Camp White, Oregon
20 January 1943
Dear Aunty Clara:
Last night just as I finished your letter around 2300 who should come in but Sgt Nyalka and do you think I typed any more letters? Do you think I got home early? Do you think I had time to take a shower? Do you think I had enough nerve to rummage thru my locker for my new set of long underwear (pajamas)? Well, if you did you can dispel those silly ideas right now. It was very close to 0200 or later this morning before I got home,
Then my good intentions lay in the direction of getting up early this morning and writing a letter or two. So what happens? As company clerk I seem to be subject to business discussions with the military personnel at moment's notice. A fellow decided he wanted to know something concerning allotments and there went a good fifteen minutes. But to top it all off there was the little matter of having forgotten to bring down the Morning Report last night with the consequent result of having to fetch it this A.M.
Camp White was WHITE last night. The entire camp was covered with at least two inches of snow. The snow out here does not bother me as much as it would back home because it doesn't last. This morning it has begun to rain and is much warmer than before. The resultant slop and mush is enough to make a person think he was back home in Cicero. I thought that now the boys who had been moaning low these last two months over the miserable weather they encountered here in the valley would now be cheerful and gay seeing as how some of the hometown weather was paying them a short visit. Ha! HA again, I say. You just can't satisfy people. Now, when I mention to them that just a few short days ago they desired the 'good old Chicago winter', they just don't seem to be of the same opinion about its being so good. Can you imagine that? They are actually complaining about the snow!
I give up.
The time which has elapsed since I first began this letter has taken me well into the working day and from having two or three others in the office besides myself I now see a sea of humanity once more beginning to roll and heave in the turmoil of another working day.
Goodbye my Aunt, fairest of them all, fare thee well, alas and alack, such is the decree of fate but I must now bid thee