This is a long letter from Dart which he wrote over the course of three days. It is his response to Dot’s letter of May 12, in which she pleas for an explanation of what he sees in her. It is a response that requires deep thought and tender handling. I’ll let him speak for himself.

As I look at it now, the job at hand is three-fold. First; I must in some way convince you that I don’t believe you recognize your own capabilities, that you’re a bit unsure of yourself. Second; I feel it is my duty to warn you that you have a few misapprehensions as to my own virtues, to which you should not adhere too closely until we have known each other more personally than letters and a few dates permit. Third; to answer definitely your question.

In the first place, one thing which people in love are very apt to do is to make the slip of under-rating themselves and over-rating the other partner of the match. That, coupled with a lack of self-confidence, produces a most disheartening effect.

For example: You ask for a set of reasons why I love you. You give some reasons for loving me and ask for the same. Can’t you see, Dot, that my reasons for liking you so very, very much are, to me, almost the same as the ones you gave me. I won’t deny many of the flattering accusations you wrote. But I’ll try to modify them. You list a bunch of things in my favor in one paragraph. You set yourself up as the direct antithesis. I’ll try to blow up both theories together in a series of short (?) paragraphs.

You say I’m ambitious. No, not to any extreme more than you are. Don’t we both aspire to own that little house we’re planning, to get married, to have children, to give them a good chance in life, to make that house into a home? And don’t we aspire to do those things together? There’s one of the reasons you asked for.

You say I have a keen sense of humor. I say you have the same, that it seems that our senses of humor are almost alike, that neither is always keen, nor will they be congruent at all times, but they are near enough together most of the time as to make us happy. That’s another of your reasons. May I hasten to add that you haven’t seen much of the bewildered, sore-at-the-world feeling I have most of the time?

And now, an example of my not thinking straight was when I disapproved so all-fired violently to your plans to join the Cadet Nurse Corps or the WAVEs. I see now that either would have been good for you, and that in both cases, I was acting without thinking deep enough; acting selfishly. For that I am sorry and regretful. I’m prone to act impulsively. Maybe you are too, but I doubt it, as far as most things go. So another reason comes out.

You made some cracks about my appearance. You’re the first ever to do so, except maybe my Mom. I’ve told you often how attractive I think you are, so we are still even, and you have provided me with another of the reasons.

I don’t always know right from wrong. No one does. Nor do I have will-power to follow my own convictions. (For an example of that: I’m convinced that I must stop an incessant use of obscene language; I try to stop, but it’s always blurting out.) You say that you know right from wrong but do not do much about it. I ask you this: Do you steal, lie, deliberately and maliciously make a habit of cheating, or of disobeying your parents? Do you drink or smoke to excess? Are you unfaithful to me? (I think you know how I mean that.) There’s my theory of wrong, in a nutshell. …Do you feel able to answer those questions to me?  I believe so, I hope so, I know so. For my faith in you, for my belief that you, alone, of all the girls I’ve ever known, can answer those, I love you very, very much.

You say that at the age of 19, you have accomplished nothing. I answer by asking you how many people have accomplished more than you at the age of 19? Don’t you have the most enviable trait of being able to make friends easily, and to be entertaining company? As for me, at the age of 21, I could say the same, in fact it has been the same since I was nineteen.

I’ve been in poor or delicate health half my life. I’ve quit, discouraged, almost everything I’ve ever tried. There are few accomplishments of which I’m really proud. I flunked miserably out of engineering college, and I try to rationalize it by some excuse about ‘back trouble. True, I was in the choir at Shaw. But I was always the last chosen for concerts. I was on the staff of the Shaw Observer, but I resigned. I was on the Shaw debate squad, but all I ever did was bang a gavel on a beat-up desk. I may have been president of my Hi-Y club, but no one will dispute my words that I was the poorest president they had. So it goes. I tried for a commission, ended up in boot camp, and am now seaman first class after two and a half years of active duty. No, there’s nothing wrong in your having not accomplished anything at 19. Our real job, our most important chance for the accomplishment of an ideal, comes when we can prove ourselves good and faithful homemakers and parents. Our greatest responsibility is to each other in this respect. We can meet that responsibility together. I’m sure of it. Neither can do it without the other. And we can’t rush into it thinking that “we’ll see if things work out all right.” We must believe and be determined that it will work, it must work, cannot fail. We must have open minds and open hearts. It is truly our biggest job. I’m willing to undertake it with you. Not only willing, but highly eager to do it. I’m sure we can. How about it? How do you feel on the same ideas?

Skip what old Hibschman said. There can be no hard and fast rule set for a thing like that, and he’s silly to try and make out like there is. Besides, what he said applies to us in the right way. We wouldn’t have been attracted to each other so strongly if it didn’t. Out of this paragraph you can divine another of the reasons you seek.

There’s another reason which you’ve discussed, undoubtedly, with your sisters and friends, just as much as I’ve discussed it with my buddies. But even though we may sometime talk about it with each other, I believe that here is not the time or place for it. We should have an understanding of some sort on that, too.

Now comes my part of the letter: the part you didn’t ask for; the part I’ve been thinking about for two weeks or more.

You surely recall how I’ve felt about being engaged to you during the war. It’s been a feeling of apprehension that I might not come back; that something might happen which would be tragic. After the events which have occurred out here, something has happened which has removed all doubt. I feel more sure now than ever before that I’ll be coming back, that there would be no harm, no heartbreak.

But now comes the question. Do you think that we could become officially, really, publicly engaged on my next leave? Surely that leave will not be more than many months from now. Eventually the ship must get tired and return. It will give us something to look forward to. Oh Dot, I do want that so very much. Shall we do that? Please give me your answer so we can make some plans for the big event.

I love you very, very much, Dot.

It’s an important letter and he handles it seriously. He told me in later years that after the kamikazi attack on the Haggard, he absolutely knew that he would get home in one piece. I’m nearly certain that by the date of this letter, he already knew that his beloved ship had fought her last battle.  I’m not sure when it happened, but I’ve noticed that he is no longer writing “in port,” or “at sea” at the top of his letters. I’m guessing that by now, the Haggard was probably already making her way, ever so slowly, back to the USA to be turned into scrap. He wouldn’t have been permitted to say anything in a letter because she was a sitting duck, unable because of her wounds to defend herself. Had the wrong letter fallen into enemy hands, it could have been disastrous for all hands. Still, I’m sure that the general belief on the ship was that by the time the Haggard had limped all the way back home, the war in the Pacific would be over. He knew he was safe, and therefore free to ask Dot what had been in his heart for months.

I cannot wait to read her response, even though the outcome is well known.

Dot is writing from her overnight stay at the Miller’s where she’s babysitting for Chris and Eric. She swiped one of their 1,000s of snapshots of the boys to send to Dart. She’s also included one of her taken at her graduation in February.

Her only mail today was a nice letter from Dart’s mother. She explained that they could not make a trip to New England this summer because Burke is on 24-hour notice for the Navy and they are not allowed to leave town. Helen was so kind to invite Dot to spend her vacation with them in Ohio, but Dot has to count her pennies. She’s afraid to think how long it may be before she gets to see Dart or his family again.

Last night,she dreamed she was at the Brooklyn Navy Yard to meet a ship when she suddenly spotted Dart on board! She ran to him and hugged him so tightly that she thought she’d break his ribs. Over his shoulder, she saw a big, burly sailor, and off she ran to give him the same treatment. Dart was more than a little stunned until she explained that the big guy was her brother, Gordon. She awoke clutching her pillow tightly to her stomach. “After a night like that, I’m a nervous wreck!”

She’s also very tired and needs to shut her eyes. More tomorrow.