January 1, 1944 – Happy New Year

Here’s another brief letter from Dart to start the new year off right. He’s over the moon about receiving her 12-page letter, and he goes on for awhile about the praise her portrait is earning on the ward. He reports that he ended up not going to the Red Cross party because he was ill. The guys who went had slim praise for the thing, except they seemed happy with the single bottle of Coke they each received as refreshment.

He certainly understands why there was such long dry spell of letters from Dot. He asks her forgiveness and understanding in advance if he should ever come to a time when he cannot keep up the rigorous writing schedule of recent days. I wonder if he was thinking of pending illness, or were his thoughts more about the war?

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Dot begins her letter with a report that she just heard a radio plea that everyone listening should resolve to write more letters to their service men. She has pledged to write him at least a note for as long as he wants her too, even during her upcoming exams.

She announces that her new career wil be taking care of kids. It seems that she’s been in such hot demand that she has nearly earned her train fare back to Ohio. She’ll be returning to school on Monday.

At this point in her plans she thinks she’ll be doing her work experience in Cleveland when her classes are over in April. She says she’ll be able to see more of her best friend who is going to college in Oberlin but I suspect the prospect of seeing a certain sailor may influence her decision.

She plans to see the movie comedy “Claudia” tomorrow night, but nothing can compare seeing “The Phantom of the Opera” with Dart. (Regardless of the plot, characters, sets, costumes or acting…)

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January 2, 1944

It takes Dart eight pages to answer Dot’s 12-pager, plus bring her up to date on his life. He’s happy to have read about all her daily activities since leaving school. He envies her the big family dinners when all he gets is Navy chow with his fellow patients. He also appreciates that she was so nice to the English sailors who were so far from home. He expresses hope that he will get such hospitality if he ever finds himself away from the US at Christmas time.

He teases Dot a little bit about her good old New England winter. “Too danged cold for any good use and not even any snow to make it all worth while.” I got a little chuckle over his inquiries about this “Doug” she’s always writing about. I know that’s her 14-year old brother, but apparently she has forgotten to mention that to Dart.

He compliments her smile. He raves about her fudge. He appreciates that she’s sweet enough to still blush about some things. I think he likes the girl. He dovotes entirely too much space to clarifying that while he doesn’t intend to have any dates until he can have another date with her, he has no intention of asking her to refuse dates with other guys. He believes an exclusive arrangement should wait until they know each other better in person. Easy for a sick-bay sailor in an all-male hospital to give up dates, huh?

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January 4, 1944

Here’s a short and melancholy letter from Dart. He describes the beauty of nature under a very heavy frost, but adds that it would have been prettier if seen from the outside.

A new chief surgeon has decided to keep all the pilonidal cyst cases a while longer for observation. He is despondant that he’ll never get back to active duty. It has been a whopping 49 days since his surgery!

He’s homesick and discouraged, but ever sure of his love for Dot.

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Dot’s letter today is also brief. Like Dart, she is in a weird state of mind. She wonders if this “puppy love” affair they are having will amount to anything, or will it go up in a puff of smoke someday. It  must be hard to maintain confidence of your true feelings and those of your beloved over the obstacles of months and miles, especially when the rlationship was so new when the two were separated.

She includes a poem she says she found that expresses her feelings. Hmmm…I wonder if she is the author?

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January 5, 1944

This six-pager from Dart has a sweetly intimate vibe. After thanking her for her long New Year’s Eve letter and commenting on how well written all her letters are, he writes “There’s no girl, dead or alive, who comes within miles of you in any way.” Quircky, but cute.

He compares her recent New Year’s Eve of babysittiing to his “celebration” the previous year. (Laying tracks on his model railroad in the basement, while listening to his parents’ radio wafting down from the floor above.) Both events draw a portrait of practical, sensible people with little interest in wild partying.

He seems to have figured out that Doug is a younger brother. It must be hard to keep the large Chamerlain clan straight in his head, with five kids, some spouses and numerous cousins running through Dot’s letters at a regular clip.

