World War II Letters — Marry Me
Like many members of the Greatest Generation, my parents rarely shared much about their experiences during World War II. There were a handful of stories, particularly of my mother’s train journey from Detroit to Alexandria, Louisiana in the company of her future mother-in-law to visit my father when he was in basic training. There were photos they had sent to one another, and photos of my father’s furlough in April of 1943. When I decided finally to read what Mom called Dad’s love letters that my she bequeathed to me, I uncovered some things that dispelled myths that had been handed down from my parents.
My mother told me many times that their marriage date was decided by her parents, who insisted her older sister should get married first. Making my way through over 200 letters my father wrote to my mother during World War II, I felt both like a dutiful daughter fulfilling a promise to her mother to read these letters after her death and like a spy uncovering information that contradicted the narrative I had always believed about my parents.
My father reported to basic training at Camp Claiborne in Alexandria, Louisiana on December 14, 1942. At that point, my parents had been engaged for less than a month. Mom was nineteen and Dad was twenty-one. In one letter dated February 26, 1943, my father wrote,
“Childhood and teenage foolishness are gone forever. We are actually living our own lives in a world left in a terrible mess by our elders. Our generation has come of age right in the middle of hell.”
Clearly, once the excitement and patriotic fervor wore off, Dad was feeling lonely. As the pampered first-born son, his mother had catered to his every need. The army, not so much. By New Year’s 1943, Dad was feeling depressed and missing mom terribly. He described leaving a dance after five minutes and walking home alone feeling like “bawling…I’ve heard them talk about getting the ‘blues’ but till now I’ve never really known how miserable you can get.”
He writes about “the dirty business of war” and having to take orders from “morons,” and complains that there is no one there capable of having an intelligent conversation on “some dignified subject.” He seems shocked by the profanity, lack of intelligence, drinking, womanizing, lack of “moral decency,” even among the married men. Most importantly, he feels like a freak because he is engaged and not interested in other women. He tells her,
“The army doesn’t give a damn about who you are or what you know…I have to live here in an environment and with men whom I consider very much my inferiors and I have to take orders and all kinds of hell from jerks I wouldn’t have shine my shoes back home.”
To stave off his unhappiness, he hatches the “marry me” initiative. Perhaps he was insecure about Mom’s loyalty and love for him. Although she writes every day and he intellectually knows the mail service is unreliable, he complains about not receiving letters from her and tells her, “If you want longer letters, honey, you better come across tomorrow to give me more subject matter.”
Reading the batch of letters Dad sent before Mom’s March visit and his April furlough, I understand why she found these to be so romantic. While admits he gets tongue tied and nervous when he tries to talk to her by phone, his letters are filled with florid passages about his love for his future wife. He gets the idea that they should get married when he comes to Detroit on furlough and even chooses the date of April 18 for what he thinks will be a simple ceremony performed at home with close family in attendance.
To understand the pressure my still-teenaged mother was under, you would have to know this about my father. All of his life, he was a relentless debater who would argue his point endlessly and never concede or compromise. Thus, he badgers Mom about getting the marriage license and blood work done for their furlough wedding.
In early March, Mom and my paternal grandmother took the train to visit Dad. This is the part of the story I know. My mother had wanted to visit by herself, but Dad worried about the rivalry that already existed between her and his parents. Just before the visit, he writes, “After all, honey, even though you come first, I am quite lonesome for my mother also.” Mom often described the long train ride in which her future mother-in-law examined her body and remarked that her thighs were too heavy. My grandmother also teased her about who my father would go to first when they arrived.
At the time of the visit, Dad had been moved into radio section barracks and still described himself as lonely and blue. He had plans for advancement that included applying to the University of Chicago Army Meteorology School, getting the army to send him to college for courses leading to a technical position, or being accepted to Officers’ Training School. None of these plans mention combat. But his path was already uncertain at this point, and it is unclear how he thought Mom would fare as his wife, living in a strange city on her own with occasional overnight visits from her husband and finding a job that paid $15/week.
After her three-week visit, a week of which he was hospitalized with the measles, my father sent a letter to my maternal grandparents explaining that they wanted to get married on his upcoming furlough in mid-April. He describes how miserable he is without her, professes his deep love for her, and promises he will make her happy.
The envelope, dated April 6, 1943, also includes a letter from Mom’s older sister Mickey telling her, “What’s this about you and Sid getting married on furlough. Are you nuts? Honest, Babe, don’t. It’s going to be so tough on you.” In Dad’s letter to Mom, he tells her he doesn’t know how he’ll manage if they can’t marry on April 18, 1943. He refers to her as his wife and signs letters “your husband.” His thesis is that her family treats her like a child with no mind of her own. The myth I was told was that her parents said no to the furlough wedding because her older sister needed to marry first.
Clearly, my mother was under lots of pressure. This drove me to look for her letters from that time, and what I discovered surprised me. She nixed the furlough wedding because she wanted to be practical. They were in debt and she wanted to save money first. Being nineteen, she also wanted a real wedding. She reassured my father that she loved him and wanted to marry him, just not right then. In one letter, Mom confesses that when she is with Dad, she easily falls under his influence and agrees with his ideas. This was true for all of their 68-year marriage. But on her own and apart from him, she was able to make the pragmatic decision. She writes, “These last few days have been a living hell for me as I’m so afraid you won’t understand.”
She was right about that. His airmail special delivery response was bitter. He asked what her family did to undo the marriage plans they made on her visit. He threatens not to come home on furlough. His letter is peppered with negative thoughts,
“All of a sudden the dream ends.”
“I’m disgusted with everything,”
“The one bright spot in the whole messy picture just collapsed.”
“I’ll call my house this Sunday. Be there with a definite answer.”
“I’m afraid for myself. Don’t you realize the only happiness I’ve had were the few weeks I had you with me.”
“I’ll feel pretty funny about facing people here who think it’s definite.”
“Don’t let me down.”
In subsequent letters, Dad persists in trying to break down her decision about waiting to get married. He plays on her guilt, telling her how bad his life has been for four months without her. He was still hoping to advance, perhaps making corporal or go to officer’s training. His final remark before coming home on furlough is underlined, “Don’t disappoint me in this.” In a letter in response, Mom tells him, “Don’t sulk like a baby.” It was probably the last time she stood her ground in their relationship.
The furlough looked like a happy time in the photos I have of it. Now that I have read the letters, I see things differently. Things went downhill for my father after he returned, but that’s another story. My parents married on January 30, 1944, just nine months after Dad’s “marry me” campaign. Mom wore a fancy wedding gown borrowed from her cousin. And her older sister was married first.
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