Oct 8 1942
Dear dad,
I haven’t much to say at his time.
Except this. I have one only chance to come home and that is to get a emergency furlough. I did think I would get to come in this month. But they have made so many changes lately.
So if you all can make some excuse for me to get a emergency furlough it would be a great pleasure to me. They will make an investigation through the red cross. So do your best to get a good one. You all know I’m going to Texas next month. So I’ve not got a long stay here. And if I don’t get to come before I go, I won’t get to come for five more months. So I guess you know how I feel. So do your best and write real soon.
Your son,
Cornell
A few years ago, my mom gave me a shoebox full of old papers that her grandfather had saved. Some of them were yellowed receipts and such, but there were also quite a few letters from various family members. This is one of them. Here are some others.
How old do you suppose Cornell is?
I don’t know, but my cousin Wanda might. Wanda? Any guesses?
New header rocks!
I enjoy how, thus far, Cornell only writes home to ask for things. =) Sounds like every college student I work with. he he he.
Cornell’s passive-agressive style is more amusing than it’s meant to be. He’s sure adept at the old guilt trip isn’t he, sometimes even putting it into verse.
April B´s last blog post: “When Irish Eyes are Smiling“