Trumbull – Dear Boys (2) – Reading Don Quixote From Dan – January 3, 1943

Daniel Beck Guion - (Dan)

Page 2,     1/3/43

Dear Dan:

I am enjoying reading Don Quixote. I had always planned to do so but for some reason or other never got around to it. To have so nice an addition as a Christmas gift from my literary son is appreciated more than you may imagine.

And speaking of Christmas gifts, I have just received a letter from Ced, enclosing a $50 money order. He says: “It is almost impossible to get anything up here of a native variety, and so I have decided, as have many others, that money was best. For yourself you are to buy a G. E. Electric blanket – – the balance of the money to be used at your discretion, being sure to take care of all the immediate family, Aunt Betty and Elsie and Grandma. I am still out of the Army and still “in the air as to developments”. We have moved, Rusty moving in with a friend, Dick and I taking a lousy apartment which we hope to leave as soon as possible! So, won’t you and Lad both let me know what I can buy here and send you as coming from Ced in the way of a post-Christmas gift.

A letter from Don Whitney asks about each of you boys individually and asks that you write him at 1904 Franklin St., Olympia, Wash., where he is living with his wife. He tells how on July 6 his vacation was interrupted by orders to go to Armored Force Officer Candidate School, Fort Knox, Ky, from which on Oct. 3rd, he was assigned as 2nd Lt. to the  743d Tank Bn., Fort Lewis, Wash., where, as an assistant personnel officer, “the red tape flows freely around me”. He says: “This is my first experience with this section of the country and I am enjoying it very much, in spite of the fact that we are in the midst of the rainy season during which it is a rare day when the heavens do not pour forth moisture in abundance, not to say superfluity. We are practically on the shores of Puget Sound which means that it snows, but seldom, and never stays on the ground. 1907 was the last year there was any natural ice for skating here. Yet you can travel 50 miles inland (if you have a C card) and find a climate approximately that of northern Maine. When the weather is clear, as it is once in a while, we can see Mount Rainier. It appears to be about 5 miles away but is really 80.”

I thought of you yesterday, Dan, old scout, and the energy with which you tackled job after job around the house here when you were home, and spurred on by your example, I thoroughly cleaned the kitchen linoleum. It looked so good after finishing it that I applied a coat of varnish to keep it clean and shiny and then, when they had all gone to bed last night, I gave it a second coat, for good measure. In between times I cleaned the cellar so that it looked as if some fairly respectable people were in residence, so to that extent at least, I started the new year right. Dave took down the Christmas tree (what Butch left of it) so we are now restored to what Pres. Wilson would have termed a state of normalcy.

We are now looking forward to a visit home soon again from you, Lad having up and left for sunnier climes. I hope you spend New Year’s feeling better physically than the week before and that next visit home will find you better able to enjoy yourself.


Tomorrow, page 3 of this letter which Grandpa addressed to Ced. On Thursday and Friday, another letter from Grandpa to his sons away from home.

Judy Guion


Trumbull – To My Scattered Flock (2) – Notes to Lad and Marian – January 2, 1944

The first half of this letter was posted yesterday and included news of Grandma Peabody and a trip to New York to visit her,news from Dan and also from Marian and Lad.

Dear Lad:

Alfred (Lad) Guion in California

Alfred (Lad) Guion in California

Christmas seems to be your moving day — at least it was last year and again this Christmas. Well, there is a good precedent. As I recall the Christmas story there were three wise men also from the East who were doing some traveling during the Christmas season some 2000 years ago, which ended up at a lovely manger, the only difference being that they had their star ahead of them all the while whereas you left your star back in Los Angeles. And I’m coming to the definite conclusion that she is a star of the first magnitude. In spite of her disappointment at not being able to spend her first married Christmas with her new husband,  a circumstance which would mean even more to her than it would to many people, she takes it with chin up and a smile on her lips that feel like trembling. And as far as that goes, you’re some soldier yourself. I think I know how bitter the pill is that they handed you but I can find no word of complaint, only the intention to look on the bright side, plus a thought of others. And that brings me to a prediction, which is customarily indulged in by certain privileged persons at this season of the year, and that is that too young folks with the sort of outlook on life that both you and Marian have, meeting reverses and disappointments as they come through life, with a smile, have one of the surest recipes for a long and happy life journey together, and that is what I am predicting for you both right now. In the years to come you will look back on this time with a quiet smile and take deep satisfaction in the fact that you were both good sports about it. Perhaps I am dwelling on this topic too long, but its significance to one who has reached years of discretion is very real. “What are years of discretion?” asks little Johnny, which his father replies, It’s when you’re too young to die and too old to have a good time”.

