Today, we have three letters – two from Dart and one from the harried Dot.

Dart begins his fist letter in class after completing his weekly tests. He thinks he did quite well on the first and butchered the other. Experience has shown us he often underestimates his scores.

He includes a definition of “fire control,” his area of expertise, for Dot’s benefit. I include it here for those, like my childhood self who might have thought it had something to do with extinguishing flames aboard ship. “Fire Control comprises the entire system of directing and controlling the operations of the offensive weapons of a vessel, including material, personnel, methods, communications and organization.” In other words, it has nothing to do with “Help! Fire! Get the hose!” and everything to do with “Ready, aim, FIRE!”

Later that day, Dart sits down to describe his lazy, lethargic activities of the afternoon. He hung around the lounge reading magazines and picked up a couple of letters from mail call. He listened to dozens of fellows play hundreds of renditions of “Chopsticks” in a variety of rhythms from ragtime to minuet. Finally, he pulled out his sweet potato and joined a band of tonette players for a nice, long jam session. (Can you envision a band of young sailors or soldiers today entertaining themselves and their friends for hours by playing “Chopsticks” followed by a concert of plastic whistles?)

He apologizes for this poor excuse of a letter and hopes to do better next time.

“Next time” was later that night as he jots off another couple of pages.  There are big changes afoot at Treasure Island. Dart’s group will soon be moving – still on the island – but he doesn’t know where. They’ve been forced to move their barracks 500 feet from their lockers and now their dorm is a busy thoroughfare.

He received a letter from a Cleveland buddy who’s in the Army and studying something in San Diego. He had just returned from a furlough back home and learned of yet another of their high school friends who was killed in action. All the guys Dart knows who have been lost or killed were recently engaged. Dart thinks it must be a jinx.

He tells her there is much more to say, but no time to say it. He’ll write again soon and he sends his love.

Dot is spending a rare night at home, having gone to a movie with her mother. She recommends “Mr Skeffington,” starring Bette Davis. Like so many of the titles Dot mentions, I’ve never heard of this one. I wonder if any of these old films would be available today. Anyway, she thinks the actor who plays Bette’s cousin George looks quite like Dart’s father.

Tomorrow morning, Dot is going to a dentist appointment, which she dreads. She is, however, looking forward to retiring fairly early tonight, and sleeping fairly late tomorrow. What a treat for this busy young lady!

The man who begins his letter with a statement about how little time he has to write today somehow manages to crank out eight pages, never the less. He tells Dot he plans to wash his mountain of dirty clothes the same way he did last night – not at all.

He relates a “punny” story about an animated training film he had in class. It’s not worth re-typing here, but you can read it from the digital pages if you’re interested. I find it interesting that he mentions the “sound movies” they use for training. Was that unusual technology, I wonder?

The upheaval on Treasure Island continues. Their bunks are crammed together and are stacked three high. His is higher off the floor than his head is. “They issued me my parachute and flight suit and signed me up for flight pay before issuing my new top bunk,” he quips. He goes on to say that the construction of the bunks is very flimsy and he gets quite nervous whenever he or one of his bunk mates gets in or out of bed.

He’s glad she liked his two-volume letter, especially the part about picnics. In answer to her comments about his political perspective, he assures her that he cares very strongly about who is elected President. He suspects, however, that he and Dot are on opposite sides of the issue and he doesn’t want to cause a disagreement between them. To keep peace, he declines to say which man would get his vote. (He’s unable to actually cast a vote because he won’t be 21 until after the election.)

Here’s a nice little story, so typical of Dart: “Had a chance (which I turned down) for being picked up by a pair of racy-looking quail in a convertible Saturday P.M.  Looked like a good set-up, if I were that kind of guy. I am not.” I’d say he’s a one-woman guy.

He went to San Mateo about 30 miles south of ‘Frisco on Sunday. He’s been quite impressed with how lovely California is. “Even the roads and railway tracks are bordered by flowers instead of weeds, grass or sand.”

Although he closes now, he’ll be back again today with four more pages.

What Dart deems a useless weekend has come to a close without him accomplishing “one thing of lasting value or importance.” The morning began with another impromptu jam session on some so-called musical instruments until a grumpy group complained so loudly the “musicians” had to cease. Dart’s beef is that the very guys who complained are the ones who feel no shame at coming in at 3:00 A.M., loud and drunk whenever they go out on liberty.

