"If I were you I’d probably tell me to go to hell" - September 29, 1941

Miss Jeanne Johnson
Sheboygan, Wisconsin

Saturday morning

Dear Jeanne,

I got your letter yesterday out here at our temporary (?) parking place and the middle of a swamp “somewhere in Louisiana”—and tho I wanted to answer it immediately I didn’t get the chance to write till now.

When I saw your handwriting on the envelope yesterday I was more than a little hesitant about opening it, for I fully expected to find a brief note telling me what a heel I was and where I could go—instead I found your perfectly swell letter which this soldier knows he didn’t deserve.

I don’t quite know how to start an explanation of why I didn’t write after I missed you in Leesville, for I haven’t a tangible reason or one simple excuse to put down on on paper. To say I was disappointed in not seeing you would be putting it mildly, but I know that doesn’t excuse me for not writing.

Do you remember, you wrote that your vacation was to be from the 14th to the 24th of August? That was way back when you were planning on going to Michigan. You didn’t mention, in your later letters, that you were to be gone longer so I assumed that you’d get to Leesville or Camp Polk about the 21st of that month. Then, on the 21st, (Thursday), I got your letter from Florida saying that you expected to leave Pensacola either on Tuesday or Wednesday but that you’d wire when you left.

So, I got another pass for the Wed., Thur., & Friday preceding Labor Day and still you didn’t show up. By this time I was beginning to wonder what the heck went on. —Then on Monday (Labor Day) morning I got your telegram saying you were arriving in Leesville the next morning—at 7:35. So I tried to get another pass (this made the 3rd) but because of the holiday all our officers were away from camp and I had a hell of a time—in fact I finally had to see a colonel at Division Headquarters to get the pass signed.

Well early Tuesday morning I took off for Leesville to meet your bus—and when it arrived—no Jeanne Johnson. I stayed in town until about 11:30 and then went back to camp—feeling pretty well disgusted with the world in general. At 9:00 o’clock Wednesday morning I got the telegram you sent from Leesville the night before—the damn orderly on duty Tuesday night said he thought I was away on pass and so he hadn’t even tried to deliver it that night. (Boy, I raised just some hell about that).

Anyway after I got the telegram I didn’t even try to get a pass, but went A.W.O.L. to town and—and you had already left!! It’s hard to explain exactly how I felt when I found out that you had gone—obviously it had been no fault of yours that I had missed seeing you, but I was feeling pretty damn low and to be perfectly honest with you I was in the mood where I felt, “Oh, to hell with the whole thing.”

Why didn’t you telephone me Tuesday nite? You must have known that if I had received your telegram that night I would have been in Leesville in nothing flat. Another thing Jeanne, you wrote that you planned on leaving Pensacola Tuesday or Wednesday—what held you up? Though I do think it was damn swell of you to make the extra trip to Leesville, I wish you would have tried to have made your stay here longer than just one day and one night. 

After I got the letter you mailed in Leesville I asked for a furlough to get home and see you, but the application came back “not granted.” I would have come anyway, furlough or no furlough, but for the fact that my parents wouldn’t have liked it, (my going A.W.O.L. I mean). I’ve asked for another furlough since then but was turned down again—they say I haven’t been in the army long enough—that’s what they think! Anyway I’m going to keep asking until they (Our dear colonel and his adjutant) break down and give me a leave. Here’s hoping it’s pretty damn soon.

Well Jeanne, I’ve tried to explain why I didn’t get to see you in Leesville, but as to why I didn’t write—that’s not quite as easy. Remember? I told you once before that when it comes to writing I’m probably the worst procrastinator in the whole army, navy, and marines? I know it’s not fair to you—if I were you I’d probably tell me to go to hell (that’s a little complicated) but as I am me (so’s that) I hope you don’t. It isn’t that I feel any differently toward you now than I did when I was at home, or that I’m not thinking a heck of a lot about you—‘cause I am.

Though I know I should write, I just don’t—You tell me why? It’s the same thing with writing to my parents, the boys and everybody else—I just don’t. I’d promise you that from now on I’ll write you at least once a week without fail—if I thought that I’d keep my promise—but I know myself too well, and I hate to make a promise that I’d probably break—All I can do is ask your forgiveness and say from now on I’ll try to write more regularly. 

Since Labor Day our battalion has been away from camp more than we’ve been in the place. We’ve been going through a sort of toughening process in preparation for our forthcoming maneuvers. We pile into the trucks and ambulances early every Monday morning, travel out into the woods, usually within five miles of camp, and set up our tents & stuff there. We return to camp Wed. Afternoon & leave again Thursday morning—This time we don’t get back to camp till Saturday afternoon. Boy, some fun—our damn colonel seems to think we’re getting something out of this crazy bivouacking—bu the fellows are all pretty well fed up with it by now. 

I’m sitting under a tree out here now with my stationery propped against my knees, trying to write and kill mosquitos at the same time & not doing a very good job of either. Boy, I’ve never seen as many mosquitoes & other bugs in one place as there are right here in our bivouac area.

‘Got to close now as we’re starting another problem in a few minutes—so-long for now darling—‘Hope I’ll be able to get home sometime next month—

Love, 

Louis

P.S. — ‘Don’t know when I’ll get the chance to mail this letter as there’s no mail boy here today.