(Everyone will now get out there address book and record Lad’s new address to wit: Co. 3019, 142 OBAM Bn., OUTC, Red River Ord. Depot, Texarcana, Texas.) What do these initials stand for: OBAM – OUTC?

Dear Marian:

Of course there wasn’t any doubt from the beginning that you were just the right kind of daughter-in-law, because you Blog - Marian Irwin - 1942were Lad’s choice, but now you’ve earned that position in your own right and your last letter puts the finishing touches on it. That’s the real kind of courage that shows just what sturdy stuff you are made of, and I’m proud of you, and glad for Lad and for the future that you are the sort of girl you are.

And before we go any farther I must right here and now record how very pleased and surprised we were to receive your Christmas packages which arrived during the week. They were also attractively done up, but best of all, they seemed to reveal a surprisingly deep insight into the needs and desires of us all. I needed a pair of gloves, but I did not expect that anyone would give me such a nice pair, and I think Ced felt just the same about his. Aunt Betty is delighted with her woolen jacket and asked me to say that as soon as she feels equal to it (she has been under the weather with a cold lately) she will write you a note. Dave was not around when we opened the box so he opened his present later and Elizabeth has not been here since the box came so she still has that pleasure before. There was no card on the box of White Owls but I didn’t need to puzzle it out. Here’s a BIG 1944 to you all.


Tomorrow, more Special Pictures of the Trumbull House, Then and Now.

On Sunday, another Guest Post from GPCox. about the role of women in World War II.

Judy Guion

Trumbull – Dear Son – Grandpa Writes to Ced – December 27, 1942

This letter is addressed to Ced alone, since Dan made it home and Lad is driving to California at this time.

Ced and car - 1940 (3)-head shot

Trumbull, Conn., Dec. 27, 1942

Dear Son:

Last letter there was mention of a cold spell that had set us all a-shivering, but that news was a bit premature because that cold spell was followed, or should I say, developed, into a still lower temperature, and if neighbors’ thermometers are to be believed, resulted in the coldest days the family ever experienced since they came to Connecticut. Mrs. Mantle told me that one day the thermometer both at the back and at the side of their home registered 24° below zero. Even well after sunup, the thermometer just outside our kitchen window registered 14 below. In any event, it can be said without any possibility of overstatement that I have never experienced a series of cold days of so low a temperature over so long a period. We had about arrived at the conclusion that it might be a good thing to journey to Alaska in order to find warmer weather. However, I am glad to say that due to the weatherproofing done last year, the installation of storm windows and the operation of the furnace at full capacity, both day and night, temperatures prevailed. I guess we can all remember that winter we spent in the apartment when pipes in the cellar froze and Ced burst forth in his vehement imitation of Bradley Kincaid. The only damage done this spell was a burst pipe in the laundry, but as that is an annual occurrence anyway, it failed to make much of an impression. My car failed to start due to the fact I had not put enough Zerox in the radiator to protect it that low, so it froze to some extent, but not enough to do any harm. However, the weather since then has been normal for this time of year, and even when the mercury crept up toward zero, everyone remarked how warm it was, being almost tempted to leave one’s overcoat at home. Well I guess that’s enough of an opening paragraph about the weather. By the way, it seems to be very popular these days to add a pint of casite to one’s oil for ease in starting.

For Christmas, Dan breezed in, but in spending Christmas Eve in the Warden’s, he evidently drank the wrong kind of wine so that the next day he felt pretty miserable and did not begin to feel like himself again until Saturday. Last night he and Barbara went to New York to see an ice show. About midnight Christmas Eve, (Aunt) Anne and Don (Stanley) alighted from the bus, and Christmas morning the four Zabel’s and Elsie arrived to gather around the tree for the usual procedure.

