Trumbull – Dear Ceddie, Dearie (2) – News From Friends and Family – September 13, 1942

This is the second page of a long, round-robin letter sent to Ced from all the young people gathered at the Trumbull House this Sunday afternoon, as well as a letter from Grandpa.



Ced – This here is me, little Dave. I ain’t got nuttin much to say, an’ if I did, I’d have rit ya a letur bifor. I’m back in scool now an’ lik it swal. The members of the choir, a part of which I have been for some time now, often speak of you and ask how you are. Today, I taught my first Sunday School class. I guess maybe I would find me a bit changed now, but I still stick to my good old habits of being in “crabby” moods, not cleaning up my room, and sucking my thumb. No kiddin’, Ced, someday, I’ll write you a letter. —Dave.

Dear Ced-

I am seating.   IAS

Dear Ced-.

As a matter of fact, I am still working at Producto !!!! Odly enough, I am also spending my evenings, usually with Jean’s very helpful cooperation. Charley Hall is home for two or three weeks before the fall session starts after having attended school all summer. Red had two weeks in June or July and will have another one next week. He and I planned to go camping at this time, but I decided I couldn’t take the time away from work. Tell Dick the socks I, or Jean and I promised him, are still a promise; but should mature before too long. Give my regards to Rusty and all others I knew. Here’s hoping I see you all before too many years have passed. So long, now,


Dear Box 822—–

About those socks mentioned above, I made those last Jan., but for some reason I never got around to sending them. So, would you please tell Dick that I promise to send them before the real cold weather sets in. Charlie Hall just came in, and he says “Hello Ced”. Jane just arrived on the scene, and it seems she has something to say to you.

So long,

Jean M. (Hughes)

Hi Ced,

I aint’ saying much onaccounta I think you owe me a letter, ( both of us ) I will condescend to say Hi tho’, like I have at the beginning of this little section of words so sweetly _____  _____  Charlie (Hall)

I will continue posting the next two pages on Wednesday and Thursday. On Friday, I’ll post a letter from Barbara Plumb,  Dan’s girlfriend, to Ced.

Judy Guion


Trumbull – Dear Rover Boys (1) – Trumbull – News From Dan and Ced – February 3, 1946


Trumbull, Conn., Feb. 3, 1946

Dear Rover Boys:

Well, here it is February again. The groundhog came out yesterday, glanced at his shadow and went back in again, until six more months of cold weather have passed and then he will peek out again to see if Dave or Dan have made any definite homecoming plans, and I shall be looking over his shoulder to see what he sees. As for Ced, with rocket ships making the trip from coast to coast in four hours, all we need do is wire him in the morning that another of the family has come home and he can be with us in time for supper, provided of course he doesn’t have to spend too much time shinnying up the front porch pillar to make a surprise entry as he did before (Of course by that time he may have thought of some other method of ingress). But as I started to say before that groundhog switched me off the track, this is a short month and less than four weeks from now we will be in March and that comes pretty near marking the end of winter and the beginning not only of the Spring season but that welcome time when Europe and Asia will loosen their grasp on the rest of the Guion’s, and (in Dan’s case) plus.

Yesterday, Dan, your blanket started on its overseas journey and next week we will start on the civilian clothes for you. By the way, yesterday, two government checks by your order reached me and have been deposited to your account. This restores a good credit balance again so you can keep right on ordering your Trumbull purchasing agent to function without letting your conscience bother you.

For the delectation of the rest of you, here is what Dan says in the two letters that arrived last week, which by the way, marked up a 100% record with letters also from Ced and Dave. But unfortunately I find I left part of these at the office, so that there will not be a complete quotation. Here is what Dan says: “Epinal, France, 1/17/46, This is one of those persistent notes which serve merely to assure you that I am alive and well. I expect to be here in the Moselle Valley for a couple of weeks. I see Chiche more often these days. She is still at Douai and both she and “Jean-Pierre” are doing well. Please include half a dozen bibs in the layette – even our baby will probably drool a bit, or spill things. I get homesick quite often these days  — conditions are far from comfortable, in spite of posters which have been appearing throughout France lately  “Ca va deja mieux” – it goes already better. Ah well, each day brings me 24 hours closer to home.

