Dart writes a nice, newsy letter today, telling Dot about his trip into Oakland yesterday. He finally found the place he’s been looking for where he can connect with other railroad fans. He’s hoping he’ll be able to score some photographs of the old local railroads from this part of the country. While in town, he caught the film “Home in Indiana,” which caused a wave of homesickness. He thinks Dot would enjoy it because much of it looks so much like Ohio.

The weather has gotten so cold that he was forced to wear his pea coat on liberty. The summer the boys had been promised has apparently decided to skip right over the Bay Area.

Yesterday was also the second birthday of the Advance Naval Training School at Treasure Island, and the Navy threw a surprise party to celebrate. There was a big show in the auditorium, complete with “a colored-sailor band,” ventriloquist, skaters, singers, dancers, gags, a fine emcee and great eats. I’ll bet the military branches were all looking for any excuse to throw a morale-boosting party during the war years.

Dart tells his best girl how much he misses her letters when he doesn’t hear from her for a few days. “I don’t know how on earth I’ll ever stand it when I get to sea, and can hear from you only at much longer intervals.” He tells her that being away from her somehow brings her closer in his mind; he imagines her beside him so he enjoys things more. He dreams that she is thinking of him at the exact same moment, and feels comforted. (I’d say the odds are good that she is thinking of him, since they both seem to think of the other every minute of the day.) He tells her that knowing she is waiting is the biggest incentive he can have to get this war won ASAP.

He reckons he’ll be going to sea in mid-November. Not knowing whether to look forward to it or not, he decides to look forward and hope for the best. “It’s gotta come sometime. I’ve been a dry land sailor long enough.”

Before closing, he asks Dot if she knows the ship her brother Gordon is on.

Dot has just enough time to dash off a quick note before falling into bed. She never knew what “busy” meant until she started working two jobs. Fourteen hours a day, plus sleep doesn’t give her much time for letter-writing.

She sends Dart her new address at the Miller’s house, as well as some snapshots from Sunapee. “Please don’t hold any of them against me. I was really ‘roughing it,’ and couldn’t be bothered to fix up – even for you. Here you see me as I really am. Just thought I should warn you in time.”

At last we hear from Dart! The length of this letter makes up for the several days without one.

He begins by telling Dot about his latest class tests. Dart had argued with Peterson about the wording of a couple of questions on the electronics test. Because others in the class backed Dart, the instructor threw those questions out. Dart felt like a bit of a heel when his test came back with a big 100% on it! He has no idea how the Chief Electrician will score his hand tools test, but one of the questions was “Tell how to use a screwdriver.”

Dart explains that he is now studying subject matter that is restricted, so he cannot tell her what it is. The class is quite familiar with the articles governing discussion of restricted material with people outside the service. “Let it suffice to say that I’d never thought I’d be working with stuff like the fabled Sperry Bombsight.”

He spent his liberty alone seeing some B-movie that wasn’t worth the buck he spent on it.

Her letters make it sound like she’s much busier than he is. As much as he wants to hear from her, he hopes she won’t neglect her duties or her sleep to write. A mere seven or eight pages a day are all he needs! (He then chastises himself for daydreaming.)

He didn’t make much headway in his swimming class today. They let a lot of visiting wives and nurses into the pool area for this class and a lot of guys were flustered to have so many women watching them. That seems like a pretty lame excuse to me.

The photographs from Sunapee impressed him. “Of course you realize I’m not hinting or anything – but it looks like I’ll agree with you about Sunapee being a nice place to spend a honeymoon. It looks like a lovely place. I’d like to keep the pictures.”

In honor of the first anniversary of their meeting, he writes, “I never, ’til I met you, thought I’d fall in love so deeply and so thoroughly. I’d just about settled down for a nice long wait for the right girl to come along, and now that girl has come. I hope we don’t change it after the war, Dot, or ever, for that matter.”

He remarks that it’s nearly time for another full moon. He wants it to remind her that he is always with her in thought and spirit and there’s not a thing in the world that can take those desires away.

Once again, Dart’s passion for the beauty of technology surfaces as he describes a visit to the port by the famous aircraft carrier Saratoga this week. “What a majestic sight she is! There’s no more impressive a warship than one of those huge fighting carriers.”

For more of Dart’s eloquent prose, I urge you to read for yourself his description on page six of the arrival of a historic four-masted sailing vessel onto the Bay, it’s full white sails billowing against the red sunset. Masterful writing!

He tells Dot to check out the back of his final page for a sketch he’s drawn of a guy she knows. It’s a comical drawing of a skinny sailor with knobby knees ready to jump into a pool. The caption says “Since you sent me some snapshots of you at Sunapee, I thought it only fitting that I should send you a picture of me in my bating suit.” Amusing, Dart.

Here’s a tender letter from Dot, in spite of the fact that she worked until 9:00 p.m. and then started in on her ironing. She’s beginning to wonder if all this work is worth it.

She admits that the chances of him getting to her graduation from Andrews look slimmer and slimmer. She asks if he’s shipped out in mid-November, does he think he’ll have any chance of getting back by late January? She knows it’s a lot to hope for, but she’s hoping, nonetheless.

He may be trying to have a positive attitude about going to sea, but she has no such intention. She does not like it one little bit. She writes that she’d give 10 years of her life to see him just once before he goes. My heart aches to read about her longing and loneliness for him, knowing that she’ll soon have to add worry for his safety to the list.

In answer to his question, she says Gordon is on USS Valans. The family is guessing from some hints he’s dropped that he is stationed near Guadalcanal.

She closes with “I love you so much I sometimes wonder if it’s possible!”

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.”