Ang's time on Corsica is winding down and he's pretty bored and restless. He writes three letters and describes a few activities. He talks about going out to wave off "the boys" as they take off on missions; says he's now a member of the Lucky Bastards Club; and tells the story of his meeting with the group doctor. This is one of his stories we group up hearing as a bedtime story or around the dinner table. He says he receives his remaining clusters during a visit from General Eakers. I assume this was the 7th cluster and not the 8th, as I discussed in the March 16th "FINITO" post. In his files, I found a March 29th transfer order, "Transfer from 340th Bomb. Group to 7th Replacement Depot for transshipment to US by surface vessel." However, because it's the Army ("Hurry Up and Wait.") he doesn't finally leave for the States until the end of April. He's not the only one waiting to leave Corsica. The 340th Bomb Group was moving to Italy and Ang helps with that move in April.
Betty's time in Los Angeles is also winding down. She spends most of her time visiting friends and sewing an outfit for the Membership Tea on the 25th. I enjoy reading about her sewing because it reminds me about all the clothes she sewed for me. As usual, she works, shops, attends meetings, visits friends and gets to a couple movies. She closes the bank account on the 30th.
Wednesday, March 21. Rainy all day—ugh. Didn’t work real hard. Out to B.J.’s for dinner and Bd meeting. Very late - sure tired.
[Letter. Postmark 3-22]
Doggone—this just sitting around is sure getting me down—I’m as restless as can be. I kind of feel left out of things—and yet I have no desire to get back into them.
I watch the boys take off on a mission—and I get a funny feeling that I should be with them—even that I want to be with them—and yet if someone offered me a lot of money to go on one more, I know I wouldn’t do it. It sure is funny the ideas I get once in awhile—isn’t it?
Ah well, I’ll snap out of it when I see that good old shoreline of the U.S.A. It’s just that I feel so useless around here—have nothing to do except swing an occasional compass—and watch the boys take off and land. Now I know how a crew chief feels when he’s sweating his plane out.
I’ve joined the Lucky Bastards Club—its an organization of men who have finished their missions and are still in one piece. I’ll show you my certificate when I get home—its rather clever.
I sure take a beating around here since I finished—“Hey you non-combatant”—“Whats the matter, Adams, no guts” etc.
On the other hand I always go out to the ship before take-off and needle the boys a bit—“So long, boys, don’t spin in.”—“Don’t worry, those Jerry gunners aren’t so hot, they might miss you” etc.
No, darling, its not outright cruelty—it’s the accepted thing around here—most of the boys even consider it good luck. I always got a small dab of it before every mission—and kinda felt a little nervous if no one needled me at all.
By the way, I haven’t heard from you about Tommy, so I guess my letter was the first news you had of it. I’m glad, because it would have been a shock if his mother broke the news to you suddenly.
I love you darling—and I’m rushing as much as I can—Love, Ang
Keith Donovan, son of A.J. Donovan provided this to me via Facebook after I posted the Valor Certificate on Facebook (see below), asking if anyone knew anything about the Lucky Bastards Club.
His note: Here's the 340th Bomb Group's Lucky Bastards Club Certificate from my father's wartime album. The notes on the Certificate are my father's, and he says that he and John Styga (his tail gunner who went on to be a successful commercial artist) put this together with Bill [?]. The dark blob you see on the right is red sealing wax with strands of chaff used to embellish it. The calligraphy is beautifully done, but somewhat hard to read, so I'll attempt to transcribe it here:
We, of the benevolent order of "snafu's" do hereby admit into our brotherhood one T/Sgt. A. J. Donovan who on this 28th day of April Anno Domini 45 has achieved to eminence, by reason of having sallied forth no less than 67 times, and also by God's grace having returned in safety to his base, from each and every sally, at which time beaucoup tons of bombs, balls of fire, mines, petards, and other grievous burdens were rolled out onto Hitler and his evil companions causing them great discomfort. Be it said that Donovan (Bunky) was often a close companion of vino, capcorse and cognac, which helped ward off the beaucoup pitfalls of snares set before him by the foe, yet he did on each and every occasion, return unto his company with unsoiled linen crying forth to his companions, "Where's the Doc." To which the Doc oft replied :C'est la guerre.
March 22. Rainy all day. Shopped at noon and after work again. Worked hard. Sewed in evening on blouse for Sunday. Late.
March 23. Stayed home today and worked on blouse and hat. Picked up suit jacket and sewed all evening. Hope it looks OK.
[Letter. Postmark 3-26]
Here I go on this German typewriter again—I hope you don’t mind—I just like to practice once in awhile.
I had a rather busy day today; First of all I had to go to see the group doc. – he has the final say on our finishing up. I think I worked it just right—even better than if I had planned it. First of all he handed me a cigarette. I lit it, took two puffs and the damn thing went out. I lit it again, took two more puffs and the damn thing went out again. I gave him a sickly grin and tried to crush it in the ash tray. Not looking at what I was doing, I neatly missed the ash tray and used his desk.
By that time, he was convinced that I had it bad—and he didn’t give me any trouble at all. He just shook my hand and wished me good luck—and probably figured that I’d need it to stay out of the nut house. Boy, I sure can do the craziest things sometimes.
At any rate I’m clear with the group and my orders have gone to Wing now—and that means I should have my traveling orders about the time you get this—so you had better put your little hind end into gear and start heading for Chicago—pronto!
By the way, this is the last letter I’ll send to you in L.A.—from now on I’ll send them to Chicago. There is no sense in sending them there if you have already left. By the way, don’t get excited—I know that I wont get to Chicago before the middle of the month—probably a week or two after it.
This afternoon I had to get the remainder of my clusters presented to me. The big boss, Gen. Eakers himself, presented them. He was very informal—gave us a little pep talk afterwards. He said that the reason he hasn’t visited us very often is because he usually visits only the outfits that are in trouble and need help or a good chewing out from him, and so far our outfit has needed neither ---hubba---hubba!
He said that everybody from the President on down knows about our wonderfull bombing record, and appreciate it—hubba—hubba!
He also said that he had a deep interest in every one of us as individuals—and any time we wanted help or wanted something changed we should write to him personally—a fine time to tell me—ha! All kidding aside though, he does appear to be very nice.
I got a letter from George [Henthorn] today—plenty of poop. He said he knew two fellows from Chicago who had arranged to go to Santa Monica after their leave—so I think You and I can plan to spend two weeks out there. He sounds like he has been having a wonderful time out there. He is stationed at Douglass, Arizona now as an instructor. I guess that’s not too far from Las Vegas.