(2 days later) In this Yankee deserted town it has taken me two days to borrow a stamp to mail this letter. In the interim it has suddenly become possible (through the kindness of the establishment in this hotel) to have Chiche come here to stay until the survey is finished. Naturally I am all excited at the prospect, so if you no longer get a 5-page letter from me every day during the next couple of weeks, I’m sure you’ll understand. Received the “Christmas Report” and a card from Al and Marian. Glad to hear that Cedric is back among his klootches.”

And here is what Ced contributes: “Things have settled down to the old routine — drab and uninteresting and too darn much to do with too little time to do it. Sunday I begin the week to the sound of Big Ben’s sweet and faithful chime from its face down position on the dressing table. I quit work at 4 in the afternoon, go home and clean up, out to dinner at a local boarding house, where for a dollar one can get a good home-cooked meal and eat as much as he likes. Then I generally go out to visit someone I have promised perhaps a dozen times to drop in on. To bed fairly early as work starts Monday morning at 7 A.M.

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necessitating a 6 o’clock arising again. Monday night after dinner at the boarding house I have a couple of hours to write or do some other necessary chore, then at 8 P.M. to bed and up at 4 A.M. Tuesday and out to work at 4:30. Off at 2 P.M. in the afternoon, and by the time I warm up the T-Craft and put in an hours flying time, it is again 4 P.M. and I go home, clean up and go out to eat at Lomen’s boarding house. To work at 7 A.M. Wednesday, and as I’m tired from the 4:30 A.M. morning, I haven’t much ambition and usually content myself with a short visit with friends again, and turn in early. So goes the rest of the week until Saturday which is my day off, but there are only 52 Saturdays in a year and if one happens to be cloudy it is more or less lost for recreational purposes. That becomes far too inadequate for my peace of mind, and so far I haven’t any more than looked at a pair of skis. Of course any work on the airplane has to be done on Saturday, and with all the work necessary on the Buick, things are in one heck of a shape. What is really wrong, I guess, is that the days are still too short. I am always droopy on the short days. Last Saturday I flew for about an hour and a half in the morning then I tore the engine of the plane apart and ground a valve which had been leaking since somewhere in Canada on the way up. I guess there was too much high octane gasoline put into it on the Canadian leg of the trip. What I did to the engine fixed it up in fine shape anyhow, and in spite of the fact that I worked on it till 2 A.M. Sunday morning, I was pleased to have the job done satisfactorily.”

Trumbull – Dear Dan, Ced and Dave (1) – On My Own – January 27, 1946

I don’t believe this is the picture Lad found. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.

Trumbull, Conn., Jan. 27, 1946.

Dear Dan, Ced and Dave:

You may perhaps recall my story of Finkelstone, from the Bronx, who was drafted, and in spite of his friends predictions, was decorated for bravery when his C.O. armed him to the teeth, sent him to the front lines and told him he was in business for himself. Well, with no letters from foreign parts to quote to you today, I seem to be “on my own”, and you may not therefore expect too much from this epistle.

To Ced, however, I bring what I think may be a bit of good news. Among Lad’s many improvement jobs around the house, he tackled the job the other day of cleaning out the telephone booth with the intention of converting it into a coat closet (and the erstwhile coat closet into a movie outfit storage receptacle). In removing the accumulation of years he came across some papers which evidently Ced had left here on the occasion of his first trip home. Among them I find a Pilot’s Flight Log with official recordings of flying time from October 22, 1942 to October 25, 1942, which shows a total flying time of 30 hours and 30 minutes; also Student Pilot Certificate S-456294, issued June 4, 1942 and Second Class Medical Certificate dated 7/22/43; a D. M. Read diary of his daily doings from June 13th to July 7th; a number of photo negatives (not movies); a day by day recording of Dan’s and his trip from Trumbull to Alaska, starting June 13, 1940 and passenger list of SS Mount McKinley sailing from Seattle, June 26, 1940; a new wrist watch strap and a small box of ski-club souvenirs; also a large photo of a 3-motored Woodley plane outside the hangar. All or any of the above may be redeemed by the owner upon his establishing proof of his identity, pending which they will be held in the Guion vaults.