I was interested in his comments about the hot jive blasting through the radio in his hospital ward. It was driving him crazy and making him want to “kick, throw something or scream.” That’s the reaction I’ve always had to certain kinds of jazz, but I always thought my father was enough of a music lover to enjoy nearly every kind. It seems both of us find the cacophony of tuneless noise disturbing. Is that genetics at work? Don’t get me wrong – Dad enjoyed lots of jazz, and so do I, but some music just isn’t our cup of tea.

He tells Dot he called his parents on Sunday, having tried for two days to get a line through to Cleveland. Imagine! He was a little worried about the expense because he talked for 15 minutes, but was so happy to hear their voices. I suspect his folks were equally glad to hear his, despite the considerable cost of the phone call. My, how easy we have it today!

During the call with his parents, he learned that the annual Peterson family spaghetti bash did not happen this year. It seems most of the family is far from Cleveland working on the war effort.

There’s a lot more included, so I hope you’ll read the letter for yourself. As usual, he closes by sending all his love.

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January 6, 1944

Dart writes a regular letter today, and then a bonus.

He expresses surprise that he’s received a postcard from her, sent from Andrews School. He was unaware that she’d be returning to Willoughby so soon and is concerned because he’s mailed all his letters to Greenwich.

Referring to a recent mention she’d made about bowling, he asks Dot for a bowling date “some evening.” He enjoys the activity even though he claims his scores are pitiful. It sounds a little wistful when he tries to make a date, knowing that he has no idea when they might see each other again.

He thinks it’s nice that she’s earned some money babysitting and tells her about his paper route and lawn mowing jobs that earned him some “pin” money when he was home.  He then asked her how she liked “Claudia.” He had seen it as a play at the Cleveland Playhouse some time ago and had “nearly died laughing.” Like Dot, he has fond memories of see “The Phantom” too.

He asks her if she’s a little superstitious and admits to being a little so himself. He confesses that he has wished a couple of times on the first evening star. The wish he made in boot camp has already come true. Since the one he made last night also concerns the two of them, he hopes it comes true as well. Still, he won’t tell her what it is, hoping he hasn’t already “queered” it simply by mentioning it.

Apparently, all this talk of wishing on stars has made our young hero feel romantic and a little poetic. He talks about the beauty of the snow in the starlight and the sparkling crystals falling on a crisp, sunny day.

He lobbies a bit for her to work in Cleveland during her practicum so that she could get to know his folks. (Also, it would be easier to see her if the Navy ever grants him leave.) He mentions his youngest cousin who is attending Oberlin on a scholarship to study piano. (I remember meeting that cousin, Marg Peterson, a couple of times in my life. She lived an exotic life as a concert pianist, touring the world and settling down in St. Louis. )

He closed with a sappy little poem he’d memorized from somewhere. It’s the same sappy little poem that I memorized as a young child when I found it framed on the dresser of a rustic lake cottage in New Hampshire.

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He adds another two-page letter, mostly writing that he didn’t have much to write. He did tell a storry about a Catholic priest visiting the ward that day and finding a group of guys gambling via a game of pinochle. The gist of the letter is that he wanted to show Dot that he likes writing to her and thinks about her all time.

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Dot’s letter is pretty funny. It seems she is trying to cement the meaning of vocabulary words into her brain before exams by cramming as many as possible into a single paragraph! Words like clandestine, sanguine, truculent, cabal, flaccid and dictatorial are peppered throughout.  What a saucy little show-off! She notes later in the letter that she got a 100% on that test.

She chastises him for claiming to be the author of that crazy, nonsensical letter he wrote her in Connecticut. She has evidently learned it was plagiarized!

Finally! At long last!! Just when we had abandoned all hope of ever knowing, she relieves Dart’s curiosity by revealing the meaning of B.B.S.O.C.Y.K. (Check it out for yourself.)

She slips into gossip column mode as she writes about her roommate’s ex beau trying his darnedest to win back his lady love. Then, she questions Dart’s use of “Dorothy” in a recent letter. “Maybe you thought it wouldn’t be noticed, but in your letters, everything is noticed.” Very cute.