I guess I’ll sign off now darling and write to George and Bud.
I love you very much sweets—Love-Ang
[From the 340th diary: "Lt. General Ira C. Eaker, commanding the Mediterranean Allied Air Forces, visited the field yesterday in company with Major General Cannon, TAF commander, and General Knapp of the 57th Wing. When Colonel Chapman gets back to the base he will be very much chagrined; for at least the last six months he has been trying to get General Eaker to visit Alesan. The MAAF commander decorated several of our men during his two-hour visit."]
Certificate for Valor. This undated certificate was in Ang's files. In my research, I found that some people describe this as the "Lucky Bastards Club" certificate, but I wouldn't describe it as "clever" as Ang does of the Lucky Bastard Certificate. Maybe this Valor Certificate was presented at the ceremony on the 23rd? Transcription is below.
[Transcription of above Valor certificate.]
ARMY AIR FORCES
MEDITERRANEAN THEATRE OF OPERATIONS
It is with great personal pride that I present this certificate to 1st Lt angelo Adams, A.C. 0741438 Navigator
who, having been engaged in 66 combat missions in the Mediterranean theatre in air battles of great intensity, has gallantly and repeatedly carried the offensive again heavy opposition to the heart of the enemy and has, by his unfaltering courage, earned the gratitude and praise of his fellow-countrymen, as well as his Commander.
John K Cannon
Lieutenant General U.S. Army
March 24. Downtown with Margaret. Finished up suit and blouse. Dead tired. To bed late. The suit sure looks good.
March 25. (Ang’s Name Day) To early Mass. Dashed home and changed clothes. Had a lovely Membership Tea and my suit and hat went over big! Bed 11:00.
Form 5. Mar 25, ____ flight as navigator, B-25J, 2:20h
[A "practice mission," I guess. I don't know why, but a 2:20h flight seems long for a practice mission for someone who was supposed to be finished. The 486th diary says there was rain on the 25th & 26th and missions cancelled. But I guess the rain did not cancel everything?]
March 26. Had a new girl in today. Sure hope she works out alright. Ang has quit and is on his way. Happy day! Bed 11:30.
March 27. [no entry]
March 28. Met B.J. and Ruth for lunch. Worked all day. Had dinner out and then to “Harriett.” Very good. Bed late.
[Typed letter—addressed to 1911 N. Francisco St., Chicago, 47, Ill. U.S.A. Postmark 3-30]
Haven’t written for a couple of days—that was supposed to take up the time of the train trip to Chicago. By the time this gets to Chicago—you should be on your way to there—at least I hope you will be.
I got your letter of the 14th, and I must say you sound gay. That’s the way I like my little honey to be. Don’t mind me if I sound a little mushy in this letter—its your fault. Your mentioning the old school, and the time you were up there, put me in a drooling mood. Do I remember what went on—ha! Do you remember what went on out side the Commerce building one night? Do I remember—oh me honey, why do you bring up things like that. Its hard enough sweating out the next couple of weeks—and I have enough thoughts of my own without you bringing up things like that. You know I don’t mean that darling—you know I just eat it up—but I must admit it did certain things to me.
Your letter of the 16th didn’t sound so gay—I would say you were in a lousy mood. The club seemed to have gotten you down—I hope you were on good terms with them when you left L.A. You sure sounded like a typical club-woman.
Abel’s wife wrote since she met you—I mean Abel has gotten her letter since she has met you. She seemed quite excited about the meeting—raving on and on—about you—about the poop you gave her—the pictures you showed her—etc.
This letter has been interrupted for one day—and I’ve received your letter of the 18th.—the one dealing with Pat Abel. I didn’t figure you would be too impressed by her—so I wasn’t too surprised at your letter. As I told you, he is very young, about twenty, and I didn’t imagine that she was any older than that. (I sure am having a hell of a time—I always forget to double space.) He’s all right, except that he does get on my nerves occasionally with his kidish ways. His idea of heaven is when he can get someone to let him drive a jeep—that ought to give you an idea of his mental process.
He’s kind of ruined things for himself around here with his attitude. I put in a good word for him with the wheels every time I could—and he did get a good start—he’s a First already—and he has been training to be a flight leader. However, he has a funny attitude, and he’s getting the Major a little “p.o” at him. Oh well that’s his problem—I certainly am not going to worry about him.
By the way, it may take me a little longer to get home than I had figured on—nothing serious (maybe a week or so)—just another one of those things that I will have to explain when I get home. At any rate I think I can set my homecoming between the 20th of April, and the 10th of May. I’m pretty certain it will be between those dates—it should be.
I love you darling—Love, Ang
March 29. Shopped in AM. Worked in PM. Sewed in evening and planned for Tuesday. Bed pretty late.
March 30. Downtown late and closed acct in bank. Met Pat Able for lunch and a movie. Real nice time. Home alone all evening.
March 31. Worked until 1:30 Hot again today. Mr. S—out to dinner early. Met Martha and to movie in Hollywood. Bed 1:30.
This post doesn't not include letters, but I wanted to include these documents somewhere. As I was going through my Dad's files when I first began working on this project, these documents took my breath away. I'm sure they were more or less like "form letters" but they seem to describe my father's condition in March 1945. I'm pretty sure "moderately severe operational fatigue" described all the air crews, and anyone who had been overseas fighting in the air or on the ground for 10+ months.
[Transcription of above document.]
486th BOMBARDMENT SQUADRON
340th BOMBARDMENT GROUP (M)
ARMY AIR FORCES
APO 650, US Army
20 March 1945
SUBJECT: Rotation of Combat Crew Personnel.
TO: Commanding Officer, 486 the Sqdn, 340th Bomb Gp (M).
1. In accordance with memorandum, Headquarters AAF/MTO, I hereby certify that 1st Lt. Adams, Angelo (NMI) 0-741436 has completed 66 combat missions totaling 197 hours and 40 minutes as Navigator, and has been on foreign duty since 11 April 1944.
2. Lt. Adams is in a state of moderately severe operational fatigue as a result of his many infrequent leads as navigator and together with his numerous hazardous experiences. He was first in a plane with a nose wheel collapse, then a tire blew out on take-off. Then a single engine over the mountains and finally with a hydraulic failure. He has been over the Brenner Pass at least twenty (20) times and his judgement has been seriously hampered to the point where it is no longer advisable to fly him.