And while we are in this official vein, let me say to Dave that I am in receipt of a letter from the War Dept., Army Service Forces, Office of the Fiscal Director, Office of Dependency Benefits, 213 Washington St., Newark 2, N.J., Please reply to SPFNE-D-201 Guion, David P., (22 Jan 46) ASN 31 409 102, which says: Reference is made to a Class E allotment of $50 ($50) per month authorized in your favor, effective 1 June 1945 by David P. Guion, Army Serial No. 31409102. Record of this office shows the allotment is paid to date and still active. There is no record of checks having been returned unclaimed. Communication received from the soldier’s Commanding Officer indicates that payments on this allotment have not been received by you. If all payments have not been received, it is requested that this office be notified over your signature, the exact month of missing checks and further action will be taken. L. H. Sims, Brigadier General, U.S. Army, Director.” Perhaps I have been negligent in notifying you, Dave, each month that check has been received and credited to your account, but the record is O.K., and I am sorry if you or your C.O. have been put to any trouble because of my negligence. In this connection, I may say that you are now the owner of 10 shares of common stock in the West Va. Pulp and Paper Co., which I believe is likely to prove a profitable investment, although hardly in the class with Lad’s Venez. Petroleum which rose from 75 cents to $10. in value in a few years. This certificate will shortly be in my safe deposit box, and in case any time I should think it desirable to sell it, I would like you to sign and return to me the enclosed paper.

Tomorrow I’ll post the second half of this letter. I’ll finish out the week with two more letters from Grandpa about news from Trumbull.

Judy Guion


Army Life – My Poor Salacious Siwash – Letter From Dan to Ced – August, 1942


     Daniel (Dan) Beck Guion

          Cedric (Ced) Duryee Guion

Dan is in Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina, being trained by the Army in survey work and his younger brother remains in Anchorage, Alaska, working at the air base there, repairing and maintaining planes and flying as a Bush Pilot. 

DBG - My Poor Salacious Siwach - envelope front, Aug., 1942

Cedric “Frump” Guion

Anchorage, Alaska

DBG - My Poor Salacious Siwach - envelope back - Aug., 1942

The Examination Stamp

DBG - My Poor Salacioius Sewach - Dan to Ced - Aug., 1942

letter written on yellow lined paper in pencil


Roanoke Rapids

My Poor Salacious Siwach —

I again take up my pen(cil, sadly) with mounting misgivings, fearful lest the next letter from you, inspired by this one, will divulge some new heinous outrage perpetrated by you (and that handful of masculine harlotry living with you) against the gentle folk of pastoral Alaska.

But when duty calls, it always finds me right “on the ball” (eight) (or should I say “testicles”, to rhyme with “calls”?), Except when it comes to changing my luck – – – – I have decided to stop changing my luck, not because I do not need any better luck, but rather because I have learned, to my consternation, that these blue ball dispensing black belles are better un-bumped, taken from either side.

Kitty and Cortina:

If you or Kay can find any use in Anchorage for those records, or any potential customer (anything over $10), you may return them (or sell them). If they are serving no purpose, you might send them back home before the Japs mistake them for rye crisps and suffer indigestion !

Volly P. –

My best regards, and stick around! I’ll be back after the war if there is any after.

Rusty’s pipe –

The curfew tolls the knell of parting bedbugs. It is cheaper than conventional fumigation, anyhow!

Buick –

You are free to use your own judgment. Cars are actually worth less around here at present, but values will leap when gasoline and rubber become available and  new cars are not yet on the production lines. I suppose Alaska faces a similar situation.

Dad’s allusion about my being sent to Alaska – mostly the old A. D. imagination. I told him that rumors were extant concerning possible moves in the fall to foreign lands – – – – and Alaska was one meager possibility among several others, equally as meager.

My being pleased with the Army –

It’s malicious slander, that’s what it is! I like the place I live in. I like the survey work. I like the men who are on it with me, but my greatest pleasure would be to stand with my legs spread out and my cock in both hands, and piss on everything military, from the whistle at reveille until the whistle at “recall”, wetting down particularly the sections relating to discipline and silly military customs.


