I'm Saving Your Letters: A Christian Courtship in Correspondence, 1918-1921

By Janet C. Thierfelder

Im Saving Your Letters: A Christian Courtship In Correspondence 1918-1921 is a collection of letters written during and in the years immediately following World War I. It is the love story of two young Christians separated by the war soon after they meet, their reunion, and finally their marriage in 1922. The letters make many references to their spiritual devotion, and the historical events of the times in which their love story takes place makes for a very interesting and uplifting read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jun 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781512742060

Janet C. Thierfelder

Janet C. Thierfelder is the granddaughter of Jim and Kitty Carson and has had a deep interest in family history from an early age. She lovingly compiled this inspirational collection of her grandparents' letters written between 1918 and 1921 in the hope that their story of love and deep Christian faith would glorify His name. She lives in Austin, Pennsylvania with her husband, Michael.

Book preview

I’m Saving

Your

Letters

A Christian Courtship In Correspondence, 1918-1921

Part 1

Janet C. Thierfelder

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Copyright © 2016 Janet C. Thierfelder.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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ISBN: 978-1-5127-4205-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-4206-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016907901

WestBow Press rev. date: 05/31/2016

Contents

Preface

Letters

Bibliography

Appendix

Jumping Off At Camp Sevier

Blue Days At Moyenmoutier

About The Author

Preface

I want to share a treasure, a story I received by chance. It could easily have been lost and forgotten, though I’m sure the storytellers would be very glad it survived.

When I was seventeen years old, shortly after my grandmother’s passing, Dad brought home an old, musty-smelling steamer trunk he’d found in Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I don’t recall my parents talking about the trunk or what it contained. It was simply placed in the basement of our home and mostly forgotten, though from time to time I would ask Dad what was in the trunk. He would say, Oh, just some old things my parents saved, but he didn’t seem interested in looking at them, so the trunk remained unopened in a dark, damp corner for years. Dad was a collector of antiques, and our small house was nearly stuffed with heavy oak furniture, glassware, clocks, dishes; and boxes of things accumulated in the basement and got piled on top of other things, including the old steamer trunk.

Many years passed and, after Dad’s passing, I uncovered the long-lost trunk and discovered the neatly stacked and wrapped bundles of letters written so long ago. There were also photo albums filled with black and white images, newspaper clippings, war medals and insignia, family portraits, post cards, greeting cards, diaries; the steamer trunk was like a gift box of family history just waiting to be opened. I was thrilled!

But the letters, the fragile, yellowed letters written with fountain pens, were the centerpiece of the collection. My grandparents, James Aldrich Carson and Katherine Neilly McElrevey, tell their poignant and remarkable love story through these three hundred or so carefully preserved letters. Their correspondence begins in the spring of 1918 soon after their meeting and just prior to Jim being drafted into the army. His letters describe his struggles and personal experiences as a young soldier during the last year of World War I, and they tell of his final months in France after the war has ended. Kitty’s early letters were lost during Jim’s time at the front, but those that survived tell of her life in Philadelphia during that time. Though personal in nature, the letters are filled with references to the economic and social struggles endured by those who passed through this historically significant time period.

Kitty and Jim were both devout Christians whose faith is evident and inspiring, a pivotal aspect of each of their lives. These letters hold much meaning for me personally because they give me insight into a part of my grandparents’ lives I never would have known otherwise. Their words are also a testament to their unfailing love for each other and for their Creator, and I know they would want me to share that. My hope is that their love will live on in the hearts of those who read their story.

Janet Carson Thierfelder

Philadelphia

Spring, 1918

The war had been raging since 1914, but by 1918 the United States had become involved, and people in the States were making sacrifices. Not only were their boys going off to fight and young lives being lost, civilians were enduring food shortages and rationing. There were heatless Mondays to conserve coal and wheatless Mondays and Wednesdays (no flour). (Kitty’s family of three was allowed one-and-a-half pounds of sugar per month according to one of her letters.) Some were less fortunate than others, finding it hard to make ends meet. To make matters worse, the flu epidemic spread rapidly in 1918 killing 13,000 Philadelphians, many of them wounded soldiers who were sent there to recuperate.¹

At the time of their meeting, twenty-three-year-old Jim Carson was working in Philadelphia for the Frankford Arsenal as a clerk stenographer and living at the YMCA at 1612 Summer Street. His family home at 566 Amsterdam Avenue, New York City was some distance away, but at that time men took work where they could find it. Jim traveled back and forth from New York to Philadelphia on the Pennsylvania Railroad. He came from a humble but educated family, his father a postman in Brooklyn and his mother a homemaker. He had three brothers and two sisters.

