Coke Archives - Moss Letters

16 April 1945

Dear folks:

Just received a V-mail from Mom, a letter from Gram and one from June so while there is a lull in things perhaps I better take advantage of it. You said you received a letter from me, the latter part of March and also that you didn’t think I was feeling well. As a matter of fact I wasn’t at that time. I was hearing about Okinawa and of course that isn’t anything to look forward to. The past two days have been hot ones and I don’t mean weather alone, and two days ago I was about as scared as I have yet been. A Jap shell hit about 35 yards from me. I was in a foxhole and the shrapnel passed over my head by about 2 feet going into the office, ripping a leg off a chair and going into several reams of paper. Other boxes were hit and our tent was full of holes. Undergoing a shelling is nerve wracking and I’m still uneasy. It probably isn’t over with yet. Now we sleep in foxholes and while walking around always subconsciously watching for a place to duck.

With the great air activity around I have seen several Jap planes shot down and hardly a night passes but what the sky is filled up with red tracers and ach ach bursts. Naval planes are in full support of the operation and yesterday while eating I could watch plane after plane roar in and drop their bombs or let go their rockets. The rockets make a loud hissing roar and explode with great concussion. If I felt more like it, I would like to write you a long account but just don’t feel up to it.

However I’m feeling fine and taking precautions and hoping above all I can see you this year.

The boxes I received were in good condition and everything was eatable and the cokes were especially good. Received a few Christmas cards yesterday so perhaps the packages will yet come.

Had a letter from Phil yesterday and answered it right away. I’m so glad he got in the Navy. At least he won’t have to live in foxholes and will always know where his bed is.

I’m going to stop and I’ll write you as often as possible and don’t worry for we’ll all forget it when we are all together again.

Love,

16 February 1945

Dear folks,

I just finished cleaning up my mess then lit up a cigar and opened a beer and now ready to spend the balance of the evening writing letters—and always you’re the first on the list. I made the mess while trying to build a box to send the bolo and the scandals and finally completed the job and I think it will stick together at that. I had a Filipino girl get the scandals for me and she did pretty good. She’s also the laundry girl.

About four nights I saw a leg show with real white girls and civilians. The USO put on ‘Hellz-poppin’. There must have been a dozen chorus girls and two or three men. Needless to say the theater area was packed and the fact that a brisk shower cut loose had little effect on the guys. Neither did the singer complain—she just stood in the rain and kept going. It was full of laughs and with the right amount of spice. It was the best overseas show I’ve seen yet. I hope we can have more of them.

Had another letter today—a V-letter from Mom. I’m afraid I can’t answer the questions you put in that one.

Also two Free Presses came along but haven’t had much time to read them yet. Did see the pictures of the Sage boys, but the boys. I can imagine the banker Sage is quite a cigar smoking important individual.

A few days ago last week a Red Cross dame came around with a truckload of cold Coke and peanuts so we lined up with our mess cups and drank up. She had on slacks with the pants rolled up and about everyone was looking in the same direction. We must be getting to be wolves, huh?

I wished I could think of more to write about but nothing seems to want to pop up. I can’t help but feel that this year sometime we will either get a few furloughs or rotation. In every Free Press I read about fellows getting back. It seems like everyone has been home at some time or other. It’s hard to imagine myself getting home. About every night we get a strong blow and lots of rain and sometimes I think the tents will come down. If they would we’d be a sorry bunch of wet rats. A rain can from out of a clear sky in five minutes and then it all cuts loose. And after that it’s hot as hell. Had steaks for dinner yesterday with good dark gravy so that was a treat.

That’s really all I’m good for so this is it.

Love,

25 October 1944

Dear Folks:

I have wanted to write you all day and I hope this letter gets to you with all possible speed. I’m afraid my last two epistles didn’t sound too cheerful, and you may have thought I was quite the old grouch, and probably you felt a little bad about them, so I want to make amends for them and try to make you believe I didn’t mean all of it. I received two letters from you last night and they were such good ones that I felt like a two bit heel. So please attribute them to the mood I was in and not any kind of a criticism of you. I know how you feel and how you must worry and I shouldn’t do anything to make it worse for you, so accept my apologies, and believe me when I say I didn’t mean them.

Well today was sort of a red letter one. No, not furloughs or a big stack of mail or anything like that, just some fresh meat. A couple of ex-cowhands took a jeep and shot a young cow from one of the herds that run around here. They slaughtered it and got it ready and the cooks did a good job of turning out a real supper tonight – really hit the spot. If the spuds hadn’t been dehydrated it would have been perfect.