Trees this year were very expensive, small ones costing two or three dollars and four or five foot trees selling for a dollar a foot. The small ones on sale around here were so scraggly that Dave refused to have anything to do with them, and then he had a brainstorm. He had been busily engaged trimming a beautifully full, fair-sized tree in the church for their pre-Christmas party, which tree had been dismantled Christmas Eve and thrown out back of the church. With some of the base removed it made perhaps the best looking tree we have had for a number of years. The only fly in the ointment came while we were at dinner when Butch (Raymond Zabel Jr., Bissie’s oldest – 3 years old) disappeared for a moment and came back into the dining room grinning and proudly announced he had pulled over the Christmas tree with all its lights and decorations. He wasn’t kidding. He had done just that. Dave, with a great effort of will, maintained a discreet silence, thus winning a great moral victory.


Later the tree was restored but seemed to lack some of its pristine virginity. With Elizabeth’s help, we were able to have a big turkey and Kathryn Warden had generously donated two pies so we got by very nicely in spite of the scarcity and high prices of food. On the day before Christmas, not an ounce of butter was obtainable anywhere in Bridgeport or vicinity. The previous day I had been able to get a quarter pound at Herb Hay’s (Grocery Store in Trumbull Center) and the day before that, half a pound in Bridgeport, which, with what I had bought the previous week, was sufficient for our needs. No cream is on sale, but that saved from the top of Laufer’s daily milk deliveries serves just as well. It was interesting to note food prices in Anchorage. Beef is practically unobtainable but when occasionally it is for sale, prices are around $.55 a pound. Codfish is $.43. Turkey is $.51. Bacon, very scarce, but when obtainable $.45. Smoked hams are out entirely. Canned vegetables limited to one can to a customer. Many canned goods are missing, baked beans, chocolate syrup, corned beef, mushroom soup not having been on sale for months. In general, Anchorage food prices are surprisingly close to ours.

A telegram from Lad instructed that all mail hereafter be sent to Camp Santa Anita, Arcadia, Calif., marked “Hold”, so I assume he has either left Flint for the far west or is about poised to go.

The usual flood of Christmas cards arrived. And in this connection, Dan, it occurred to me that if you did not copy Jim Shield’s address, you might want it. It is 1023 Seneca War Homes, Seneca, Ill. Don Whitney is with the 743d Tank Bn., Fort Lewis, Wash.. Col. W. C. Weeks, Hdq., 7th Corps Area, U.S.A. Office of Engineers, Room 1103 Federal Bldg., Omaha, Neb., and Sgt. Nelson G. Sperling, Battery B, 375th Fg (?) Bn., Fort Jackson, S.C.

Two interesting letters arrived from Ced, which served somewhat to ease the pain of not having all members of the family gathered under the family roof at Christmas. The first of the two to arrive was the one written last; the first one written arriving a few days later. Among other things, it set forth clearly and fully the thing we have all been wondering about so long and that is Ced’s status as far as getting into the armed services is concerned. After much effort he has finally passed his examination and now has his aircraft engine mechanic license, on the strength of which Art Woodley has asked his deferment. The local board is averse to granting it but final decision rests in Seattle and up to the time Ced last wrote, no final word had been received. The house the three of them have been living in has been sold and as of December 12th they will all have to find new living quarters. (Correction: change the word Seattle above to Juneau).

I am awfully pleased about that license, Ced. It does my heart good to know you are progressing along your chosen line. The next license you will go after, I suppose, will be your pilot’s license. I’d feel safer to know you are on the ground rather than up in the air, fighting with some treacherous air pocket above a glacier or near a mountain, but that’s just the old man part of it, I suppose. After receiving your explanation as to how you feel about the letters dispatched week after week, I haven’t the heart to carry out what you choose to call threats; but I do want very much to hear from you regularly and hope your kind heart and understanding nature will induce you to do what you might not be led to do with mere threats. Aunt Betty fairly cheered at your sentiments regarding war songs and says she is 100% with you. Lots of love from us all to you and Lad.