Kitty and her family lived at 1312 Filbert Street, not far from their church, the Second Church of the Covenanters (Reformed Presbyterian) at 17th Street below Race. Kitty’s life was devoted to her family, home, and church. She was very active in church youth group, committee work, and Sunday school teaching. Kitty and her younger sister, Martha, lost their mother to ‘the grippe’ or influenza in 1911 when Kitty was seventeen, so Kitty took over the household and care of the family.

Jim came as a visitor to the Second Church on April 21, 1918 and was introduced to Kitty. They became fast friends, but within a few short weeks Jim was drafted and went off to become one of the Army of Great Men. Kitty was keeping up a correspondence with several soldiers at the time, a common practice among the young ladies of the church who felt it their duty in the war effort. But soon Jim was the recipient of most of her letters.

Letters

1612 Summer Street

Philadelphia, PA

May 17, 1918

Dear Kitty,

Now and then a surprise comes along, and this morning I received your invitation to supper Saturday. I have decided to stay in the City of Brotherly Love this weekend and shall be delighted to come.

We finish work at a quarter after five, and I will be at 1312 Filbert as quickly as possible, most likely at six o’clock or a little earlier. (Don’t mind the uphilliness of this scrawl. I have a natural tendency that way. You would look long to find this word in Webster’s.)

Very nice of you to invite me, Kitty, and here’s thanking you muchly. Had an enjoyable time at Dill’s mansion and got home during the wee small hours. Had to walk from 59th and Elmwood clear to 5622 Willows Avenue and, say, Shank’s mare was pretty well tuckered out when your humble servant arrived at his destination.

Well, so long. I will see you Saturday evening. Thanking you again, I remain,

Sincerely yours,

Jim

P.S. I took note of the underscoring. Jimmy

566 Amsterdam Avenue

New York City

Monday Night

Dear Kitty,

This is just a short (?) note to tell you that I arrived all hunky at New York, and the folks were surprised to see me. They had heard nothing about the draft call and were in the dark.

Just this side of Torresdale, we ran into a big storm, and the train stood still for a while till it abated. It was fifteen minutes late getting into the city and crowded to capacity. Hope you got back to 1312 Filbert without getting wet. The rain had all stopped when I got home.

I had so many things in my head that I never asked you to remember me to Martha and your father. You can do that little thing for me.

I am to see the board tomorrow morning and ask for a couple of days’ time to wind up my personal affairs, whatever that means. Many boys from our district are going to Camp Sevier tomorrow, but they have all been waiting for the past week to go, having been notified eight days in advance of their call, which I learned on getting home.

Remember me kindly to all the people at church. I enjoyed the fellowship and the services very much, though some things were different to me.

Now, Kitty, in closing, thank you very much for your prayerful interest in me. It will be a great comfort to know that you are remembering me in this way, and I am sure you can rely on me to remember you in the same way. I’ll be very glad to keep you informed as to my activities at camp as much as is allowed. Hope to hear from you when I get settled down there in the land of cotton.

Does this note sound glum? I don’t intend it to. I am all ready for a good sleep, and that will put me on my feet. One thing more and I’ll proceed to close the second time. Kitty, the memory of Philadelphia scenes and Philadelphia events may fade, but I don’t think I will forget you. You will remain the outstanding feature of my short sojourn in Philly.

As ever, your friend,

Jim

May 28, 1918

O.K, at last, I am one of the Army of Great Men. Left Jersey City at 2:40 today. The crowds cheered us all the way, and the whistles blew. My, but it is hot. I thought we would all swelter. The board would not extend time for me. Please excuse pencil as my pen is in the bottom of the bag, as usual. I am leaning on a newspaper.

Hope this card finds you well. Address me at Camp Sevier, Greenville, South Carolina, c/o the YMCA for the present. Say, I will yell when we go through West Philadelphia. Listen for it. Just for fun I will write you a long letter when I get settled and will look for one from you, too. I know your correspondence is heavy now.

Ta-Ta,

Jim

Camp Sevier, SC

May 30, 1918

Dear Kitty,

I am trying to write on a chopping block in our tent, and it is a pretty fair substitute for a table. It is getting dusky and we have to turn in early, so I will hurry and try to acquaint you with the events of the first day in camp.

We had plenty of fun here upon arrival at 5:00 a.m. today. We sleep in tents holding eight fellows and have single spring cots to sleep on. Our train was eight and a half hours late getting in, and I was crazy to get a look at the sights around the camp. It is splendidly laid out and accommodates thirty thousand men. There are to be another nine hundred, or so, men coming here this week to help fill up the empty quarters.

