Two days before Thanksgiving, 24 November 2015, Jo opened the drawer in my bedside stand there was a battered Metamora Pharmacy paper sack with about 25 V-mails from my dad to his fiancée, my mom, dating from July 13, 1944, to May 19, 1945.
She was living at 230 W. Armstrong at first.
Later he wrote her at 1010 E. Forrest Hill, where we later lived until moving to 2636 N. Prospect Road in the summer of 1952.
Included are five unsent but annotated postcards from Paris.
I read some of these on my first visit to Paris with Jo in 1997.
Because of the fragile nature of the V-mail and the minuscule script, I am handling them with extreme care and just-washed hands.
There’s also a small box of miscellany, military and otherwise, including the arrowhead he’d found as a boy that I dropped and broke when I was about 8.
I confessed it to him promptly and he never got angry with me.
There’s also an unsigned membership card to “Mac’s Dance Club” in Piccadilly, London, his insignias and sergeant’s stripes, and quite a few two-franc GI drink tickets.
I will begin reading these letters in order and hope to have completed them by Thanksgiving.