3. I recommend that Lt. Adams be returned to the States for rehabilitation and reassignment.
CHARLES B. WATHEN
Captain, Med Corps
486 BOMB SQ. 340 BOMB GP (M), APO 650 US Army, 20 March 1945
TO: Commanding Officer, 340th Bombardment Group (M)1
1. The statements of the Squadron Surgeon concerning 1st Lt Adams, Angelo 0-741436, present a true and accuate analysis of Lt. Adams’ condition.
I concur with the recommendations of the Squadron Surgeon in that Lt. [...Angelo Adams...paper is torn.......] returned to the United States for rehabilitation and reassignment. [ ……paper torn………] does not desire to fly a tour with MATS. All earned awards have been [………paper torn……..] general orders. Lt. Adams MOS is 1036.
ROBERT M HACKNEY
Major, Air Corps
[Transcription of above "Certificate."
486th Bombardment Squadron
340th Bombardment Group
20 March 1945
I certify that 1st Lt, Adams, Angelo, 0-741438 was removed from combat flying status on 20 March 1945 by reason of an aviation accident (exhaustion as a result of prolonged combat duty) and, except for the incapacitating accident, the enlisted man concerned would have been continued in a combat flying status for the period from 20 March 1945 to 20 June 1945, inclusive, and therefore is entitled to receive flying pay for that period in accordance with provisions of paragraph 2 (10), AR 35-1480 and Letter, subject: “Certificate for Enlisted Men, Aviation Accident”, WD, Hqs, AAF, dated 23 August 1944.
Robert M. Hackney, Major
Charles B. Watham
There's not much to say here other than Ang flew his last mission on March 16, 1945, the day before his 24th birthday. A year earlier, on March 16, 1944 he was "Somewhere in South America" on his way to North Africa.
After the doc handed Ang a bottle of V.O. and told him "Finito la guerre", Ang started the wait to return home. He manages to write a few letters telling Betty he is finished and talking about plans for his return. Then in one last Catch-22, he gets wrapped in the month-long possibility of a captaincy, the 340th Bomb Group move from Corsica to Italy, and typical Army "Hurry Up and Wait" rigamarole.
Betty is still working in Los Angeles. She receives Ang's letter about Tom Cahill and she calls Tom's mother, but there's no indication she visits Mrs. Cahill again.
Friday, March 16. Rainy again today. Feel alright now. Dashed home and changed clothes and to Scullys for dinner. What a mess! Late.
THE LAST MISSION
Form 5. Mar 16, ____ flight as navigator, B-25J, 4:30h
[FROM ANG'S FLIGHT LOG. MISSION #66]
#66. Mar. 16.
First time in Austria.
[Link to mission report about this mission, which was the first into Austria for the bomb group. From the mission report: "Today was a gala occasion with the squadron flying it's first mission to Austria and it's first mission with special equipment (SHORAN). Both missions were highly successful. In Austria the bridge attacked was definitely hit, and the SHORAN blew the hell out of an ammo dump at Spillembergo. Smoke went up to 12,000 Feet. All in all a very satisfactory day." http://57thbombwing.com/340th_History/487th_History/missions/031645_Brixlegg.htm]
[Transcription from scrapbook page above.]
No flak. All boxes hit.
First time in Austria---and about the longest mission yet.
At very beginning I got fouled up and almost led group over La Spezia Harbor. Thank God the clouds opened up just in time. I almost passed out when I saw the damn harbor right in front of me.
The rest of the mission went off well---no trouble finding the bridge. Very good results.
Chattie called me over right after the mission. He handed me a bottle of V.O. and said "Finito Le Guerre".
I guess he thought I'd had it. He sure was right.
[Letter. Obviously misdated. Postmark 3/17]
Start packing your bags and head for Chicago—your hubby is aheading that way right now—anyway in two-three weeks.
If this letter sounds a little screwy—don’t mind because I’m half drunk—and on only three drinks. When I got out of the plane (my mind made up) I went to see the flight surgeon—and he said O.K. He handed me a bottle of “V.O.” and I took three quick ones. Of course my stomache was empty—and now my head is going in circles.
It sure does feel good to be finished—in fact it feels wonderful—just think—no more flak. All I have to worry about now is the twelve oclock curfew in the states.
I know I promised not to drink too much anymore—but this is a red letter day in our lives. I’ll get drunk enough for both of us—and then some.
Please excuse this letter—but I had to let you know right away—I’ll give all the details tomorrow. Just pack and get to Chicago as soon as possible—within five weeks at the least.
I love you darling—Love, Ang
March 17 [Ang’s birthday] Had permanent in A.M. Mail from Ang! Met Mrs. Abel in evening—to radio show and Earl Carrall’s [Carroll’s?] home late.
[Letter. Postmark 3-18]
Happy birthday to me—and it sure is. All the details of my leaving are developing very nicely—and I might get off even sooner than I thought.
If everything clicked just right—its possible I might be in Chicago 25 to 30 days from this date—however it will probably be closer to about a month and a half. At any rate, you ought to have plenty of time to get there if you make the earliest possible connections.
Just one thing I want to get straight—I don’t want you to take a cattle car home—even if you have to wait a couple of extra days to get a Pullman. Believe me hon, you’ll have plenty of time—so don’t just rush straight out and grab the first thing that’s open. At the very minimum you have thirty days—so if you are home by the middle of next month you’ll be there in plenty of time. I’m sorry that its not possible to cable you—but these letters should give you plenty of warning.
It certainly does feel good to be finished—it takes a weight off the chest. I don’t mind admitting that I’ve been sweating these last ones out—especially since Tom went down—that made it kind of close to home. Oh well, as I’ve said before—Damn the war and all it stands for.
That may sound like I’m a little morbid—but I’m really not. On the contrary, I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. I didn’t get as drunk last night as I thought I was going to—just feeling good—and I mean good. After all it was the eve of my birthday and also the day I quit. Come to think of it—it was a very nice birthday present—wasn’t it?
I’ve got another cluster to the air medal coming—but I’m going to tell them not to put me in for it. I’d probably get all tangled up like Arnie did and be around here for a couple of months. Seven clusters are enough anyway.
I’m going to write the folks as soon as I finish this and lay down the law—in a nice way of course. I want to get it all straightened out—so there won’t be any argument when I get there—amen! Again I say don’t do too much to the house—because I’ll be darned if I’m going to spend very much time in that attic. That isn’t much of a place for a second honeymoon—not to my state of mind.
