Cpl Roman F. Klick 36620923
Co "A", 353rd Engr Regt
A.P.O. #502, c/o Postmaster
San Francisco, California
30 September 1943
I have just now returned from seeing the moving picture "The War Against Mrs. Hadley". Although the picture itself started off very dry and eventual conclusions was a natural outcome, it was still excellent entertainment. There were many humorous incidents in the picture to carry it over but added to those humorous incidents were the extra laughs created by the type of audience seeing the picture. Army men will always get a kick out of seeing a fellow in the movies drafted or anything connected with civilian versus army life.
Company E did not put on their stupendous production thus joining my company in the class of vaudeville failures. The sad news was broken during the band concert when they announced that Sol Gordon and Company E would not put on their skit which was scheduled for that time. You see, a few weeks ago it was Company A's turn (I didn't know a thing about it until it was past and forgotten) to put on a show and they failed the boys too. They are planning to repeat the circuit of the companys so now would be a good time to start planning what our boys could produce when our turn comes once again.
The band was extra good tonight and by closing your eyes and just forgetting everything one could almost imagine himself back home listening to a dance band at the Mill or Aragon.
Say, according to the Yank magazine, the physical standards for pilots have been lowered with both vision and hearing requirements being in on the reduction. Also, we have the good news that the test has changed again to more or less like the one they used to give in Chi. Thing like that sure do tempt me. If I could only be more certain of successfully making the grade, I would put in my application; but there is always that gnawing doubt and fear of having once failed, I will fail again.
It is not that I think the pasture will be any greener on the other side of the fence. Far from it. I think the pastures are greener right now than they can ever get. But something inside of me tells me that I somehow belong over there. Probably it is a combination of a subconscious rankling over having not made it originally and having so many friends in the Air Corps and also the idea that working at the job I am familiar at doesn't help me get into the job I want to be familiar with --- something in the mathematical line of which there certainly is more opportunity there.
Larry was with Blumenfeld all day today but it ended up that he heartily dislikes that guy. Evidently Larry was a bit touchy today because it seems Blumenfeld's conversations got under Larry's skin plus Blumenfeld's hospitality which was at a low ebb. It seems Robbin was all wound up on his job and Larry wasn't in the listening mood for that subject. Then Larry only had $0.25 and spent it on lunch so by the time supper came around he was hungry again but the Robbin never gave it a thought. A man whose stomach is empty is never in too good of a humor.
This sudden conversation about Larry and Robbin his been precipitated by his coming into the office to talk and to write letters. It has mostly been to talk. He is not entirely to blame, however, because I have been doing half of the talking myself. Nevertheless, I am afraid Aunty Florence may have to wait another day for an answer. You can give her my love etcetera.
Tonight sees the last of those letters I wrote go out into the mail. I have tried to distribute them over a period of several days instead of sending them all thru at once.
Larry and I are nutty. Like two kids playing together we try to see who can hurt the other fellow by hitting him in the arm. We punch each other for fair the way I would let you try to punch my arm after I had bruised your arm with a playful tap with my knuckles. It seems my bony fist can penetrate thru his muscle but no matter how hard he hits my arm, the tenseness of the muscle wards off the blow. Uncle Joe was the first one to teach me the trick of tightening the muscle that way. When he invited me (a small boy) to hit him in the stomach only to discover it had no effect.
So-long, /s/ Roman Roman