{"id":202,"date":"2026-05-25T12:10:00","date_gmt":"2026-05-25T12:10:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/cityrelocationnews.com\/?p=202"},"modified":"2026-05-25T12:10:00","modified_gmt":"2026-05-25T12:10:00","slug":"american-soldiers-write-home","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/cityrelocationnews.com\/?p=202","title":{"rendered":"American Soldiers Write Home"},"content":{"rendered":"
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These letters, drawn from a collection of more than fifteen thousand, represent the initial achievement of a new endeavor, the Legacy Project. It was conceived last year by Andrew Carroll, a thirty-year-old historian and editor who had made an important discovery: that, in local libraries and museums, family albums and attics, there are millions of unpublished letters by America\u2019s military\u2014a foot soldiers\u2019 history of the nation when it was at war. And so Carroll set himself the task of collecting and cataloguing this enormous, unwieldy body of documents.<\/em><\/p>\n

Read more How Trump Created a Slush Fund for His Allies<\/a><\/p>\n

The letters of the Legacy Project date from the Revolutionary War. The edited selection that follows is from this century alone. In their plainspoken, colloquial, sometimes awkward style, these letters tell the story of the century in a way that is refreshingly direct and unmistakably American.<\/em><\/p>\n

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FIRST WORLD WAR<\/em><\/p>\n

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Semur, Cote-d\u2019Or, France<\/p>\n

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February 18, 1919<\/p>\n

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Dear<\/em> Old<\/em> Bunkie<\/em>:<\/p>\n

Now, don\u2019t go into epileptic fits when you read this. I know I haven\u2019t written you for some time. Too busy with Uncle Sam\u2019s affairs and am working to beat hell.<\/p>\n

I guess you\u2019d like to know about my experiences over here while the scrimmage was on so I\u2019ll give you a few yarns.<\/p>\n

We were in the hills, up at Thiaucourt at first, although we did no actual fighting as we were in reserve. It was in the Argonne Forest where we got into it in earnest. It was here, old man, that I got my first Hun with the bayonet. This was the day before we took Grandpr\u00e9 and we had just broken through the enemy\u2019s first-line defenses.<\/p>\n

We were pressing through a thicket when this big plug-ugly Hun suddenly loomed up in front and made a one-armed stab at me with his bayonet. A homelier guy I never saw before in all my life. He\u2019d make two in size compared to Dad, and you know what a big man my old dad is.<\/p>\n

Well, this bird did not catch me unawares. I thought I was going to have a pretty stiff one-sided fight on my hands, with the odds in his favor, but he was a cinch. Before I realized it, I\u2019d parried his blow and had him through the throat. It was my first hand-to-hand fight. It was all over in a second\u2014that is, for Jerry. He never made a squeak and went down like a log.<\/p>\n

I know the first thing you\u2019ll ask when you see me: Was I afraid? Now, I am not going to stick my chest out and exclaim, \u201cLike hell I was,\u201d or anything of the sort. Sure, I was afraid\u2014as you and any other chap would be, too\u2014but what I feared most was I would be yellow. If a fellow gets a yellow streak, and backs down, the other boys won\u2019t have anything to do with him. That\u2019s what I was afraid of\u2014getting a yellow streak.<\/p>\n

But I didn\u2019t. I was as plucky as any other doughboy and although I didn\u2019t get as much as a scratch, I had many a close call. Enough of them to make a fellow\u2019s hair turn white. I crouched for three hours one night up to my waist in water in a shell hole waiting for our barrage to lift. The water was like ice, and there were five dead Huns floating around in it, too. Not very pleasant, eh?<\/p>\n

We finally cleared them out and opened up the way for an attack on Grandpr\u00e9 itself, but at a heavy cost. I lost a buddy in the last charge. We can\u2019t mention any names of the boys who were killed, so I\u2019ll have to postpone it until I get home, but he came from New Hampshire and a whiter fellow never lived. He was the only child too, old chap, and his parents certainly have my sympathy. I wrote a letter to them trying to make it as soft as I could. Well, he gave his all, and you can\u2019t expect a fellow to do more.<\/p>\n

While we were sneaking about the ruins of Grandpr\u00e9, \u201cmopping up,\u201d we came across a Prussian chap in a ruined building with a rifle. He was a sniper, and he was alive. During the bombardment the roof of the building had fallen through in such a way as to pin him by his feet and he couldn\u2019t get himself free. There was an opening big enough for him to crawl through, but he couldn\u2019t move. I\u2019ll explain when I see you as I can tell it better than I can write it. He begged us to help him, and although we had been cautioned against treachery, Dan, one of our fellows, put down his rifle and started to crawl through to free him. The moment he got his head and shoulder through the hole, this Hun hauls off and lets Dan have a charge right square in the face. Poor Dan never knew what happened. His face was unrecognizable. That Hun was the dirtiest skunk who ever lived. We were furious, and riddled that hole and didn\u2019t stop shooting until our magazines were empty. Dan was a husky boy who boasted of being a football player somewhere out in Tennessee. I\u2019ve mentioned his name as Dan but that\u2019s not his name. I\u2019ve just got it down so I can write my story out better.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Well, I was there to the finish, old man. I guess this will be all for just now, so with best regards and good wishes to you, Elmer, Mother Sutters, Pop, Mutt, and all the kyoodles, I close.<\/p>\n

Your Old Friend and Comrade in Mischief;<\/p>\n

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Dickwitch<\/em><\/p>\n

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P.S. Say you old slab of a lopsided tin-eared jackass, what\u2019s wrong with you anyhow? Got writer\u2019s cramp or what? Pick up a pen for the love of Pete and write to your old buddy in France.<\/p>\n

SECOND WORLD WAR<\/em><\/p>\n

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August 29, 1941<\/p>\n

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San Diego, California<\/p>\n