You know what would be pretty nice—if we could rent a nice, small furnished apartment for about a month—especially if it was somewhere near the folks house. Ah well, we’ll see when I get there. Its either that or some hotel—probably the Chicagoan.
I think I’ll pack some of the things I wont need for awhile and mail them home—[?] etc. Then I won’t have so much to carry with me. Talking about clothes—I sure am going to have to buy quite a few when I get home. Most of mine are in pretty bad shape.
This is probably a heck of a letter, but all I can think of is home and you. I just walk around in a daze with a silly grin on my face. Ah well, such is love.
I love you darling—Love, Ang
March 18. To late Mass—lovely day. Wrote letters all day. Had a late dinner and listened to radio. Very lonesome day—sigh. To bed 11:00
March 19. Marian in late—so did not work very hard all day. Shopped at noon and later too. Bad news from Ang—T Cahill MIA—feel awful. Bed 11:00
Form 5. Mar 19, ____ flight as navigator, B-25J, 1:00h
[I assume this was a practice/training flight. I have no indication as to why he flew this and one more on the 25th. Perhaps helping out on regular training flights for others?]
[Letter. Postmark 3-21]
Sorry I didn’t write yesterday—but I just can’t think of a single thing to put down on paper. All I can think of is that I’m coming home and to you—which is plenty to think about——but doesn’t fill up much space on paper.
One of the favorite sayings around here is that while one is flying missions his life belongs to the govt. and there is no sense thinking about it—but once the Doc says finito—then its his own and he’d better start planning on what to do with it. There is plenty of truth in that. While I was still flying, although I naturally thought of coming home a lot and what we’d do, it was rather abstract—somewhat like our plans of the future when we were in high school. But as soon as I knew I was finished—it was just like getting the wire from you telling me you were on the way to L.A. to marry me.
If you get what I mean—one minute its all plans—and the next minute it slaps you in the face and is asking you what you are going to do about it.
Don’t mind me if I sound a little excited—because I certainly am. Even though it will only be a short time before I leave here—it just doesn’t seem like I’m going to be able to stand it even for that long. I walk around all day with a blank look on my face—with nothing to do——and my thoughts thousands of miles to the east.
I already have most of my stuff packed. For once in my life I’ve done a good job of packing—unfortunately—and I can’t even kill time by unpacking and packing it again.
Its not as bad as all that—but I must admit time is sure dragging along while I’m waiting for my orders.
I guess I best get down to more practical matters—although I can’t think of too many at the present time. First of all, I did write to the folks and lay down the law—I don’t think we’ll have too much trouble with them. I even hinted that we’d do some of our living at a hotel—just so they’d have some warning.
Darling, what would you like to do—or where would you like to go on a “second” honeymoon. Start giving it some thought. Its just a little idea of mine—nothing definite. I’ve had about all I can stand of “scenery”, “quaintness” and “quietude” over here—so I don’t think any of the regular spots such as Niagra Falls would do. Perhaps it be best if we just stayed in little old Chicago—but took off for a couple of days all by ourselves—not even call or see any friends or relatives.
We could rent a suite at one of the hotels—I could sure enjoy breakfast in bed—and bellhops who understand English. Then maybe we could rent a car so we could run around –take in shows—nightclubs—anything the curfew has left open. The more I think of the idea—the more I like it. Just act like newlyweds who have come to Chicago for a honeymoon—and don’t know a single person. Yippee!
I love you darling—Love, Ang
March 20. Called Mrs. Cahill today. Poor lady. A beautiful day. Wrote letters in evening. Bath and bed early.
I have no idea where this picture was taken, but I’m using it here because — well, it’s just so perfect with his stories about driving a jeep on trips to Ile Rousse and Bastia. I wish I knew how much of his story in his March 9th letter was true. When I shared it with Betty, she said, “Don’t believe everything you read.” Anyway, the letter provides a great example of his storytelling and is one of my favorites.
In his letter, the story is that he went to help set up a squadron party on the other side of the island. He also tells stories in his scrapbook about trips to Ile Rousse and to Bastia. The 340th BG mentions a party at Ile Rousse in the March 1, 1945 entry so I wonder if that's the trip Ang is talking about. The postcards Ang sent are postmarked 3/16/45 so it's hard to tell if the trip he talks about was the same party or on the 7th as he indicates. In any case, it's great storytelling and it's funny, but it's also uncomfortable to read his descriptions of locals, especially women. (The scrapbook pages are at the end of this post.)
Ang flies his 65th mission on March 13th and flies two practice missions on the 14th and 15th.
Betty continues as usual with work and meetings and she does their income tax return. Her tonsils continue to cause problems. Her boss is trying to find a replacement for her.
Friday, March 9. Worked hard again today. Sure am getting disgusted with place. Club meeting—so tired I didn’t take much part. Late.
[Letter. Postmark 3-12]
Well, I’ve been cossacking again—not very far—just to the other side of the island. They have a very nice hotel over there—and I went over to arrange a party for the squadron—which took place the night before last. It turned out to be a very nice party—not enough women as per usual (2 Red Cross gals and about 10 locals) but the music was good and the liquor and food wonderful. As you might guess, it was a very drunken squadron.
However, it was the next day (yesterday) that really took the cake. Most of the boys left early and flew back. Four of us (the major, the squadron Doc., another character named Manns and myself) were going to stick around and drive home later. We went into the bar—locked the door—and several hours, dozens of dirty jokes and filthy songs later, we emerged on an unsuspecting island of Corsica—stewed stiff. Chatty (the doc.) decided he absolutely had to have a woman—so he took the jeep and went searching—so we went back to the bar. About an hour later he returned with a “woman” and somebody’s great grandfather. He must have been a great grandfather—because he was her father and and she was easily a grandmother—easily!
After quite a bit of arguing—it was decided that I was the most sober—so I became the driver. About two miles out I hit a beautiful curve at 55 and the old geezer decide he wanted to walk—so we let him walk. After we got started again the major insisted we go faster and I was just drunk enough to do it so---! Well, I hit a curve at sixty—twisted the wheel—the damn thing wouldn’t twist enough—so we went into the ditch. It was a very deep ditch—only about four feet deep and full of rocks. anyway, I managed to keep the jeep in the middle of the ditch until I slowed up and then pulled out. A survey showed only one skinned nose and a few bruises. The old bag jumped out, pulled up her dress and proceeded to show us her bruises. God—now I know why I remain faithful. Imagine pulling up a dress and seeing something like that pop to view—ugh!
