• Flea Market Love Letters

August 2, 1943.




Dearest Ranny:


Received your letter today, hon. It really seemed like something from Heaven. Thanks a million for the cute camp book. Now, I know a little more about the Army. I like that picture of you in the back so much, hon. It’s so natural.


I’m sorry for acting so silly about not receiving any mail from you. I realize now how busy you must be. I hadn’t been feeling so well and was upset about my brother, that’s why I was so cranky and I’ll write more often than once a week hon, even if I have to just sign my name.


Well, Teens, is home. He is happy. He is looking swell. He gained a few pounds already.

Darling, I do hope you get a discharge. I don’t want anything to be wrong with your back, but I wish you could come home. I would be so-o happy. I’m going to pray that you do. Don’t forget to let me know about the X-Rays. Teens told me to tell you to keep on complaining about your back and maybe you will get discharged.


My brother is coming along fine. He had a few bones broken in his right foot, but is taking it like a soldier.


Enclosed are a couple pictures of one of your girl-friends. Remember her? She misses you like the devil. She was gaining weight but is losing it all again.


Yes, honey, I remember Sonny Dunkham. I’ll never never forget that night either. And all the other times we were together. I hope we can have more of them again soon.


Yesterday was Mary’s birthday, I was up at her house at noon and went to Idona at night with Nickie. That was the first time I had dated on a Sunday night since you have left, hon. There was a pretty solid band playing. Mr. Gear is his name. He played just like Charlie Barnet, especially the song “Cherokee”.


“Shep Fields” is supposed to come back August 13th but his engagement here has been postponed.


Frank Sinatra is now on the radio. He is such a wonderful singer. He’s singing, “I’m going to Buy a Paper Doll”. It’s a pretty song.

Closing now, hon, hoping to hear from you soon, sending all my love,


Forever Yours, Mae


P.S. Still love you too, solid. More than ever.


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