I would like to write you a real newsy letter and tell you all about the details of the trip, our arrival, and the events that followed, but it is getting dark and the lights are all out at ten o’clock. I just finished a letter to my mother and felt that I would like to write you a short one also. Too bad I have not time enough to tell you much news.

The altitude here is over two thousand feet above sea level, and the air is grand. I am in a tent with a very rough bunch of men, and the talk makes me revolt, but I will have to put up with all of it. My pal is in another tent, having been separated from me. It is too bad, but it can’t be helped.

Will try and write you a long letter again. I have thought a lot about you since going away, and I certainly do miss you, Kitty. Don’t forget to write me when you have a chance.

As always, your friend,

Jim

Camp Sevier, SC

June 8, 1918

Dear Kitty,

Your most-welcome letter containing the pictures arrived at camp this noon. The first sergeant tossed the mail to the boys from the mess-hall steps. He nearly got to the end of the pile, but I was eagerly listening for my name to be called and was not disappointed. I had almost forgotten you were in Mount Union, as there has been so little time to collect our wits. We are very busy here in camp; drilling, learning sitting up exercises, policing the kitchen and the camp, and all the routine of army life. We have only a little time in the evenings to do our washing, shaving, and bathing. I looked at the postmark on your letter and saw it was from Mount Union. Glad to hear you are enjoying yourself and that you expect to continue doing so. I am writing this leaning on my writing-paper box and have the inkbottle resting on the iron ledge of my cot, as dangerous a place as safety and common sense will permit. We have just finished dinner, and the boys are lounging in their tents. I have been shifted to another tent and am in with six Alabama boys. Just this minute they are all out somewhere, but as I was sick all night from some spoiled cow we had yesterday, I reported ill and was told to keep in the confines of the tent. Several of the boys in our tent were sick. It was ptomaine poisoning in mild form, but I hardly slept a wink all night. I am some better today but hope I never have another siege like last night. Lieutenant Hawes, our company commander, came around with a doctor this morning and asked us how we were. He advised me to keep quiet in the tent and rest up today. Outside of this mishap, camp life is all fine and dandy. I was feeling fine up till nine o’clock yesterday, but then I was seized with an attack of cramps and was in miserable condition till noon today when your letter came, and that put a brighter face on things.

***

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Kitty and Jim at the waterworks, Philadelphia

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No Dogs Allowed sign

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Jim with waterworks and parkway in background

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Guys and girls exchanging hats

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Kitty and Jim in front of monument

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Group on bridge along the shores of the Schuylkill River

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Having fun at Logan Circle

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Letter from Jim on YMCA stationery

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Jim in front of barracks, Camp Sevier

Fairmount Park was the place for Kitty, Martha, and their friends to spend Sunday afternoons. The newly-built Benjamin Franklin Parkway, Logan Circle, the waterworks, and the Schuylkill River were the scenes captured in Kitty’s snapshot poses. One can see how Jim regretted leaving when he had just become acquainted with a new city and a new group of Christian friends, one in particular.

***

The pictures I think are fine, especially the No Dogs Allowed one. Many thanks for sending them to me. Yesterday afternoon I received a bundle of magazines and papers and didn’t know whether it was you who sent them or whether it was Martha. They were much appreciated, and I can utilize some of the time in the evenings reading the magazines.

The YMCA is a very popular place in camp, and it is hard to get any stamps there in the evenings because of the large crowd that flocks to the building. Some of the boys are using it for their writing place, but there really is more peace in the tent, which is very roomy. There is ample space for eight.

Now you perhaps would be interested to know what work I am doing. At present, several of us are detailed to the infirmary to correct literacy tests and psychological test papers. These tests are held for the purpose of determining who is best fitted to be an officer. It is a pity, but some of the Alabama boys in our company are absolutely illiterate. There is an evening class for these men. One satisfaction is that those who were selected to grade and correct these papers all received high marks in the tests. My chances for a clerical job are pretty fair. Yesterday, among my numerous letters, I received one from Major Schwartz in Philly enclosing a good recommendation as clerk and stenographer. I intend to present this to the commanding officer when the time comes for this to be done. I also received one from Captain Fader at the Frankford Arsenal telling me that he would send me a Red Cross kit from Bridesburg. I am very glad that these men take this trouble for me and doubly so that my other friends have not forgotten me. I felt very happy to get your letter and devoured the contents before I could eat anything. I let breakfast go this morning, as it was better that way. I only ate lightly this noon and will adopt this policy till I get fixed up again. Tomorrow (Sunday) I will be in good shape again, God willing.