I have become a part (1/4) of a quartet, during the last week or so, and already have performed for the royal awestruck congregation at the 1st Baptist church, and for the local version of the R.F.A.D. (the vice of the Golden South). Tonight we four shall offer unction to the oafs at some corny revival meeting. It is for this meeting that I must close this letter, for time is bisecting itself with alarming rapidity, and I must away!

Give my regards to everyone, even Rutting Red, the Renegade –



The rest of the week will be filled with a letter from Lad to his Father, a letter from Grandpa to his “Truants”, another letter from Lad and another, longer letter from Grandpa, all written in August of 1942.

Judy Guion 



Trumbull – Dear Fugitives From the Home Fireside (4) – Ced’s Return Flight – Arriving at Chagrin Falls, Ohio – January, 1946

Finally I spotted one between two high ridges, and having no choice I skittered down in and landed. I learned it was “Roulette” (appropriate name under the circumstances) and was no longer an approved airport. Having no idea where Roulette was I got out my map and had the fellow show me. It some 15 miles south of the N.Y. border and about 35 miles north of where I should have been flying. I had misjudged the wind and so set out again in a better direction, and just before dark I arrived at Oil City, Pa. — A mere 345 miles from Monroe and still 12 miles north of what should have been my flight path. I must have flown over 400 miles. The next day the weather reports were OK and I set off again in a happy frame of mind which soon became not so happy being squelched by some more of those “light” snow squalls. I did keep pretty close watch of the route and remain quite on course until I approached Cleveland. There the squally became so thick I decided to make a landing even if I had to land in the field. Not seeing an airport at the next village not seeing an airport at the next village I passed over, and a good field appearing at the edge of town, the little Taylor craft soon bounced over the deep snow covered field and again rested on the good Earth. I remained at a farmhouse across the road and learned that the Chagrin Falls airport was a scant 3 miles from there. More later.

Ced also includes a more or less intimate and personal account of conditions at the Woodley airfield which I will not quote. He says his work on Tuesdays and Thursdays starts at 4:30 AM, and Sunday, Monday, Wednesday at 7 AM. Saturday is his day off.

O.K. Ced, will be glad to do what we can for Leonard and Marian but from all reports housing conditions all over the East are terrible and returning servicemen are said to be living in tents in Central Park. The auto situation is a little better, BUT we will of course do the best we can. The enclosed snapshots were all Lad was able to get — no movies. Your suggestion about Mother’s picture is a good one. That is going to see what he can get from those old movies — the bum ones I took when we first got the camera. The miniature on the stand by my bed schoolgirl picture of your mother before we were married and is not as you remember her.

Next week maybe they’ll be something from Dave.    Ta-ta.    DAD

Tomorrow, more Special Pictures.

On Monday, we’ll jump back in time to 1942 when Lad and Dan are just going through their Army training. The War has just begun.

Judy Guion


Trumbull – Dear Fugitives From the Home Fireside (3) – Ced’s Return Flight – Second Problem – January, 1946

All went comparatively well and so I came into the mountainous regions of the Alleghenies. Here, somehow, I missed my landmarks and was soon in a quandary as to where Wilkes-Barre, I first intended gas stop, might lie. After a brief but fruitless search in the vicinity of where I thought it should be, I determined to go on to Williamsport, as my guess was sufficient, and I didn’t see the use of using it all up in one spot looking for W-B. I flew for some time and I thought I had my bearings established again, but after a little bit I began to wonder, and as the visibility was getting poorer all the time, I determined to turn in a southerly direction sure of intersecting the Susquehanna River somewhere before getting to Williamsport. Well, that I did at a point about 2 miles northeast of Sunbury although I didn’t know where I was until I flew over Sunbury and saw the name on the roof of the hangar. I was about 20 miles south of 15 miles east of Williamsport. I was glad to see an airport and wasted no time landing on the sod runway. I had the ship gassed, checked the weather and found there were local light snow falls do. As this was not a bad report I went down to the end of the runway and took off. A cub took off right behind me with the two mechanics who had gassed my plane. They were going up for a little practice. We were hardly off the runway when the snows came, and BROTHER, it wasn’t exactly “light” snow. I circled around to get above the bank of the river and figured I’d break out of it soon, but after five minutes flying it became so thick I could barely see the ground they turned back onto the river and headed for Sunbury. By that time I was between the riverbanks and couldn’t see either one half the time. By guests and by golly I finally got back

