Ang went to Cannes for another few days of R & R. It seems he really does rest and relax. As usual, he writes nice long letters telling Betty about his trip. With his mission on the 28th, he now has 64 missions and his letters are full of discussion about getting home and when Betty should return to Chicago. Betty continues with her normal routine, including a visit with George Henthorn and his wife. Betty's uncle Frank ("Frankie") comes through Los Angeles. He is the younger brother of Betty's mother, Margaret.
February 22. Home all day today & didn’t do much of anything. Did some laundry—then read all P.M. Wrote letters in evening. Bed 11:00
[Letter. Postmark 2-23]
Well, here I is—all I can say is—combat sure is rough—ha! Boy what a deal—the best hotel in town—beautiful rooms—and wonders of all wonders, private bathroom. I’ll bet this is the only hotel outside of the states with that feature.
It’s not as nice as Alexandria—people don’t speak English—but its not bad at all. You should see some of the villas around here—practically palaces.
I’m determined to make a real rest period out of this so I’m kind of taking things easy—eat a lot, drink just a little, and sleep all the time. Mmm—those beds are sure comfortable. Yesterday, we rented some bicycles and pedaled all over the countryside. Boy, I sure was pooped—its been a long time since really had any exercise.
I’m afraid I won’t be able to buy much for you on this trip—everything seems to be rationed. Anyway, I still don’t like French styles—they irk me. The women wear Carmen Miranda shoes—three inch soles. It seems to be the latest style—and it irritates me just to look at them. Their dress styles stink, and their hats are outlandish. I haven’t suddenly turned into a clothes expert, its just that all your recent talk about your new suit reminded me that you are interested in styles. I sure would give a lot to see you in your old black dress—or for that matter in any dress - - or - - oh never mind. Tch, tch—I should be ashamed of myself—such thoughts.
I love you darling—Love, Ang
February 23. Lovely day—to Margaret Tribbey’s in evening—did decorations for dinner. Home and bed by 2:30. Ugh!
February 24. To doctor’s in AM. Then to dinner at Rockheed [?] Nearly fainted when I was paged—and Frankie’s in town. To bed at 2:00—talked!
February 25. Late Mass. Mom and Frankie out. Henthorns over in PM! We talked and talked—out to dinner and a movie. Bed by 12:00. Wonderful time.
February 26. Very warm today. Off at 3:00—home, dinner and then JJ drove us to Long Beach. Had swell time. Swell letters from Ang.
[Letter. Postmark 2-28]
Well, back at the old joint—and feeling pretty darn good. As I said, I was determined to make a real rest trip out of this—and I did. Boy, did I sleep—and eat—and sleep—and sleep. I really do feel pretty good now.
There isn’t a heck of a lot more that I can tell you about Cannes—I mean I didn’t have many adventures or see very much of the extraordinary. I had to deliver a package to a certain lady for one of the boys that had been there before me. After puffing up a couple of miles of mountains, we finally came to the villa—or should I say palace. God, what a joint. The garden is about a block square—and about the most beautiful I’d ever seen. The house was a huge place of stone—oh heck, I can’t describe it. I took a picture of it, and I’ll send it on to you when I get it developed.
Anyway, the lady of the house was a charming blonde of about 35. We sat in the garden for awhile while the maid brought out some liquor—and we had a couple of slugs of that. The subject got around to the Germans—and did she get excited—man does she hate them. The fellow with me happened to remark that he kind of felt sorry for some of them (the Germans)—and she, in a refined way, really chewed his tail good.
It turned out she had to hide out in the mountains while the Germans were in France—and her husband was a member of the Marquis. The Germans took her father away—and she hasn’t seen him since.
She has two of the cutest little kids—one about 1 ½ yrs & the other about 4—and they raised hell all the time we were there. I’d brought some candy with me, and of course we were buddies immediately. They sure made me homesick—reminded me of old time. Gee hon, it sure was a pleasure to play with two nice, clean kids like those two. Up until now—all I’ve seen are the snotty, dirty little brats of Italy running around begging or trying to sell something. “Wanna woman, Joe?” Ugh!