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Dear<\/em> Mom<\/em>:<\/p>\n

This is the lousiest place in the world. The clothes they gave us are too big. I got my shots today and they hurt. The sergeant\u2019s crabby. Just because a boy forgot something when we were moving the man kicked him and made him run all the way over to the other camp and get it. We go to bed at nine and get up at five. Mom, tell them the truth about my age and get me out of here. I am getting so lonely I think I will die. We had to get all of our hair cut off but a half inch. Hurry, as soon as possible, if you can. Try to get me out by Sunday at least. We had to polish and wash windows last night at nine o\u2019clock. Oh, Mom, if you only knew how I feel you would not wait to get me out. Bring me some clothes when you come to get me. Write me some because I have put some stamps in for air mail. You have to walk on your tiptoes so as not make too much noise. The sarge made that up. Tell everybody I said hello. How\u2019s Sandy?<\/p>\n

Your son,<\/p>\n

Bill<\/em><\/p>\n

Private William L. Lynn, fifteen, was killed three years later in the Pacific.<\/em><\/p>\n

December 17, 1941<\/p>\n

Pearl Harbor, Hawaii<\/p>\n

Izee<\/em> Reds<\/em> [hunting companions]:<\/p>\n

Just a note to tell you hams that we had a little disturbance out here a week ago Sunday and it was sumpin\u2019.<\/p>\n

I was resting peacefully in bed when I noticed rather more \u201cpractice fire\u201d than I had heard before and then realized that it was strange to be practicing on Sunday morning. About that time Clara and the kids came home from church and their curiosity was aroused. Then I got the fatal word to report to the hospital immediately. I still was not certain what was going on until I came off the hill on my way to the hospital. Then I saw the smoke and the anti-aircraft shells exploding.<\/p>\n

One Jap plane was down in flames at the hospital. I met the exec at the door and he told me to go up and take charge of the surgery. I hurried up and the casualties were already pouring in. I did the first operation in this war if that is anything. I then spent the next seventy-two hours in four-hour shifts at the operating table. During my first shift we were under almost constant bombing and the anti-aircraft fire kept up a constant din. They didn\u2019t actually hit the hospital but one explosion was so close it blew all the windows out next to the room where I was operating. I thought my time had come. It was hell for a while. These poor devils were brought in all shot up and burned. Many of them hopeless. We gave them plenty of morphine and sent them out in the wards to die. The others we patched up as best we could. Some we opened their bellies and sewed up perforations in their bowels. It was all a nice party but personally I don\u2019t want to see any more like it.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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You have read the official accounts given by the Secretary of the Navy. I note relief on the mainland that it was not as bad as feared. If the truth were known I don\u2019t think they would be so optimistic. Don\u2019t quote me but this is the real dope. We have just three battleships that can fight now. If you think these damn slant eyes didn\u2019t do a thorough job, guess again. They knew where they could hurt us most. They had all the information they needed even to the exact location of the most vital targets and as to our ship movements. Why do they soft-pedal things back there?<\/p>\n

We are under strict military law. Blackout every night. Please do not broadcast the source of this information, as I am in a bad spot, I guess, if I\u2019m caught sending this out. But you all should know. I hope this note gets through the route I have chosen. It certainly would not by the regular channels.<\/p>\n

We wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. And Remember Pearl Harbor.<\/p>\n

Dr. Paul Spangler, Lieutenant Commander, U.S. Navy Medical Corps.<\/em><\/p>\n

July 19, 1944<\/p>\n

Dear<\/em> Mother<\/em>:<\/p>\n

Saint-Lo fell on July 18th and we got to France on the morning of the nineteenth. While we waited for landing boats we looked at the beach. It had bomb craters all over. A house nearby was blown to bits and roofless. We then rode in trucks to the front. The buildings and houses were in ruins. We threw gum and cigarettes to the people and also cans of meat from our rations. In England, we were given all the cartons of cigarettes we could carry and plenty of candy. Also we were issued eighty rounds of .30-calibre ammunition but everyone was filling their pockets with extra clips. I don\u2019t blame them. I had about thirty-two extra rounds myself<\/p>\n

We finally started on our long march\u2014eight miles. Imagine carrying seventy-five pounds of equipment eight miles under the hot sun. My buddy and I fell to the side of the road several times from being so tired. I couldn\u2019t stand having that rifle belt filled with amm. digging into my side. My buddy took my gun and carried it the rest of the way. Malcolm was a swell guy. He was always helping me out. He comes from Columbus, Ohio.<\/p>\n

Our enemy was now at Periers, another French town. We unloaded at a point where we could see the artillery going off. Boy, were we scared. We were all jittery. Our commander gave us an order to march at port arms and at ten to fifteen paces apart. We passed a field that had some wrecked German 88s [cannons]. U.S. and English gliders were all over, wrecked, too. We saw dead cows by the hundreds\u2014what a smell (whew). My buddy told me to look across the street. There were four dead Germans piled up. One was headless. Ugh, what a sight! Hands and legs all over. Their faces were all swelled up and maggots were coming out of their mouths.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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We passed a medical station and looked in through the broken windows and doors and saw G.I.s piled up, dead. This scared us to death seeing our own dead. After that, we were very quiet. It was raining and we were all soaked and getting cold. The captain told us to dig our foxholes quick. I don\u2019t think anyone slept that night in their rain-filled foxholes. At least Malc and I didn\u2019t. The mosquitoes were awful. We took our wet field jackets and wrapped them around our faces to keep from being eaten up.<\/p>\n

The next morning, the twentieth, was a big day. It was quiet except for snipers, until about eleven o\u2019clock, when our artillery and the German artillery opened up. One shell landed twenty feet from us. At 5 p<\/em>.m<\/em>., our sergeant comes up to us and says he needs men for a combat patrol. We looked at each other and wondered which one of us would have to go but the sergeant said he needed us both. His name was Harman and he also comes from Detroit.<\/p>\n

