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letter
Letter to Terrie, 24 October 1970 — a typhoon alert, a congressman's reply, and 165 days in
Charlie's three-page letter to Terrie dated 24 October 1970, reassembled from its scans (dad295 page 1, dad296 page 2, dad297 page 3). Three miserable days in the mountains, a promised day of rest at a rear area postponed repeatedly, the worst weather of the month without a standdown, and now a typhoon alert (an earlier one came to nothing). A letter from his uncle; nothing from Jay in a while. His mother got a reply from their congressman about his situation, though he hasn't heard the substance of it yet — he expects it will be interesting but isn't worried. He answers some of Terrie's questions (wedding-song trivia, apparently a running joke or contest) and explains why he hasn't called: signing up for a callback slot on one day, calling on another, and a four-hour wait once he does — too much of a hassle unless he gets back to the rear. He comments on 9 GIs killed by a booby trap, guessing they bunched up around it, and hopes his own unit knows better. He's glad she's doing well in school, is sending away for stereo equipment brochures (possibly up to $400), and closes with 165 days in-country, about 235 left, calling it a waiting game until the year is over.
What the letter is
24 October 1970, three pages written during a stretch of the worst weather his company had seen in a month — a promised rest day pushed back day after day, then a typhoon alert on top of it. Between the weather report and a note about his mother’s congressional inquiry, Charlie answers a stray question about a “wedding song,” explains the bureaucratic hassle of a rear-area phone call, and responds with the flat calculation of an infantryman to news of nine American dead in a booby trap. It closes on the same arithmetic every field letter runs on — days in, days left.
Transcription
Oct 24
Dear Terrie,
I got a few letters from you yesterday (last [several] dates). We’ve been in the mountains for [3] days now and expect [it] for the last time. It has been absolutely miserable. They were supposed to take us to a rear area for a day of rest but have postponed it from day to day. It is really depressing. It has been a month now of the worst weather for most of the company without any standdown. Now we are on a typhoon alert. We were on one before but nothing ever developed. Oh well, time keeps marching on.
I got a letter from my uncle yesterday also, but haven’t heard from Jay in a long time. I may have time to write to him today though. My mother got a reply from the congressman but I haven’t heard anything of it
[page 2:] though. It should be interesting, but I’m in no trouble. I may write him myself if the nervousness keeps up.
To answer some of your questions: [the] wedding song is the first one in the column (we would [rank] in a column), “slush” is the second one. About the phone call — I had to sign up one day and call on another, also I had to wait 4 hrs to make the call anyway. It is just too much of a hassle. I’ll try to call you sometime if I ever get to the rear again.
It’s too bad that 9 GIs got killed in a booby trap. They probably saw it and got in a group around it and that is why so many were killed. This young guy with [only] 6 mo. spent [in the] country, and I think we know better. At least I hope so.
[page 3:] I’m glad you’re doing well in school so far.
I got a hold of a paper and I’m now sending away for brochures on stereo equipment. I have no idea how much to spend. It may go as high as $400 if I have to want it. I’m going to get something though. It may be all I get over here.
Well, I have 165 days over here now, with about 235 left or so. I hope it is less though.
Everything is fine now, I guess it is just a waiting game till the year is over.
I’ll try to write again when I can. I love you.
Love Charles
What the letter records
The postponed rest day. A day of rest promised and pushed back “day to day” against the worst weather the company had faced in a month is a small, exact picture of how little control an infantryman had over even the promises made to him — the standdown itself became one more thing to wait on.
The congressman. Terrie’s mother wrote through their congressman on Charlie’s behalf at some point before this letter, and here the reply has arrived at home before Charlie even knows what it says. His breezy “I’m in no trouble” is worth reading against how seriously the family clearly took the inquiry — a thread that continues in the 5 November extension and congressman letter.
A soldier’s arithmetic about the dead. “They probably saw it and got in a group around it and that is why so many were killed.” Charlie processes nine deaths as a tactical lesson rather than a tragedy on the page — spacing, discipline, the difference between a green unit and an experienced one. It is the same instinct for professional distance that runs through his account of his own squad’s first contact six weeks earlier.
The phone call that keeps not happening. Sign up one day, call the next, wait four hours once you do — the mechanics of MARS radio-relay calling from Vietnam to the United States, spelled out here as the “hassle” it evidently was for every soldier who ever tried it, not just Charlie.
Scans
