This letter that Dart starts while on phone duty speaks with a weary voice. There is a certain fatigue that comes through as he tells Dot about his daily grind. The course work is getting impossibly difficult. He bombed his most recent test, as did most of the class. He’s tired of studying and not learning the material quickly or well enough. He’s feeling down about all this fruitless work leading only to learning how to make war. He’s physically exhausted and he misses Dot.
He confesses that he wrote a letter the previous afternoon that he’s grateful he didn’t send. He said some things he would have regretted today and is a little ashamed of his complaints. Her letter that arrived today was like a balm – however brief – for his fatigue and his loneliness.
A good portion of this letter is given over to another technical description of the class material he needs to learn. Again, he has illustrated his description with drawings. Those of us for whom the computer age has become common place will enjoy this description of the complex on-board computer that controls all the guns aboard every US Navy ship. “The computers are located in the most protected part of the ship, safe (supposedly) from even a direct torpedo hit. They are box-like affairs, each about four feet high, five feet long and three feet wide. They’re made of heavy metal pieces, all bolted and fitted together to make them airtight so that the salt air does not corrode the tiny delicate mechanisms. They weigh three thousand pounds without any of the accessories which are usually attached. The computer has 27 cranks and knobs, and about 50 dials. All the dials are protected by heavy glass plates. … Each computer costs about 90 thousand dollars and is an inventor’s nightmare.”
The drawings of the computer brought to my mind a fond memory from my childhood. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but Dad was a bit of a pack rat. He found all manner of things too interesting and potentially useful to throw out. One day, while we thought he was making some progress making order in the garage, he was actually involved in a project of whimsy and imagination.
He emerged at the end of the day with a large wooden box with a slanted side that functioned as some sort of control panel. Although it was made of scrap lumber from Dad’s stash, he had varnished it to a lovely sheen. Nestled in this control panel was an exotic collection of dials, gauges, switches and lights. Dad carried this curious object proudly into the house and placed it on the kitchen table. As everyone gathered around, drawn by the mischievous twinkle in his eye, Dad plugged the devise into a wall outlet. The lights glowed, the gauges sprang to life. He flipped a couple of switches, turned some dials, and proudly demonstrated his contraption.
“What is it?,” we asked. “What does it do?” He looked at each of us with a sly smile and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not really sure,” he answered, “but I’m hoping it’s a Tootsie Roll finder.” He had spent hours assembling ancient detritus from various devices into a working model of…nothing! Just for the fun of it. I think we kept that funny old thing around the house until Mom and Dad moved into their retirement home years later.
At the end of the letter, Dart writes,”I must close now and maybe try to learn which knob turns which dials which way. (and why.) (and when.) Oh Lord, give me strength.”
He adds that he loves Dot very much, but is afraid he’s not been very good at showing it in the past week.
Dot writes a typically effervescent letter, beginning with an apology for not writing in such a long time. First came her trip into NYC, then an evening of preparing Gordon’s Christmas package for mailing in time to reach him in the South Pacific.
She settles in to tell Dart about her visit to the city. Three ladies from Franklin Simon went on the spree; Miss Cook from cosmetics, Miss McGowan from corsets and Miss Chamberlain from hosiery. After boarding the train, they talked of nothing except Dart. “I’ll bet they didn’t know what they were letting themselves in for when they asked me when and where I met you. I stopped talking when we got to Grand Central only to resume the conversation during dinner.”
The trio dined at the Stockholm and sampled authentic Swedish fare – pickled fish, cold cuts, various cheeses, relishes, vegetables, meat balls, bread, etc. And that was just the appetizer table! A full dinner followed and Dot was able to pack in much more, until it was time to leave for the show. They saw The Seventh Cross, which Dot found rather depressing, but she still liked it because it starred Spencer Tracy. Perhaps they went to Radio City Music Hall, because they seem to have seen both the movie and a live performance. They saw Horace Heidt in person, along with his whistler (?), Fred Lowry, who, incidentally, is blind. Fred whistled Ave Maria while the chorus sang.
Dot thoroughly enjoyed the evening, which cost her nothing other than her train ticket.
Her final paragraph proclaims that she will say no more about the election because she wants no misunderstandings between the two of them. That should put the entire topic to rest on both sides (until after the election, perhaps).