I read with interest the account of your missionary meeting and Memorial Day services and was sorry not to have been there to take part in the young people’s prayer meeting last Wednesday. These meetings are the ones I so much miss here and would rather attend were it possible in Camp Sevier. We are five miles from Greenville, South Carolina and are quarantined until next Thursday at this detention camp, thus having very little chance to take in any services. One thing that really counts in life is these meetings, religious conversation, and Christian fellowship. All of these elements are rather scarce in camp. Romans 8:28 states a great promise that I hope I will have the faith to appropriate to my own welfare. You seem to have faith that I will not wander away, and I hope always to merit your confidence.

I am in the second squad on our company street and am close to the mess hall, so I am lucky to be centrally located. Uniforms were issued Thursday afternoon, and they are fine. Each man received two pairs of pants, a coat, a hat, three pairs of socks, two suits of fine underwear, leggings, and two fine army shirts. I am going to have my picture taken and will be sure that you get one of them. It seems rather strange to be putting aside civilian clothing and sending it home. I feel rather proud of my uniform, though.

Yesterday I had a nice, long, newsy letter from my mother giving me a detailed account of all the events that have taken place since I left home. My going away left her in a rather sad condition. She would have accompanied me to the local board with my father, but she knew just how much she could stand. She sent me off from home with a smile through tears. So far, I received three letters from the home folks, all of which were greatly appreciated. I have spent a lot of time writing letters to them, as they are anxious to hear how I am getting along, and I am under bonds to see that they are so informed from time to time. I must tell you that I was deeply affected by the parting, but what is to be will be, and it must so stand. Our homes become a part of us after a while, and it is hard to break the ties that hold us.

Now, I will quit the solemn tones of this note and try to crack a smile. Several extremely ludicrous things have taken place here, and it is too good to keep. One boy got in the wrong tent last night and had a hard task to find his way home. The corporal wanted to arrest him for prowling around. Now and then some of the boys will fail to show up at reveille and will come shirtailing along with their hats missing, leggings missing, etc. Then they must come in for kitchen police duty. Yesterday, the first sergeant wanted to know which men were finished their examinations and inoculations. Eight raised their hands at the question and were promptly assigned to cleaning pots and pans, sweeping the floors, peeling spuds, and chopping wood.

The examination was very rigid. We passed through the hands of fifteen different doctors who left no stone unturned to find flaws in our constitutions. The New York boys were hard to keep quiet. They sang and talked, and even the doctors were obliged to laugh and carry on. I passed all right and was pretty well satisfied that I was fit. Some of our men, about eight in number, were rejected. About fifteen Alabama men were also rejected. They entrain for home when Uncle Sam’s minions see fit to send them.

We have a canteen here and can buy ice cream cones, soda, crackers, candy, clothing, soaps, and brushes, etc. The prices are high but, since there is no competition here in camp, they have a free hand.

Well, Kitty, I have tried to do what you wanted me to in the matter of a long letter. I will close now and perhaps do my laundry. It is quite a task, as we have no laundry in camp and have only cold water. Few of the men are experts in this department, as you know.

I was so tickled to receive your letter that I hardly noticed any mistakes in it. I guess I failed to tell you about my trip to Washington the day we left. Well, it was funny. The evening was rainy, and our train halted in the yards at Washington. I took a notion to wash up and went to the rear car where some sinks were located. I was enjoying a regular swim when I realized that something was wrong. I gathered up my soap and towel and beat it out the door. The train had backed away up the road, uncoupled the rear car where I was washing, and had then gone on a ways to its former place, and I was stranded way up the road. I hurried out and saw the train way down the tracks, about five blocks or so, and I turned on steam for a sprint. Any minute I expected to see the train move away, but I reached the last car in time to catch it. It was pouring rain to add to my troubles, and I really laughed at the funny situation.

The inoculation against typhoid was a rather serious thing for some of the boys. A few of them almost fainted when the needle was injected into their arm, and several were taken sick on line after we all formed at retreat call. Sore and stiff arms were the result of it but, as two more inoculations are necessary, we can forget the first one. This week another shot is due.

I played a few hymns at the YMCA Sunday school, and several of the Alabama boys were there to sing. Tomorrow, I believe I will go to church there and hear the preacher, Dr. Carson by name, speak. It’s quite a coincidence to meet a man of the same name. He told me his wife was also a Carson. He is very nice, and I had a little chat with him.

You’ll notice that I closed on the last page. Here’s closing now for certain.

Your sincere friend,

Jim

P.S. I’ll try and be a good boy, Kitty. Keep praying for me, as I need it. Remember me to all the church folks when you can.

15th Company

3rd Provisional Battalion

Depot Brigade

Camp Sevier, SC

June 1, 1918

Dear Kitty,

I guess you will begin to think that I am besieging you with mail but, as the time is dragging along and things are all serene and quiet, I will try and set down a few lines.

