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letter
Letter to Terrie, 29 January 1971 — monsoons, 136 days, and dreading the field
Charlie's three-page letter to Terrie dated 29 January 1971, from the Da Nang rear. The register is grey and waiting: no enemy activity, but worsening weather, the monsoons not officially over until March, and rain where he expects to be sent soon. He has 136 days left and just hopes they keep passing. Bad weather kept him from finance, so he played tennis instead. He dreads going back out to the field and figures he'll at least lose the weight he has put on in two rear-area months. The back half is Hawaii R&R logistics: he must reserve an allocation a month in advance, wonders whether Terrie can get cut-rate fares, and explains that if they were married he could send a copy of his R&R orders so she would get a dependent rate reduction — but that the Army won't release his money until he is about to leave, so he can only fund the trip after they meet. He asks her to find out the airfare and let him know. Written the day before Operation Dewey Canyon II opened the Laos campaign, and ten days before the clerk job at Camp Eagle ended his expectation of returning to the field.
What the letter is
29 January 1971. A waiting letter, written in the flat grey of the late monsoon from the Da Nang rear. Nothing is happening — another day has past — and that is the whole mood: the weather worsening, the days to be gotten through, 136 of them left. Charlie still expects to be sent back to the field soon (“where I will be going soon,” “I really dread going out in the field again”), which makes this, in hindsight, the last letter of a particular kind: ten days later the clerk job at Camp Eagle would take the field off the table for good. The back half turns practical — the intricate, slightly hopeless logistics of getting Terrie to Hawaii on a private’s pay and the Army’s schedule.
Transcription
Jan 29
Dear Terrie,
Another day has past. No enemy activity reported but the weather is getting worse. I guess the monsoons aren’t officially over til March and it is still raining where I will be going soon. Not much to look forward to. I just hope the days keep on passing by. At most now I have 136 days left.
I didn’t get to go to finance because of bad weather. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to go. Instead I played tennis. I have (for me) a decent tan now, but I’m still rather pale. [One line omitted.]
No mail today but that was probably partly to do with weather too.
I really dread going out in the field again. At least I should lose some of the blubber I’ve picked up since I’ve been here these last two months.
Nothing really new to report. Let me know when & if you can make Hawaii. I’ll have to take an allocation a month in advance to be able to go. Can you get cut-rate fares for this or not. I don’t know. If we were married I would send you a copy of my R&R orders and you would get a rate reduction. There are going to be a lot of problems involved but they will probably work out. I’ll be able to give you money for the trip after I see you but I don’t see how before because these people won’t let me have my money unless & until I’m ready to leave which would be too late. Write & tell me what you think and how much air fare would be for you. Well I hope I have more to say tomorrow. I love you.
Love Charles
What the letter records
“I just hope the days keep on passing by.” The short-timer’s whole philosophy in one line. By late January the war had narrowed, for Charlie, to a calendar to be survived — 136 days, then 131, then 130, the number he would keep reporting through the spring.
“I really dread going out in the field again.” The crucial fact that dates this letter precisely in the arc: as of 29 January, Charlie still believed he was going back to the field. The dread is real and specific. Ten days later the clerk job at Camp Eagle would remove that expectation, and the field would recede into something he watched on a map. Read against the February letters, this is the before.
The R&R money problem. The most concrete look in the corpus at the cash-flow bind of a drafted soldier trying to fund a trip: he can get Terrie a dependent rate reduction if they marry, but he can’t touch his own pay until he is leaving, so the trip has to be financed on her end first and reimbursed after they meet. The romance of the Hawaii plan kept running into the plain arithmetic of a private’s finances.
Editorial note: one line on page 1 is omitted from the transcription above at the family’s discretion. The omission is marked in place; the rest of the letter is transcribed in full.
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