Today, I look back at the third week of January, 1945. Although it was only two years ago, Dart was literally a world away from where he is in 1947. He’s in his third week as a “passenger” on an unnamed warship, somewhere in the Pacific. His passenger status means he has not yet arrived at his intended destination, where he’ll be assigned to his regular ship. There are a great many passengers aboard, as well as Marines who are being transported to their land assignments throughout the Pacific.

Dart explains the long, boring days with little to do but read the trashy novels available on board. The active crew gets movies every night, but the passengers have only been invited to a few of them. For their own safety, passengers are not permitted above deck after sundown, so he’s yet to view the fabled night sky over this vast ocean. He’s seen lots of islands, ports, and ships, but mostly, it’s endless sea and sky. He has burned and peeled twice so far and is envious of the guys who get tan.

Of course, I’ll never be allowed to tell you when I’ve come to the end of the present voyage. But soon after we hit shore again, however small and obscure that shore may be, I hope to be assigned to a ship, and begin at last the business of helping to win the war instead of being an innocent parasite getting a college education and hospital care through the War Bonds people bought, thinking they were buying jeeps and guns. More power to the war bond purchasers. May they live on forever in blissful ignorance of Peterson the Parasite.

Mom has told be that combat veterans were eligible for a monthly postwar hardship stipend, even beyond the GI Bill money they received. During those very lean months living with his parents, Dot often encouraged Dart to claim his rightful stipend in order to ease the financial strain on his family. He remained steadfast in his commitment not to “bilk” the nation out of any more assistance. He felt he’d been compensated enough for his war service by his extended care in a naval hospital and through his college tuition.  He was always a man of great integrity.

Meanwhile, Dot is in Greenwich in January 1945, finishing up her retailing internship at Franklin Simons before returning to Andrews School for Girls for her graduation.  She faithfully fills several pages every day with breezy chitchat of her life in Greenwich.

This week, she has caught the bowling bug. At the beginning of the week, she’s bowling at least three games every night, but by week’s end, she’s stiff and sore from the extra workouts. After writing her nightly letter, she lies awake in bed, reliving every precious moment she’s shared with Dart. This week, she finds herself imagining where they will be five years from now. The possibilities are thrilling to her and excite her to the point of complete sleeplessness,

As I read her positive, happy letters, I can almost picture the skinny sailor sitting on his canvas sea bag in the belly of a large, gray ship. As he reads through a stack of her letters, his eyes twinkle with delight at her clever turn of a phrase or her witty observations about her customers. I see his eyes misting up a little as he scans the last page – the part of the letter where she sometimes inserts the sentimental lines that he lives for.

At this stage in their story, the daily letters are but an exercise in commitment; neither of the pair has received any mail from the other in several weeks. Still, the very act of writing seems to bridge the gap of space, time, and circumstances that separate them. And each looks forward to that blessed day when their drought of incoming mail will at last be quenched.