It is pretty warm here, about ninety degrees this morning but, as we have a large tent built upon a platform with the sides butt up all around, it is shady and very comfortable. The worst enemy we have had to face yet is the pesky flies. They fairly carry you out of your tent bodily and forget to bring you back. I guess the scent of this inkbottle causes a strange magnetism that hypnotizes them. I hate to admit that I draw flies, but there are others in this tent.

At present, there is a big crap game going on opposite in the company street, but it suits me better to write you a few lines. This morning I was up to the YMCA and attended the Sunday school. I felt just a trifle homesick, but it passed away. Some of the men here are passable for acquaintance, but it is no place for anyone with polite ears.

Yesterday, we drilled on the campgrounds and nearly were roasted. I have been browned and burned already and will be quite tan in a few weeks. As far as health is concerned, I feel fine and eat the army grub with relish. We are pretty well fed, but we only have coffee with breakfast. We roll out at six o’clock and answer roll call. Then the mess call comes shortly after and, during the interim, we have a chance to take a cold shower bath, which is fine in this hot country and a promoter of good health.

Many of the draftees are from Alabama. Yankees are not very popular with some of them, as the southern hostility has not yet been eradicated. (Kitty, excuse this blot. I am writing on my paper box for a table, and it is none too steady.)

It seems an age since Monday afternoon when I saw you last. I have a very nice list of reminiscences (ahem) to look back to, and I will remember fondly the times I spent in your home and particularly in your company. I wanted to admit a few things to you Monday, but I felt rather backward about it. Maybe you didn’t want to hear them, Kitty. Among other things I told you, I admitted you had really touched my heart. It is a rather risky thing for people to treat me as nicely as you did. I told you that kindness always hit me rather hard. I told you I deeply appreciated your favors and at least tried to show my appreciation of them. Sometime write and let me know whether your kindness to me was only and solely because I was in a strange city, lonely, and without friends, or whether you had a personal interest in me. I may as well say that I got to be tremendously interested in you, and I guess you knew it. Had I no such interest in you, I hardly would have been prone to tell you about myself and my friends and affairs. Maybe I was too free to talk of myself. At any rate, I am pleased to think that our acquaintance began in the house of God and that fellowship in Christian matters, to a certain extent at least, was the result of our first meeting. I would be tickled to death to hear from you when a chance offers itself, as mail from friends is always of interest to me, and particularly from girlfriends, as they are few and far between.

I have started matters going in the way of getting into the ordinance department here and hope that my expectations will be realized. I understand some sort of examination will be given this afternoon. We just got through dinner, and I ate well.

This letter seems to have a lonely strain to it, doesn’t it? Well, I know many of the boys here, and it makes the time pass more pleasantly. We have no uniforms on yet, but a dog license has been tacked to us individually, and we have to salute all the officers. There is a circus here with the rookies. Sometimes they make mistakes and are the objects of much laughter, some of which is concealed and some not, very often reaching the earshot of the lieutenant and resulting in a reprimand from that illustrious personage. So far, I have made no mistakes to get kitchen police duty but will have that fine task to perform before very long. It consists of being an oculist; that is, cutting the eyes out of potatoes, washing the pots, and attending to the eating wants of the hungry crew hailing from New York and Alabama. One fellow spilled his dishes and, as they were loaded to capacity and then some, he was promptly given a mop. For the first time in his life, he had a task of kitchen cleaning. I guess he is liable to be more careful in future.

This is an awful scrawl, Kitty, but you will have to make the best of it. My library table is at home in its accustomed place and likely to remain there for some time. Well, I guess I will close for the time being and hope to get a note from you. I call this a note, but sometimes I write long notes. If they have need of a newspaper reporter in camp, I guess I will apply. Remember me to your father and Martha.

As ever, your friend,

Jim

Camp Sevier, SC

8:00 p.m.

June 10, 1918

Dear Kitty,

Mail came my way today with a vengeance, and I was quite swamped with it. At noon, I received your letter postmarked the 8th, enclosing the one you sent me on May 29th, so I had a letter within a letter. Also, I had a fine letter from my mother. Your postal of the county bridge at Mount Union came this evening at six o’clock, which I was also delighted (that’s the word) to receive from you.

It seems your letter of the 29th of May was returned to you as unclaimed because there are a number of branches of the YMCA here, and they must have sent it to the wrong one. However, that is all past and gone, and I have a fine lot of letters to read. Mother strung hers out quite long this time, telling me all the items of interest at home, among them a double Jewish wedding which takes place tomorrow at the house where we live. They have a brass band to lead the wedding march, and I guess sleeping will be out of the question for the Carson tribe.

