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letter
Letter to Terrie, 9 January 1971 — a birthday letter from the general's beach house
Charlie's birthday letter to Terrie dated 9 January 1971 — a second letter of the same date, distinct from the mail-and-Donut-Dollies letter. Teasing and tender by turns: he hopes the four-day mail beats her birthday, jokes that she's lucky he asked her to marry her or she'd be 'well on your way to being an old maid,' and offers to kiss a Vietnamese girl and dream it's her. He is guarding the general's beach house with the Pacific beautiful and the stars out for the first time in ten days. He notes continuing repercussions from his mother Peggy's congressional inquiry (the Army needs another statement from him), and the maddening drawdown news: no 10-month tours and no drops until after Tet (26–29 January), but big drops expected after. At least, he reflects, the 243 days he has already served are days he'll never have to serve again. He closes asking after her finals and the winter weather, and signs off with a hand-lettered HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
What the letter is
9 January 1971 — a birthday letter, and the second letter Charlie wrote that day (the other is the mail-and-Donut-Dollies letter). He is on guard at the general’s beach house, the Pacific clear and the stars out after ten days of cloud, and the letter swings between teasing (you’d be well on your way to being an old maid) and the tenderness underneath it. It also quietly fixes two facts: the engagement was already settled by early January 1971, and his mother’s congressional inquiry on his behalf was still sending up aftershocks.
Transcription
Jan 9
Dear Terrie,
I hope it only takes 4 days for mail to get to you still otherwise this will be a belated Happy Birthday. You sure are lucky I asked you to marry me — otherwise you would be very well on your way to being an old maid. Well happy birthday anyway. I’ll kiss one of these Vietnamese girls and dream it is you. Is that OK!!
I’m guarding the general’s beach house tonight. The Pacific Ocean is beautiful. The stars are out for the first time in about 10 days and although it is a little chilly it is warmer than it has been.
I think I’m still getting repercussions from mom’s congressional inquiry because it seems they need another statement from me or something. No harm done.
They have announced that there will be no 10 month tours and no drops till after Tet (Jan 26–29) but after that the drops should be big. I’ll just have to wait and see — it is driving me crazy. At least I have 243 days put in over here that I won’t have to spend again.
They are playing good songs on the radio now so guard really isn’t too bad.
I haven’t had mail from you lately at all. Are finals getting you down? Too much fun in the sun. How is everything with you? How do you like winter weather now?
Well I can’t think of much else to say except I hope to get some mail soon.
Love Charles
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
What the letter records
“You sure are lucky I asked you to marry me.” Delivered as a joke, but it dates the engagement: by 9 January 1971 it was done. Everything the spring letters negotiate — Hawaii, her parents, a June wedding — is logistics on top of a decision already made here.
The general’s beach house. The plum of rear-area guard duty: a clear Pacific night, stars after ten days of monsoon cloud, good songs on the radio. “Guard really isn’t too bad” — a sentence unthinkable in the field letters of 1970.
“243 days put in… that I won’t have to spend again.” The short-timer’s consolation in its purest form: even with the drops frozen and the waiting maddening, the time already served is banked and irreversible. He counts what’s behind him when the road ahead won’t hold still.
The two letters of 9 January. That Charlie wrote Terrie twice in one day — once on mail and base life, once for her birthday — is itself a small record of how steadily he wrote, and how much the daily letter was the structure he hung the tour on.
Scans