While on cleaning detail recently, he was able to get into a heretofore forbidden area of the fire control shop. Being the technophile that he is, Dart was thrilled to get a close look at the “director,” a metal turret-like box from which all the calculations are made for firing the big guns on a ship. He describes it as a “crowded, cluttered, cramped place,” and “an overwhelming array of electrical and mechanical gadgets for destruction.”

Before signing off on this letter, he mentions the letter he wrote last Sunday night. “I don’t know whether I should have written such a passionate letter, and whether I should have said just what I did. Maybe that letter was just a little too forward. Just the same, Dearest, it’s the way I feel.”

The thing is, I don’t have a letter from Dart written on September 13. I wonder if, when re-reading these letters to each other back in the 1990s, before sealing them up and storing them, my parents may have removed some of the racier stuff. With their willingness to share the nearly 6,000 pages which are to be posted here, I have no room for complaint. They were certainly entitled to “censor” whichever ones they chose, but I hope for my mother’s sake she still recalls at least the mood of that missing letter. It’s my guess that nobody could write a passionate love letter quite like Dart Peterson!

Dot is happy to hear about all the Petersons accumulating on Treasure Island, but she really only cares about one of them. She’s confident that if you stacked all the others up, they would still not equal Dart.

She remarks that his hand tool class sounds pretty tough, but she cautions him not to study too hard. (Can you hear the sarcasm?) She’s also glad to hear that his swimming is coming along so well. She suggests that if he gets a long leave, he could swim home by way of the gulf of Mexico.

She goes into a long and humorous description of her trip to the dentist this morning. She has a knack for exaggeration, I’d say. She ends up by saying that her dentist is Dr. Howgate (Cynthia’s father) and he is a dear, sweet man. “He’s really swell, and right now, so is my jaw.”

She assures him that his letters are up to their old standard, so he can quit worrying and just concentrate on writing more. She apologizes for writing less.

In his first sentence Dart admits to feeling unimaginative and incapable of anything but sleeping and dreaming. He apologizes in advance for the poor letter and hopes he hasn’t run out of words by the time he writes to Dot’s mother, Ruth. Actually, he makes a pretty good stab at the letter, although you can sense his energy and enthusiasm are on the wane.

He wants to hear more details about the hurricane, saying this doing things by candlelight sounds rather primitive to him. He’s never talked to anyone who’s been through a hurricane. How strange that such a large storm was never mentioned in the west coast media! Can we even imagine such an oversight happening in current times?

He tells Dot that it sounds as though Mrs. Miller does none of the work around her house, leaving it all to Dot. Does she still like her job at Franklin-Simons? Does she enjoy caring for Chris and Eric?

In an effort to write more than responses to Dot’s latest letters, he turns to talk of the weather. The temperature, smells, and gentle breezes he’s experiencing on Treasure Island these days remind him of spring or early fall in Ohio. He says the air is so clear that the Bay cities look very close. He then describes watching some dive bombers practicing their maneuvers over the Bay today. How can he even make something like that sound poetic? “They fly across the baby-blue sky in beautiful formation; then, one-by-one, they swing a wing up, turn aside and dive into a long, roaring bombing run. Then suddenly, they’re all back in formation again, flying the other direction, the sun glinting off their silvery sides.”

He reports that his cold is a little better today. This is the first he’s mentioned that he’s never completely lost the cough that developed during his bout with pneumonia several months ago. It gets worse when he has a cold and a little better as the cold retreats. His daily swimming lessons aren’t helping his lungs much.

Yesterday brought a three-page letter from Fred who’s still awaiting his permanent assignment. He says “our boys” are scattered all over the world. The only location Dart knows of where these boys are not is the China-Burma-India theater. I’m not sure if “our boys” means buddies from high school, or Americans, in general.

He tells of one of the Shaw classmates who rose to the rank of Captain in the Army Air Corps as a fighter pilot with 40 missions over Africa. He got himself into trouble and was busted down to “Second Looey.” “Still,” Dart writes, “he made the grade which none of us thought that he’d make, and which so many of us tried for ourselves.”

Not surprisingly, the guys’ talk today turned to girls. The general agreement among them was that ‘Frisco girls were not the type these guys would want to be seen with. Still, one enlightened young man suggested that even in ‘Frisco “you could find a nice girl if you tried and knew how.” Dart is grateful he’s already found his nice girl.