She claims to feel a little insecure about all the Waves he mentions, but this is not the letter of an insecure young girl. She’s full of vinegar today.

She has a funny paragraph about this letter having not much to say, but it has taken a lot of space and time to say it, nonetheless.  She reminds him that her excuse for not writing  very often is legit – she’s preparing for exams.

When reading the attached letter read the right column of the second page before reading the left column. I’m not sure why she does that, but it’s Dot’s usual practice.

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January 7, 1944

What a fabulous letter from Dart. It is an impassioned, reasoned response to Dot’s “wondering” letter of a few days ago. Wondering if what they feel is real. Wondering if it will last. Dart is so thoughtful and articulate. When de describes what he feels for her and how that compares to his feelings in previous “relationships,” I think he is speaking a universal language.  Anyone who has ever thought they were in love and then really was in love will recognize what he writes.

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Dot’s letter begins with a humorous riff on her boring classes. She’s really quite the wit. Her second letter of the day is in response to the two she received from Dart in today’s mail. I had to smile at her lengthy description of Doug in answer to Dart’s inquiry. She talks about his appearance, the fact that she took him to the movies because that was her payment for losing a bet. She admits he was her “one and only” until Dart came along. She says she’s known him for quite some time and she reveals that he spends a lot of time at her house. She never actually says that Doug is her younger brother. What a little imp she is!

She tells him a little about the English sailors she helped her sister entertain and she mentioned how much she enjoyed the home cooked meals. She down plays her culinary skills, saying that “anyone can make fudge.” She confesses that she may have made her trip to the dentist sound a bit worse than it really was. And she admits that she was the writer of the poem she had included in a recent letter.

She “accepted” Dart’s suggestion for a bowling date and she wrote about how much she enjoyed the movie “Claudia.”  She wrote that the film “struck me as not only a side-splitting comedy but also as something with a lot of sense in it. The character reminded Dot of a girl she knows – one that Dart might know as well. (Dot herself?)

She agrees with Dart that some superstitions are agreeable to her and mentions two recent “wish-bone” incidents when she “won” the biggest piece.  She talks about her enjoyment of classical music (as well as jazz and swing) and then begs his forgiveness and closes the letter at 12:30 a.m.

Here’s a quick word on Dot’s behalf. I suspect that as she reads these letters all these decades after writing them, she might be a little embarrassed by some of the spelling and punctuation errors. Let me assure you that she could go through them now with a red pen and catch every single mistake or “typo.” She has a bright mind and excellent writing skills that certainly matured from her 17-year-old version.  Sometimes I think her mind is firing so quickly as she writes these letters, that her pen simply gets ahead of her eyes.

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January 8, 1944

Dart begins his letter with “Dear Ripple.” Dot has also made reference to “ripple” in a recent letter, but I find no clue as to the origin of this inside joke. Perhaps Dot can enlighten us by commenting on this blog.

He begins again with the standard “Dearest Dot,” salutation.  He goes on for a bit in empathy for her retun to the old salt mines. and then launches into his own amusing “vocabulary-rich” paragraph. Not knowing that relief is on its way in a letter from Dot, he daydreams of a far off time when the two of them might go over these letters together and then she will finally tell him the meaning of B.B.S.O.C.Y.K.

He asks Dot for the latest in the saga of her room mate and her beau. The ‘pee dee” he refers to in this paragraph is the “Plain Dealer,” his beloved newspaper from Cleveland.

He promises – rather reluctantly, I think – to tone down the mushy stuff he’s been piling into his letters of late. He’s trying not to overwhelm her, but I suspect if he cut that stuff out completely, Dot would sorely miss it.

He complements her recent poem and inserts a limerick of his own.

There once was a sailor named Pete/Who met a nice girl he thought sweet/He went off to war/And saw her no more/Until Hirohito was beat.

Will it really be that long until these lovebirds see each other again?

He reports that more of the long-timer patients like him have been released to active duty and returned to boot camp. He curses his wound that won’t heal because he’s desperate to get back to his life beyond the hospital walls. To distract himself from these discouraging thoughts, he asks for a description of her formal that she’ll wear to the February prom and of her new winter coat.