In three weeks I’ll begin posting letters written in 1943, a truly momentous year for Lad. 

Tomorrow more Special Pictures of the Trumbull House, Then and Now.

On Sunday, The Role of Sports, a Guest Post by GPCox.

Judy Guion

Trumbull – A Box of Cigars (2) – March 19, 1944

And there you have it, Marian dear, as complete an exhibit of the wild ravings of an unbalanced mind as one could find anywhere. Since the secret can no longer be kept you have probably already concluded that there must be a touch of insanity in the family to which you have recently united. It is too bad that poor old Dan is going so rapidly “off the deep end”, as they say in jolly old London. But then the other children have also exhibited like tendencies from time to time. I am really the only sane one in the family. Lad at times has shown traces of irrationality, one time choo, chooing and saying “all aboard”, Ced early developed the habit of jumping out of second-story windows. Elizabeth tried walking a tightrope on the back fence falling off and breaking her arm, while Dick and Dave developed glass breaking complexes, Dick picking out country clubs for his activities and Dave kicking in stair windows claiming it was unintentional, that he was just wiggleing his toe and it wiggled too far. Dan, even as a child exhibited clear tendencies, taking such forms as painting his little baby brother Cedric’s face with black shoe polish, almost scaring his aunt to death, breaking eggs by the half-dozen lots on the kitchen floor, deciding to sleep out-of-doors on a summer’s night and then rushing in the house after dark with tales of being chased by bears. We of course tried to overlook these things and hope for the best, the years showing no improvement, as you can see from his letter, his mind seems rapidly going to pieces. I will mention just a few instances, as I might as well make a clean breast of the whole thing while I am at it. You will notice Dan puts no year on his letter, never knowing what year it is, as can readily be seen from his opening paragraph. Then after admitting the Christmas package was definitely received his irrational mind jumps to the conclusion that the package is still traveling as he says in the same breath “you should hear about it before it goes too far.” See what I mean? And of course it is quite untrue about Aunt Betty smoking cigars as you will realize when I tell you that for the last 20 years she has invariably smoked a corncob pipe, and being quite consistent, uses only corn silk. The farmers in the neighborhood look charitably upon this peculiarity, and it is a frequent occurrence of summer evenings in Trumbull to see Aunt Betty with a small wicker basket on her arm and a blue sun bonnet on her head trudging through the cornfield gathering corn silk for her winter humidor. Then that reference to Aunt Betty sitting on the stairs and blocking my way is a pure figment of the imagination. As you well know, I always slide down the banisters.

Perhaps we should excuse these harmless little aberrations on Dan’s part, but one thing I cannot overlook is his habit, when at home, of scattering snuff here and there throughout the house to make me sneeze, in the hope that I will think I have hay fever.

Of course I wouldn’t for the world let him know we realize his mental condition and it might be well therefore for you to humor him to the extent of a bolt or so of pink ribbon which you can secure from your department store for his monocle, cautioning him, of course, not to trip over it; also while you’re at it, you might send him some shoelaces with little tassels on them, as I know this would touch him deeply. We’ll just have to make the best of it, hoping he doesn’t reach the stage where he thinks he’s Joe Stalin and goes around ordering caviar, vodka and borsht at Kurtz’s store.

This family confession has completely exhausted me and I shall now have to close this letter as I have to try catching my thumb.

Lovingly yours,


I’ll finish this week spent in 1944 with another letter from Rusty Huerlin sent to Ced in Anchorage.

Judy Guion


Trumbull – Dear Fugitives From the Home Fireside (1) – News From Dan – January, 1946


Trumbull, Conn., Jan. 13, 1946

Dear fugitives from the home fireside:

There is nothing much to report so far this year as far as eventful happenings at home are concerned. Lad has been busy all week devising and putting into practice ideas for burning garbage accumulations in our open air incinerator, Dick goes tomorrow for his aptitude test in Bridgeport, Jean for the past week has been valiantly fighting grippe germs (she is better now, in fact the four of them have gone skating this afternoon to the Shelton Rink), Marian keeps well, as does Aunt Betty and yours truly. Paul (Warden, he and his family rent the small apartment) is expected home this afternoon; I have been busy getting my new file into shape. The cold spell gave place last week to some milder weather which melted most of the snow but today it is colder again with “very cold” promised for tomorrow.