We headed towards the. German lines. We tried crawling over the hedgerows but the snipers always saw us and fired a shot or two. We passed some ditches and in one there was a Browning automatic and dozens of grenades. The sergeant told me to see if the automatic was any good and to throw some grenades to the rest of the squad. We all turned a corner and saw five Germans walking towards us. The sergeant got three of them. Then the Germans opened up. There was then an unbelievable sight. Germans were coming from all over. It was a counterattack. Far away we could see more\u2014hundreds of Germans speeding towards us on bicycles. We opened fire. Each 20-round magazine I loaded, I killed or wounded seven or eight Germans. I was nervous loading. I dropped a lot. The Germans were coming fast and they made plenty of noise. Our sergeant was shot through the head and died instantly. The rest of the squad, now under the command of Sergeant Durham, were all asking to withdraw, saying that hundreds of Germans were coming. There were Germans right across the street, and, as they came closer, we gave them the grenades, about twenty of them, throwing them over the hedgerow. We heard screaming and they then opened up with every weapon they had. We ran like mad dogs. My buddy was killed. He had about four holes through his back.<\/p>\n

We kept running until we came to a hedgerow. This is where a machine gun got me, right in the ankle, breaking all the bones, and when I tried to take a few more steps, the ankle buckled up and I stepped on the broken part. It didn\u2019t hurt at first. It felt like an electric shock. Sergeant Durham picked me up and carefully put me on his back and carried me back. The medics were swell guys and worked fast. Sulfanilamide powder on the wound, morphine in the arm, a brace for the leg, and I didn\u2019t feel so bad. After hours of waiting, ambulances took us to an airport near Saint-Lo and we were loaded on C-54 transports. French civilians gathered around as we were being loaded and they all waved and gave us a lot of smiles. It was a nice ride across the Channel, my first plane ride. I am now eating my last meal in England. It\u2019s 5:30 a<\/em>.m<\/em>. and we are leaving for the States.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Your son,<\/p>\n

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Peter<\/em><\/p>\n

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Peter Essa, private first class.<\/em><\/p>\n

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August 31,1944<\/p>\n

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Hello<\/em> Mom<\/em> And<\/em> Dad<\/em>:<\/p>\n

Have had plenty of time to review the past two months of my life. [The D-Day invasion was June 6th.] In the following paragraphs shall try and explain my experiences. Of course a few of the events must wait until after this war, as censorship closes the door on many military problems.<\/p>\n

We hit water from an assault boat and waded ashore. Didn\u2019t try running in water as this only uses up one\u2019s energy. Here for the first time my training was being put to use. (Never run in water as you can be carried along by waves much easier.) Touched solid ground and we all were on the move at a run. There was quite a bit of noise from the big guns being fired from ship. So didn\u2019t realize was being shot at until saw slugs leaving their calling cards on the sand. No time to stop and think, must get some protection. So covered ground at full speed, ending up behind a rising. Again my training was put to use. (Never hit the ground in the open when under fire.)<\/p>\n

Now under cover of this high ground was safe for the time being. But somewhere in front was the enemy who knew how to soldier.<\/p>\n

Looking around saw the ones who had gone before us, silent now, having left every battle behind. I was with two other soldiers, not knowing just what to do. This is the worst moment in a soldier\u2019s life. I knew the other two fellows were waiting on me as I was a sgt., the only one. Saw a lieutenant off to my right with a few men. Never was so glad to see a man in my life. Lay there listening to the firing up front.<\/p>\n

The lieutenant hadn\u2019t moved, but in the next few minutes saw him looking around and getting a picture of what was before us. Then saw him yell to move up the hill. I yelled to men and we moved on up towards the front. This was my first time under enemy fire.<\/p>\n

We dug a line of foxholes and placed guards along it for the whole night, each one of us taking a turn. The ones who weren\u2019t on guard could sleep but can say that not a man slept that first night.<\/p>\n

At dark heard planes overhead very high. Had no way of knowing if ours or was Jerry himself. Hadn\u2019t long to wait. The planes droned out over our ships anchored along the coast. Within minutes there was a sight that will always be vivid in my mind. Up went more antiaircraft fire than has ever been concentrated in one spot before. It was a protection circle, and the tracers in the sky formed a complete mass of red death to any plane that entered it. For us, it was beautiful, a kind of beauty only a soldier can understand, but for Jerry it was beyond imagining. Here was history in the making. Events taking place that kids will be reading about in future at school. Yes, I was proud that I had the honor of helping in my small way.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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This much I can say\u2014it takes teamwork between Infantry, Tanks, Artillery, and Air Force. Football is a great game but it takes eleven players working together. One fellow moves under the protection of his team. Apply that to fighting over here and you have an idea of what I mean.<\/p>\n

Am afraid I can\u2019t go beyond what have already told you. Events that happened the past few weeks am not allowed to write about. Can say I was hit but as to date, time, and place\u2014well, as censorship doesn\u2019t permit it, why try to write about it?<\/p>\n

Am doing fine here in England. Up and around now, even played a game of horseshoes today, so you all haven\u2019t a thing to worry about.<\/p>\n

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Love always,<\/p>\n

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Sonny<\/em><\/p>\n

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Staff Sergeant Eugene Lawton\u2019s last letter to his parents; he was killed four months later in Belgium.<\/em><\/p>\n

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February 6, 1945<\/p>\n

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Hello<\/em> John<\/em>, Ann<\/em>, And<\/em> All<\/em> The<\/em> little<\/em> Ones<\/em>:<\/p>\n

