Sunday, September 17, 1944
Dear Mom, Dad and Paulie,
I got both Wed. and Thur. letters today. Not bad for a Sunday. The coin purse is really very easy to make. I punched the holes with a leather punch after glueing the pieces of leather together. (They come already cut out) Then comes the lacing which takes the most time. The snap is put on at the O.T. shop. See, nothing to it!
Again I say that sweets are not necessary, especially cookies. I’m hardly ever really hungry except sometimes for breakfast and what I don’t want is a grand assortment of everything under the sun, one box of candy at a time with plenty of time in between is pul-lenty. Of course I may change my mind when I go back into training.
I don’t think you have to write to Sam Lastner and anyway he’s away somewhere and I don’t know where. If I’m to be transferred, I’ll be transferred; if not, I won’t. I think I can handle it myself but of course you and Mickey might be of great help. But I don’t know what outsiders can do, but maybe I’m wrong, I don’t know. I really laughed about Ruth Beker turning up 3 months late with the news that Hood is a tough camp. Don’t worry, I know only too well how tough it is. I heard it was the toughest in the county. She probably meant well, but to me it’s just a good joke. But what she can do is tell Steve Korn and Dave Bernhardt to write to me. I’d like to hear from them.
Was Dad at Atlantic City the night the hurricane struck? Wow, I just read about it today. The poor Atlantic coast sure had terrible luck this summer what with fires, floods and hurricanes.
So Paul puts himself to bed now. I’d better hurry up and see him before he’s altogether grown up.
Another trick: I just discovered that with a little persuasion I can pick things up from the floor. There isn’t [anything?] I can’t do in this contraption.
Well, That’s all,
P.S. My cold is practically all gone. No sneezing for days and days.