I was really glad to get your letters today, for they were cheery and had in them the tones of friendship and companionship which is very much lacking in this camp. I’m very glad that you are thinking of me from time to time and consider it a privilege to be able to write to you. Now that you have told me to write as often as I wish, you had better look out, or I’ll swamp you. I regretted that I had no chance to call on some of the church people and say a goodbye, but you know the circumstances.

You know the kind of paper I have been using? Well, it is all gone, so I bought some blue paper and envelopes to match. I don’t like the YMCA paper, as it is ruled, and the sheets are not big enough. There is such a rush of soldiers at the YMCA in the evenings for stamps and paper that you could waste all the evening at the place. I would rather stay here in the quiet of the tent and write to you. The card games and gambling go on unchecked, but let them have all they want of it for all I care.

Today (Monday) we had a thundershower. It started to rain very hard at five o’clock, and all the company were drilling in the fields. I have been detailed to the infirmary to correct the test papers given to the men to see how their heads were stocked with gray matter. I miss a lot of drilling, but there is no kick coming. This correcting work will continue for quite a while.

As you asked me, I am sending in this letter a set of films of the first batch of pictures we took in the park. I had almost forgotten they were in my grip.

My sister, Mary, wrote me a letter yesterday, and I was again surprised with another letter. She writes quite a letter now and then, but you have to make allowance for sisters. They are not so thoughtful as to keep on writing all the while, being too busy.

Kitty, you make my mouth water talking about chicken. I haven’t even heard a rooster crow here, much less have chicken to eat.

So, the puddle dream came true. There are no little Bobbies to upset my inkbottle. I am in luck in this regard, as I have a peachy fountain pen to write with. One of the Alabama boys, who didn’t possess much conception of the value of pens, was fishing this one up out of the boards under the bathhouse. I offered him fifty cents for it, which he took gladly. I guess the pen must be worth at least five dollars. I’m surely driving a hard bargain but, as he was wildly excited at the fifty cents, I am not kicking up any fuss.

I just finished a letter to the home folks. My mother is planning to have a trip to the country this week, which she needs, and I hope she has the finest time ever.

So, you may go camping out. Hope you like it. I am camping out here with a vengeance, but it is very healthful. The nights are cool, being at an altitude of two thousand feet. Spartanburg is only twenty-five miles from us but is out of view because of the mountains.

Kitty, I am sending you a package containing something I would like you to have to remember me by and something I know you will like. I hardly think that it is necessary as a reminder of me, from the tone of your letter of the 8th, which I got today. I would like to leave with you a little token of my appreciation of your kind treatment. One boy was out from Greenville today with the pillowtops, and I saw this one, which I am quite sure you will like.

The army food is pretty fair in camp, but some of the boys are always grumbling. I think we will have better food after we are assigned to regular companies. This Depot Brigade will break up soon, and we will get put in regular companies.

I wish some Daisy would call me this minute to a chicken dinner. My eye, but the two-legged fowl would suffer from emaciation. Chicken! Here? I guess not. It would take a good-sized hen roast to feed this gluttonous crew of 225 men. Yesterday we had peaches for dessert, and the mess sergeant had to open up fifty-eight cans of peaches to feed the crowd. Eight slices were in each can. We have salmon all the time, and potatoes are a steady diet. Coffee is rather a failure here. I wish I had a cup of your coffee just for a change, but I will have to choke it and swallow the muddy concoction they hand us. This is more or less a pun. Don’t take it as if I am discontented with the food, but I would really like some home-cooked eats.

Poor Sally!! I am very sorry! I hope you won’t consider this a long letter. I am like a clock when wound up and have to spiel it off till I finish. I must say, you are in style these days, riding in cars. I would like an auto ride myself some day to Greenville when passes are issued to the soldiers.

Kitty, I like to hear you say that I have been promoted to the top of your list. I am going to write often and am very glad that you have confidence in me.

I can imagine how Daisy and Charles must be, and thank them for me. Look out for the powder. Eat a lot, and get fat. You must be thin from overwork!! Only ninety-five pounds!

There goes taps. Goodnight, Kitty.

Your sincere friend,

Jim

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Riding in an auto and Mt. Union friends

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Mt. Union friends, Kitty firing rifle

Kitty and her family had friends who lived in Mt. Union, Pennsylvania, a small manufacturing and coal mining town near Altoona in the south central part of the state. Daisy and Charles Snyder hosted Kitty for several weeks in the summers of 1918 and 1919. The Howers and Ramseys were other families Kitty visited. These visits, I’m sure, were a welcome respite from city life and, as the photos show, there were many happy days spent touring the countryside in autos, a novel pastime, considering so few families owned a motor car.

