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letter
Letter to Terrie, 19 October 1970 — 160 days in, mailing out by chopper, and 'maybe we can have a good time next summer'
Charlie's short field letter to Terrie dated 19 October 1970, reassembled from its scans (dad289 page 1, dad290 page 2). Someone is going to the rear by chopper, so he can get this mailed. It's raining but doesn't seem too bad because they're under ponchos. He expects they'll be going back to the lowlands soon — he's heard around November 2. He still has her last letters and will try to answer them tomorrow when they get resupplied; he really can't think of much to say. He now has 160 days over here and doesn't know exactly when he'll get back; he's just hopeful the war will end somehow, though he doubts it. He closes: keep studying, and maybe they can have a good time next summer. 'I love you. Love, Charles.'
What the letter is
19 October 1970, a short field letter caught onto a chopper heading to the rear so it could be mailed. There is almost no news in it, and that is the point: rain under ponchos, a rumored rotation to the lowlands, the day-count ticking (“160 days over here”), and the flat, tired honesty of a man who “really can’t think of much to say.” What it does carry is the quiet hope that holds the whole correspondence together, the future with Terrie waiting on the far side of the war: “keep studying and maybe we can have a good time next summer.”
Transcription
Dear Terrie,
Well how are you? Someone is going to the rear by chopper today so I can mail this. It is raining today and doesn’t seem too bad because we are under [ponchos]. I guess we will be going back to the lowlands soon but I’ve [heard] still in the rear that we will be back, they [say the] area (lowlands) around Nov 2.
I’ll just have to wait & see. I still have your last letters so I’ll try to answer them by tomorrow when we get resupplied. I really can’t think of much to say. I now have 160 days over here and don’t know exactly when I’ll get back. I just am hopeful that this war will end somehow but I doubt it. Keep studying and maybe we can have [page 2:] a good time next summer.
Well I guess I’ll end now.
I love you.
Love Charles
What the letter records
160 days. “I now have 160 days over here and don’t know exactly when I’ll get back.” The mid-tour arithmetic, 160 days in from an arrival around early May 1970, roughly the halfway mark that the 8 November letter’s “day 180… not even half way yet” would restate three weeks later. The counting is the tour’s constant background hum.
The chopper mail. “Someone is going to the rear by chopper today so I can mail this.” Field mail depended on the resupply-and-chopper rhythm, letters written whenever paper and a moment allowed, then held until an aircraft was going back. The same logistics that govern the late-November field letters.
The lowlands rotation. “We will be going back to the lowlands… around Nov 2.” The firebase-to-lowlands rotation that structured the fall-1970 field months, the same movement the 23 November and 30 November letters track.
“A good time next summer.” The letter’s one forward look, past the war to the summer of 1971, keep studying, and there will be a life waiting. It is the same future the Hawaii R&R and the August 1971 marriage would make real; here it’s just a tired soldier’s half-sentence at the end of a letter he couldn’t think of much to put in.
Scans
