Letter #31

Boulder, Colorado

June 15, 1918

My Dear Sweetheart,

I am thinking of one month ago today. It is about the time I left Salt Lake bound for Boulder. It surely seems like a whole year since I left you, dear. I don’t know what the matter is this week, for I have had the blues. Probably it is because something that I have heard. Should I tell you or keep it from you? No, I will tell you. Now don’t get worked up over it, will you dear? I think it is for the best. The captain said that the auto mechanics and concrete workers will leave for France right after their course is finished here. We are through on the eleventh of July.

Now dear, please don’t take it so seriously. If it be true, let us trust in God and let His will be done. But I have a feeling that I will never reach France, for I hardly think they will pass me at the coast on account of my arm. I have just received my last inoculation. My, but my arms are just beginning to hurt! It always gets stiff for about 24 hours. Well dear, if that is all I have to go through in this life, it will be a pleasant one after all.

I’m all dressed up tonight, but we can’t leave the barracks. We received our suits except our blouses. They gave us two shirts. They also told us to send all our clothes home, except that which was necessary, even our suitcases. What I will do with my necessary things I don’t know. I make use of every box and piece of paper you send me. The first box, I am using to keep my looking glass, comb, brush, toothpaste and brush in. The reason I took them out of my kit was that they were used so much. I could get to them more handily. I have just finished eating my candy you sent to me. It sure has kept fine and every piece tastes just a little bit better than the last one. Oh dear, that last piece was surely good, although it was beginning to get hard. We also finished eating George’s cookies last night.

I have been moved from my room upstairs again, for I have been put in the 27^th squad. It won’t be as good up there, for there are 150 men sleeping and getting up and coming all hours of the night. Well dear, I’m in the service of Uncle Sam, and how can I complain? And to tell you the truth, dear, I have had my fill of army life. But what can a person do when he is forced into such a thing? He must take it with the spirit of love for his fellow men, and for the restoring of peace and freedom for all the world from the Huns and the Prussians, though it cost him his life. But how could a man die a more honorable and noble death?

Could a man die a more noble and honorable death? Oh how I hate the slacker. Last night George and I were over to the drug store. A fellow came in with his ice-cream suit accompanied with his lady. I looked at him and said to George, “He ought to be serving Uncle Sam.” Today as we were all in line, he passed by in an automobile. Oh if you only knew the feelings I had as he passed. He may not be a slacker, but surely looks like one.

SLACKER IN AN ICE CREAM SUIT

Well, dear, I am on police duty tomorrow (Sunday). How I wish it would have come some other day, for Pres. Herrick will be here to talk to us, and oh, how I would like to hear him. If there is any way to get out of it, I am going to find out. If I can’t get off, I am going to ask to remain on duty till noon, then I will be off in the afternoon until Monday morning.

Well, Sweetheart, I must go for it is very nearly time for retreat, where we all assemble where the flag is lowered, then the best part of the day… mess. Please excuse me won’t you, dear? Well, here I am back again. Take me. For mess is over and your little dear wants to go to sleep. Before I forget, Elihue Call will be here tomorrow to sing for us.

I have just been asked if I cared for a cigar, I told him I did not care for one for I never smoke. Look on page 6 and see if you can see where a live ash fell, I had to blow it off to keep it from burning a hole in the paper. Smoke wherever I go! What shall I do? I am criticized a great deal here by some of the fellows for writing so much. Do you think I am writing altogether too many letters? If so, just tell me. If you should say yes, I could not stand to live through the remainder of these short days. For it is my only pleasure.

I may go to the theater and I can imagine myself with you. I go down the street and see people sitting on their porches and it reminds me of days I have spent on yours. I go to bed, I think of you and what you are doing. Where can I go? I hope you never leave me, for your spirit seems to be ever present. What do you think of this? Some of our boys who have been on missions and returned home after fulfilling an honorable mission, coming here and begin running after girls of 16 years old. Damn sure they’re not following the teachings they taught in the mission field. And someday, they will be held accountable for their misdoings.

The captain spoke to some of the fellows about it, or in other words, said the worst men we have in the company are some who proclaim to be so religious, chasing after young girls who are not old enough to be away from their parents. Such conduct to me is far beneath my ideal and I hope that I can remain true to the little sweetheart I have, the one I have waiting for me at home. The only way in which I can do it is to leave the girls alone, and not form the habit of reducing my character and my manhood I have been so long developing. Now dear, do not think that if I should speak to a girl or speak to one, that all is off between us. For I want to be a gentleman and show my respect for ladies, always. Now don’t think I am always looking for girls. I am always thinking of one dear that is stationed at home.

She is my highest ideal, and a girl has not come yet that I can love more than you. For you are far away from me. How I envy you above them all. Well, have patience, love, for we are both waiting for the time this war is ended and we will have the privilege of mingling together.

Those at home don’t know what it is to be away from home and friends. Say, from all the reports, the boys at home will be either married or going to war, then what will become of you women? I surely will appreciate home when I get back. Thanks, dearest sweetheart, for the little diary.

I surely will be proud of it when I get it full. Then it should be yours, for what is mine is yours. I surely was frightened when they sent a registered letter for me. I didn’t know what to think. Oh, dear, how you think of me. I sometimes think that is about all you do. I hope not. Well, good night dear, just one more thing: thanks. I wish you God’s blessings always.

X X Your Soldier Boy, Henry

P.S. Remember me to all the kids in the Sunday school class.