Dan Guion surveying cemetaries in France

As to incoming mail, three days in succession this week have witnessed letters arriving from Dan, not in order of their dispatch, however, — 20th of Dec. from Paris, 27th from Passy, 11th from Aix-en-Provence. For the sake of continuity I shall quote them in order of sending rather than receipt. After expressing desire to have a fur coat ordered from Sears as a Christmas gift for Paulette, which I am not sure can be sent because while it is within the weight limit of 11 pounds there is a question as to whether it might exceed the limit imposed by the post office on size of package, which fact I am looking into before ordering, Dan goes on to say: “This is the famous “Midi” of Southern France, but you can’t prove it by me. Ever since we arrived the weather has been quite cold. It snowed three days ago and the sun, shining each day since, has only half melted the inch or so that felt. We are pushing on today for Sraguignan.”

Second letter answers letters asking sundry questions from which I learned all parcels should be sent as before to Army address, it is doubtful whether stamp collection clippings should be continued, and persons for whom wedding and engagement rings were desired are already married, material desired is to trim outside of bassinet. He also asks for civilian clothes, which I shall dig up and send provided the moths have not claimed them first.

The last letter says: Christmas at Calais! One year ago I was just falling in love. We ate dinner on Xmas eve last year at the home of Hubert Desfachelle, not dreaming at the time that it would be he who would marry us and never realizing that he would be Mayor of Calais! He is quite active in the Communist Party and was swept into office unexpectedly last fall. His impersonation of “Monsieur le Maire” for our wedding was prophetic. Chiche and I were his guests this year (Dec. 23rd) in his private loge at the municipal theater. The days in Calais (Sat. to Wed.) flew by incredibly fast. We thought of you all in Trumbull — wondered if we’d be there next Christmas. Papa Senechal says he’s going to write you another letter. Big excitement on the finance front. The rate is suddenly halfway normal — hard to get used to the new value of the Franc. Next survey job will be after Jan. 1st at Epinal, not far from Nancy. My conscience has just given me another lecture on the old “abusing father’s kindness” theme — but what the hell!

I will be posting each day, for the rest of the week, portions of this letter from Grandpa to family members still away from home.

Judy Guion

Trumbull – To My Scattered Flock (1) – A Censor’s Note – January, 1944

Trumbull, Conn.  Jan. 2, 1944

To my scattered flock:

There are several matters of import to record in this my first letter of the new year. First, about Grandma. Burton phoned me at the office early in the week to say that his mother was very weak and the doctor had told them she had not many more days before starting out on the great adventure. Might be a week, possibly two weeks, but to be safe and in accordance with Grandma’s wishes, all the children were summoned to her bedside. Thursday, Ced, Jean and I, together with Elizabeth, her two kids, Flora Bushey and Red all went down on the train together. We phoned to Anne from Elsie’s shop and learned that Grandma would like see us that afternoon, so, Red and Flora having planned to attend some movie, Jean and Ced and I went to Grandma’s while Elizabeth stayed at Anne’s apartment some blocks away with her two children, then Ced and Jean left to meet Red while I went back to Anne’s to amuse the kids while Elizabeth went over to see Grandma. Grandma looks very bad, but is alert and interested in all that goes on. She was interested in reading Marian’s letter and also one from Dan, doing so propped up in bed without the aid of her glasses, too. Physically she is extremely weak, there apparently being a combination of intestinal and liver trouble. Helen was there with Anne. Dorothy had gone to work. Kemper, Marian and Larry had come on but Larry and Marian, with Alan (now 7 years old) had gone to see old friends in New Rochelle and Kemper had gone to Mount Vernon. Before we left Anne’s apartment to come home, Larry phoned from the Grand Central and he and Marian came down and we all had supper together. I neglected to say that Dave had gone down to see Grandma the day before and to my place at the office Thursday, as otherwise I would have had to close up shop.

