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letter
Letter to Terrie, 14 October 1970 — the Hawaii idea, first floated, and 'out of the field May 1'
Charlie's two-page letter to Terrie dated 14 October 1970, reassembled from its scans (dad277 page 1, dad278 page 2). It rains every day now — he sort of likes the spring-shower kind that last just long enough to get them wet and then stop — and he's still in the lowlands but doesn't know for how long. Now that his papers are out he doesn't know when he'll go. He asks, for the first time, whether she wants to meet in Hawaii in February; he doesn't really think it's a good idea, but if it could be arranged it might be a possibility. They are giving big drops like crazy over there; he may get home in March but would still have 8 months in the army and would probably go to school afterward. Either way, if he comes home in June he'll at least be out of the field by 1 May 1971, because all combat troops are being withdrawn. Of the 240 days left over there, he figures only 140 in the field. It's still a long way off but the end is in sight; he has a little over 5 months in country now, and will let her know if he hears anything more definite. He has a chance to mail the letter today, so he closes 'I love you. Love, Charles.'
What the letter is
14 October 1970, and one of the quiet hinge-letters of the corpus: this is where Hawaii is born. “Do you want to meet in Hawaii in Feb?” — floated tentatively, half talked out of in the same breath (“I don’t really think it would be a good idea”), it is the first appearance of the R&R-reunion plan that dominates the winter and spring letters and becomes, by 25 November, “the Hawaii deal.” Around it, the tour’s timeline is coming into focus for the first time: “big drops,” home maybe in March, out of the field by 1 May 1971, 140 field-days left of 240. The end is “still a long way off, but at least in sight.”
Transcription
Oct 14
Dear Terrie,
It rains now every day, and I sort of like spring showers. They last long enough to get us wet and then no rain. I’m still in the lowlands but still don’t know for how long.
Well, now that papers is out I don’t know when I’ll go. Do you want to meet in Hawaii in Feb? I don’t really think it would be a good idea, but if it could be arranged it might be a possibility. They are giving big [drops] like crazy over here. I may get home in March but would still have 8 months in the army. I would probably go to school after this. Anyway, if I come home in June [12?], at least I’ll be out of the field May 1, 1971, because all combat troops are being withdrawn. Of the 240 days left over here
[page 2:] I figure only 140 left in the field.
It is still a long way off, but at least the end is in sight. I have a little over 5 months in country now. I’ll let you know if I hear anything more definite.
How are things going? I have a chance to mail this letter today, so I guess I’ll close.
I love you. Love Charles
What the letter records
Hawaii, first floated. “Do you want to meet in Hawaii in Feb?” The origin of the tour’s central plan, offered here with characteristic hedging — he raises it and doubts it in one sentence. Everything the later letters build into “the Hawaii deal” starts as this tentative question from the lowlands.
The timeline resolves. “Out of the field May 1, 1971, because all combat troops are being withdrawn… only 140 [days] left in the field.” For the first time the drawdown becomes a personal calendar: a fixed date when the field ends, even if Army time continues. It is the hopeful counterpart to the 3 October letter’s dread-filled “150 in the field,” eleven days and a little hope later.
“The end is in sight.” The register shifts. The early October letters are angry and braced for silence; this one, mailed on a lucky chance, lets itself look forward — to Hawaii, to a spring out of the field, to school after the Army. Rain he “sort of likes,” an end he can finally see.
Scans
