remember standing for what seemed like hours, watching the majestic Bengal tiger pacing endlessly back and forth in his enclosure. His shoulder muscles taut and ready to spring. He never varied the cadence of his step, never paused to sniff the air, nor focus his eyes on a new view. Back and forth. Back and forth. Waiting for…what? Expecting what?

Dart’s letter reflects the same anticipation, the same tension. He is like a caged tiger, needing to be free, but finding no escape. Dart has collected all the required signatures for his leave. All that remains is an interview Wednesday morning with the Captain. So close. So hopeful. So unsure of the outcome.

His parting line is, “The approaching big moment eclipses everything but my desire to get home, to take you to your prom, to get well, not worse while I’m home.”

Dot’s letter reflects a similar nervous energy. She describes the plan her room mates have devised about how Dart will be greeted on Saturday night if he makes it home. It requires two escorts to help Dot navigate the stairs on her shaky legs.

“Dart, right now the thing I want most in life is for you to be here Saturday nite. If sincere prayers have much to do with it you should arrive sometime last week. I’ll try very hard not to be too disappointed if you don’t make it but I know darn well I’ll go to pieces.”

This is an epic letter – not just for its length, but for the territory it covers. Beginning with a dejected mood that carries the news his leave was refused, it morphs quickly into sardonic humor. Treat yourself to Dart’s “devilish” wit and imagination on this one.

After venting his bitterness and disappointment, Dart is able to let his personal philosophy take over. He explains how he is able to survive such a difficult letdown with his positive attitude intact.

At times, I feel he is lecturing himself in order to keep his spirits up. Other times, he sounds like the wise older brother passing life lessons on to a little sister.

In the end, Dart shows the stuff he’s made of. This letter – perhaps more than any he has written to Dot – reveals the character of this young man. If Dot felt she didn’t know him well before, she certainly can’t say that any more.

Before closing, he confided, “I’m sad and lonely, and Saturday night (Dot’s prom) I’ll cut out my paper dolls and be thinking of you.”

Scroll to the end and see the little gift Dart enclosed for Dot.

Again, Dart’s letter covers a wide range of moods in just five pages. In spite of his best efforts, it’s easy to see that the disappointment of this week has taken a toll on his morale.

Today, however, brought a new venture. He entered a slide rule and general mathematics review class where it was soon determined that he was the only one in the group who knew anything about how to operate a slide rule. In short order, he was teaching the class himself! “It’s fun to be playing around ‘in harness’ again. It’ll give me some mental exercise which I badly need now.”

The chaplain who befriended Dart during his futile effort to obtain a leave put his neck out to find out what went wrong in Dart’s pursuit. He was ordered out of the Captain’s office and told to stop meddling in the running of the hospital! Anyway, this fresh graduate from Yale Divinity School and Dart have struck up a friendship. The chaplain has even invited Dart to dinner when he’s discharged form the hospital.  He sends his apologies to Dot that he was unable to help in getting Dart’s leave approved.

When it came time to answer Dot’s letter that expressed how much she was hoping for his visit, he ran out of steam. “Honestly, Dot, I don’t know what to do or what to say, or how to say how sorry I am.  I better stop trying before I make a mess of it and make you feel worse.”

He finishes on a sad, sweet note. “Oh, heck. I’m out of the mood. Can’t write unless I’m in the mood. Can love you always, though, and do, all the time.”

This letter begins innocuously enough. Dart is using new stationery, illustrated with a drawing of the main building of the US Naval Hospital in Great Lakes, IL. (Back them abbreviated ILL.) He describes the 100 buildings comprising the hospital, including 60 or so that actually house patients. He talks about some of the structures being brick while others are wood. Before long, he begins to liken the whole place to a prison camp. A handful of the wards have bars on the windows, but he claims all the others may as well have, for all the freedom awarded the patients there. The entire facility is surrounded by a seven foot high fence topped with barbed wire.

He feels trapped. His mood is getting increasingly darker as the date of his hoped-for leave approaches. “I’m disgusted, bitter, sore-headed, sarcastic,” he writes. “I’ve talked and argued and griped myself almost sick today, nearly getting into the brig in the process… I haven’t been able to speak civilly to a single soul today. Really lost my grip on things.”

Claiming he’s sick and tired, he signs off abruptly, but not before telling her again that he’ll love her forever.

I wonder sometimes; years later, when these two were happily married at last, did he ever recall this dark period and remember how bleak it had looked? Was this just a blip on the radar when compared to all the experiences they shared, both good and bad, throughout their lives together?

Dart begins this letter, still enjoying the memory of his recent phone conversation with Dot. “It’ll take years to get everything said that we have to say. And by then, we’ll have other things to talk about. Isn’t  that a pleasant thing to look forward to?”

He’s trying to find things to occupy his mind and improve his mood. Today he walked outside to the hospital gate to watch the trains going by. I think he enjoyed it for awhile, but he ended up deciding it was a bad idea. Did it simply add to his homesickness as he thought about where those trains might be going? He didn’t say.

His mother sent him photos of a few engines so that he could make some sketches. Apparently he has extensive photo files of locomotives. Have I mentioned he’s fond of trains?

He told of the trainloads of visitors that arrive daily and are driven around the hospital by bus. He mused, “How I wished you could have been among those visitors. If only there were some way for you to be among them I’d be so happy. You can wake up now, Peterson.”