Forwarded letter from friend Connie
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[The following is a letter to Wilsey from his friend Connie from back home.]
January 24, 1945
Dear Dave: This letter has been many
months in the writing—all mental of course
so I decided this evening it has been
in the embryonic stage long enough and
should finally materialize. As you notice, I’m being very scotch
with the paper. it has nothing whatsoever to do with patriotism,
it’s just that from my mental notes I can tell it’s going to be
a little lengthy and I don’t want it to be too bulky.
I suppose right here would be a good place to tell you we
wish you a very happy new year that will bring you the fulfillment
of everything in your heart. I can’t tell you how much we missed
you and Emily through the holidays—those seem to be the days when
one has a desire to gather together everyone they like and enjoy
to the utmost the fullest measure of friendship. Ours are always
just a shade lonely because we never have any of our family with
us aside from our own immediate little group. We came the closest
to it this year because some very dear friends were with us for
a few days. They are a couple we have known since we were first
married. They are the Umbers—Howdy and Clara, and one son, Leigh.
Howdy is with Pan American and has been flitting over the Pacific
for the last year and a half. Finally he was in for a month right
during the holidays and they came up here to spend a few days with
- We had the loveliest gabfest. Our hands gradually assumed
the general shape of a 10 Oz. Scotch glass and having loose tongues
already you can imagine how the words flew. I splurged and bought
half a ham because I thought it might be the one thing Howdy hadn’t
had much of. I used 72 of our precious red points—but it was
worth it. Not only was he enchanted with it, but every time I
turned around the refrigerator door was just opening or
just closing and there he was munching or about to munch my pre-
cious baked ham, but we hadn’t seen him in so long we couldn’t
get mad—we just finally had to force him to share with us. The
last day they were here was a Sunday and we really made the most of
- We slept late and then had our favorite breakfast of boiled
potatoes and codfish. After they were disposed of we started to
play “pan” (Howdy is a fiend for it). That was about 2:30 in
the afternoon. At six I finally tore myself away to get some
dinner for the children. After a hasty fifteen minutes in the
kitchen I returned, but along about 10:30 we got hungry. So we
adjourned to the Lounge and around midnight had a very nice steak.
Crazy, isn’t it, but so much fun.
We had a big show again this year, but it was not as good as
many of those in the past. For one thing talent is very hard to
get and for another, its ultra expensive. The show ran close
to seven thousand for the week as it was and there wasn’t a thing
outstanding. We had Bernie Cummins orchestra which was quite
good, and to my notion that was the only sensational thing about
- We went to Wendover with them again, and nearly froze to
death. It was bitter cold and what with flat tires and a few such
incidentals we really had a wild time. The base is very much
smaller now and is devoted to those big bombers that are giving
Tokyo such bedeviling. We have seen a few flying over and they
[2]
surely are beautiful things to see. New Year’s Eve was a
nightmare. We were both working, and somehow we knew from the
way it started out we were going to have wild time. For one
thing they took about six too many reservations, so we had tables
practically suspended from the ceiling, and they danced on a spot
the size of a postage stamp—yes, even smaller than usual. Then
to top it all anyone who had a table for two felt they were obli-
gated to show up with eight at least. I’ll bet there wasn’t a
chair left in town. In the hotel anyhow. We have thought in
the past we had it jammed to capacity, but that topped them all
with around 360 people in that one room, if you can imagine. On
top of it all Papa-the-big-boss ahd had to complicate our lives
by deciding to come also. He bought champagne all night long and
the waiter in his section couldn’t wait on anyone else for waiting
on him. In addition to that, when they passed out the horns and
hats he said in a loud voice “I don’t want those goddam things.
Give me some service.” The nerve of him! You’d think he owned
the place—or was a patron at least. Then after the second show
started he was pleasantly lit so decided to talk all the way
through the second show, but got up in the middle of it and walked
out. We were mad enough to fire him. It was three o’clock be-
fore things finally simmered down and we could have a drink so
after a few sips we decided to just cut loose and dance, too. In
the middle of the dance Steve Comish and Pete decided to show us
how to jitterbug, Pete throwing in his own impression of the canp
can. That did it. While swinging his leg so gracefully he
pulled the cartilage near the patella and has been a cripple ever
since. It’s getting better gradually, but the most annoying part
about it all was the fact he was cold sober, though it’s just a
little hard to convince most people he was. New Year’s day the
Hunters had open house and a lovely buffet, and we planned on
dinner later with Alice and Andy. Alice and I saved ourselves
for the dinner, but Pete and Andy decided to show them how to
start the new year right. It included a singing fest on the
service porch with the usual bunch—we were right in the groove
too, only when it came to DON’T FENCE ME IN it was leader’s choice
on the words. Doris and John were away again, but Reg Coffin
the Lundbergs, the Smiths, Bells and Walterses were all in there
pitching—but not in tune. The afternoon went all too well.
Came dinner time and Alice and I were hungry and carried on a
very animated conversation all through the meal. The fellows
had already drunk theirs, but they condescended to take the edge
off with a little food, after which they both plunked themselves
in chairs and fell immediately asleep. It’s a good thing for
them Alice and I are such sweet forbearing creatures or they’d
both be bachelors again—only we’ve heard about the manpower
shortage, too, and we feel our advanced years would be quite a
handicap when it came to replacing them.
Mrs. Parks Clark left to be with her husband much to Pete’s
delight, so once more he is grooming all men for the desk and
keeps his fingers crossed that he can hang on to them. Billy
Duncan has gone to the State Legislature, but Fred Shaff is still
here and now a new man by the name of McDowell. He is a dis-
charged veteran and the govt. sent him to the Lewis Hotel Training
school. He has had three ships shot out from under him and still
has a peice [sic] of shrapnel in his hip. He wears a brace and gets
[3]
a little weary, but he is a nice guy and
Pete is anxious to keep him, so if necessary
they’ll change the shifts somehow so it
won’t be too tough on him. there’s a
new dining room, too now. For a while
the hotel was operating the café, but it was quite a headache.
