Cpl Roman F. Klick 36620923
Co "A", 353rd Engr Regt
A.P.O. #502, c/o Postmaster
San Francisco, California
5 October 1943
The time now is exactly fifteen minutes to eight o'clock and I have thus far this evening written a letter to my Dad and now I am writing to you. The last words I wrote there sound like the song "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree". Nevertheless, it appears as if I am going to have a few hours this evening to do something in. Study? I don't know where to begin anymore.
I cleaned out the mold from my picture holder and it took me about thirty minutes to get the thing clean. The mold was in three colors, orange, green and yellow. It even grew in the inside of a picture pocket. There is still mold underneath the celluloid in several spots but the pictures have stuck so that there is no way of taking them out. I had left it in my locker so that I wouldn't sweat it up so much and so my pockets wouldn't look so bulky. Since I have seen the result of that action, I believe it will be wiser to continue to carry it about.
From the sounds outside this tent and people passing and cars starting up the show must be over. That means that Larry will be along any minute now and undoubtedly we will chew the fat for a little while. That is a good time killer if there ever was one. A good two hour conversation and the evening is blown sky high.
Today was Jack's day off and I found a little note waiting for me on my desk concerning the homework both Jack and I had to hand in today about the duties of a Company Clerk. It was written in a style which is peculiar to Dolores. I quote, "Finish this for me. Here it is 5 to 4 & I'm working overtime. Send it in too. Sincerely, Jack". To Jack it is working overtime if he hasn't left the office before the bugles blow. I don't know how he gets away with it but he does.
The old PX just doesn't have any more candy and the fellows are going mad. We caught Lt Carrozzo this morning and asked him why other outfits have Coca Cola and candy while we don't. He talked his way out of it but we still haven't got anything new. If they don't hurry up and get some candy soon, I will have gotten out of the habit of eating it.
There were some French speaking fellows in the PX this evening and I stood right behind them trying to hear what they were saying but they talked so very low, fast and mumbly that nothing was intelligible.
After supper and before the radio broadcast, Larry and I had the opportunity to step over to the big tent and play a few notes on the piano. We were a bit rusty after the long layoff but we did get some one-finger tunes out of it. The Chaplain has a store of hymn books in the big tent for his services. While looking thru it for some familiar song I ran across a poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson "Crossing of the Bar" which Miss Walker had made our English class memorize. It had been put into a song.
I hope I'm not sounding greedy or bold but I sure do wish those peanuts and things which Aunt-Aunt threatens she has sent would arrive soon. I would like nothing better than to sit in the office all evening long just eating candy, peanuts and the like. I read the psychology of this yearning for extra food in a magazine just the other day. It said that homesickness, being away from normal means of recreation and from people with whom you are accustomed to living tends to produce a hunger which a soldier translates into physical hunger and satisfies by gorging himself on all the extra junk he can get ahold of.
Maybe I won't do any studying or talking after I finish this letter. I think I could hit the hay right now and fall dead asleep. I really shouldn't be so tired but I am.
In another day or so I'll be telling you about my progress on this month's payroll. I wish I could be telling you about the progress on my discharge papers instead.
/s/ Roman Roman