Category Archives: Dot’s Letters

March 12, 1945

Dot is jubilant to have received six letters from Dart today. Actually, she got five and her mother got one. “Hope you don’t mind if I read Mom’s too. After careful consideration I’ve decided I like the ones I get from you better than the ones Mom gets.”

She reports that while it’s cold and blustery outside, his cheery letters make it warm and cozy in her bedroom, where she’s spending the day trying to fight off her cold.

Today she wrote a letter to his family, reminding them that Greenwich still gets mail deliveries. She hopes that’ll shake a letter out of them. Now that they’ve heard from Dart, she suspects they’ll write to her.

She begs him not to apologize for the “blue” letter he wrote her. She thinks every boy who serves writes a letter like that not long after he leaves the country. She knows him well enough to believe that’s not the real Dart G. Peterson, Jr. reflected in that letter. But she also loves him enough to accept anything he might write or feel. “You don’t suppose that a little thing like a discouraging letter will ever change my feelings for you, do you?”

She knew he’d make friends wherever he went because that’s his nature. She hadn’t thought about him having friends who were Indians, but who has anything against Indians? She half expects a future letter to her to begin with “Dear Heapum Big Squaw.”

When she read about his need to sometimes wear damp clothing, she feels like she can appreciate his discomfort just a teeny bit. Sometimes at Lake Sunapee, her bathing suit doesn’t dry completely and she’s forced to squeeze into a cold and clammy suit. It’s a disagreeable feeling, so he has her sympathy.

As she finishes her response to the first of his letters she writes, “So, he closes that letter by telling me he loves me. That makes it mighty nice cuz’ I love him too and two people in love get on so much better than one person in love.” So true, Dot.

It makes her feel good to know that he hears some of the same radio broadcasts she hears. Somehow, that’ll make her feel closer to him as she listens to the programs.

A few nights ago, she had a wonderful, terrible dream about him. She saw him walking up the street in Greenwich, looking so handsome and tan (that should have been her first clue that she was dreaming). She ran to him and squeezed  him as tight as possible. It felt so real to her. Then the terrible part hit her, as she awoke and found herself crushing her pillow. “The feathers were screaming for mercy.”

She’s glad he likes her photo. She hopes he continues to like it because maybe, if she’s lucky, he’ll be looking at that face for the rest of his life. Then she adds, “Subtle, huh? Like an avalanche!”

How nice that his mail calls are becoming more frequent! She will do her best to make sure that at every mail call from now on there will be a few letters from her. Does he think it would do any good to try to send him some stationery? Maybe she’ll try sending a few sheets and if they get through, she’ll send more.

She feels compelled to make a correction to his recent letter. She and her football team were not the Alley Rats. They were the Alley Cats! And of course she knows how to jump rope – everything from double-Dutch to cross hand. She may be a little rusty, but she’ll practice this spring.

She’s “mad” that his mother told him about her wearing curlers. She insists that there’s nothing cute about her when she has her hair up in them and she’s vowed that he’ll never see her that way. That’s a promise that’s hard to keep if she a) wants him to surprise her next time he visits and, b) she’s thinking they’ll get married someday. A lifetime is a long time to hide such things.

“Would anyone object if he staked a claim to the little island he described? It sounds like a perfect place for a honeymoon. But then, so would the city dump if you described it. You add color to any drab place and make me positively jealous of your surroundings when you write your graphic word pictures.”

As delighted as she is to hear that there’s not a woman within a million miles of where he is, that doesn’t give much clue to where that actually is. They think Gordon’s near Leyte. Is that close to his locale? Can he manage to fit a hint into one of his letters?

She closes by telling him that knowing him is the best thing to ever happen to her. She prays that they’ll be able to continue a life together as soon as this war is over. I think it’s lovely how easily these two talk about being together forever. A life together is an accepted fact between the two of them, even though there’s no official engagement. This commitment they have to each other will make the an engagement and even the wedding to follow simply look like a formality. They’re already joined in spirit.