At any rate she insisted that she wouldn’t ride with us anymore—so we bade her goodbye and watched her limp down the road. Then the argument started again—who was to drive? Again I was voted the most sober—and believe me, I have never been more sober in my whole life. That ditch made a Christian out of me—but good.
We finally got loaded and started up the mountain road. Man, I wouldn’t go thru that trip again for a million dollars. The damn road winds around and around the mountains –and there is nothing at all on one side except a very big drop.
We had to stop at practically every house for a drink for the other three (I told you I’d become a Christian)—and they were really getting drunk and playful. It was getting dark, and I tried to turn on the lights—but they wouldn’t work. There we were—no lights and still a long way to go.
Manns said he’d fix it—and caused a short and almost burned the jeep up. Finally, after pulling most of the wires apart he got the lights working—so we all piled in again. However, he’d screwed something up because the ignition wouldn’t work. The major got mad at the jeep and decided to roll it over the cliff. By the time we talked him out of that notion—Manns had pulled more wires out and somehow or other got the infernal machine started—so off we went. I think that was the craziest ride I’ve ever had. There were several shorts—and so there were sparks flying all over the jeep. About half way up ever steep slope the engine would stop—and Manns would have to fiddle with the wiring again. Up and up we went—and in no time at all we were driving thru the clouds—and I mean just that. I could see easily ten feet ahead of me—easily! Finally we got to the top and started down and after about a half an hour we were out of the clouds.
After that it was, comparatively, an unexciting ride down to the coast. Of course the boys were a little playful and insisted that we chase a cow down the road—orders are orders—so we did! And at one of our frequent “stops” we were almost murdered by a bunch of Frenchmen when the major tried to steal their dog. However, as I’ve said, it was unexciting—comparatively!
When we got to the town on the coast, Chatty started insisting that he wanted a woman—so I had to drive him to one of his “friends” house. He went up and came down with two bags. One was old—and disgusting—the other was young—and disgusting!
We finally got them packed in drove up to camp and up to the majors shack. By that time I was so cold, nervous and disgusted that I just grabbed the whiskey—had two quick ones—filled up a small water tumbler and staggered to my shack. I took off my clothes—climbed into my sack—drank the whiskey—relaxed and either passed out or else went to sleep remarkably quick.
The moral of this story is that it’s a heck of a lot safer in an airplane that in a jeep—at least its less nerve racking. The boys that flew took 19 minutes—it took me nine hours.
That, my darling, are my adventures of yesterday—and thank God something like that happens only once in a blue moon. I couldn’t take that twice in one life-time—God!
I rarely make a promise—that is the last time I leave this camp until I come home—and until I come home I will not have more than three drinks in one day. Believe me, that ditch made a Christian out of me—I think I’ll even go to church this Sunday.
The missions are child’s play compared that ride. As Bud said, with my luck I’m a cinch to die in bed—and that sure proved it.
Please don’t worry about me sweetheart—I promise to be good from here on in.
I love you darling—Love, Ang
March 10. Didn’t get up till late. Cleaned up and met Mom and Marian for lunch and “Life with Father”. Worked on Club books in evening.
[Letter. Postmark 3-12]
Now that I’ve given you all the details of my hair-raising ride—I can start commenting on some of your letters—and it seems I have quite a few to catch up on.
First of all, I’m mighty glad that you’ve finally seen the doctor—and that everything seems to be O.K. I hope I didn’t give you the wrong idea—because I still don’t think we should have any children until after the war. The only reason I really wanted to to be examined is that its been on my mind for quite some time—and besides its really about time we had some medical advice. After all, we have been married for some time now.
I’m well pleased with your report on what he said—all except the weight question. I don’t care what he says—102 lbs is dangerously low. However you’ve already stated that you planned to quit your job—and that’s the only advice I could give you. Just quit—and then take things easy until I get home—because I can promise you that you won’t gain any weight after I get there.
I really am glad that Frankie got out to see you. I got his letter today and he seemed to have enjoyed himself an awful lot. I hope he doesn’t get into too much hot water over it—he certainly deserves a few extra days.
Its too bad that Joe and Peg were separated—but I guess it was the smartest thing she could have done. I don’t think you are hard-hearted—I can see what you mean when I read her letters. By the way, I sent the check to the Silver Springs address they gave me—you’d better tell her so she can write them. Finally my procrastination policies have paid off. I had the Teddy Bear for Donny all wrapped and addressed to Silver Springs, Md—but I never sent it. Now I can readdress it to Chicago. Aren’t you proud of me—I’ll be you are!
I’m so darn glad that Henthorn finally got to see you—I think I’d have gone hunting for him if he hadn’t. So you finally got some poop on me—I can just see you eating it all up—I’ll bet you drained poor George dry. He really is a swell kid, isn’t he? We really did make a good team—at least we had a lot of fun together—even on the missions. He certainly is a good pilot—and he sure could wheel and deal that plane around the sky.
By the way—you never did say whether or not you approved my staying over a couple extra months for a Captaincy. From the tone of your letter in answer, however, you seemed rather cold to the idea. I’m still not sure, but I think I’m going to give it up. It kind of looks like I’m going to have to screw around a little longer than I expected to get it—and a Captaincy doesn’t mean that much to me. I’ll be sure in a couple more days, and then I’ll let you know for sure—and you can make some definite plans.
I wish in your next letter you’d let me know how our bank account stands—just so I can have some idea of what to plan for when I hit the states.
I think that idea of fixing up the upstairs rooms is a darn good idea. However don’t spend too much money on it (or don’t let the folks) because I plan on renting a suite downtown. That way we can spend a lot of time on our own—and yet when we are out at the house we can stay there some of the time.
Just so you can have some idea about my plans—here they are. The first day we’ll spend a couple of hours with the folks—then head for a hotel room and hibernate. The second day we’ll go to your grandmothers late in the afternoon, and after visiting for a while, take them over to my house for a party—and any and all relatives that want to see me will have to be there—because that is absolutely the last party of that type that I plan to attend—amen! After that we’ll take things as they come—visiting some, but spending a lot of time all by ourselves—and that I mean in spite of all the relatives in the world.
I’ll write all that to the folks—and let them know just exactly what my plans are—and in my cute little way let them know I am quite determined.
That’s about all I can think of tonight darling—I mean about coming home and being alone with you—woof-woof!