In his P.S., he urges Dot to write often, but not too often during exam time.

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January 9, 1944

Here’s a short, jubilant note from Dart, in spite of the fact that he received no mail from Dot today. He has been cleared for active duty! While his incision is still partially open and he must return to sick bay twice daily for the wound to be cleaned and dressed, he returns to boot camp on Tuesday!

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Dot’s long letter spans five days as she tries to answer his many letters and keep up with school work.

She starts of with a good-matured rant about going to church. She reminds me of a typical 17-year old kid with her disinterest in church. Ironically, the woman who was my mother made church a regular pillar of her life, and to this day rarely misses a Sunday in the pew.

She answers his many letters and then apologizes for her pitiful response to his upcoming birthday. She had several ideas about what she wanted to buy for him, but a measles epidemic has all but locked down the campus and she was forbidden to go shopping in public. How grateful I am to live in a world where that nasty bug virtually has been eliminated!

She’s worried about exams next week, and made a prediction that she’d be sent home shortly thereafter. Not likely, if history  tells us anything.

Ah! She has received his beautiful love letter written January 7, and is nearly overwhelmed by it. She vows it will not be her who breaks up this relationship because she knows a good thing when she sees it, and he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

She enjoyed his little limerick about Hirohito and has asked him to write more. I particularly liked this part, because Dad always enjoyed limericks. In fact, for his 80th birthday, our family wrote a “This is Your Life, Dart Peterson” sketch entirely in limerick form. He enjoyed it so much that he told Mom he wanted them read at his memorial service. And so, they were. Perhaps some day I’ll post a few on this site.

At long last, she closed the letter. I fear the postage on this volume must have equaled a week’s wages!

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January 10, 1944

Here’s a rather disjointed letter from Dart, causing me to wonder if one or more of Dot’s letters have been lost. He refers to some things I don’t recall them discussing before.

He repeats some of his previous complements; the fudge was the best he ever tasted, he’s sure she’s being overly modest when she disparages her bowling form and scores, he likes her new stationery (because it carries letters from her), etc.

He agrees that it would probably be better for her to get her required practicum in Greenwich rather than Cleveland because then she wouldn’t be alone in a big city. He sincerely hopes he’ll have a chance to see her before her days in Willoughby come to an end.

He nearly missed his chance to leave the hospital and return to duty when he awoke with a fever of 100 and a very sore throat. After being confined to bed for the remainder of the day, his temperature dropped. If it stays down until the morning, he’ll be discharged to boot camp.

He tells a story of being examined by another doctor and uses an  ethnic term to describe him. This part of the letter really bothers me, not only because it is offensive to my 21st-century ear, but because it paints a picture so contrary to the man I knew as my father. He always enjoyed the company of a diverse group of friends and co-workers. He valued the flavor that people from different races, religions and backgrounds brought to everyday life. He appreciated humor that was steeped in cultural differences. I never once heard him use a racial or ethnic slur. Furthermore, had he learned that any of his children had, we would have had a meal of Ivory soap. Can I chalk up his use of such language to the changing times, or is this simply a case of never completely knowing a person, no matter how much you love them? I sure hope it’s the former.

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January 12, 1944

Today’s solo letter comes from Dot. She is quite understanding about receiving no letter from Dart today, now that he’s back in boot camp.  She reports that she had a dream about him the previous night. He was in civilian clothes and he was not at all like he was when they last saw each other. She prefers the original version and kindly asks that he not change.

She talks about the Harry James tune she’s listening to, wishing he could hear it too. She says one of the reasons she likes Mrs. Woodworth as a housemother is that she lets the girls listen to good music, even after “lights out.”

She describes some of the shenanigans going on in her house – girls blowing off some nervous energy as exams approach. She hopes he gets home in late February and  she is already lobbying the girls to make their monthly date night over the time Dart is in town.

While skating yesterday, she took quite a fall and is sore all over. Her desire for a rub down in “Sloan’s liniment” will undoubtedly prove fruitless.

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