Miss Jeanne Johnson
Sheboygan, Wisconsin

Pvt. L. Winsauer, Co B - 45th Med. Bn.
3rd Armd. Div., Camp Polk, La.

Dear Jeanne,

Darling another week has passed and I’m in trouble trying to decide whether to regard the passing of time as — ”Swell, one month nearly completed,” or “Hell, eleven more months to go.” In either case it looks like one heck of a long time to December and our probable first furlough.

This past week was a relatively easy one — that is, it wasn’t quite as tough as those which preceded it.

(Something is wrong with my pen, so if you’ll bear with me I’ll finish this letter in pencil.)

The whole of last week was devoted to the study of the new Garand rifle with which we are equipped. We were given lecture after lecture on its mechanism, had to take it apart and reassemble it, and then had to carry the damn gun around in the hot sun and master nearly a dozen ways of getting the rifle from the ground to either the right or left shoulder in 4,5 or 6 steps. Heck, it would be much simpler if they’d just let us pick the damn thing up and put it on whichever shoulder they wanted it. 

During the latter part of the week we had field drill—i.e., we had to run across an open field with the rifles and the instant the lieutenant blew his whistle we had to plop down and aim at an imaginary German—more darn fun. I was lucky in picking the dry spots but some of the boys had to fall into a little creek about halfway across the field, and everyone, including the officers had a good laugh. 

Thursday we had our third and last Typhoid shot and my arm was stiff as a board all day. The same day I was on K.P. detail and we had to wash enough dishes and peel enough potatoes to feed the whole army for at least ten years. By nightfall I was ready to crawl into a hole somewhere and just up and die.

Friday the 4th we are free to do what we pleased so two of the boys from our barracks and myself took the bus to the nearest town (Leeseville—about 9 miles from camp) and had ourselves a time. We went to a show, had supper in one of the restaurants and then went out to see what we could see. The town was crowded with soldiers from Camp Polk and with National guardsmen from Texas who were on maneuvers, so the girls in town were outnumbered by about 20 to 1. Naturally we weren’t looking for girls anyway so it didn’t bother us — not much. After hearing so much up north about these beautiful Southern gals it’s quite a disappointment to see what a bunch of goon girls they are. 90% of them look as if they’re underfed and the other 10% might as well be. Their one redeeming feature is their Southern accent—boy, that gets you. I wouldn’t trade one Wisconsin girl for an even dozen of these Southern women however — ‘Course I might be a little prejudiced—and a certain Sheboygan gal knows why — I hope.

Mother wrote that you weren’t feeling well when she last talked to you—here’s hoping that by the time you receive this you’ll be fully recovered and in the best of health. Darling, don’t ever get seriously ill while I’m down here—if you did I’d probably go batty (not in the dictionary) or else be arrested in Sheboygan for desertion. 

I hope you’ve forgiven me for not writing that first letter before three weeks had passed, but Jeanne, for some reason or another I detest letter writing and keep putting it off and putting it off from day to day and finally from week to week. I know that after not hearing from me for that length of time you have every right in the world to tell me to go to h—, but please don’t.

I’ve finally located Stan—I bumped into him at the camp’s recreation center last night and this morning went to church with him. He lives only about six blocks from our barracks so I’ll probably be seeing a good deal of him from now on. —We were just given the warning for ‘lights out’ so I’ll have to say goodnight sooner than I expected (Wish I could be saying this goodnight at 1816 N 5th—I know a mere "lights out” wouldn’t and couldn’t hasten it then). ’Night Jeanne.

As ever,

Louis