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March 13, 1945

“Right now I see red,” begins Dart’s letter. He then goes on to tell about working off his extra duty hours by painting the chief petty officers’ quarters. It wasn’t hard work but it took up all his letter-writing time. The reason he’s seeing red? He’s writing this under the red night light that shines on the corner of the deck where he spreads his mattress out every night.

Today, he worked his poor body to the brink. Whenever they have a few short days in port the whole crew must hustle to accomplish tasks that can’t be easily done at sea. Loading stores of all types of things is the most exhausting work – work you don’t really feel until you’ve had a few moments to rest. Then, when you must move again, every cell creaks and balks.

They had another mail call today at which he received six letters from Dot and two from his folks. He knows that she has some idea how much her letters will mean during the time, soon to come, when no mail will be able to get to him. He cherishes every word she writes. What does he know about what’s coming for his ship that he’s not allowed to tell her? It sounds vaguely ominous.

He says it’s okay for her to be glad he’s not on an aircraft carrier, but it’s plain to see that she has not much of an idea about the duties of a destroyer. “After it’s all over and we can talk about things instead of guarding against even the slightest hint in letters, there’ll be a few tales to tell. Let’s hope they’re told and forgotten quickly.”

He’s trying to use every available moment to write his thoughts to her about how much he loves her. Actually, he has no time now, but he’s stealing a few moments anyway, gambling that no one would begrudge a poor, tired sailor the few minutes it takes to write his sweetheart a letter. He wishes he could tell her in person, but explaining his love will take a lifetime of chatter.

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Dot has been working on her income tax return today so she hasn’t been having much fun. Still, the government owes her $58.20 so she guesses she’ll keep on working if she can get that kind of cash from the government. She’s thinking about claiming Tonsillectomy as a dependent next year to get an even bigger refund. She jokes that maybe Tonsillectomy will have a little brother or sister by then and the government will be her sole support. That’s weird, but I guess she’s running out of new things to say.

Wanting to include something to make him laugh, she encloses some snapshots of herself as a young child. The photos are missing from this collection of letters, but she refers to herself as a real “glamour girl,” but I suspect she says that with tongue planted firmly in her cheek.

She hopes his mother never sent the photo they had taken together while in Cleveland. He’d never want to come home if he saw a glimpse of it. Shes very tired, so it’s off to bed for her.

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March 15, 1945

In the early minutes of the day, Dot jots off a brief note to Dart before falling into bed. From the scant sentences, we learn that it’s Income Tax Day (I never knew it used to be a month earlier than it is now!), there is no news to relate, and Greenwich is so dead that by 9:00 pm, it looks as though it had been uninhabited for a century. As Dot says, there’s little chance for her to get into any mischief.

Much later in the day, she writes a second letter while she’s babysitting for a new customer. Although the two little boys she’s watching have been asleep since before she got there, she’s seen their pictures and can attest to their cuteness.

Tomorrow evening, on a rare night off, Dot intends to paint and fix up her new bike. Today she spent $8.00 on parts and accessories to jazz up her new wheels, including a bell, light, reflector, basket and a rear view mirror. After she paints it, she hopes to build a little seat for the back fender so she can take Gale for rides. Dot is gleefully looking forward to riding with Janie this summer. If the project looks as good when she’s finished as it looks in her head, she’ll send Dart photos. I’ll have to ask Mom if she used spray paint to fix her bike. Was it available in 1945?

A letter from Helen Peterson today revealed that Dart’s aunt is staying at their house so that Helen can care for her. That explains why she hasn’t been writing as often as Dot would like. Dot was happy to read that Dart’s father is up and about again because he was getting antsy just sitting around.

She’s crossing her fingers that she’ll get a letter from Dart today, even though she got five on Monday. She’d welcome one (or 50) every day, if she could get them.

She’s listening to Fred Waring on the radio and enjoying his arrangements of “Columbia, Gem of the Ocean” and “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” She’s also liked hearing all the Irish tunes airing this week in anticipation of St. Patrick’s Day.

Her sitting gig is over, so she wraps up the letter and heads home, affirming on her way out of the letter that she loves him with all her heart.