He wraps up by saying, “And so, I leave you for tonight. I hope that after this is all over, we’ll never have to leave each other, by letter or otherwise, again.”

Dot writes a sweet, romantic and charming letter today, in recognition of the first anniversary of meeting her beloved Dart.

In her own words, “It was a night just like this, one year ago when I first met you. How well I remember…the thoughts that went through my head as we sat in the living room waiting for Lois. …How I wished you were to be my ‘date’ instead of Lois’s.

I’m going to tell you what I did that night after you boys went home. I went to the recreation room in the 3rd floor after everyone was asleep and had the longest cry I’ve ever had. I thought I’d never see you again and the thought tortured me. …I kept praying I’d see you again. The day that prayer was answered, I began thanking God and haven’t stopped yet. I think I fell in love with you that first night.

The day Betty got that letter from Johnny in which you asked if you could take me to the dance, there wasn’t a happier girl in the world; nor has there been since. In spite of all the tough breaks you’ve had, I think we’re both mighty lucky. When I think of all the girls who aren’t fortunate enough to know you and love you as I do, my heart aches for them.”

Dot moves on to other matters, like what to send Gordon for Christmas. Packages to sailors must be mailed by Oct. 15 and she’s looking for ideas of what her brother might like.

She relates a cute story about three-year old Chuck Pecsok. His mother reports that the other day he picked up a fashion magazine with a woman’s face on the front. “Hello, Dot,” he said to the model. Then he planted a big kiss on the picture. Dot warns Dart that he has some competition from a much younger man.

She assumes there’s still no chance of him getting leave before being shipped out. She says if he can get as far as Ohio, she thinks she’d be able to meet him there. “Ask the Admiral. Maybe he’d think it was a swell idea.”

It’s chilly tonight in her apartment at the Miller’s house. They suggested she have a fire in the fireplace, so she built a blazing one. It warms the room, but makes her lonesome for Dart. She tries to pretend he’s curled up on the sofa with her, enjoying the fire.

She ends the letter with “Thank you for what you are, what you stand for, and most of all, what you’ve done for me.”

Two big things happened to Dart today; he went swimming by himself and had a great time, and he talked to Dot!

“Golly Dot, it was wonderful to hear your voice! I’ve known you a year and have actually been with you on only five tiny days. But your letters, our phone calls and our love has brought us together as close as any length of companionship could.”

He continues, “That three minutes of trivia was a precious three minutes. Small talk, I know, but what is love made of but little things? Don’t tell anybody, but I like you an awful lot, every bit of you all the time, in every way.”

He recalls the date they had in Cleveland when Dot stayed at Betty Wolf’s house. His friend Rausch cheated Dart out of a precious evening with Dot by taking her and Betty to a show the night before the official date, and he didn’t ask Dart to go along.

Dart interrupted the letter because it was time to sweep down the barracks for the night. In an effort to avoid the work, he left to find a broom and dustpan, and by the time he returned, the sweeping was done. “Of course, everyone saw through my ill-bred ruse, but I did get out of the work.” Such a scoundrel!

It’s time for bed. He tells her the Navy can stop him from finishing this letter, no matter how much he’d like to, but it can’t stop him from loving her. “Good night, my darling Dot. I miss you very much.”

What a sweet, ebullient letter from Dot, written shortly after the phone call. “It wasn’t a dream, was it,” she writes. “You did call me this afternoon and talk for 3 fleeting minutes, didn’t you? Oh Dart, it was the most wonderful feeling to hear your voice again.” How she wishes he could call every day, but the expense would be so much and the novelty might wear off. What would she have thought of the 21st century soldiers and sailors who can Skype their loved ones regularly and not have to pay one cent?

She tells Dart how wonderful it’s been to be at the Pecsok’s home today. Chucky ran to her with such joy when she arrived, and gave her a huge hug. When she put him to bed, he cried because she would  not still be there when he woke up. Dot was obviously touched by his affection for her. “Every day I’m more convinced that there is nothing more sincere and genuine than the love shown by a little child.”

Later, she says “Thank God young children don’t know the real heartbreak of this war. May they grow up in a world which will be forever at peace.” That must be the prayer of every generation.

