How Dart manages to write a letter that is both sad and funny is hard to say, but he does it here. Maybe it’s because the humor has a little bite to it.

“Two year, two months and one day ago, two destroyers were commissioned at Bremerton, Washington. Today, one of those ships went out of commission, quietly and without long speeches or fanfare. Amid all the feeble celebration of 165 drunken men, a 29-year old divinity student, only recently married and less than a month ago promoted to Lt. Commander, read the order that directed that his ship, his first and last, should be decommissioned. He, and as many of the drunks who could muster a salute from their stupor, saluted the Haggard’s flag for the last time, as it was lowered. The voice of the Captain called ‘Good-bye’ as the flag disappeared.”

“The crew shuffled off the gangway. The officers marched off, and then the Captain, after a last walk around the deck, walked off the ship. He did not look back as he walked briskly down the pier. He’d been captain of his ship for a month and a half. Now his ship and his command were no more. Tomorrow he’ll be a civilian for he has enough points for discharge.”

“So, a few minutes ago, the crew was poured off their trucks, they were mustered and assigned to barracks. Luckily, none were sent here.”

He announces that he and Hal are going out on liberty tonight, so he must wrap this up  and go shower and shave.

“That bull session we had last night was the kind I don’t like, couldn’t resist, and feel guilty about afterward. I’m as revolting as the rest.”

He wishes he could be with Dot, now and always.