I love you honey—Love, Ang
P.S. Please don’t let yesterday’s letter upset you—I’m sorry I sent it. I really do plan on being a very good boy until I get home—I didn’t even go to the group party last night.
March 11. To late Mass—real nice brisk day. Did some telephoning and Income Tax in P.M. Home alone and wrote letters in evening. Bed 11:30.
March 12. Didn’t work very hard today. Mr. L. going nuts trying to find a girl—ha! Wally R. on way home! Bath and bed by 11:00
March 13. Feel terrible—got off early and to doctor’s. To bed with medicine and felt a bit better. These darn tonsils!
Form 5. Mar 13, ____ flight as navigator, B-25J, 4:45h
[FROM ANG'S FLIGHT LOG. MISSION #65.]
Perca R/R Br.
1st. Lt. Harbaugh R.M.
1st Lt. Allen D.
[Link to mission report where it's reported, "Missions on both yesterday's and today's targets got by with practically no opposition from the enemy, but were somewhat bothered by clouds. Nevertheless, the TNT was neatly placed where it would do the most damage." http://57thbombwing.com/340th_History/487th_History/missions/031345_Perca.htm]
From Ang's scrapbook. Mission #65 Perca RR Bridge: "Milk run---and do I love it. Can't understand why there was no flak---but who am I to kick. However, I guess the Col will be "PO-ed" at us---no flak and everybody missed the bridge. Just one of those things. I showed the bridge to Allen---he aimed but missed. I guess the other bombardier didn’t see it, because they hit way over into the town. I guess we lost a few more partisans."
March 14. Girl in today—but she didn’t want the job! Rain—to bed again when I got home. Feel much better now. Late.
Form 5. Mar 14, ____ flight as navigator, B-25J, 1:10h
March 15. Throat is much better—doesn’t hurt at all. Out to Glendale for dinner. Very nice club there. Bed late.
Form 5. Mar 15, ____ flight as navigator, B-25J, 1:25h
[Letter. Postmark 3-16]
I’ve neglected you for the last couple of days—sorry. I don’t know whats come over me lately—I guess its just laying around not doing anything.
Well darling, I’ve made up my mind at last—I think! What I mean is that I’m going to fly one more mission (a milk run) in one of the next few days—and if nothing comes up before then I’m going to quit and head for home.
It doesn’t look like that fellow is going to get his orders to go home for quite some time yet—and that leaves me out in the cold as far as that deal is concerned.
They (the wheels) are really very nice to me. What I mean is that they want to get me a Captaincy—the Executive Officer told me to stick around and they’d fix me up—but I don’t like the sound of that “stick around” business. I’d have to stick around until there was an opening—and then work at the job for a couple of months before I could get a Captaincy—and that would probably be six months or better. I guess I’m just not ambitious—because I don’t think I would stick around that long for a majority.
At any rate I’ll let you know for sure in two-three days—and I think the chances are I’ll be leaving for the states within a month.
By the way, perhaps the reason Bud hasn’t written is because he is preparing to come home. In his last letter he said he was planning on it happening soon—and we have even made a few plans where we might come home together. The chances are we wont—but there is a possibility. It sure would be nice—wouldn’t it? I can just see the three of tearing around Chicago—wow!
And now to discuss my roommate—Able. He is a great big brute (six-three or so) with the face of a baby. He is as affectionate and playful as a little bear—and his favorite way of greeting a person is to put his arms around him (the person) and playfully squeeze the breath out. I really do like him though—you can’t help liking him even if he does irritate me to death sometimes. I’ve done everything I can to help him—and I’m rather proud of him. He’s already checked out as a first pilot—and he’s starting to train to take over the lead someday. He was put in for his 1st yesterday. I think that gives you all the poop on him.
While I’m at it I might as well get my other roommate described—Capt. D.B. Pray. He’s the S-2 officer for the squadron—and he’s from Milwaukee, Wis. He’s a little older than I am (30), but his ideas are a lot younger. He has dozens of ideas for making a million dollars—and insists that I will be his partner. He is a good kid though, and a very hard worker—who knows, maybe we will team up after this war is over. He’s so full of ideas—a few of them are bound to be good. By the way he has a wife and one child.
So Tom has a mental disease—that certainly is too bad. However it can’t be anything too serious—at least I hope not.
I certainly got a kick out of Jen’s letter—she certainly is a screw ball. Remember what I told you—don’t do anything too elaborate on the house—we won’t be spending that much time there.
I love you darling—Love, Ang
[Transcribed from scrapbook page above.]
Went up with Moyer and Davis as advance party to arrange Squadron party. Had a better time before party than during it — oh those “B-25s.”
Mixture of B-25s
1 ounce Gin
1 ounce Brandy
1 ounce Red wine
1 ounce Soda.
a little ice — mix well — drink and pass out
3 drinks and Cooley took off his clothes and ran around the hotel playing hard to get. The single female of the hotel (Red Cross Gal) didn’t want him — so we threw him in a tub of cold water and then put him to bed.
Moyer had four drinks — automatically became a cave man. She didn’t like that either so I put him under the shower and then to bed.
I had five drinks — didn’t even know there was a Red Cross Girl — didn’t take a shower — just passed out in bed
Results of Crap Games:
Cooley won $70.00
I won $110.00
Moyer won $480.00
Squadron went home broke.
From Ang's scrapbook. "Ride Home from Ile Rousse." Left postcard is "Piana - Route des Calanches" which is actually south of Ile Rousse, but gives an idea of the roads. The photo on right is "Bastia - Vieille Rue". It is postmarked 3/16/45. He didn't write much except to say how hard it is to write postcards.
[Transcribed from scrapbook page above.]
RIDE HOME FROM ILE ROUSSE
Major Hack was drunk, Chattie was drunk & Chi-Chi was drunk — and I had to drive them home. Chattie had pig and her father along — he insisted that he take them home with him. Everybody else flew home — they were smart.
I hit one curve (see postcards) at 45 — and the Papa got nervous — so we let him walk. “Faster,” they cried — so faster I went. I hit a curve at 55 — slid into a ditch. Only damages were a scraped nose for Chi-Chi, a stiff neck for the major, and a bruised behind for the pig, which she insisted the Doc must examine. Goodness, don’t these people ever take a bath.
Then the argument started. She wanted to walk and after the brief examination even Chattie didn't argue — so she walked.
Hack wanted to drive; Chattie wanted to drive; Chi-Chi wanted to drive — so as a compromise, I drove.