Greeting and salutations. This will be the third invasion to my credit. I went through the North African, Sicilian, and present invasions without a scratch: what a lucky guy. I have also seen plenty of action and have just about had my fill. It\u2019s pretty tough to see your buddies getting knocked off, especially the ones who sweated it out with you from training days, but as the French say, \u201cC\u2019est la guerre.\u201d<\/em> Thanks for wishing me the best for the New Year. While on the subject I\u2019ll give you a vague idea of the jolly New Year\u2019s Eve we had. Wined and dined on the Siegfried Line. Visited the Club Cologne on the Beautiful Rhine. Big 88 (heavy mortars) piece band and that famous singer Screaming Mimi (shells). All came\u2014the mortar the merrier.<\/p>\n

Well, what can I talk about now? As a last resort we can always talk about the weather. The weather has been very cold with plenty of snow\u2014snow and more snow. As I look at the kids sledding and throwing snowballs, it brings back memories of the times I had when I was a kid. All us lads from the northern states remember those times well. Took out our Flexible Flyers and went belly-whopping down the hills. Made snowmen. Or packed the snow into hard, round balls that caught other kids in the head and melted down the backs of their necks. When our hands got red and our feet got cold we would call it a day. We would go indoors to a hot fire and put on dry socks and shoes and eat hot chow to take off the chill.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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There\u2019s a lot of snow on the Western Front these days, and the country looks like a Christmas card. The trees are like old queens stooping under the weight of their ermine robes. The wires loop from pole to pole like tinsel on a Christmas tree, except where the weight of ice and snow has pulled them down and the signal repairmen are patching them. Snow lies smooth on the hillsides\u2014it\u2019s beautiful.<\/p>\n

But the Flexible Flyers have turned into tanks. The snowmen are Schutzstaffel. The snowballs are grenades. The wet stuff trickling down the back of necks is often blood. And when you\u2019re wet and numb with cold there\u2019s no place to go to. Nothing to look forward to. Nothing but snow. Cold, wet, beautiful snow.<\/p>\n

With so many Nazis dying for der Fuhrer<\/em> there is a possibility that Hades is beginning to look like Times Square on New Year\u2019s Eve.<\/p>\n

Sincerely,<\/p>\n

Frank<\/em><\/p>\n

Frank Conwell, warrant officer.<\/em><\/p>\n

April 16, 1945<\/p>\n

Dearest<\/em> Family<\/em>:<\/p>\n

The war has been moving so fast it makes you wonder where the catch is, and if there isn\u2019t some surprise they\u2019re going to spring. It is strange to be sitting in Germany\u2014in the middle of a conquered country. I have to keep reminding myself of where I am, because, except for the large cities where you really see the damage of bombs and artillery, Germany doesn\u2019t look as conquered as France or Belgium. The country villages are all intact, the fields are being cultivated in a normal fashion (and the countryside is beautiful), and the people are quite well dressed. They look much better fed than the French. But we are in a Nazi city now and for the first time I\u2019m beginning to feel real hatred for the German people. It\u2019s in the air. Stories come back to us from men who have visited the concentration camp nearby. Hundreds of bodies of slave laborers were discovered, including three American airmen\u2014some burned, some starved, all emaciated, stacked up like cordwood. The German mayor, or Burgermeister, and his wife were taken out to see the place after the Americans took over. They went home and hanged themselves that night\u2014whether from shame and remorse that they belonged to such a murderous race, or from fear that we might do the same to them, I don\u2019t know.<\/p>\n

Our girls have wanted to go, too\u2014one of those morbid things that attract and fascinate even though they\u2019re revolting. But our Army bosses won\u2019t let us. Their refusal made our girls awfully mad, and they couldn\u2019t see that the restriction was intended as a compliment. The Army felt that it would be unbecoming for us to view a stack of starved, nude male bodies. While at first I thought I wanted to go, too, now I\u2019m glad they wouldn\u2019t let us\u2014and pleased that our men thought that much of us. It is just little things like that which set us apart from the rest of the world and make me glad I\u2019m an American. Maybe we aren\u2019t very good warriors, but we\u2019re certainly a better people.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Love,<\/p>\n

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Angie<\/em><\/p>\n

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Angela Petesch, Red Cross nurse.<\/em><\/p>\n

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September 8, 1945<\/p>\n

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Dear<\/em> Folks<\/em>:<\/p>\n

We left the States December 14, 1943, on a luxury liner, the Lurline, and arrived in Honolulu on the twentieth. On May 31st, we got on transports at Pearl Harbor. On June 16th we dropped anchor off the coast of Saipan. As we drew close we saw that the enemy landing barges were burning, and that live and dead Japs were floating in the water. About seventy-five yards from shore our barges grounded, and we waded shoulder-deep to land. Just as we set foot on the beach, the Japs opened up with rifles, machine guns, and mortars, and we lay in the water on the beach the rest of the night, waves washing over us continually. At four-thirty next morning we moved to the front lines, to relieve the Marine sector. That started our twenty-three straight days on the lines. Believe it or not, I went to sleep in no man\u2019s land for forty-five minutes, while boys were being killed right and left. Mortar shells lit on their heads, and this really did something to all of us. Some boys were jumping into the sea, when their faces were blown away. Two of us carried one boy back with us, and our aid man gave him plasma all night, but he died next morning. He had his jaw, tongue, and nose blown away. This is a horrible thing to write about, but people should understand what war means: maybe then they won\u2019t start another so soon.<\/p>\n

After Saipan, the New Hebrides was heaven. A swell camp, with long rows of palms. We rested two weeks, then I got malaria. I did absolutely nothing and slowly got back my health. I had a Jeep to go places, and had plenty of fun. Went to the beach club every day, for ice cream and cokes. Meantime the boys were training for Okinawa. I missed out on all that training, being in Malaria Central.<\/p>\n

