March 5, 1944 Sunday

March 5, 1944 Sunday
Dearest Marjorie,

Today we leave for Cedar Creek, so it isn’t really a day off at all. Did sleep a little later, tho, and have some time now before dinner to write you.

Old John Shalala was pretty square on that silly report that was turned in over the siren affair. I told him what happened and he took it as any sane person would, and got a good laugh out of it. He just tore it up, I guess, because no gigs have appeared from it. That’s good. We are now well over our half way point and I still am under half the quota of gigs allowed for the whole course. And they aren’t coming in at all these days.

Since I wrote last we have been having some rugged days. Another big performance test on Friday over all weapons, and a big inspection yesterday. Haven’t heard yet about the “County Fair” results, but the medium tank performance we had before, I got an 84 in. Many flunked it – including Tom O’Donnell. So the class is pretty much astir over it. We had a session with Lt. Shalala yesterday and everybody got his particular gripe against the gunnery department off his chest. Made everyone feel better to blow off steam for a while. I have no complaints as long as they don’t treat me as they do some others. Seems they haven’t been flunking enough in gunnery, so they are out for blood with the 61st class.

Those are my only troubles right now, how about you? You know, I like to write good letters to you; it’s the most pleasant thing I do here. I do wish I could take more time with all of them, but until that is possible I’m counting on you to believe all the things I can’t write in the 15 minutes or so I get to write. I know you will, but I also know it is hard to go on believing when you have no tangible proof of how I really feel. I do love you, Honey, more than I have ever loved anything, and I always will. O.C.S. isn’t a human place, tho. It’s a big machine. Very efficient, very fast and turning out precision instruments. They don’t want you to be human, particularly, just an accurate cog. And this machine is very powerful. For hours on end I am completely absorbed in it. It doesn’t allow you to think of anything else. For a long time, I’ll be completely G.I., figuring out how things work in a tank and how I can make it run correctly. Then I’ll turn human again and think about you and what I wish I was doing and wish that I’d never see another azimuth indicator – or whatever I was working on. Being G.I. is good to keep relaxed and free from thinking. But I don’t want that. I just keep hoping that someday I don’t simply remain G.I. and not start to think again. That’s what can very easily happen here. That’s what they want.

This is a great place to build up unconscious attitudes – G.I. attitudes. Thinking of everything in terms of steps or outlines, being positive and arbitrary and trying to force things to fit your idea rather than to understand them as they are. A little of that may be beneficial in influencing other people and making good impressions. But I would rather be completely without it than to adopt its basic artificiality. I find myself using more of it almost daily, and even thinking that way. Consequently I look better and know less than I have for a long time.

Oh, Bunny, scraps of information about our post-cycle furloughs are beginning to come in. We don’t know whether they will come before or after our month of work with basic trainees. Probably after. If we go to a new station, we will get 10 days and travel time. If we are stationed here, just 10 days. I was thinking that if things were right, we might arrange for you to be here when the furlough started, then we could be together during the time it took to get home – and maybe see some things en route. It would be at least a day and a half more together. Isn’t that good dreaming?

I love you always,
Wallace


March 5, 1944 Sunday
Dear folks,

My embarrassment knows no end. I shouldn’t have been bitter about the lip mikes. It is obvious now that the War Department is trying to mislead the enemy by announcing to the public that throat mikes are lip mikes, and it isn’t your fault at all. We still use throat mikes here and I never heard tell of a lip mike before. The picture you sent doesn’t look as tho they would be as handy as the ones we have.

This afternoon the 61st class is going to leave camp for a week at Cedar Creek. There we will live in barracks, I guess, but things will be a little more uncivilized than here. We will finish our 9 weeks of gunnery by shooting and shooting all week. All weapons, but primarily tank gunnery. Indirect fire of a tank platoon and moving tank-fixed target problems, etc. When we come back we will start the final phase of our course – tactics.

This last week has been a rugged one, with some big tests – 4 or 5 hour jobs and careful inspections. Haven’t heard how they all came out yet but have no bad news either. One test was a four-hour performance test in which we covered every weapon we have had.

Best of luck to Alden and Harriet. Hope everything turns out well.

As for Bob’s remarks about mortars, he should be absolutely mortarfied to crack such puns.

Have to go throw some things into a barracks bag now, so so long until more leisure comes around.

Love to all,
Wallace