Category Archives: 18. March 1945

March 11, 1945

Here’s a short but charming note from Dot. It’s Sunday night and she’s had another busy weekend. Now she’s coming down with another cold, less than a month after her last one. She suspects it’s a lack of vitamins, but I’d say it’s sleep deprivation!

She babysat for Gale all weekend. The little girl was fascinated by Dot’s locket and kept opening it to look at the pictures. “That one’s Dart,” she’d say, “and this one’s you and Dart.”

When Dot saw a letter from Dart on the hall table Saturday, she burst into tears out of sheer joy and relief. Gale patted her on the shoulder and said. “Don’t cry, Dottie. Dart and Gordon will be home soon ’cause I prayed it to God.” That snapped Dot back under control. She, too, has been praying for Dart ever since she met him and all her prayers have been answered in the affirmative. She has a powerful feeling that God won’t let her down now.

This morning she had the urge to drag out her old fiddle and practice a little. She has no idea what she’s practicing for, but thought the only harm that could come of it was to the ears of those forced to listen to her.

Last night she says she went to bed around 1:00 but began to read some of Dart’s old letters. Before she knew it. the clock said 3:30! “Keep that in mind if you ever doubt my love!”

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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 14, 1945

Dart begins by saying he feels like spilling forth a blue-sounding letter with phrases like “if” I get back instead of the more cheery “when” I get back. But he’s found it’s best not to think too much about getting back, regardless of whether it’s “if” or “when.”

All hands on the ship have been put to heavy labor recently. He put in a full 21 hours yesterday and the guy in charge of his work party is still at it, 60 hours after getting out of his bunk for the last time. They’re not worked that hard often, but sometimes it becomes necessary. One thing is certain; he’s learned far more about the workings of the ship than he’d learned in the previous month on board.

Several of the seamen with a Fire Control man second class rating are hoping for a promotion to third class while serving aboard the Haggard. Yesterday they all received their course of study to qualify them for advancement. Unfortunately, all the petty officer positions allowed on this ship have already been filled, so there’ll have to be lots of transfers or promotions to make room for all the guys who want to move up. If the war lasts a very, very long time, he may get it, but he’d rather achieve the third class rate now, as a seaman than years from now as a petty officer.

I’s hard for him to believe that it’s been four months since he looked over his shoulder at the Cleveland train station one last time for a final glimpse of Dot and his parents. How glad he is that all three of them were smiling in that last look. Her visit to Cleveland to see him was the best thing he could have hoped for, and made the long train trip and short visit worth the effort.

At this point in the letter, Dart goes off on a little rant about the drunken bums who’ve just returned from shore recreation. These guys whom Dart dubs “loud, profane, cocky, ignorant sailors” give all sailors a bad name on shore. They ruin things for everyone by their crude and offensive behavior. Sometimes when Dart goes off on these moral high ground tangents, he certainly sounds far older than his 21 years. Some might even say he sounds stodgy.

All this bad temper has left him very little room on the page to say the tender things he wanted to tell his girl. He suggests that maybe they could whisper them to each other like they did that time in the front seat of the car. Squeezed into the tiniest spot at the bottom of the page, he writes “But remember, Darling, whether you hear from me or not, I love you always.”

But wait! There’s a bonus letter, written later that night. What a beautiful bonus it is!

“My Darling, I can’t sleep. I keep thinking of you and of what our plans are for the future. If I ever see you again, Dot, I hope we’ll never have to be separated again. Every time I think of you, a strange sort of anxiety excites me, and I lose all ability to sleep, tired as I am. Oh, if this war could only end NOW and we could all return safely to our homes and the girls we love! Instead, all over the world, boys are going out to battle, most of them probably thinking the same as I do now.

Dorothy, I love you, I love you, I love you. Only you, from now until the end of our days. Goodnight, dear. I feel as though you’re thinking of me now. Yours forever, Dart”

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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 19, 1945

Dart begins by saying that for the last couple of days he’s been in a happy and carefree mood for no apparent reason. In fact, he says there are plenty of reasons not to feel happy or carefree, yet still, he does.

He reveals the biggest worry the guys on his ship have, aside from worrying about the enemy, is worrying that their loved ones at home will worry about them. When their letters can’t get off the ship they know that there’ll be long, anxious days at home, waiting for some word from them. The sailors aren’t bothered much by not hearing from home, because they can assume their families and friends are safe and that the letters from home will eventually reach the ship. I wonder if sailors from England, Germany, and all the other fighting nations had the peace of mind that US fighters did. It seems doubtful, as the cities in their home countries were being bombed ferociously throughout the war. How very easy the US civilians had it, in spite of all the shortages they faced.

He waxes poetic about Spring arriving in the Pacific. “As we watched the rich golden sun come up and start scattering fluffy white clouds all over the sky the other day, each of us seemed to be reminded of clear, early-Spring mornings at home. The beautiful things of the world don’t seem to change much, no matter where they are transplanted. A Spring sunrise in clear, cool air awakens the same dreams, whether we’re on a plunging speeding destroyer at some unknown spot in the Pacific, or are the only one on the streets as we deliver the Cleveland Plain Dealer and watch the world awaken. I’ve never seen a sunrise in Greenwich, but I suppose they’re just the same there as in Ohio or in the Pacific.”

The recent sunrise reminded him of his paper route days – up at 4:30 a.m. each day, seeing the same people with the same cheery wave at the same place. “There’s a peculiar bond between people who get up before dawn, whether they be heavy-laden newsboys or heavily careworn men.”

Although the men on board the Haggard curse the dawn alerts that shake them from their beds to watch for enemy attack planes, he tells Dot that such alerts may sometime not only save their lives, but can also yield some beautiful sights in the bargain.

Deciding to end the letter here, he writes “My heart is full of love for you and happiness at loving you so much and knowing you feel the same.”

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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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