On March 19th we left New Hebrides, and landed April 8th, on Okinawa, and moved inland and then up to the front lines. Was there ten days. The artillery was terrific. Shells hit and buried you, or blew you out of your foxhole. The Catholic chaplain was killed as he was blessing foxholes. A shell cut him in half at the waist. The Japs stacked lots of Americans in a big pile, poured gas on them, and touched a match. After plenty of casualties we broke the Western flank of the little Siegfried Line and were relieved by the Marines. That night, the Japs attacked and drove our full-strength company back five hundred yards. We were down to a handful. I had four men in my squad at the finish. It has been a long time to be over here. Is it any wonder we were so excited when the news came? I guess I cried and laughed at the same time. I want to get home to see all of you.<\/p>\n

Read more Can Anything Stop Trump\u2019s Corruption?<\/a><\/p>\n

Your loving son,<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Dick<\/em><\/p>\n

Richard King, an infantryman who was awarded the Silver Star.<\/em><\/p>\n

KOREAN WAR<\/em><\/p>\n

September 18, 1953<\/p>\n

My<\/em> Dear<\/em> Mr<\/em>. Wheeler<\/em>:<\/p>\n

I\u2019m taking this opportunity to write you concerning your son who was my close friend and companion through some of life\u2019s darkest experiences.<\/p>\n

John and I were captured on the same date. I first met your son, Sgt. John N. Wheeler, at a collecting point for P.O.W.s. We were kept there for two days and then began the long trek back and forth along the enemy\u2019s rear. The enemy was using us to instill courage in their own fighters by showing their men that Americans are just flesh and blood after all and can be killed and captured. The food was terrible: a handful of bug dust or a small bowl of rice or one of sorghum. We got this twice a day, and water was available only when we were marched across a mountain stream or by rice paddies. Disease and filth were the rule and we were not allowed the facilities of cleanliness. We were covered with body lice and other parasites. It was not long before men began to drop out and were not heard from again. On June 13th we arrived at a rest stop. It was here that your son and I were separated from the main body of P.OW.s. I had a few good years of college and your son spoke very good English, too. I believe that this is why they took us away. We were taken to a place so far back in the mountains that there was not a road or even a cart trail, only a narrow footpath and a few Korean mud houses. They kept us there and used us to practice their English. All the Chinese in the vicinity came to this HQ at one time or another and talked to us and asked thousands of questions concerning our families, our homes, America, our lives in the U.S. Army. John and I were all alone with about two hundred Chinks. Our other duty was to make all the supply runs (approximately fifteen miles one way) to bring rice and sorghum for everyone to eat. Our combat boots soon wore out and fell to pieces from the rough rocks and stones. John wore a size-12 combat boot and when the Chinese gave us their rubber tennis shoes they had none large enough to fit him. I wear a size-8 combat shoe and they did have tennis shoes that I could wear. Then in July we were hauling logs on our backs and digging bunkers. We were both very weak. I weighed less than a hundred pounds and John probably didn\u2019t weigh more than a hundred and fifteen. They said no work, no eat. During these heavy labors John contracted a skin disease on his hands, his nose, and his ears, which became a real dark brown\u2014a yellow matter formed under the skin and broke through and would need to be drained. They made us eat alone because they were afraid they would catch John\u2019s disease. On August 6, 1951, the Chinese told us that they were going to take John to a place where there were many American soldiers and where there were good Chinese doctors and medicine. John and I were very close friends after being through so much together. We had often talked of our families and friends and I felt that I knew you and John\u2019s sister. John was the finest friend and buddy a fellow could ever have.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Just as John left me he presented me with his most treasured belonging. John gave me his Bible because he felt I would need it being alone with the Chinese with no one to talk to and no one to remember all the things we so dearly loved about our wonderful United States. I was deeply moved and as John walked away there were tears in my eyes and after he had disappeared over the mountain I let my feelings go and had a little cry. I have never had a truer friend or known a better man. It was like losing a lifelong companion.<\/p>\n

On November 11, 1951, I was also taken to the same place John had been sent to. We called it the mining camp. Most of the men seemed to remember a Wheeler arriving and going straight to the hospital, where he died shortly after that. They told me that the hospital was actually a death house and only one man out of the hundred sent there ever returned.<\/p>\n

I still have John\u2019s Bible and I would like to send it to you as a dear remembrance. I have kept it in excellent condition, always keeping it wrapped to protect it from the elements.<\/p>\n

Most sincerely,<\/p>\n

Sfc<\/em> Gordon<\/em> L. Madson<\/em><\/p>\n

November, 1956<\/p>\n

To<\/em> The<\/em> Best<\/em> Wife<\/em> A Man<\/em> Ever<\/em> Had<\/em>:<\/p>\n

Honey, I am writing to say a few things that I might leave unsaid if I should depart this world unexpected-like. In this flying business you never can tell when you might all of a sudden get unlucky and wake up dead. I suppose this shows me up for being an old sentimental fool, but I thought if I could make sure you know how I feel about such things it might be a comfort.<\/p>\n

First of all, let\u2019s face one fact\u2014everybody ends up dead. Think of all the infants and children and people who had the misfortune to die before they got much of anything out of life, and then think of all I got out of it.<\/p>\n

Even if I should die the day after writing this, I am still one of the luckiest people who ever lived, and you know it. When you come right down to it, I\u2019ve done just about everything I\u2019ve wanted to do and seen about everything I\u2019ve wanted to see. Sure, I\u2019d like to stick around while the boys are growing up, and have fun with you once they\u2019ve done that and when we have time again. But you and I agree so closely on how to raise a family, I\u2019m sure that the boys are going to be all right. And I\u2019ve had enough fun with you to last a lifetime.<\/p>\n

Don\u2019t let the memories of me keep you from marrying again, if you run across somebody fit to be your husband, which would be hard to find, I know. But you\u2019re much too wonderful a wife and mother to waste yourself as a widow. Life is for the living. (That\u2019s not original, I\u2019m sure.)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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So get that smile back on your face, put on some lipstick and a new dress, and show me what you can do toward building a new life. Just remember me once in a while\u2014not too often, or it\u2019ll cramp your style\u2014and as long as I\u2019m remembered, I\u2019m not really dead. I\u2019ll still be living in John, Bill, and Al, and Dan, bless their hearts. That\u2019s what they mean by eternity, I think.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