Two airmail letters from Dan, one in the first part of the week and the other the last day of the old year, sort of ended up 1943 in good style. His first letter mentioned having had a very pleasant Thanksgiving Day with Mr. and Mrs. Heath, of whom he says he has never encountered any people more sincerely generous than the Heaths. He mentions receiving three invitations to Christmas celebrations, but “the old fox is waiting to see which invitation will be most worthwhile”. His second letter describes a short furlough which he spent in a visit to Cornwall in a little town called St. Ives (of Mother Goose fame) and a short distance from Penzance, immortalized by Gilbert and Sullivan’s Pirates. He was guest of a very hospitable elderly retired couple named Burnett who were introduced to him by mail through the kindness of one of the Red Cross workers.

Daniel (Dan) Beck Guion

Dear Dan:

Lt. P. R. Martin, the Censor who usually goes over your letters, felt it his duty to remove the Heath’s address, but he very courteously wrote the following note: “Send the articles to T-5 Guion. Sorry I must cut the address out; however it is of little importance.” Accordingly, I had D. M. Read Company make up a package of bath salts, powder and soap and will get it off to you early in 1944. Are you getting some good movies or Kodachrome pictures or won’t they allow the use of a camera in England? Send me another list of things you want sent, now that we know they arrive, even though somewhat delayed. I think hereafter, that with every package I send you, I shall include some item of cosmetic or toilet article as gifts to those who are so good to you, BUT, please, in every letter make a definite request which I can show the post office as otherwise packages will not be accepted for mailing overseas. We all enjoy your letters very much and it’s so good to know you are well and content.

Tomorrow I’ll post the conclusion of this letter, with notes to Lad and Marian. On Thursday, another letter from Marian and on Friday, another letter from Grandpa with some news for the family.

Judy Guion



Army Life – Dear Dad – Life at Aberdeen and Round-Robin From Friends (2) – July, 1942

ADG - Dick atThe Chandler's - Group on steps (cropped) - 1939

This picture of Dick was actually taken at the wrong time of the year, but it is the only one I have of him at about this age.

Dear Children –                Round-Robin

The usual procedure is to sign one’s name after having completed the customary twaddle. Having received several such paragraphs in round-robins, I realize how stupid it is. Anyone reading the letter will probably have to read a paragraph, notice who wrote it, and then go back and read it over a second time; this time getting a little more out of it, but still feeling that he has gleaned very little from his reading. Realizing the fallacy of this procedure, I will hasten to let you know who is writing this particular stanza. It is I; little Dick.

Barbara mentioned that “WE” almost practically got stuck which is not the case at all. Although I let them all believe that the situation was critical, I had, at all times, the utmost confidence in my driving ability; being the best driver in the family. Anyone of lesser dexterity and driving knowledge would most certainly have become hopelessly engulfed in the treacherous quagmire, but with deft maneuvering, I managed to overcome the clutching, sucking morass in the nick of time. To overcome my habit of minimizing hardships, I will tell you of some of the obstacles I had to overcome. As the water lapped at the windshield, threatening to drown us like the rats they are; with three girls screaming, sobbing brokenly, and throwing their arms about my neck (which I didn’t really mind very much) with occasional bits of droll information from Dave concerning tides in freshwater pools, with little regard for Uncle Sam’s rubber and gas, I applied myself diligently to the task at hand. Waiting for the strategic moment when my sputtering motor slowed to 48 RPM’s, I firmly grasped the gear shikk shipt (one must be careful where he lays his fingers when typing, mustn’t one?) I firmly grasped the gear shift knob in my right hand and eased the car into low gear. With temples throbbing, the blood rushing cold in my veins, I relived in a split second my carefree childhood days. Then, gritting my teeth, I did the only thing possible. Not only my life, but five other tender lives were in my hands. I raced the motor, let out the clutch with a snap. For an instant we moved, but the motor died. Henry Ford had let another sucker down. The three girls had fainted by now and Dave was in the last stages of consciousness (which isn’t unusual) I felt weak and sick, but this was no time to quit, so, with trembling fingers, I pressed the starter and xxxxxxxxxx when the motor had struggled back to life, I again tramped on the gas pedal; all the while releasing the clutch pedal slowly. The motor faltered momentarily but came back to normal with tear-dimmed eyes, I glanced out the side window and noticed that we were moving forward inch by inch. I shut my eyes and prayed a thousand prayers. By the time I had finished the 999th, I had the sensation that we were rolling along forward at a much faster rate, and sure enough, just as I snapped my eyes open, a state policeman blew his siren and motioned me over to the side. Well, bread and water isn’t a very substantial diet for a defense worker, so I told the cop. He kind of smiled, He see I had him.