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field and landed. Weather reports had changed and now the prediction was for an all-day snow. Resignedly, I sat and talked to the men the field and at noon I went into town and grabbed a lunch. As soon as I sat down to eat the snow tapered off and by the time I had finished it had stopped completely. Not waiting for my ride back to the airport I set out on the run and was cranking up and took off, still hoping to make Norwalk by nightfall. Flying over mountainous country was low ceiling and scattered snow flurries is rather uncertain business, and when the wind is changing direction as it was that day, it is really a nuisance. Landmarks are few — always seem to look the same as at least 10 others, and to make a long story short, it wasn’t long before I was once again in a quandary. The trouble was that my compass correction was incorrect for the wind, which had shifted, and as a result I flew In NW in relation to the ground instead of due W, which it should have been. At one time there was a particularly heavy snow flurry and for about three minutes I never saw thing but the windshield and the side windows outlined in white. That was a hell of a long three minutes. Also, the snow had blocked off the vent on the reserve tank and when I pulled the valve, no gas ran into the maintaining. There I was with probably an hour’s gas at the most, not sure where I was, not positive that I had over half an hour’s gas, and over the mountains, and snow flurries. Well, I kept a weather eye peeled, and each time I passed over a community I searched the surrounding countryside for an airport.

Tomorrow, the conclusion of Ced’s travails so far, and the end of this letter.

On Saturday and Sunday, more Special Pictures.

Judy Guion


Trumbull – Dear Fugitives From the Home Fireside (2) – Ced’s Return Flight – First Problem – January, 1946


“What the hell” is correct, Danny, old son, the bother is all in your own mind. It wouldn’t be much fun if we couldn’t feel we were being useful to someone, it’s about the only way we at home can gratify the urge to help, and it’s particularly pleasing to know it really is a worthwhile service. This week I shall try to get off to you some of the layette items. And thanks for the photos of Paulette. Enclosed, in return, some snaps Lad took of Ced and his plane,

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print which, incidentally, Lad graciously worked until 3 o’clock this morning so that I might send them off to you in today’s mail.

And that quite properly brings us to the other long letter I received this week from Ced. He mentions the fact that Leonard and Marian Hopkins are leaving Anchorage on Jan. 15th for a trip to the East, with the possibility of their calling at Trumbull. As to his (Ced’s) return flight, he says: “Presumably you are curious to hear details of the plane trip up here. I made no notes, took very few pictures and all that I have to go on is a rather vivid memory of the high points of the trip. On this letter item I am toying with the idea of perhaps trying a fling at an article or story. Perhaps nothing will come of it but we shall see. The rough details I should now narrate for your edification only. I left Monroe Airport on Dec. 10 amid a show of field “buzzing” in a farewell salute to members of the family who had turned out to bid me Godspeed and to give Lad an opportunity to take some movies. (I trust he got some good ones). Having climbed to about 1000 feet I faced the nose the ship to the West in the gray dawn of an overcast day, and visit myself with instruments, maps, etc., likely to be needed at the start of a long cross-country trip. This activity I failed to know for quite an extended. The course of my craft over the terra firma below and soon I realized I had lost sight of familiar landmarks. I compass had swung far around to the north and east and so I tried to make corrections. The next thing I knew I was winging serenely westward across the Housatonic at Stevenson Dam, and that, dear family, is why you heard my engine for such a long interval. Actually I made a big circle to the east while I was lining up my maps. Well, my embarrassment and chagrin somewhat soothed by again coming on course I settled down to a more alert contemplation of the ground under me and was presently passing over Bethel, Lake Mahopac and points west, and that, by the way did include West Point.

I’ll be posting the rest of this letter throughout the week.

Judy Guion