Back to the blessed phone call – When Dot told her father that Dart had called, he just grunted and said, “The man must be in love to do a darned fool thing like that.” Her mother was nearly as thrilled as Dot was by the call. “She asked me what we talked about and when I told her ‘the hurricane,’ she almost passed out and said ‘Do you mean to tell me that dear boy called you all the way from Treasure Island and you couldn’t find anything more romantic to talk about than the hurricane? For shame! You’re no daughter of mine.'”

Dot deadpans “So it would appear they are quite well aware that this is more than a Platonic relationship.”

She closes by telling Dart that the only thing more precious to her than being loved by him is loving him.

Dart writes a serious letter tonight, while the memory of Dot’s sweet voice is still echoing in his “empty head.” If you read between the lines, you may detect a faint note of desperation on these pages.

He tells her that he will graduate on or about November 4. At that time, he will get nine days of leave. If you count at least three days to get to Cleveland and another three to get to his “shipping-out place,” that doesn’t leave much time to visit his family. His question for Dot is if she thinks she could arrange to get out to Ohio and stay with his family for his short visit there. He’s written his folks to see what they think of the idea, but he’s sure they would want her to be included in his leave.

“Please don’t get your hopes too high over this. It’s just wishful thinking, but mighty serious wishful thinking on my part. Just let me know how you stand on it.”

His class is entering a rugged period of study over the next couple of weeks – very dfficult and complex material that must be mastered. He doubts he’ll be able to write very much during the coming days.

After some other chitchat about his plans for a long-delayed liberty this weekend, he closes with a poignant paragraph. “No, Dearest. The chances are getting much slimmer for my seeing you this January. My only hope after that is that I’ll ever get to see you again. Oh, there I go again – getting pessimistic. Let’s hope for all of the best dear, and then let’s both work hard to make our hopes come true.”

“Happy Anniversary,” is Dot’s opening line. “Even when I’m 50, I’ll still look upon September 25, 1943 as the most wonderful day of my life.” (Probably when she’s 88, too.)

She tells Dart she got a little “de-vancement” at Franklin Simons today. She’s been moved down to the first floor, in charge of socks. Stop the madness! Does it get any more thrilling than that?

She’s been ironing for two hours and is too drowsy to write much more. But, she reminds him that they have agreed to have no secrets from each other, so why won’t he tell her who he supports in the presidential election? “Only if it’s who I think it is, for Heaven’s sake, tell me why!”

Something tells me this is not one of those letters that Dot re-read frequently – or ever. It is a highly technical explanation of all Dart is studying this week. Perhaps he wrote it as a kind of review of the material he will be tested on.

In short, he must know all the moving parts of a very complex system that operates multiple huge guns aboard ships. One man can sit in a safe capsule somewhere out of view from enemy planes and train his sights on those planes. From there he can operate the aiming and firing of guns all over the ship, each of which is automatically following the plane as a result of this one man’s operation of the fire control system. It’s extremely ingenious and supremely boring to read about. As Dart says, the important thing to know is that the US Navy is winning plenty of sea battles with this amazing technology.

I think I need a nap now.

Dot writes a short letter that includes a political statement in strong support of Dewey. She’s just heard a speech of his on the radio and is sure it will shut down the Roosevelt campaign. Now that she has come out in favor of her candidate, she challenges Dart to tell her his.

I observed something different in this letter. In four places, I found notes written in pencil in Dart’s handwriting. I have a theory that he was too busy to write letters when he got this so he either made the notes to remind himself what he wanted to say, of perhaps he mailed Dot’s letter back to her with the margin notes acting as his response. I’ll let you know what his notations are in italics.

After the political paragraph when she suggested that no one could possibly still be for Roosevelt, but she’d like to hear his opinion anyway, he wrote Don’t let me influence you. Everyone has their own choices.

Dot wrote that she had seen “Going My Way” the night before and thought it was one of the best films she’d ever seen. She wrote that movies like that always make her feel very religious, especially if she sees them alone, as she did this one. Saw it alone, got the same feeling.

She says that for several years she had the ambition to marry a minister. She’s not sure why, unless it was her hope that he could have some influence over her sinful soul. (?) She hasn’t had that ambition for about a year now.

She’s decided she likes working on the first floor better because there are more girls her age and they have lots of fun together. She comments that if the Navy wants to keep moving Dart around they might as well move him to Greenwich. She adds that he will not recognize her the next time he sees her. Why?

And finally, she asks Dart if he has heard the song “I Walk Alone.” She loves it and has come to think of it as her theme song because it suits her situation perfectly.