She encloses some cute greeting cards, which I’ll save for a day coming up soon that she doesn’t write a letter.

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March 16, 1945

The only mail today is a cute little greeting card from Dot to Dart. This is a sweet way to say “I’m thinking about you,” even when there’s nothing new to write and no time for a full letter. This card is designed to send to someone in the service, which must have been a very large group for the greeting card companies to remember in the 1940s.

Enjoy this little piece of nostalgia!

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March 18, 1945

Here’s another greeting card sent during one of Dot’s very busy weeks. This time, it’s coming from “Tonsillectomy,” the African pillow/doll that Dot has claimed as a “daughter.” I’m a little surprised that a card featuring a dark-skinned child could be found in 1945, in Greenwich, Connecticut – perhaps one of the whitest communities in America. Anyway, it expresses a sweet message that Dart is missed very much. It also serves the dual purpose of cementing an inside joke that has grown  between the two of them. (Although I notice it’s mostly Dot who perpetuates the joke.)

Tomorrow brings a long-awaited letter from Dart.

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March 20, 1945

Dot’s letter today ends abruptly at the end of the first page and continues for three pages the next day. To spread out the news, I’ll handle it the same way.

If she had known how much time she’d be spending on other people’s dishes and children, she would have thought twice about placing that ad in the newspaper! She and El served a big spaghetti dinner at the Miller’s home last night.

Fortunately, she had the foresight to carve out a whole day to work on her bike. She used the tools and equipment at her father’s fix-it shop and she’s delighted with the results. “It’s a delicious light blue and looks nearly new. (I’m a poet and don’t I know it. My talents show it. I’m ‘Whittier.’)”

Tomorrow she hopes to get all 200 bolts, screws, and other parts back into their proper places. She jokes about pumping to make the light go on and ringing the bell to turn the pedals, but she’s actually quite mechanical, so I bet it all worked out fine.

She warns him that if he doesn’t stop making up this beautiful dream girl back in the States, he’ll be setting himself up for a huge letdown when he gets home. That reminded her of a limerick:

As a beauty, I’m not a great star

There are others more handsome by far.

But my face, I don’t mind it, ’cause I’m here behind it.

It’s you folks out in front that I jar.

Limericks were always one of Dart’s favorite “art forms,” but I doubt he’ll have much appreciation for this one.

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March 21, 1945

Dot continues the letter she started yesterday, saying she hopes she’ll have it finished by the time he gets home. Today brought another letter from Dart, written just one week ago! She says he was right – she was thinking about him that day.  (What are the odds?)

She tells Dart about another dream she had where she was in the store room at work and someone came up behind her and covered her eyes. She guessed everyone she works with, but eventually she turned around and there was Dart, “big as life.” He began to get hazy and far away, so she reached out and woke herself up, only to discover she had grabbed his picture off her bed side table.

The thought of him surprising her at work thrills her to the bone. Again, she begs him to remember her daily schedule and seek her out as soon as he gets to Greenwich, without telling her he’s coming.  Then she chides herself for talking as though his surprise visit was imminent. “You must allow me my little dreams once in a while. I thrive on them.”

Yesterday, she “went off the deep end,” and bought herself a new hat and a suit. Her dad, who has said he’s never seen a lady’s hat he liked, actually likes this one. It’s been four years since she was home for Easter and even longer than that since she bought anything new for the occasion, so she thought it was time. “If I can find some film, I’ll spoil it and have my picture taken in my new Easter finery.”

She recalls that her last Easter at home, she was 14 and her brother Gordon bought her the first corsage she’d ever had. It was six roses, and it lasted three weeks. She can’t believe Gordon and Betty’s second anniversary is the week after Easter.

She interrupts her chatty letter to declare that she’s so glad he loves her, because she loves him, and a one-sided affair can be so awkward.

Tonight, she served and washed dishes for another dinner party. (Was it just Greenwich that was into having dinner parties all the time, or did everyone do more of that in 1945?) She was dead tired before the party started, but she’s trying not to complain of fatigue to such a hard-working sailor as Dart.

