There’s an odd letter from Dart today: It begins with a brief note about how his day went, and that is followed by a five-page outline entitled “Philosophy of Life”

First, the note. He’s writing from the USO while the guys he came with are upstairs scouting for a dance. It’s been a poor excuse for Thanksgiving. They all walked about 30 miles and they bowled three lines. “Aside from that we’ve wished for our girls.”

He wants to hurry back to the ship because it’s very cold and he didn’t wear his pea coat.

Now for the outline. I don’t know if this was just Dart capturing his thoughts about something he may try to write, or if he was assisting Dot on an assignment she has. The outline is just a series of questions: How do you feel about religion? Why are there so many? Do they have similarities? What are their differences? How do you feel about the Bible? Literal and exact, or a open to interpretation? Why is there tension between the races? Can it ever be resolved? If so, how? How do you feel about social prejudices and customs? What is your purpose in life? Is judgement of your fellow man acceptable, or unacceptable? Is marriage important to social structure? Why or why not?

The list goes on for several pages, with numerous questions and subsets of questions. Maybe the boy has too much time on his hands.

Dot begins her letter on the night before Thanksgiving. She’s sitting in Dart’s bedroom at his parents’ home. She tells him that if he could see her now, he’d have a big, wide smile. Why? Because of what she’s looking at. “Know what it is? Your closet. My clothes are hanging right next to your civies and it looks so good! Wonder how long it will be before it’s a bigger closet with more clothes, hanging for longer than just a weekend?”

She asks if he found himself blushing this evening around 8:30. That’s when she was playing his record for his parents. Even though she skipped some of the more personal parts, she blushed all the same. His folks were thrilled to hear his voice. She suggests a record of himself, made just for them, would be the best Christmas gift he could give them.

She begins anew the following morning, wishing him a nice Thanksgiving, knowing it won’t be exceptionally happy for him. “You can be thankful you’re not in Norfolk.” How she prays that next Thanksgiving they’ll be together.

She paused to help with dinner and then enjoy the feast. Mary Koehler stopped by for a visit and offered to drop Dot’s letter in the mail, so she addressed what she’d finished so far and sent it off with Mary.

Later, she sent along three silly Thanksgiving poems written by his mother, his father and her. Hers is a short one that ends with “This poem I know has no meter, but what do you expect from a hearty eater? / Your mom says she can’t write a ‘pome’ but when she sees mine, she’ll send me home. / Your dad suggested we torture you this way. Hope it hasn’t ruined your Thanksgiving Day.”

Also for this day, I found a Round Robin letter, written by all those who shared the holiday at the Chamberlain house in Greenwich. Eleven of the 14 people around the table sent their warmest regards to this young man far from home. What a cheerful, charming tradition this family makes at every opportunity.