Dart writes that he is gradually getting accustomed to his new life out here. Life on a tin can is teaching him all sorts of things every day. For example, he has learned a valuable lesson of how to stow clothing in his locker. Because regular duckings by fierce or playful waves make for frequent changes of clothing, he’s learned to fold an entire outfit, from underwear and socks to dungarees and shirt, into one neat package. Then when he has to change on the double, he just grabs a bundle and has everything he needs in one hand.
He tells her she needn’t worry that this life would ever take first place in his heart over Cleveland. “The way we like it here is to try to forget about home, to think of all the worse places we could be, to forget where we are and why, and then it sorta comes on us that maybe this place would be alright as a last choice.”
It doesn’t sound to Dart like Dot really wants to hear much “about that ‘perfect size 12’ girl I mentioned once. She may have been size 12 – I wouldn’t know about that – but as far as perfection goes, she wasn’t it. ‘Nuff said. I think size 14 would be alright for you. Don’t let all the effort of getting there mar your charming personality and sweet looks, though.”
Referring to her long-ago comment about Washington’s birthday falling on a work day and her hopes that by the time it’s on a Sunday, she’ll have the type of job where she won’t have to work weekends, he commented that the holiday falls on a Sunday in just three years. He says that doesn’t leave much time for the war to end and for the two of them to “get started.” How he hopes he’ll be able to provide for her when they can get married. He hopes the first year or two after the war aren’t too difficult. He wants to finish college and get a big job in a big hurry.
He ends with “By the way, the only way we know it’s Sunday around here is when some guy says “Jeezuss, we’re having chicken noodle soup for chow!”
Having broken her promise to write last night, Dot explains that she was struggling with her mother’s birthday cake. The devil’s food came out okay, but the frosting was a disaster. She ran out of powdered sugar and had to use granulated. Chewing the frosting felt like eating sand.
Next Thursday, she’s taking the day off work to go into NYC with Nancy Clapp. Her dad has a list of supplies he’d like her to get and she needs new shoes. If there’s time, they hope to take in a show.
The weather today was spring-like, but earlier this week, it was cold, wet and snowy. She says last night was a perfect night for “indoor sports,” and says she means just what he’s thinking!
Last night she dreamed that Dart’s brother had joined the Navy and was already an Ensign. Dot says she’d take a lowly bell-bottom wearing sailor if the one wearing them was Dart.
While trying to fall asleep last night, she thought back to every detail of their time together in November. She can’t figure out why they didn’t change their awkward seating arrangement with him in the straight back chair and her on that low couch. She also doesn’t know why she couldn’t open up and say what was in her heart when he was saying all those pretty things to her. He must have thought her an awful twerp.
Now she takes comfort in knowing that each day brings her one day closer to seeing him again.
A few weeks after posting this entry, I was reading a book written by several members of the USS HAGGARD crew and edited by my father, Dart Peterson, Jr. It included individual essays of memories these guys had from their days aboard their beloved destroyer.
I was stunned to read the the HAGGARD had single-handedly rammed and sunk a Japanese submarine on March 22, 1945, severely damaging their own bow and propeller. They had to be towed into dry dock quiet a distance away for assessment and repairs. They were one of only five destroyers to sin a submarine in WWII without actually sinking themselves. March 22 was a very dramatic day for the crew of this little ship. For many days after, they were nearly certain that the damage to the ship was enough to send them back to the States.
With my new knowledge of all this drama and excitement, I was nearly certain I could go back to this day in Dad’s letters and see some hint of what they had just been through. To the contrary. His letters on the days following the ramming of the sub were almost mundane. There was no hint of anything out of the ordinary having happened.
Coming up very soon is a bigger, much more incredible day in the life of the HAGGARD. I’ll let readers of this blog know when it has passed and let you all see if you can tell that anything was amiss.