It is leased again and seems to be doing pretty well. They tore
out the jewelry store and put in a lovely big dining room. At
one end is that mural of the Rubies that used to hang in the
coffee shop. It looks lovely, and is large enough to accommodate
private parties with plenty of room and privacy. Pete was 1A
again in Novemeber [sic] but around the first of December they made
him 2A until June. Of course, the picture has changed a great
deal since then and they may reclassify him at any time. I
shall always be grateful for his having been able to be with us
as long as he has. It means so much to Warren and David. They
are growing up and away, but it would be most unusual if they
didn’t. Warren is wild about skiing. We got him some for
Christmas—poles too and I’m surprised what he can do with them.
I was sure he’d break all his bones, but he showed me it can’t
be done. We took him out to the ski hill on the Mt. City road
one Sunday and I expected to pick him up in peices [sic], but he
calmly showed me how he had learned to do turns, so I just gave
up and enjoyed myself. David tags along on his sled and enjoys
whatever comes. Next year they’ll both be in school, and it
will be the first time in ten years our house will be without a
little child. Yes, I know I could remedy it, but I’m just making
the statement with very little remorse. I really should get
busy, come to think of it. The Crumleys have another daughter
and I need three sons to go with their three daughters.
Has anyone ever written you about your successor? He seems
to have other accomplishments beside being a doctor. Dunno if
he’s a good one or a bad one. I haven’t heard anyone say and
we haven’t been in need of his services. Getting back to his
other accomplishments, though, I’ll give you a little sample.
The orchestra for the show, was accompanied by a very cute and
curvaceous girl singer about nineteen chronologically and fifteen
mentally. She was a doll and while we were in Wendover took
quite sick so had to stay there over night. The leader’s brother
was looking after her every little want so he stayed over too.
On their return they decided to turn the case over to the local
medics and the new one took over. She gave us the account, and
therefore we presume it to be the truth, or else wholly fabricated.
The story goes that he was up to see her at least four times daily
and an equal number of times in the evening which was verified
by the clerks. After his third visit he said “Do you know you
have very kissable lips?” In response she doub[tlessly] fluttered
her eyelids. The next day she was ready to resume vocalizing
but thought she had a cough still so said, “Do you think my
chest is allright?” He took out his stethescope and gave siad
said item a very thorough going over after which in solemn tones
he said, “Not only is it all right—it’s beautiful.” Laryngitis
can’t last forever, so finally his calls must come to an end.
On the final parting he said, “May I call on you sometime unpro-
fessionally?” She having a sugar daddy all her own said, “Well,
[4]
I’m afraid not.” Whereupon he whipped out his bill for $15.
The clinical groups marches forward. There are any number of
choice bits I’d enjoy telling—and what we’ve gathered on your
osteopathic friend, but the mere mention of it on paper would
doubtless amount to libel. Another interesting bit perhaps
I can tell you indirectly. Remember the patient you told me
about once who was her own best tonsorial artist? Truth will
out. That was her way of controlling her husband’s fervent
advances. She controls them, so what? He finds someone who
wont. The gal in the case is a localite, the mother of two
youngsters and the two couples are devoted friends, so I’m sure
that makes everything all right. Another one of those Mormon
involvments.
We were so sorry to hear about Terry, but I’m sure, Dave,
he’ll be fine eventually. He couldn’t possibly have a more
devoted nor more capable mother. Our hearts and hopes are with
you all three. You know how they always say you have but to
look around and see someone more unfortunate. Some friends of
ours in Reno—he is with the State Dental Clinic and you may
have met him with Steve at some time or other, have a baby girl
six months old and she is a mongoloid.[1] (I just found out the
dictionary says there’s no such word to be used as a noun but
you know what I mean.) They have two other little girls the
age of Warren and David. It seems such a tragedy and has effected
their lives so unfortunately. She refuses to even go away from
home because she thinks people know and are talking and she
won’t even accompany him. People do know pretty generally but
I’m sure they feel just as we do and would never question her
or otherwise speak of it. In her last letter to me she said
the baby has only a 50-50 chance of living and any kind of
a respiratory infection would be the end. What troubles me is
if she does live. The injustice of keeping her around the other
two children and the constant blight it will be on their lives.
Time doubtless will take care of it all but in the meantime we
can’t help but feel concern for them.
We had a letter from Les Moren which left me feeling both
depressed and angry—a feeling which he apparently doesn’t share.
He is in Northern Italy and made the simple statement that he
hasn’t practiced medicine in three years and would have to go
back to school before he could even enter private practice.
Maybe I’m prejudiced but, Dave, I’m sure he was a very capable
Dr. and it seems such a shameful waste of ability. You don’t
know how glad we were that you were able to receive the training
in exactly the field you wanted. I think it’s wonderful and
I’m sure your days and nights must be very full. We have a
Red Cross Field director friend in France. His name is John
Terry—watch for him. You might just chance to meet him and
if you do be sure to introduce yourself. He’s a swell guy.
Louis Lombardi has charge of a 4000 bed hospital on one of the
Pacific Islands. He is in the Navy attached to the Marines.
Ted Lunsford was in Belgium but Marjorie hasn’t heard from him
since the first of December so is very worried.
You must be weary after all this chatter. We think of you and
speak of you often. Take care of yourself. As ever,
Connie.
[1] An antiquated term for people with Downs Syndrome.