Her mother’s birthday is this week and Harriet is taking Ruth into NYC for lunch and a play. Aside from baking the cake and preparing her birthday dinner, Dot’s not sure what she’ll do to help her mother celebrate the occasion.

She writes that the war will no doubt have its effects on Dart, but one thing she knows for sure is that he won’t be coming home to her every night drunk and smelling of cigarettes. His deeply held opinions on those habits are too ingrained for them to change at this point. She’s quite happy about that and counts herself especially lucky to be in love with such a fine man. She regrets that she can’t say it in words that give him goose pimples like his letters do to her, but she tries her hand at a love poem:

When your hair has turned to silver and your teeth start to decay,      I’ll love you just as much, my Darling, as I love you today.

As she promises to write again tomorrow, she begs his forgiveness. She’s so tired all the time and she looks like a T.B. patient.

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March 23, 1945

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!”

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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.

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March 24, 1945

Dart says that in spite of her claims of being a “poor, mistreated baby-sitter,” Dot must enjoy the work or she wouldn’t have put that clever ad in the newspaper. He’s eagerly awaiting word on how that first dinner party turned out. He asks if she decided to go into business with El rather than look for a job at a defense plant as she had mentioned once. From his limited observation, defense plants “are not such hot places for young girls to work.”

He sees in the news that Mayor LaGuardia is running New York City in defiance of the curfew laws. “And the New Yorkers call the boys from the South ‘rebels’! Looks like we’ll have to sail the fleet into New York harbor and lambast the city with our pea-shooters.” He wonders if, after putting her little charges to bed, she’s ever had to help some of their parents get to bed, too. “Then, maybe your clients don’t come home stewed.”

He wishes he’d seen “I Love a Soldier,” because of the San Francisco scenes in it. “Did they show any scenes of the bridges or of the city from a cocktail lounge high above it? If not, they missed the two most impressive sights of the city.” He’s surprised that his descriptions of the places he’s seen make her homesick for those places, even though she’s never been to them. “The biggest and most important memories I have which make me homesick are those dealing with eight days separated by a couple of eternities and a millennium.”

Let that sink in for a minute. The eight days he refers to are the ones he’s spent in Dot’s company. Eight days. Think of how far these two have come in their relationship, how much they know about each other, how deep their love has grown – with only eight days together. Such is the power of letters in the hands of two mature, self-aware, honest, and compatible young people.

Now comes a gentle lecture. He asserts that she must never refer to her lovely paragraphs as “corny.” He writes, “Darling, every single word you send me thrills and enthralls me. They’re the nearest thing to your being with me that there could be…Yours are the sweetest and most endearing love letters I’ve ever seen. Lots of fellows sit around and read each other’s mail, laughing at the gentler phrases and thoughts of the writers, but no one except me ever sees your letters. They are Sacred Writings.”

It’s nearly lunch time and not only the Army but also the Navy fights on it’s stomach. As for Dart, he finds it hard to make love on an empty stomach, so he must end this letter, sending all his love.

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Dot begins her letter by saying that writing it at work might earn her 10 hours of extra duty, or cost her a job, but spending a few minutes chatting with him is worth the risk.

She was thrilled to get three good letters from him when she went home for lunch today. She was so eager to read them that she forgot to blow on her soup and has suffered a burned tongue.

She’s decided there’s no excuse for her not writing to him every single day, so she begs him not to forgive her anymore. There are women she works with who, according to Dot, have more to do than she does (I find that hard to believe) and they manage to write to their husbands and sweethearts daily. Some of them have been at it for more than three years! Dot prays that the war won’t last anywhere near that long, but if it does, she’ll still be writing. I wonder if she realizes that she’s been writing to Dart on a nearly daily basis for half that long already?

It’s supposed to be a very busy day at the store, with Easter so close, and in most of the departments, that’s true. However, the Young Men’s Shop is deserted.

She continues the letter from home later that day. How nice it is that the Navy is giving him so much practice at painting. By the end of the war he should be an expert at wielding the paint brush. She asks if he’d rather paint a house than a ship. “Good – so would I,” she says, agreeing with his presumed response.

