Cpl Roman F. Klick 36620923
Co "A", 353rd Engr Regt
A.P.O. #502, c/o Postmaster
San Francisco, California
19 November 1943

Dear Aunty Clara,

Just because I anticipated getting something at mail call this evening, I ran into my third letterless and packageless day in November. Larry received two letters which makes his third day in the month for getting letters.

Is it true that the sins of the wicked are forgiven them? Well, I certainly need a lot of forgiving because it is late in the evening and those answers etcetera are not going to be sent out today either.

After writing the first letter this afternoon, I went to the company to mail it and to find out if I received any mail. From there I went to the volley ball game and I'm afraid my presence aided in the defeat of my team (Personnel) because my amateur play was strictly off the beam. One thing, however, in which I showed improvement was on my serve. A volley ball is about two-thirds the size of a basket ball and is served by hitting it across the court and over the net with the palm of your hand. At the end of a game the fingers, hand muscles and muscles in the forearm are all a little bit sore from the beating they have been getting for a straight hour. And a person can work up a sweat out there.

From the game to the mess hall and then to the H&S Company radio for the news bulletins covered the next hour. Incidentally, during that hour, I discovered quite by accident that the PX was selling those leather moccasins first come first served but by the time I got there the available supply of thirty pair had been sold out. The only reason I'd buy them would be because I do not keep wearing my civilian shoes since my feet are getting rather spread out wearing Army shoes and it is harder to get into the civies; whereas, the moccasins would just slip on and would be good enough for wear around the Regimental Area.

The mosquitoes are out in droves tonight but I don't feel like smearing myself up with that dope because it makes the hands all greasy and makes a person feel dirty. I'll keep on brushing them off and swatting them in the air.

But to continue with my alibi as to why I will not get out any other letters this evening. After fooling around with the golf balls and trying to juggle for a half an hour, I did get into the office where I began I began browsing thru some news magazines instead of writing.

Shortly afterwards Campbell walked in and suggested that we walk down to the outfit up the road to get a cake. We did. You know that that alone is a good time killer. By the time we got back we found others in the office and we sat around eating candy and nuts and reading magazines. Now I'm at the letter after going down to the showers for that evening refreshing but the interruptions still persist. Tom and I just split part of the fruit cake while he opened up a couple cans of Orange Juice. That is over with now but we are doing a lot of talking every now and then. This fruit cake is more on the order of the real fruit cake although raisins are still the main ingredient. I'm saving half of it for one more feast.

Brown took the movie up the road and across the river. I walked over to the projection booth about quarter to six and he already had the mail truck parked on the hill and had loaded the equipment into the machine. But good grief, Aunty Clara, I rode a little ways with him back to the office and I thought I was a driver for holding my speed in check but he beats me by a mile. That fellow went down the road at twelve miles per hour and took ages to shift gears.

Incidentally, I ran across a fellow in the shower who engaged me in conversation after he heard that I stay up rather late at night. He said that for ten years during his younger days he thought he was super man and rarely got his full quota of sleep. He said that during those days he didn't notice the lack but he does now and never can get enough sleep and his joints ache etcetera. Then he added that during all those years he never drank less than two pints of whiskey a day. My hunch is that the whiskey did more to throw him than the lack of sleep.

So-long,   /s/ Roman   Roman