My love as always,<\/p>\n

<\/inline-embed><\/p>\n

Jack<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/inline-embed><\/p>\n

Jack Sweeney, stationed in Bermuda, died a few weeks later when his plane crashed in the Atlantic.<\/em><\/p>\n

VIETNAM WAR<\/em><\/p>\n

September 6, 1968<\/p>\n

Dear<\/em> Mike<\/em>:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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I now have a war story to tell. On bunker guard two weeks ago, I received ten minutes of sniper fire. You should have seen little old me peering over the sandbags, trying to see who was shooting. No one was shot, and they wouldn\u2019t let us fire back. Thank goodness. I don\u2019t blame whoever it was: if there were invaders in my country, I\u2019d shoot at them, too. What in the hell am I doing here?<\/p>\n

That same night, the Bien Hoa air base was being mortared when, all of a sudden, a large red ball of fire soared into the sky. It expanded, and then almost instantaneously became a mushroom cloud. You can imagine how scared we were; we thought the ammo dump had been hit. (We later found out that a V.C. rocket hit a bomb storage area.) And then, from that red mushroom, pink shock waves started vibrating, and we could see shock waves heading for us. We gripped the walls, but the blast almost tore us all loose. Every second I was expecting to die. I regretted everything I had done for the U.S.A. God, I hate the Army and the country it represents. Look at the infamous job I am forced to do. Americans are ruthless and violent: I hate \u2019em.<\/p>\n

Otherwise the past week has been one continuous high. Every night I \u201close\u201d myself. The first few times, I felt nothing, just as you said. Now I fear I\u2019ve become a connoisseur. And that\u2019s not all: two weeks ago, I went to Saigon and smoked opium. The setting was great. A dark room with an old withered man lying on a table (his head resting on a wooden block), a lamp with a small red flame, and a Vietnamese woman softly singing some weird song. The old man cooked the opium in a long wooden pipe over a flame. I lay beside him and rested my head on the wooden block and quickly inhaled the smoke coming from the pipe as he held it over the flame. Then we had a little pot. The greatest feeling. God, I don\u2019t know how I made it back here to Bien Hoa. The guy I was with said I looked as if I were in a trance.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Write me soon,<\/p>\n

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RICK<\/p>\n

<\/inline-embed><\/p>\n

Richard Baltzegar, Army Specialist 4.<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

[Undated]<\/p>\n

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Dear<\/em> Carol<\/em>:<\/p>\n

The following is my recollection of your brother\u2019s death.<\/p>\n

On Thursday, June 12th, our company was walking down a mountain path, when someone opened fire on our point man with a .51-calibre machine gun. This is a very heavy gun that shoots bullets which are roughly a half inch in diameter and about two inches long. The point man was a medic from another platoon. He died instantly. (A platoon has about thirty men; there are four platoons in a company.) I don\u2019t know why a medic was walking point; medics are considered too valuable to risk losing. The point man is always the first to die. At the time I was also a point man.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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We pulled back and tried to go around. We were in heavy jungle, and you can see only about three feet into heavy jungle, and we then ran into more bunkers. (A bunker is a hole in the ground with a dirt-and-log roof to protect the inhabitants from mortar fire and a small opening to shoot from.)<\/p>\n

Meanwhile, our captain had asked for more artillery\u2014more mortars, F-4 Phantom fighter planes, and helicopter gunships with rockets and miniguns. Afterwards, our captain was sure that everyone in the bunkers was dead, so he called in some news reporters to record his moment of triumph. We waited twenty or thirty minutes until a helicopter could fly out the reporters. Unfortunately, no one told the N.V.A. (the North Vietnamese Army) that they were dead, and they used this time to regroup. When we advanced again, they opened fire.<\/p>\n

We assaulted the bunkers again and again. We lost men each time. The lead platoon was wiped out. When it ran out of men, my platoon was brought up to take over. Two of our four squad leaders were wounded\u2014one was wounded a second time, when he was shot through the neck as he boarded the helicopter. I heard that he died, but that seems to have been wrong. His name is not on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, so he maybe lived. He never returned to our unit. (If someone did not return, he was either severely wounded or dead.)<\/p>\n

It was very late when the last assault failed. (We had been fighting since 9 or 10 a<\/em>.m<\/em>.) Our company pulled back, and formed a perimeter around a side of the mountain. Nobody slept.<\/p>\n

During the night we could hear large numbers of N.V.A. soldiers leaving. They had to leave by the same path we came in by. As they went down the mountain, they walked past our position. We were hopelessly outnumbered, so didn\u2019t dare open fire. At the time we were just glad to believe they were going.<\/p>\n

On the next day, our platoon was the lead. We had just started up the side of the mountain when we discovered that not everyone had left the camp. Someone in a bunker opened up on our point man, and all of us dropped to the ground. As we were crouching, our radio-telephone operator (the R.T.O.) happened to stroll down the path from the direction of the firing machine gun, stopping just above me. Bullets were flying over our heads. The R.T.O. dropped his radio and casually said to the lieutenant, \u201cYou\u2019ll have to find another R.T.O. I\u2019ve been shot.\u201d He then continued strolling down the path. He must have been severely wounded, because he never returned. I was impressed by his casual approach, and hoped that I would act that well when I was wounded. (I didn\u2019t.)<\/p>\n