Today she decided to send Dart’s family a little something for Easter to remind them of Dart, so she wired them a plant with a card that said “With love from Dart, via Dot.” She wanted him to know what she’d done in case they mention something to him. I can imagine how much that plant, and Dot’s thoughtfulness will please them. Another thought she had was that his folk’s 25th wedding anniversary is coming up in June. Since she doesn’t trust the timing of the mail, she’s mentioning this now. She’d like him to tell her what he’d like to give them for the occasion and she’ll handle the shopping and shipping. She knows it’ll be more fun for her than for him, but since he’s not exactly in the “Shopping Mart of the World,” she hopes he’ll let her help him out this way. What a thoughtful girl!

Dot gets philosophical as she tells Dart about a discussion she, El and their cousin Betty had after dinner tonight. It seems that economists predict that for at least 10 years after the war ends, prices for nearly everything will climb significantly. Dot claims she has no head for figures, but one thing she has figured out is that money doesn’t mean that much. Granted, one must have the stuff in order to eat, but there’re so many things that are more meaningful. She cites nature as an example and says Spring is the perfect reminder that some of the greatest beauty in the world can be had for free if one simply sits  and drinks in all the splendor. “So – I’ve got it all boiled down to one thing. If you love someone as much as I love you, material wealth matters very little.” As it turned out, Dot and Dart always had “enough,” but there were lots of periods when they didn’t have a penny more than that. Yet they were richly blessed in their long and loving marriage.

It’s 1:30 AM and she is bleary eyed. Good night.

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March 25, 1945

For a brief time today, Dart thought he might be able to meet Dot’s brother. While he was in port, he saw a ship he thought was Gordon’s and he asked the signalman to send a message over to it. A response came back that they were talking to the wrong ship. Oh well, maybe next time…

As he’s mentioned before, huge waves break over the deck of the Haggard fairly frequently, soaking everyone it their paths. It seems that Dart has developed a reputation of being in the wave’s path more often than anyone else. At times, he thinks there’s a trained shark following the ship, ready to squirt a big spray of salt water whenever Peterson sets foot on deck. A couple of days ago, it reached slapstick comedy levels when first his feet got soaked as a wave washed over the deck on his early morning watch at the bow. Later, as he walked aft, nearly dry from the earlier ducking, another wave came aboard and , Voila! He was wearing wet pants. Everybody laughed, including Dart, I think. He concludes with “It shouldn’t happen to any dog.”

But wait! There’s more. In the late afternoon while he walked the deck, he saw the wave coming. He grabbed the handiest thing which would support his weight and hoisted his feet up. The wave rolled under his feet, up the side of the deck house, bounced off and soaked him from hat to brogans. “It could only happen in the movies, or to me.”

A week from today will be Easter. It was about a year ago that Dot and his parents met for the first time while he was in the hospital, hundreds of miles away. “Maybe some of these years we may all be home together for the holidays. All the holidays. From New Year’s Day through New Year’s Eve, for many years in succession.” Nice dream.

He writes that he is sitting here with Donn Byron recalling how he met Dot, where he met her, how much he liked her from the very first moment. “Golly Dot, you’re swell. Every once in a while the very thought of you overwhelms me. To think that I should know and love a person like you, and then have you love me too, is almost too much to believe.”

I love how each of them feels like they won the lottery when they met each other. Both of them thinks s/he is the lucky one to have the other person love them. Isn’t that the very definition of romantic love?

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Dot’s short letter is hard for her to write because she’s sitting in the Miller’s living room and they’re talking and the radio is playing. She’s spending the night because Mr. and Mrs. Miller are leaving at the crack of dawn for a three-day anniversary celebration in NYC. Dot will stay with the boys until a sitter arrives later in the morning.

As happens so often, Dot’s mind is running in the same channel as Dart’s today. She’s thinking how much she’ll miss him again at Easter. Last year she was hoping that by this year they could celebrate the holiday together and now she’s hoping the same thing about next year. These busy kids, surrounded by people and activity are so very lonely for each other. Let’s hope next Easter brings a reunion.

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