30 December 1942
Camp White, Oregon

Dear Aunty Clara:

I am writing this letter just before lunch is over; i.e., about 1250. Once again I believe I might have to work tonight to really straighten out the mess I have here. However, that too is subject to change just as yesterdays contemplated schedule was changed. I received the letter Aunt-Aunt wrote Sunday. A card from Mr. Arguelles arrived today also.

Well, no PFC rating has come my way yet, let alone a Cpl rating. I might as well give up waiting and be content to remain the only buck private Company Clerk in the regiment. I even let a broad reminder out today that I should have a stripe or so. When Sergeant Driscoll came in about 1130 for the First Sergeants Meeting, I nonchalantly put my "diploma" on my desk. It was that red coat of arms glaring out of the white sheet so I knew it would catch his eye and as I suspected he picked it up and read the thing. If that doesn't remind them that I should be promoted nothing ever will.

I see that even Censky was sure I would get some rating and told Aunt-Aunt.

This is another of those little short notes: so if I just break it off, don't mind it.

I went to the barracks last night at eleven and found my pillow and extra blanket laying haphazardly on top of the bunk. It seems Cpl Amormino had imitated the Company Commander and went by each bed and tore it up while saying, "This guy is gigged". I also found my first copy of the Readers Digest on the bunk also.

I got up at 0540 today for the first time since I have been at Camp White and was all washed and dressed by the time the lights were turned on. With the half hour or so that I had before breakfast, I read part of the magazine. There was a swell story by an R.A.F. pilot which I wish Bob Miles could read because it once more corroborated Seversky's statement that Germany can be given a body blow from the air. The gist of the article was that now when England could knock Germany out it (the R.A.F.) is spread out over the globe and is not as strong as it was a year ago.

Well toodaloo, solong, goodbye.

/s/ Roman
(serving his 47th day as a buck private)