The classic approach to suppressing fire from a bunker is to pull back, spread out in a semicircle, and then distract the men inside by firing on them from one direction. When the men in the bunker start firing in that direction, one of our people on the other side rises up and tosses a grenade into the bunker\u2019s port. Steve was the man on that other side.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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He was less than twenty yards from the bunker. He was trying to toss a one-pound grenade into a small opening about six inches high. The task is especially difficult because the man inside is doing his best to kill you. Steve, evidently, stood up too high, or there was more than one soldier in the bunker, or someone in a second bunker opened fire. In any case, Steve was seen and shot with an AK-47. He was shot several times in the chest, and once in the right temple. He was not wearing a helmet. Steve dropped to the ground immediately, lost consciousness, and was dragged back to the rest of us. The platoon medic, crouching next to me, started to work on Steve. Although he worked on Steve until he died, the medic could do little more than make him comfortable. Steve had two fatal wounds: a bullet in his brains, and several bullets in his chest.<\/p>\n

A battle is very noisy. The machine guns, rifles, grenades, and mortars all make a great deal of noise. The F-4 fighter aircraft were also flying above us, dropping bombs, and attack helicopters were firing rockets. In addition, there were screams from the wounded. The noise builds up to a peak, subsides, and then builds up again. There was too much noise to hear Steve during the peak. But during the lulls I could hear him laboring to breathe. With each lull, he was having increasingly more difficulty breathing. The wounds in his chest had punctured both lungs, which were filling with blood. There was nothing the medic could do when both lungs were punctured.<\/p>\n

I believe Steve died when his lungs filled up with blood, and he could no longer breathe. A few minutes later our lieutenant told me to carry Steve down to the medevac area, and leave him there. I did so and never saw him again. After our wounded were evacuated, a medevac helicopter would have brought Steve\u2019s body back. Then his body would have been sent back to you in the U.S.<\/p>\n

One of the wounded was a photographer who had arrived the previous day to record our captain\u2019s triumph. He had been forced to spend the night with us because it was too dark for a helicopter to fly him back to our base. The next day, he had been shot in the leg when he stood up to take a picture just as Steve was attacking the bunker. The photographer was holding his camera to his face when it, too, was hit by a bullet. The camera stopped the bullet, but, rammed against his face, it left him with a bloody nose. He was carried out, but refused to leave until someone went up and retrieved his camera. He had dropped it when he was shot. Someone risked his life retrieving this camera. (I was not in command of any men then, but, if I had been, that photographer would still be on that mountainside waiting for his camera.)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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The men with Steve had been unable to destroy the bunker. Our captain finally ordered us to pull back, and called in more F-4 fighter aircraft. The F-4s strafed the area with cannon fire and dropped napalm. Napalm is a jellied gasoline that has the consistency of watery jello, and when it lands it splashes over a large area, where everything touched by it catches fire and burns. It is perfect for destroying bunkers, because it doesn\u2019t need to be delivered with pinpoint accuracy and because it sucks oxygen from underground bunkers, suffocating those hiding there.<\/p>\n

We were closer to the napalm than we should have been\u2014so close that we could look up and watch the cloud as it formed over us. Bits of the burning napalm fell out of the cloud and landed on our backs and heads. It looks and feels like molten plastic when it lands on your skin. I had a blob drip on the back of my arm.<\/p>\n

After the strafing and the napalm, our platoon leader wanted to see if any N.V.A. still was alive and announced that the next assault would be led by a two-man machine-gun team. He turned to me and said, \u201cProfessor, you\u2019re going to be the assistant machine gunner.\u201d (Everyone is known by their nickname. Mine was the Professor.) I was terrified; everyone who had led the earlier assaults had died or been badly wounded. I knew I was going to die.<\/p>\n

After all the napalm, there were no more trees, scrubs, or undergrowth. We advanced slowly, looking for the bunkers. They weren\u2019t there anymore. We did see bits of human bodies, but everything was destroyed, and everyone was dead. The machine gunner and I continued walking. We could not believe that no one was going to fire on us.<\/p>\n

We marched off the mountain several days later, and no American probably set foot on it again. The U.S. philosophy was that we were not fighting for territory, but only to harass and kill the enemy. Even so, a lot of blood was paid winning a mountain that we then walked away from. The area is so remote it\u2019s possible that no Vietnamese has set foot on that mountain since.<\/p>\n

For me, Vietnam was an education in death. I learned to kill men, walk into what I had expected would be my death, and watch men die. I now am at an age where colleagues are beginning to die. I have found colleagues who fear death because they have never had any experience with it, and don\u2019t know how to face it. (Only about one per cent of the male baby boomers saw combat in Vietnam.) Vietnam has given me an advantage in that I have faced my death.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Bob<\/em> Leahy<\/em><\/p>\n

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Leahy was an infantry point man and, later, a squad leader.<\/em><\/p>\n

GULF WAR<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

March 8, 1991<\/p>\n

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Dear<\/em> Y\u2019all<\/em>,<\/p>\n

I\u2019m now back in Saudi Arabia. I\u2019m in a maintenance collection point about twenty miles from King Fahd Military City. I don\u2019t know if King Fahd Military City is on the map, but if it is you know where I am. I sure don\u2019t. The rest of my unit is still in north Kuwait. My tank developed an oil leak partway through the fighting, and finally quit two days ago.<\/p>\n

We passed Kuwait City on the coast road in the middle of the night. I can\u2019t describe it. I mean the scene on the highway. We all just looked at it in the moonlight as we drove through the now silent carnage, saying, \u201cGod damn, God damn\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d I talked to a lieutenant today who saw it during the day, and he gave an interesting description of the dead who littered the highway. He picked up a beret out of a car; a dead Iraqi was in the back seat, eyes wide open, frozen in a silent scream.<\/p>\n

I still think of the guy I shot the day before we attacked. If I hadn\u2019t done it, he could have been in an enemy prisoner-of-war camp right now, waiting to go home, just like me. He probably would have surrendered along with the others, just one day later.<\/p>\n

