March 27, 1945

Darling Duchess,

                Don’t mind the queer salutation.  Every now and then I recall how the lads called me Dutch.  Still do in letters.  I kinda like it for boys too, but it never did appeal to me for females to call me by that handle.  It suggested something of a tough character-underground, ignorant, etc… On the other hand, a few letters “ess” can give the word a meaning of something like a lady-in every sense of the word, of gracious manners, good breeding, etc… We’ll agree that my definitions, if I may call them that, aren’t far from wrong.  “Dutch” being a questionable character which is indisputably me, and Duchess, a person of recognition, fineness, and usually a title.  You don’t have a title-literally, but as a figure of speech you have a title. Darling, sweetheart and many more and you are swell-fine lady and anything else the name suggests of an esteemed nature.  Don’t wonder at the strange way I started this letter.  I mean it every word, but I didn’t propose to write so when I broke out my writing gear.  There really isn’t much to say, so maybe it’s just as well.

So you had a fine trip from Logan and are enjoying the stay home.  Not now you aren’t, but you did.  That was a good deal for you to get off early, but I can’t visualize you to acting screwy on the trolley.   I’d like to have helped you tend the young one and I’ll be around Saturday for the get together you mentioned.  It’s swell that Zelma will be with Howard.  They both deserve it.

So, you talked to mama on the telephone.  I can see you two shooting the breeze like a couple of gossips.  And I’m glad to hear Lila is looking and feeling well.  I’m going to try to write her soon.  It seems like the writing situation is always way ahead of me.

Thank your mom for writing too.  I’ll try also to acknowledge that soon. Did you read the poem she sent? I gotta shove off for the Hangar soon.

Love,

Paul