"They are not afraid of pain or death, only the lack of living..."

At Sea

January 28, 1944

Dear girls,

At sea at last! I had actually gotten to believe that this was never going to happen - that they didn’t actually plan ever to use us. When I last wrote you, we came back in again - and that seemed the final straw. But we are under way at last, for which all of us, of course, are very thankful.

It’s a funny feeling being cooped up on board here for days - weeks at a time - the days pass without number almost - they are all alike - we see nothing but ourselves, the ships, and the sea - do the same things: calisthenics on the deck - a lot of reading, and a minimum of card playing because there is really very little money left. The lucky few are cutting each other’s throats for the spoils; the rest of us stand around and watch. I haven’t played very much because I didn’t bring hardly any [money] aboard. And sleep - with a great big capital S - sleep all hours of the day whenever there is nothing else to do - which includes everything but mealtime. Our compartment is unbearably hot and stuffy - lie on your bunk in the nude, sweating and smelling. If it wasn’t so close, it might be bearable under the head of langorous tropical heat, but we in the Agony Quartette decided that we could not stand it, and decided to sleep on deck - which we do every night.

Then the Pacific becomes lovely - in the evening with the cool, mild night breezes - long slow swells, the sound of the bos’un’s pipe, and the thrumming of the motors. There are stars out here of incredible brilliance and beauty - several that actually flash alternate red and blue lights – unbelievably enough - and when the rigging is threaded with these and the ship is dark and quiet, then the Pacific is beautiful indeed.

We do a lot of singing - some evenings sitting out on deck for two or three hours at a time - Harry and Ted can, between them, remember the words to all the old and middle aged songs. “Dear Old Girl”… “I Wonder What’s Become Of Sally”… lullabies and college songs - we really do make up a damned good quartette - I can at least carry a melody, and the other three do the variations on the theme. “I can hear their voices singing… they seem to say, they seem to say.”

Remember! Remember, Gretch, when Daddy used to come into the room before we went to sleep, and sing to us in the dark as he stood in the doorway - he always ended with “Good Night, Ladies.” I remember him singing most of the old songs – Victor Herbert and Stephen Foster, particularly - ones like “Santa Lucia,” “La Paloma,” “Le Marsailles,” and, above all, “Moonlight Bay.”

This is a peculiar time, though - a lot of thinking, dreaming, and remembering - and all of us go into this with so many different things to remember. For instance, there is a boy in my platoon who has nothing to look back to - I got some letters from his father a little while ago telling me why. He was injured about a year ago, and was told by the doctor that he would be blind by this coming summer, so he broke off with the girl he was to marry, without telling her why - joined the Marine Corps, and has been trying to get into action ever since. His father didn’t know it and had just found it out, and wrote a heartbreaking, illiterate letter begging that I keep good care of his boy who is the only thing the father has left in the world.

Some have just been married, others leave a trail of divorce and babies dependent on their families, but all of them have jobs and homes and someone they love. They are not afraid of what is coming, but they don’t want to miss all that home means to them. They are not afraid of pain or death, only the lack of living - they have only begun to taste the joys of mature life.

Lots of things I want to feel and do - lead a married life and have children, above all - realizing ambition’s fruit of hard work - repeat the thrill of getting High Honors and the Law Journal - doing things for others, buying that watch for Daddy and seeing him cry over it - a lot of loving and living to do.

We know where we’re going - there’s going to be action, and more than enough of it, and, of course, preparations are going apace - planning down to the last iota, and all that gives rise to all of this.

We’ve seen something of the tropics already - and I like it - if only for the fact that it is far away. As you said, Gretch, I’m pretty damned lucky in my choice of places - exotic, strangely beautiful, traditionally romantic - and hard, sharp, but short fighting.

More later; I think I have a chance to get this mailed.

Your Phil

"The 24th's Agony Quartette - this is our photo for the press. From left: the "Legal Eagle," "Fire" Stott, "Big Harry" Reynolds, and T. K. Johnson. Also pictured is the biggest open space on the damn ship."

1st Lt. Frederic Stott was a platoon leader in D Company. His nickname "Fireball" apparently was a holdover from his college days at Amherst, (class of 1940) and reflected his personality.

1st Lt. Reynolds was the executive officer of Able Company, and as such acted as an intermediary between the enlisted men and the upper echelons of command. He was as big as his nickname suggested - about 6'2" - but very good natured and well liked by the men. George Smith only recalled seeing him angry once or twice, and on those occasions it was best to stay out of the way.

1st Lt. Theodore Johnson was the executive officer of C Company.


[The "boy in my platoon who has nothing to look back to" might be Luther Diehl, who was the only member of the company to list his father as his next of kin. Father Austin Diehl was a laborer who had buried two children in infancy.]