← Part of Letters from Vietnam
letter
Letter to Terrie, 14 September 1970 — the 50-day streak of no contact broken, and 'a terrible, cruel business'
Charlie's four-page letter to Terrie dated 14 September 1970, reassembled from its scans (dad312 page 1, dad313 page 2, dad314 page 3, dad315 page 4). Still in the jungle mountains, soaked for almost a week straight with rain most days. Fifty days of no enemy contact ended on 12 September when his eight-man squad crossed paths with two enemy soldiers on a trail; neither side fired first, but one enemy soldier was killed and turned out to be heavily armed. Charlie calls it 'a terrible, cruel business over here which I wish I had no part of,' and notes he at least carries the radio rather than walking point. He turns to lighter subjects: her school schedule and graduation timeline, a money order, her improving relationship with her father, a letter from his friend Harty (working on a master's thesis, with a draft lottery number of 215 against a cutoff of 195 that year — uncomfortably close if the Mid East situation worsens), and the way most new pen pals stop writing back except for Terrie, his parents, and Dorothy Hauser. He's now over four months in-country, reading paperbacks the Army supplies (so please don't send books), and lists specific care-package requests: cocoa mix, tuna, oyster and sardine tins, pudding, pepperoni, and more of the Hawaiian Punch drink mix she sent. He closes encouraging her to keep studying even if she doesn't graduate on schedule, tells her she's being a good girl, and signs off with 270 days left at the most.
What the letter is
14 September 1970, four pages that open with the corpus’s most direct account of a fatal contact. A week of steady rain in the jungle mountains, and then: “Well, 50 days of no contact was shattered Sept 12 when our squad of 8 ran across 2 of them on one of these trails.” One enemy soldier was killed. Charlie doesn’t dramatize it — “a terrible, cruel business over here which I wish I had no part of” is the full extent of his reaction on the page — and by the second page the letter has already turned to school schedules, a friend’s draft lottery number, and a shopping list for the next care package.
Transcription
Sept 14
Dear Terrie,
I’m still up here in the jungle[d] mountains waiting for the idiots to give up and take me down to the lowlands. It rains most every day now for several hours and rained nearly all night last night. I’ve been wet for almost a week now. I almost dry out, then it starts raining again. The only thing to do is try to stay warm.
Well, 50 days of no contact was shattered Sept 12 when our squad of 8 ran across 2 of them on one of these trails. They never fired first. One was killed and Lord knows he was heavily armed. It is a terrible, cruel business over here which I wish I had no part of. I don’t mean to concern you but I’m just
[page 2:] trying to let you know what it’s like over here. At least I have the “buck” to carry the radio so I don’t have to walk point.
Well, on to more pleasant things. I guess school starts today for you. Have you found out if you graduate on time yet?
Did you get the money order yet?
I’m glad to hear you and your dad are getting along better now. I guess he realizes you are finally getting to be an old lady now.
I did finally get a letter from Harty — it seems he must write a thesis and then he has his master’s. He said his lottery no. was 215 and the cutoff this year is 195. That is cutting it a little too close, and if the Mid East heats up he will be tabbed. I also got Patton’s address from Harty. It seems every new
[page 3:] person I write, [I] send several letters and then we cease to communicate — except for you, my parents, and Dorothy Hauser (who sends all kinds of goodies in her letters).
Well, I now have over 4 months gone over here. I really can’t wait till it is all over. Lately I have been reading several books out here. I just finished [“Fate Is the Hunter”] and I’m now reading “The Biological Time Bomb.” I’m glad the time can be passed in simple ways like reading. They give us the books, so don’t send any.
If you get enough money together to send another package, here are some hints:
- sweetened cocoa mix
- tuna fish
[page 4:] 3. oyster & sardine tins 4. pudding 5. pepperoni
Your Hawaiian punch drink was good too. There are just a few things I like that I can’t get over here. Just keep sending letters too. One from you had 2 [cents] postage due, which I thought most unusual. Don’t let it bother you.
Even if you don’t graduate, study hard this year and maybe you could finish up next summer if you could stand it.
I’m glad you are being a good girl.
I guess I’ll end this letter now, and if anything else comes up I’ll get another letter off.
Love, Charles
270 days left at the most
What the letter records
“A terrible, cruel business over here which I wish I had no part of.” The most direct sentence in the surviving corpus about the fact of a killing. Charlie doesn’t narrate the contact for effect — one line of tactical fact (who ran into whom, that neither fired first, that the man killed was heavily armed) and one line of plain moral discomfort, then he moves on, almost apologizing for mentioning it at all: “I don’t mean to concern you but…”
Carrying the radio instead of walking point. A detail he returns to more than once across the letters — the RTO (“radio-telephone operator”) position kept him just behind the point man rather than in the most exposed spot on a patrol. It’s a small, specific piece of the actual mechanics of infantry patrol he rarely spells out this plainly.
Harty’s lottery number. Set directly against Charlie’s own count — “270 days left at the most” at the close of the same letter — is his friend’s stateside anxiety about a number that might or might not ever be called. Two different systems of dread running in parallel, one already resolved by deployment and one still hanging.
Dorothy Hauser’s care packages. Named here as one of only three correspondents Charlie keeps up with reliably, alongside Terrie and his parents — a small confirmation of how central Dorothy Hauser was to the extended support network around him during the tour.
The shopping list. Cocoa, tuna, sardines, pudding, pepperoni, more Hawaiian Punch mix — mundane, specific, and characteristic of how a soldier’s actual wants narrowed to what could fit in a small package and survive the trip. Paired with “they give us the books, so don’t send any,” it’s a precise map of what the Army provided and what it didn’t.
Scans