No letters on the 28th. I’ll meet you back here on the 29th when we’ll hear once again from Dart.

We have two long letters today. As is often the case with his long ones, Dart’s today covers a wide range of topics and emotions.

He begins with a debriefing of his weekly tests. Did he study enough? Was he over prepared? Will he maintain his high class rank or take a tumble? To save you the suspense, I’ll tell you he received a 92 out of 95 on the Power Train test, dropping him to second in the class. He scored even higher on the recognition test for Japanese aircraft. He divulged a little study aid that he learned; the US has given the enemy planes nicknames. The boy names are used for fighters and observation craft and the girl names are used for bombers and transport planes.

It turns out there is a huge theater across the street from the barracks on Treasure Island that generally plays pre-first-run movies for a nickel. He went for the first time this weekend and enjoyed the show. I wonder if military installations are as well equipped now as they were back in the WWII days.

In typical Dart fashion, he chided himself when he realized he’d started two of the first three pages with the word “well.”  “Ought to strike oil soon, at that rate,” he quipped. That’s a pretty slick line, Dart, but not very deep.

He expresses some frustration at the slow pace of the mail in recent days. The airmail Dot sent days ago has still not arrived, nor has a small photo album his mother mailed a while back.

Dart agrees that Dot’s parents seem to get the idea of how much these two mean to each other. “Do you think they approve? I hope so. Maybe I’ll ask ’em myself in my next letter (or my next personal appearance). That is – if I ever get back from the Sea.”

He comments that the kids Dot cares for sound like wonderful little tykes. He recalls a high school teacher once commenting that you can easily tell a person’s character from the way children respond to them. She claimed that kids could not be fooled. He’s glad that the children don’t understand the sadness of war, and he suggests that while Dot is saying her prayers, maybe she should pray that there is no more sadness for either herself or Dart as a result of the war. If the road to romance is often rocky, he hopes that their separation is the only rockiness they must endure.

Dart writes that his parents were apart for the entire duration of the Great War, and for some months afterward. He knows they were just as much in love as he and Dot are, so he assumes the separation was heartbreaking and discouraging for them, too.

The closer Dart gets to leaving the country and fighting the continuation of the war his father fought, the more regret he feels for little things he’s done. Even more for the things he’s left unfinished. He’s haunted by the knowledge that there’s a possibility he’ll never get to do those “undone” things. He begs Dot’s forgiveness for his morbid attitude.

He wraps up page six with some comments about her job changes and their anniversary date having passed recently. Then, “since they have no secrets,” he tells her about an article in a recent Reader’s Digest called “Why I am for Roosevelt.” He likes what the article says and agrees with most of it.

While Dot’s letter is a long one, she writes it in installments across three days. Poor busy girl!

She was ecstatic to receive two letters from Dart after a three-day drought. It makes her feel even worse about never having time to write to him.

She confirms that, indeed, Mrs. Miller does plenty of house work, but with a large home and two small children, there’s always plenty to do. Dot is considering living at home during the months of November and December. She expects to be so busy with the holiday rush at the store that she’ll be too busy to care for children when she gets home.

Regarding Dart’s swimming lessons, she writes “You sound really enthusiastic about swimming now. Let’s make a date to go swimming next summer at Island Beach. I’d even settle for Lake Erie if you promise you’ll be there.”

Writing on October 2, she’s terribly excited at the prospect that Dart might get a leave before going to sea. She called her house after receiving Dart’s letter, to see what her family thought of her going to Ohio if Dart gets that far east. Her sister said “You’re practically on your way.” Her mother didn’t say “no,” but thought Dot should wait for more details to unfold before she got too keen on the idea. Her father responded that Dot was old enough to begin making these decisions for herself, but he’d like to have a serious chat with her before she goes.

Predictably, Dot scolds Dart for his pessimistic talk of maybe not getting a leave and never coming back from the war. “It doesn’t do any good and often can do harm.” She says if he can’t make it to her graduation in January, it only means that they’ll see each other that much sooner. Ever the “Can do!” gal, that Dot.

She hopes he’s fully recovered from his punch in the eye. She also says she was surprised to find that she understood most of what he wrote about the gun “director” that he’s studying.

Her eyes are getting heavy and her 6:30 wake-up call comes too soon after her head hits the pillow at night. She will continue to try and write more often, but she is unbearably busy.