I guess the ditch didn’t help the jeep, because the lights went out — the motor conked out 2 or 3 times on each incline — and sparks flew out from under the hood (a short.) Near the top, the clouds closed in and we had to drive thru them for an hour.
Every house is a bar, and so they had snorts all the way across the island (they wouldn’t let me drink.)
At Bastia, I had to stop and let them pick up two more pigs — then drove them all to camp.
The whole trip took nine hours — the boys that flew made it in 20 minutes. And people ask me why I went into the Air Corps!
In spite of continuing bad weather on Corsica or over targets, the squadron managed to fly more than 30 missions in March. Ang flew his two final missions in March, but not until the 13th and 16th. On the 6th, he is finally able to tell Betty about Tom Cahill, and then tries to reassure her that he is “over it” and is fine now.
Somehow he manages to write some fairly newsy letters, touching on many topics, including post-war plans, salary, cooking. He sends an article about the paintings on the planes. There were some photos of these paintings in his scrapbook. I'll post those later. He mentions someone named Canfield twice, but I can't seem to find that name in any files or records.
Betty is busy as ever with board meetings, sewing an outfit for the Membership Tea, going to a few movies. She talks with Mrs. Abel (Ang’s new roommate).
Thursday March 1. Busy at the office—Dark and rainy. Napped before dinner—Wrote a couple letters—to bed about 11:00. Sure tired.
[Letter. Postmark 3-3]
Oh darn—this is one of those days where you go crazy for lack of something to do—and then when you finally decide to write some letters—you just can’t get started. You remember how restless I used to get around the house—not being able to sit down—and yet not knowing what to do—that’s the way I’ve been all day today.
I guess I’ve had it—its about time I was heading for home. I haven’t pestered any of the wheels, because I’ve been kinda hanging around for that Captaincy deal. However, nothing seems to be coming out of it—and its beginning to get on my nerves just laying around. I think I’ll fly two more missions—and if nothing develops by then, I’ll quit and start packing for home.
It isn’t that a Captaincy would mean so much to me—although the extra money wouldn’t hurt us. Its just that as a Captain when I got back to the states, I’d have a little more to say about where I wanted to be stationed and the type of job I wanted. However, nothing is worth staying over here indefinitely. So, if an opening doesn’t develop pretty darn soon, I’m just going to give it up. I’ll let you know for sure in about two weeks time.
I don’t feel as badly as this letter indicates—its just my restlessness—you know how I am when I have nothing to keep me busy.
Before I forget, yes I did get the film you sent—about a month ago—it sure made fast time.
You can watch the papers for the next couple of weeks. We’ve had a whole slew of reporters, writers, artists etc hanging around here lately—even flying missions with us. They ought to mention our Air Force at the bottom of some of their stories anyway.
Yes, I did get the two articles about Canfield. The little son-of-a-fun will be an ace before we know it. He always was a dead shot—one of the best skeetshooters I’ve seen. I’ll bet Ruth is in glory.
I love you darling—Love, Ang.
March 2. Rainy and cold, but it did clear up later. Had letters from Ang—got in touch with Mrs. Able—Ang’s new roommate.
[Letter. Postmark 3-3]
Well, I must say I feel a hell of a lot better today than I did yesterday. I don’t know what was the matter yesterday—just restlessness I guess. I suppose even I have to have days like that once in awhile—I suppose!
I’m sending you a few more snaps I’ve had around. I should say I’ve been doing alright by you. I’ve got quite a few more that I’d like to send home—but can’t. I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait until I get home to see them—providing they’ll allow me to bring them with me. They’d better—I’ve gone thru a lot of trouble to get those—and I’ve got some beauties.
No dear, none of the snaps I sent you are commercials—they were all taken by me or one of the other boys. That one of the Nile was a beauty—I was quite proud of myself and the camera. I certainly do hope the Koda-colors come out –they should be extra special. I could send them to the states for development, but they’d have to go thru a lot of army channels, and I’m afraid something might happen to them. I guess I just wait until I come home.
Coming back to that subject again—I still don’t know when I’ll be coming home. However, I can tell you one thing—I’m going to fly very few more missions—and the ones I do fly, I’m going to pick. I’ve been flying them as the came—but I guess old Adams better start thinking about his wife and future family. I promise the few remaining will be milk runs—and nothing but. That was so you could stop worrying about me—that should put your mind more at ease.
Peg and Joe seem to be getting along allright, don’t they? By the way I sent Donny a big Teddy Bear from France—I thought it was very cute.
I also got some perfume for you and your mother—I’ll send it on tomorrow.
I love you honey—Love, Ang
March 3. Real nice day. My morning in office—not much to do. Bot some pads for suit. Home alone in evening—did some sewing.
Form 5. Mar 3, ____ flight as navigator, B-25J, 2:05h
[486th diary reports a stand own on this date, so this was robably a practice mission. Other squadrons did fly missions on this date.]
[Letter. Postmark 3-4]
I just happened to think—its only two weeks until my birthday. Time is sure going by—by the time this war is over we’ll be a middle-aged couple—almost! And on the twenty-seventh of this month I’ll have been in the Army three full years. That means I’ll start drawing foggy — an extra 5% — about 12 bucks a month extra. Boy, we’re really getting into the upper income brackets. Do you realize we’ve been earning about 500 bucks per month between us in the past 6-7 months. Holy Moses—if you’ll remember, that’s the figure we’d set for ourselves as the best living level. Well, we can always say that we attained it once in our lives.
Also, in about a month I’ll have been overseas a year—and be able to wear two overseas stripes on my sleeves. Boy, that blouse sure won’t look the same as it did when I left the states—providing I ever get around to putting everything on it. Of course it could also use a good cleaning.
One of your old letters (Jan 20) came yesterday—demanding the size shoe I wear. Really honey, I don’t need or want another pair of shoes. I’ve gotten quite used to the G.I. shoe—and I’ve got those boots I bought in Cairo. However, just before I come home, I’ll send you a request for a pair so you can get a coupon for me—O.K.?
I love you darling—Love, Ang
March 4. Raining hard again today but cleared up a bit later. The [??unable to read] over for a while — to movie with Mary Tribing. Bed late.
[Letter. Postmark 3-6]
Got your letters of the 17, 18, & 19th—and since I don’t have to much to write about I’ll comment a little on them.
First, thanks for Gails letter—took a little dig at me didn’t she? I’m glad you plan on going to see her—it ought to do you both a lot of good. I can just see that she’s dying for a chance to give you the poop on the Bohlings—ha!