***

Camp Sevier, SC

June 12, 1918

11:25 a.m.

Dear Kitty,

If the writing this time is rather poor, blame it on my second inoculation. We were up there this morning to the hospital and received the second needle stab. I was also scratched (vaccinated) again, as the first one didn’t take. This was for small pox. About half of the company, numbering 220 men, was obliged to take the second vaccination. This inoculation hurt some of us, but we grinned and looked out of the window. The operation consists of a dab of iodine on the left arm, and then the doctor runs his needle into the fleshy part of the arm, quite deep, applies the vaccination scratches, and the operation is completed. We all lolled around till the entire company had been inoculated. Then we fell in line in squad formation and trekked back to camp. A few of the boys were hit by the operation, some of them getting sick slightly, and others complained of headaches and sore arms. My left arm is hardly alive at all, as it pains almost all the time since taking the stab. Otherwise, Kitty, I am feeling fine and patiently wearing out the springs of this couch till chow call. I could go for some of that chicken dinner I missed at home the day before I returned to the city. This southern air and soldiering sharpens up the rusty edges of one’s appetite, and it makes the best safety razor blade look like a hoe for keenness in comparing the two. If any of this seems like nonsense, blame it on the sore arm, and affix a fair share of the criticism to the two million germs parading up and down the veins of the left pendulum of your Uncle Dudley. This sounds rather facetious, but the doctors tell us that each inoculation contains a whole nation of the diminutive imps, and they cavort around our anatomy like bees just out of a hive. We are to get forty-eight hours rest after this treatment this morning, for which all the boys are glad. I am satisfied to remain here in the shade of the tent and warble away about the news in general. I don’t think that I would be liable to write a letter like this to anybody but you Kitty, so if the epistle is too long and nonsensical, confiscate it, as it would hardly hear inspection.

Well, item number two consists of the following change of eats. We have beans for breakfast, beans for dinner and, if we behave ourselves like little Robert, we will get some more beans for supper. I am almost ashamed to look beans in the face, as we have had so many of them. I do like beans though, particularly the ones you had for supper the last time I was at your house. Our other diet is bacon and potatoes all the time. Yesterday a few lonesome shellfish (eggs) found their way to our mess hall and were devoured immediately. They were all scrambled and, in order to keep in harmony with the manner in which they were cooked, there was a general scramble for them. I had a sample myself and nearly effaced it utterly by looking at it. They were nice and fresh, and all hands were glad to eat them, even in sample quantities. Dried peaches are a staple dessert and, now and then (mostly then), we have apples too, which are also dried. On the whole, the food is all right, but we have no butter and very little sugar in our morning coffee. The other meals are washed down with ice water, sometimes iceless. I have noted the vast difference in the taste of the water. It contains a great quantity of alkali and tastes like rainwater. It is a hungry crew that comes in to eat, and there is a little grumbling. Some of us New York boys were used to good eating, and we now have to swallow things at which we once turned up our noses. I manage to get away with eating a good deal of the food, having a failing for plenty of eats, so you won’t have to worry about me having enough to eat (so much for the eats).

There was a slight intermission just now, as mail was distributed. I was ambitious enough to get up and see if I was lucky to get a letter, but most likely there will be none for me till this evening. Two of the boys in our squad received a bundle today with some home cooked eats in it. They are opening the package now, and it smells pretty inviting.

Yesterday evening, I mailed the pillow top and a set of camp views in a folder. I also had my picture taken later and am to get them on Thursday sometime. A town photographer comes out to the camp every day. I hope they turn out well. He charges only $1.50 for one dozen (one pose) and, judging from the samples, they are pretty good-looking.

There was just now another intermission, as the call to eats came, and I answered it. By the time all the intermissions are over, I hope to get this letter finished.

You said in your letter that you liked long letters, and I will try and make them long. For dinner we had beef stew, potatoes and gravy, and stewed prunes (pretty fair fare). I noticed the quotation marks around my personal affairs and also the ha ha that followed. I observe things, as you know.

I am getting very much tanned up these days and will be quite dark, if I stay in the south a long while.

Altogether the Third Battalion Provisional Depot Brigade has twenty-six tents, each accommodating eight men. I have one New Yorker in with me who is acting corporal of our squad. The others are all from Alabama. The New Yorker I don’t know nor fancy very much, but that won’t keep me from enjoying the time off. There are one or two fellows who are fairly decent, and I usually go to their tent on spare time. One has two big boxes of hard candy, and I can eat candy too, you know. We all have sweet teeth.