I haven\u2019t said much about what I\u2019ve done during the ground war. I started writing Marianne about it, but it didn\u2019t come out right. We didn\u2019t do much shooting, though we (my tank) expended more ammo than any of the others in my platoon. We never shot another tank or vehicle, except one suspect tank, which, once the dust had settled, turned out to be an already dead heavy truck. We shot up some trenches and bunkers, mostly empty, but you never really knew. We ran over some anti-personnel mines and cluster bombs here and there, received some artillery off to our flank once. I missed an antitank mine which was about two feet on the right side, as we were coming round a dune, and, given our speed, would have probably gone off under my gunner and me.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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It never seemed like a war. More like a field problem. Even when stuff was burning all around you. It was a curiosity. I just can\u2019t describe it.<\/p>\n

Like one time [tank number] 21 was right next to me, and we were on the move, and he ran over a mine with his left track. It exploded and sent shit flying past me. I was up out of my hatch, and the first thing that came to mind was, Can I get to my camera before the smoke clears? I didn\u2019t even think to duck.<\/p>\n

When we were breaching the main Iraqi defense line, an idiot popped up with an AK-47 from a trench and started firing. Mine was the first to return fire, and he didn\u2019t pop back up. Although the muzzle flash was pointing at us, you just don\u2019t think of it as someone shooting at you. Just a target and you engage it, like on a range.<\/p>\n

Right after, as I was rejoining the platoon, some incoming artillery rounds landed three or four hundred yards from us and my only thought was that it hadn\u2019t been a very good shot. The second volley never came, so I figured our counter-battery must have had better aim.<\/p>\n

Can you understand what I\u2019m saying? I think I would have had to have gotten hit for it to seem different. I guess I\u2019ve played it so much for the last ten years that it just didn\u2019t seem much different from the training. I\u2019ve had field problems that were tougher. It wasn\u2019t even long enough to seem like a war. The waiting and worrying before we did it were worse than doing it.<\/p>\n

I sometimes pictured the split second of being hit: the impact ripping my cupola from the turret and my body collapsing onto my gunner\u2019s back, and the tears back home. The image I have of the two of you sitting in front of the TV, afraid that I\u2019m already dead, has choked me up and brought tears to my eyes. Even now as I write this I\u2019m hoping that Marianne isn\u2019t still waiting for the \u201cwe\u2019re sorry\u201d team to come knock at the door. I wish I could get to a phone to relieve the pain.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s only been the last couple of days that I\u2019ve come to realize the horror that has taken place here. It\u2019s not a personal feeling of horror, but more an overall picture of horror. And I think it\u2019s taken so long because with only a small number of exceptions, on our part, the horrors were almost entirely theirs.<\/p>\n

You don\u2019t know what it\u2019s like to hold an M-16 up to a man\u2019s back and make him clear out a trench, and then discover a few pieces of rock-hard bread, blue and green with mold, break pieces off, and eat them. Or to realize you came a few feet from crushing live men who you thought were dead, and only saw them at the last moment because they were too afraid to stand up.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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What was it like for those who were part of the carnage which we witnessed\u2014the silent aftermath on that highway? I don\u2019t know if I\u2019m really explaining the significance of the things I\u2019ve been through or leaving you wondering what the hell I\u2019m trying to get across.<\/p>\n

The news said that rebels had come to our lines asking us to join them. Of course we couldn\u2019t. But we\u2019ve made a mistake and not finished this the way it should have been ended. There is now a weakness in my heart for the people of Iraq. It may appear to most of us over here and to you back home that we\u2019ve done our job, but we\u2019ve screwed up and didn\u2019t finish it. He\u2019s still alive, and unless somehow the rebels finish what we\u2019ve started, we may be back.<\/p>\n

I guess I\u2019m finally starting to feel like I\u2019ve fought in a war.<\/p>\n

This is what I expected it to be like in the first place before I came over here. It just took a while for it to sink in.<\/p>\n

Read more The Stunt Pilot Hunting Russian Drones<\/a><\/p>\n

I\u2019ll be home soon.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Love,<\/p>\n

<\/inline-embed><\/p>\n

Daniel<\/em><\/p>\n

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P.S. I hope you\u2019re saving all my letters.<\/p>\n

Daniel Welch, staff sergeant<\/em>.\u2666<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Letters collected by the Legacy Project, led by the historian Andrew Carroll, from soldiers who fought in World War I, WWII, and the wars in Korea, Vietnam, and Iraq.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":201,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[51],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-202","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-annals-of-history"],"yoast_head":"\nAmerican Soldiers Write Home - City Relocation News<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/cityrelocationnews.com\/?p=202\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"American Soldiers Write Home - City Relocation News\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Letters collected by the Legacy Project, led by the historian Andrew Carroll, from soldiers who fought in World War I, WWII, and the wars in Korea, Vietnam, and Iraq.\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/cityrelocationnews.com\/?p=202\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"City Relocation News\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-05-25T12:10:00+00:00\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"admin\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"admin\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"46 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityrelocationnews.com\\\/?p=202#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityrelocationnews.com\\\/?p=202\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"admin\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityrelocationnews.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/3e7ce0c0c60d21e12a5ac61fb2b786d4\"},\"headline\":\"American Soldiers Write Home\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-05-25T12:10:00+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityrelocationnews.com\\\/?p=202\"},\"wordCount\":9142,\"commentCount\":0,\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityrelocationnews.com\\\/?p=202#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityrelocationnews.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/05\\\/aaa8cf044b4ab4cc08db27b88f4cc3b9.webp\",\"articleSection\":[\"Annals of History\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"CommentAction\",\"name\":\"Comment\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/cityrelocationnews.com\\\/?p=202#respond\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityrelocationnews.com\\\/?p=202\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/cityrelocationnews.com\\\/?p=202\",\"name\":\"American Soldiers Write Home - 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