March 23, 1944 Thursday

Hello, Hon,

Please excuse the pencil. I’m over at the barber’s waiting my turn and neglected to bring my pen. My writing is so legible that it probably doesn’t matter which I use. Well, anyway, it doesn’t matter which I use as far as reading it is concerned.

Hope “Fort Knox” pleased you. He was what I was going to send around Valentine time, but the P.X. was all out. He wasn’t fluffy and nice like the best ones, but maybe he has personality.

This week my hours of luxury will be stolen away, but for a good cause. Sunday morning the class is going to get measured for uniforms. Flattering as it is, I can see that it will be an exhausting chore. Got to buy a complete boudoir, or retinue, or wardrobe, or something all at a whack. Nobody knows just what to buy. The Major wants us to spend every cent of our $250 allowance, our O.C.S. regulations gives a minimum requirement list adding to about $400, and Lt. Shalala (who bids goodbye to us every day and still stays on) says spend just as little as we can now—then buy what we need when we get stationed. This last sounds O.K. to me. The Major (Major Riley, head of G.T.) says our R.O.T.C. uniforms will not do. They will after we get our commission, however. Guess I’ll just go up and buy whatever appeals to me. They have some very catchy combinations.

As you know, this is “suitability week,” and since I haven’t been an officer, nor called out to instruct at all, I assume that all is well. It is going hard on a few men, tho. Four or five men in each platoon are marked men, and have been under the glare of the “tac” officers all week. I feel sorry for them. They get criticized for every move they make. Only observation could show you how tight they get when nothing they do id allowed to pass without a sneer or a forceful correction. It’s all done to see just how much these doubtful men have on the ball. It’s really tough.

You can see from the extra length of my letters that the sun is shining for me these days. This has turned out to be a very good week for me. Our last gunnery test—range estimation—was O.K., the report is that the whole class passed map reading. Soon D&D will stop completely and only tactics is left. That is tough, but since my past average will count for something now, it should come out satisfactorily.

The board meets tomorrow and soon we’ll se just how many men will be leaving us. It won’t be many—our class has set records scholastically and is good all round. We started with about 80 and should end up with about 60. That is extremely good.

Saturday night I am on guard again. My week-end won’t be too hilarious, all round. Am slightly proud of my financial status for the month, Hon. Looks as tho the next installment will be slightly above par. How much have we got now? Pa says I have two bonds now at 23 Pleasant. That is an asset, too.

Louisville is not at all cramped up, Hon, as you dreamed. Very nice town, which I hope you may see soon, and for more than a movie. That’s all theory, tho, but I had a swell day dream about it today during a lecture on German mines. We spent an evening in the Blue Grass room of the Brown Hotel, slept there, had breakfast at the French Village and left for Keene about the middle of the next day. You would like those places, I know. And we had a lot of time to talk and relax together.

Gee, I love you, Hon, and wish we were married right now. On second thought, I wish it very much. Because I admit that my heart jumps right into my throat when I think of a wedding ceremony. It will be a real test of courage for a tanker. Maybe it’s because of the flowery environment at a wedding. All I can think of is being the center of a fluttering mass of Belle Wrights and thin coffee cups that you have to balance on one knee. However, you are well worth it, and I promise that the tremble in my knees will not be visible beyond the 3rd row. Being Mr. and Mrs. will be better than becoming so, I’m sure.

I love you very dearly always,
Wallace