It certainly is too bad about Canfield—I hope its just a false rumor. Yes, it is true that Gabby can’t write about it—not for thirty days after its happened. It’s a very serious offense if he does—or anyone does. Its too bad, but that’s the army for you—and one of its damn regulations.
As far as your becoming a barfly goes—you can relax, because hubby definitely does not disapprove. As far as the word trust goes—I didn’t quite understand what you meant. If you wondered if I trusted you to take a couple of drinks and not make a fool of yourself—you can relax. You know what I think of your ability to handle yourself under any circumstances. If you mean the other kind of trust—well, all I can say is feel a little bit insulted. Don’t worry hon, if I ever get to the point where I don’t trust you that way—you’ll know about it—probably thru a lawyer. Ha, what a foolish thing to ask me. boy, after a few very important preliminaries, I’m going to paddle your little hind end—but good, as soon I get my hands on you. Oh me, what a day that will be—oh me!
I’m really glad you are getting hep on this cooking stuff. However, I want to warn you—don’t practice too much on this prepared stuff. All I’ll want when I get there is plenty of meat (mostly steak). French fries (no mash potatoes for Gods sakes) and plenty of fresh vegetables (mostly salads) and, believe it or not, gallons of fresh milk. Imagine me and milk, but its true, I’ll drink it by the gallon. Not that I’ll take any time off to eat for the first couple of days, but _ _ _ _. That was kind of raw and I didn’t even think it up—it’s the standard last words of all boys heading for home. You can see where our thoughts are concentrated most of the time—ha!
I hope you say something definite about your plans in one of your next few letters. If you are leaving for Chicago this month, I’d better start addressing the mail there. However I won’t start until you tell me to—I wouldn’t want to get that screwed up or you’d probably never talk to me again.
I love you darling—Love, Ang
March 5. Marian out all day — sure didn’t work very hard. Shopped for [??] but no luck. Wrote letters in evening. Bath and bed.
[Letter. Postmark 3-6]
The enclosed article is about one of our Squadrons. Those paintings on the planes are really cute—I really go for them.
Now to get to my moustache—or rather my lack of one. Really honey, it looks a lot better in the pictures than it actually is. Actually it was very mousy looking—I couldn’t get it trimmed at all. However, I’ll think it over, may I will grow another one before I come home.
I would hardly say that I disapprove of our families getting together—in fact there is nothing I would rather happen. I hardly think that Eleanor will contaminate my mother.
By the way, I sent the Cannes presents off today. I sent yours to Chicago, just to be on the safe side.
While we are still on the subject of Cannes—I cashed a check for $150.00 yesterday. I suppose I could have gotten away without cashing a check—but it would have left me broke and still owing some money—so I thought I’d better get straightened out once and for all.
You seemed to be a little excited about our post-war plans—really I’ve changed my mind since I last wrote you—several time. At the present I’m all at sea—although I do have a little deal cooking over here that I might take up after the war. Do you think you’d like to do a lot of traveling? That’s one thing that’s holding me up—I detest the thought of ever leaving the states once I get back to them. Its sort of an export-import deal—and the biggest drawback—you guessed it—money! Its still in the dreaming stages so I wouldn’t get too excited about it. More about it later on—if anything comes of it.
I love you darling—Love, Ang
March 6. Wasn’t much to do today but managed to keep busy. Mr. L. out of office. Mother to Rowena’s for trays[?]—so a late dinner. Sewed on [??coat?]. [Note: I originally thought Rowena was an in-law of Betty's uncle, but further research indicates she was Rowena Higgins, a friend of Betty's mother from their time in Arkansas when Betty was born.]
[Letter. Postmark 3-11]
Well, the waiting period that the army requires is over and I can tell you. Tom Cahill is missing in action.
Its been killing me to tell—to save you a lot of grief later on—and I couldn’t say a word about it until this certain waiting period was over. Those letters you sent me saying you had gone to visit Tom’s mother—and what a wonderful time you had with them and so on—almost drove me crazy. And then this letter you sent me about Canfield—it was practically the same circumstances—oh hell, I know the army has its reasons but it sure was hard not to say anything.
Even now there is very little I can say—and I’ll be darned if I know what to advise you to do. Without a doubt Mrs. Cahill has been informed of it by now, but if the Army has screwed up, I don’t want you to let her know about it. If you do call her up or see her before you leave, you’ll just have to use all your tact. If she doesn’t know--don’t say a word. If she does know—well, I’ll be darned if I know what you should say. You can tell her that there a fellow on his way home who will come to see her and give her as much information as he can. I guess I’ll write her a letter one of these days, but there really isn’t much I can say in a letter. All I can say is that he was shot down—and that its my personal belief that there is not too much reason for optimism—God, isn’t that a nice thing to write to a fellows mother. Of course there is always a chance—that’s why he’s listed as Missing in Action—but how can you build up her hopes on slim chance—and yet how can you destroy all her hopes when there is that chance—no matter how small. You’d better just say that I wrote he was missing in action.
You may have wondered why I’ve gone to so many rest camps lately—now you know. It hit me like nothing ever has before—or ever will I guess. I wasn’t much good for anything for quite a while. I’ve seen other fellows go down before, of course, and I didn’t feel too well after, but Tom was rather a special case. He was about the nicest person I have ever known—the kind one can’t help but like—and he was about my best friend. And to top that off, I knew his brother was listed as missing—and all I could think of was his poor mother.
I don’t know what else I can say darling. Don’t worry about me, I’ve gotten over it now—I guess you have to. It was only for a little while that it really knocked the props out from under me.
As far as the other kind of worry goes—you can stop that to. I’m only going to fly a couple more—in fact, I’m not sure I’m going fly any more. As I told you, I’m going to wait about 2 weeks (10 days now) to see if there is an opening for me to get my Captaincy, and if nothing develops I’m going to quit. In the meantime I’m not going to fly any missions. If there is an opening, of course, I’ll have to fly 2-3 more—and that’s all. I’ll let you know more in a few days.
I love you my darling—Love, Ang
March 7. Worked very hard today—typed all day. Had Bd meeting in evening. Home late—and bed late. Ugh.
March 8. Another busy day—a woman was interviewed but no soap. Home alone for dinner. Called P. Able. Wrote letters. Washed head.
Joni Adams Sesma, daughter of Angelo and Elizabeth Adams. Ang served on Corsica with the 57th Bomb Wing, 340th Bomb Group, 486th Bomb Squadron. April 1944-April 1945.