Adios, Hermanos, Mios



Alfred Duryee Guion (Grandpa)

Alfred Duryee Guion


This is Dad again

          Well, who says I’m not an opportunist. As I sat down to write you-all, a cunning idea stole into my mind, what with Jane and Barbara and Jean and Dick decorating the vicinity. And so, the result you have above.

I have been thinking of you boys in Maryland and North Carolina today and wondering if the weather was correspondingly as hot as it has been today in Trumbull.

Two letters this week – – one from Lad and one from Grandma. Lad reports he has just received his grading on the strenuous 5-weeks course he has been working so strenuously on. The class was divided into five groups by final score on the complete course. He was in the fourth group (the fifth being the top notchers), so he was not as good as the best but well up in the class, but what pleased him as much as anything was the fact that he was given the job of instructing a class in diesel engineering, and while it means a lot of work on his part, being a new course, he looks forward to enjoying the work. He has another fellow working with him on the task – a Corporal Frankenhauser. I took the liberty of calling up Mr. Hagan, his old instructor in diesel and ________________________( this part was lost at the bottom of some of the carbons, so Grandpa began again on the next page)


his old instructor in diesel and reading Lad’s letter to him, knowing he would be interested in one of his old pupils progress in this particular field. He was and took Lad’s address so that he might write offering any assistance that might be welcome under the circumstances. I also inquired if any new textbooks on the subject had been published lately and he said, “no”. Don’t forget, Lad, if your new course gets to the point where mimeograph copies will aid in your successful teaching of the subject, I guess I can do something for you and Uncle Sam until the point is reached where it is putting me financially in a hole, and then maybe if the government red tape will not permit payment of costs, maybe the fellows benefiting would be willing to chip in, but there, the idea may be running away with me. It’s just an idea, anyway.

Grandma says that on Burton’s birthday (April 1st), a letter from Washington came to him addressed to Capt. Burton Peabody. He had passed his tough physical exam O.K. and since May 1st has been stationed in Washington. His address is 1223 11th St., N.W., Dorothy (Peabody) completed her secretarial course in June and almost immediately got a job at the Traphagen Art School in New York. About July 1st, Donald (Stanley) arrived unexpectedly and a few days later, left for St. Albans, to join his father with the latter’s new family. Anne (Stanley, Donald and Gweneth’s mother, and sister-in-law to Grandpa) and Gwyneth arrived a week or so later. Anne took Gwyneth to Burlington where Fred (Stanley, divorced from Anne) was to meet Gwyneth to visit them. Anne is coming back to New Rochelle to stay with Grandma while Kemper and Ethel (Peabody) are on vacation until Labor Day. She ends her letter with these words – “When you write to your boys please give them my love”.

Tiny (?) has reported to have said that Nelly (Nelson Sperling) is now stationed at Aberdeen so it is possible that Lad and he may run into one another someday, although from the size of the place and the number of men there are, it is just as likely not to happen.

New gasoline ration cards go into effect this week. I have put in an application for a supplementary card to enable me to continue doing business but have not yet learned whether my request will be granted or not.

As your news commentator seems to have run out of communiqués for the present, I shall close by saying that is all from Trumbull at this time.


Tomorrow and Sunday, Special Pictures.

Next week I’ll be posting letters written in 1944. By the middle of the month, all five sons will be away from home and Grandpa will be holding down the fort in Trumbull without any sons to help.

Judy Guion