Sgt. L. Winsauer
Asn. 36212741
APO 253
Camp Pickett, VA.
Div. Hq. Co.

Miss Jean Johnson
Sheboygan, Wisconsin

Dear Jean,

I got your letter here in Virginia, via California this afternoon. That black envelope must have caused just some comments on its way across the country and back. Where in the heck did you ever pick it up?

We left California at the Desert on pretty short notice on October 24th and after a not too long six-day trip hit Virginia and Camp Pickett on the 30th. On the way we even got as far North as Chicago, but it didn't do a hell of a lot of good for they pulled our train into the Chicago stock-yards instead of into one of the downtown stations, and we couldn't even leave the train to make as much as a phone call.

The trip however wasn't bad and I added a good many new states to my growing collection of "states I've been in." 'Course I still think Wisconsin tops them all though this state of Virginia runs it a close second — it's really beautiful, and someday I hope to come back and really give it a going over.

We are all expecting furloughs from here and we'll probably all get them, 'cause obviously this is the last chance we'll have to get home in a long time. Rumor has it that we are to be here for 2 or 3 months, and then take off for parts unknown. Course its only a rumor as yet, but it's the logical conclusion for our trip East.

Well to hell with all that — about this time it's pretty damn insignificant and irrelevant.

In your letter you spoke of decency and my apparent lack of that most admirable quality. You inclosed a letter I had written which more than proves that premise, and even knocks out the "apparent" — leaving me, but definitely a negative quantity of that gentlemanly characteristic. — And I know you're right — that's what makes it nice, that's what makes me feel so swell tonight — just a little lower than a lizard.

So starting from scratch Jean, I ask your forgiveness. For what it's worth I'm humbly sorry for the past six months. Why I didn't write? I don't know. I can offer no alibi and can expect no leniency. But believe me, in all that time I did think of you constantly — drunk of sober, in the swamps and in the desert. I have no right to say it and have no reason to expect you to believe it but Shorty I do love you. I know you'll say "a fine way I've had of showing it" and naturally you're right, but nevertheless its true. I love you and always will — and I never meant anything more seriously in my life. It's funny how we can hurt those we love and treat casual strangers with such politeness. Yeah, it's a funny world.

You say you're leaving Sheboygan sometime this month. Where are you going? Here's hoping it'll be somewhere East of Sheboygan and not farther West. 'Cause wherever it is, when I get my furlough I'm going to see you if I have to go back to California to do it. What are you planning on doing? 'Hope it has nothing to do with the army. For some reason or other these women in army uniform just gripe the — well anyway I can't see them, even though theoretically they're supposed to be doing the country a hell of a lot of good, and maybe they are, I don't know.

They just blew taps so I'll have to close before the lights go out. but before good-night, I beg your forgiveness once again, for being such a moron, for being so awfully unfair to such a wonderful gal, for — Jean I wish we had never met and I wouldn't have caused you all this trouble. Well goodnight for now.

As ever,

Louis

We had to meet didn't we? Please say we did.