Needless to say, I had the time of my life with them. They sure brought out some old memories—oh well! Finally she sent them off for a nap.
I happened to mention that she had a beautiful home—so she asked us if we would care to see the inside. What a place—really marvelous. Happened to notice a picture of her and her husband at the opera—and guess who was sitting in their box with them—the Duke and Duchess of Windsor. Gee whiz, don’t tell me I don’t associate with the upper strata—ha!
I guess I fooled her though. She evidently expected Americans to stare at the picture and act surprised. I merely gave it a polite look and strolled to the window to look at the view, while the other fellow asked her all kinds of questions and acted properly impressed. When we went out into the garden again, I complimented her on her beautiful home. She said that she had heard that most Americans lived in small apartments—was that true? I said—No, we had a fairly large home—eight or nine rooms (hers only had seven). I could just see her mentally picturing a movie type home. As we were leaving, she asked me if my name was Adam or Adams. I said Adams—and we left. I’ll be she still is wondering if I’m the great-great, or the great, great, great grandson of one the former presidents.
I guess I’m getting catty, but some of these French people make me mad. She was so obviously waiting to be condescending in answering boorish American questions about the Duke & Duchess—that I was darned if I’d give her the chance of pulling that superior French manner. Ha! At any rate, I did like her children.
I love you my darling—Love, Ang
February 27. Rainy today. Ate dinner out—then to movie. Left early though—one last visit with Frankie. Bed by 12:00
[Letter. Postmark 2-28]
I’m enclosing a couple more snapshots for you. I guess I’m doing all right for you in the way of snaps. By the way, in answer to one of your questions—don’t send any more film—I really have plenty—seven rolls to be exact. and—yes, I will remember to carry the camera with me—and if you mention it one more time, you are going to get your little behind paddled. No, I’m not mad—but you sure can pester a man to death. I’m only joking, hon, I really love it.
Now, to get started on answering the seven letters I had from you when I got back. That’s the one nice thing about going away for awhile—there’s always a lot of mail when you get back.
The most important thing (naturally) seems to be my homecoming—when, where, how. I suppose by now you have your plans all made—whatever you decide is fine with me. I’m sorry, but I really can’t even give you an approximate date for my homecoming—I wish I only knew. I figure about the 1st of May—but that’s only a guess—it may be a lot sooner or a little later.
All I can promise you, is that you will have at least a months warning. By that, I mean a month from the time you receive my wire or letter to the time I reach Chicago. Your main worry seems to be that I’ll surprise you and you won’t be there to meet me. I promise that won’t happen—no matter what happens you’ll have a months notice. The rest of your plans are up to you—I’ll be darned if I know what to advise you.
Now as far as the Re-classification center goes—that’s got me stumped because I didn’t even know that they had one around Chicago. I was planning on asking for Santa Monica—stopping in Chicago for a couple weeks and then both of us traveling on to L.A. If I can work it, that’s still what I’m going to do. However Henthorns news kind of knocks the props out of the plan—that is if he has the straight poop. If what he says is true, then of course there is only one choice—Fort Sheridan. Damn it, things never do work out just right do they?
Anyway, the best thing to do is to plan to spend the whole leave in Chicago, and then if I can arrange it, we can go on to L.A.
I guess that should settle it—in a screwed up way. At any rate, you are perfectly free to stay in L.A. or got to Chicago—whatever you wish to do.
I guess that’s about all for now darling--
I love you—Love, Ang
February 28. Frankie left this AM. Rainy, but cleared up a bit. Dinner at LA Athletic Club---very nice time. Bed late-of course.
Form 5. Feb. 28, _____ flight as navigator, B-25J, 3:40h
[FROM ANG'S FLIGHT LOG. MISSION #64]
#64. Feb. 28.
San Michele R/R Yards.
Heavy, Scant & Inaccurate.
Center of Bridge
8 O.L. Cluster
[This cluster was never awarded, though he put the "Recommendation for 8th cluster" in his scrapbook. See the "Awards" tab.]
Capt. R.E. Jardine
Lt. Col. Ruebel
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.