As to what disposition is going to be made of us, I have no idea where we will be assigned. That comes later on when the officials see fit to do it. We soldiers are not allowed to ask where we are going, as it is none of our business. At any rate, that is what we are told upon inquiring.

Today is very warm, but there is quite a breeze in some places. It is comfortable and cool in our tent, so we are content to sit still. The fellows are nearly all complaining of their sore arms and aching heads. We are all dreading the sergeant’s call to fall in line and hoping that no call will be given this afternoon. The company next to us is now in line, but they were not inoculated today and are in good shape.

We were just called out to sign slips for our clothing. Somebody said we are going on a five-mile hike, but I guess they must have been dreaming. We would all drop.

I played the piano a little while in the YMCA last evening after mailing my package and other mail. This evening they are having a religious service at the YMCA, and I may go to it. It is a good thing to give something of the kind for these fellows, as many of them are pretty wild boys and need some stimulus to a spiritual life. They are away from restraint here and can do all they wish within the regulations of the army. There does not seem to be any law against gambling in camp. Inspection by the commanding officer is made each morning for any liquor and also to see that shoes and other personal effects are kept in their places. Blankets are folded in a prescribed way, mess dishes are all to be shined and kept free from rust, and bed ticks are to be clean side up. A nearby straw stack supplies the filling for these ticks, and they are fine.

I would give a dollar for a real cup of coffee and some homemade cake like Mother makes. It seems strange to eat off of metal dishes and drink out of metal cups, but I am getting used to it by this time. We arrived two weeks ago tomorrow (Thursday) and it seems like an age.

I have not been to town at all yet but can look forward to liberty pretty soon, I guess. We are 750 miles at least from New York City, and home is a long way off. However, Kitty, your letters always cheer me up greatly and, between them and the fun in camp, I manage to have a good time. Church services always make me wish I were at home or at 142 North 17th Street, Philadelphia. Last Sunday, the preacher told us all about his own loneliness away from his family in New Jersey, and it brought to my mind my own absence from home. In Father’s letter yesterday, he told me that he expected Mother home Monday the 10th, so I guess she is home now. I am very glad she had the opportunity to get away to the country for two or three days, as she needs the rest very much. She misses me very greatly and always looks anxiously for a letter. I am keeping up my end of the game by writing every day to them so they are informed right up to the minute of all the events in camp.

Have the Philadelphia lights been put out as yet? New York is a very dark town now, and Coney Island is also darkened. This U-boat business is getting very serious. We read Atlanta, Georgia papers here, and they color up the news in favor of the Americans. Today’s news is encouraging, but Paris is being pressed now by the Huns, so we read. I suppose that Atlantic City will be rather slow this summer on account of the U-boats along the coast.

All who wished to change misfit uniforms could do so this morning. Mine were too large, and I changed my shirt and shoes, but the trousers were the smallest I could get. I look as if I have sails on my legs, as they spread way out and flap in the wind. In the language of a seaman, if I got in the way of a headwind, I would have to tack. Other articles of clothing were a good fit, and I am fortunate in getting as well outfitted as I am.

Don’t have any more puddle dreams, and keep your inkbottle way up high and dry. Enjoy yourself as much as possible while you are away, Kitty, and make the most of your vacation. I’m sure that you deserve it.

I could say all kinds of nice things about you to wind up this letter, but I will save them for another letter. You will be tired reading when you finish this one. I am going to keep you well informed with news and will wear this pen out before very long. You are always telling me to be a good boy. Now, you try to be a real good girl, and I will try, by God’s help, to do the same. Remember me very kindly to Daisy and Charles. Hope you get the package all o.k. by first-class mail.

As ever, your friend,

Sincerely, Jim

Camp Sevier, SC

June 15, 1918

10:00 a.m.

Dear Kitty,

Three cheers! I have a new home. Yesterday, 155 of the 15th Company were transferred to the Headquarters Company, 323rd Infantry. Sixty or so of them were New Yorkers. One of the fellows in my tent graduated from public school the same day I did and sat in back of me in class. I can’t say I am tickled to death by his being put next to me, but I can hardly complain, as many of our New Yorkers were stuck into companies composed almost entirely of strangers. I understand that the company we are in is the cream of the regiment. At present, I have been assigned to the signal section of this company. I have applied to the captain for the staff section, as I can make use of my experience, and my chances are good for getting into the staff bunch. They keep seats warm in the orderly room and attend to the wants of the commanding officer and his assistants, whoever they are. If this scrawl is illegible, I hope you will excuse me. I am leaning on a suitcase to write this one.

I rather looked for a letter yesterday, but we were all transferred before the second mail delivery and consequently failed to get our letters. They will be forwarded to us