Saw the movie ‘Mr. Skeffington’ tonight and I thought it was superb. One of the best I have seen in a long time. No war or flag waving exhibitions, just a good peacetime cinema. I thought it was great and the moral behind it was very good. Bette Davis is tops in my book.

In Dad’s letter last night he said the souvenirs had arrived OK. Was the box broken up and was everything there? There are so many regulations connected with the mailing of souvenirs that I wondered if anything had happened to them. And don’t forget to mail me the clipping that Si Parker had about them.

And another bright spot on the calendar this week. For the first time since last May I had a coke. Yep, we were issued ten of them – I don’t know how long they will last – but I look on each one as a precious treasure and hate to drink one. Even though we can’t cool them very well they still taste pretty good. The beer situation is getting better and I think I have about six or seven cans left. Usually drink one every night just before the show.

Gee mom it sounds like you were pretty worried about me when I had the fever, but really it wasn’t as bad as I believe you imagined. It’s all over now and I feel fine again. As a matter of fact I feel better than I have for some time.

I can just visualize how much trouble you went to, to get Dick’s and my boxes ready and you don’t know how good it makes me feel to know that – well that’s just the kind of parents they are and whatever they would do for us they wouldn’t think it would be enough. As each month goes by I wake up a little more to the fact that you are both the best in the world, and then those inconsiderate things I used to do and the worries I caused for you come in my thoughts, and I wonder if I can ever show you all the respect and love you both deserve.

We haven’t received any second class mail in weeks so of course that means I don’t get the Free Press, so you be sure and throw in all those clippings – even the little ones about anybody I used to know. I suppose soon the mail will come rushing in like a broken dam and I’ll be reading for weeks to catch up. Of course the first class is coming regularly and in fine time. I’ll bet you’re really busy taking care of Dick’s and my letters, and I’ll bet you never wrote so much in your life – even love letters.

Shirley Carroll’s dilemma is indeed a sorry one, but it seems to be following a typical Carroll pattern. If it hadn’t have been this, it would have been something else. Perhaps she should have been more careful, although I do feel sorry for her and thought she would make out better than most of them.

The little mention of the fiddle is something I often think about, and I get a deep urge to play it again. Your ears must have been very sympathetic when I picked it up. And my gas models often put a curb in my daydreams. I’ve thought that after the war I would start in again as a hobby, and have a little more to do with (it).

Well the lights around the area are going out one by one and I seem to be one of the few left so maybe I better be thinking about hitting the hay. But be sure and pick out all the nice things in those sour letters and forget the bad ones. I guess we all get (into) moods and I don’t know what made me that way.

Love,

8 October 1943

Dear Folks:

First off I am in receipt of the letter about Stephen and besides being a big relief I’m sort of proud of my new title of uncle. I hope Katie gets along alright and the baby gets fatter and louder. Well, being away at a time like this is another good reason for my hating the Japs. I can’t very well imagine Katie with a baby in her arms and now I’m the more curious to see Tom.

And secondly (I have to enumerate the things I’m going to say in my mind) our battery stepped out to a dance last night. It was the second such battery dance since I’ve been here and this one was a big success. The boys spent a lot of time getting the hall ready and taking care of miscellaneous ends and they did a great job. And the biggest problem, the matter of getting enough girls, was even solved successfully. I ran into three Chinese girls whose names were Miss Chan, Chang and Ching (to give you an idea of the company I was in). I had a swell time besides eating cake and drinking coke all night.

Now that I have covered these few points I was going to write about I don’t (know) where I’ll go from here. Tonight was the weekly concert attended by a few civilians including a couple of stuffed dowagers who did more talking than listening. Listening to the concert we usually sit under a big avocado tree and the falling avocadoes are sometimes dangerous, and ripe mangoes literally cover the ground.

Of course every morning we like millions of others listen to the World Series game that begin over here at seven forty-five. And by the way, I’m still a Yankee man.

My job seems to keep me very busy and sometimes it gets a little monotonous but as I said before, it’s a good job and attended with a few advantages. One of the battery clerks was formerly from Omaha and occasionally we can recall something that was familiar to us both. And another of the clerks is a colored boy from Harlem. But the evenings are never long enough and it seems that something comes along about every night to keep me from studying as much as I would like to. Lights are out at nine-thirty which makes time pretty short. I think the boys are about as news minded as any in the outfit and we have our billet wall papered with battle maps to follow the communiqués closely. Of course we do a lot of talking about the progress of the war and not infrequently about the aftermath and what to expect when we come home. Sometimes I get a little depressed about it and wonder if I will ever attain what I started in school. But I cannot put (it) effectively on paper as I think about it so that’s enough of that.

Before I close I want to repeat about how happy I am for Kate and Tom and how much I wish I could see all three of them.

Well let’s call this quits—

Love,