Cpl Roman F. Klick 36620923
Co "A", 353rd Engr Regt
A.P.O. #502, c/o Postmaster
San Francisco, California
August 27, 1943

Dear Aunty Clara,

Friday



From the opening bugle call almost to the last call fifty minutes away I have been on the go. Actually I accomplished very little but still I was working all the time or doing something. In fact I did not get a chance to write to you before supper today.

Some of the things which kept me busy were entries in the Service Records, pending releases on men over 38, the movie projector, and odds and ends. I waited until well after four o'clock to fix up the film for this evening and then before I put on my khakis it was time to eat supper. Incidentally, even the movie turned out to be a taker-upper of time with no satisfactory results to show for it. The sound mechanism broke down and for the life of us we could not figure out what the trouble was. After showing one complete reel and the beginning of another we called it quits and came home.

The craziest incident occurred today as a policeman came up with a letter in his hand looking for someone. The letter was written in French and the policeman spoke only French. Immediately the rest of the fellows demanded that I speak to him to find out what he has to say. I just couldn't see myself doing that so I asked Joe Kurtiss and Campbell to talk to the fellow. Neither would do it so all three of us decided that maybe together we could find out what his business was. First we read the letter. This was not much trouble as there were only two words which we did not know and with the aid of our dictionary we found them out. However, it still gave us only a remote idea of his quest. It seems he was looking for people who didn't pay some back taxes. Nevertheless, the three of us refused to speak a word with him so he took the dictionary and looked up the French word for taxation and showed us that as if we would then understand him. By that time the office thought that we were a bunch of hoaxes and didn't know any French at all. He finally went away with neither he nor we none the wiser.

About ten minutes after he had ridden away we decided how simple it would have been to tell him the men he was looking for were not here. Our alibi was that we who know a bit about the language are hesitant to embarrass ourselves by sticking our necks out and therefore we say nothing.

The Home Edition of the Bulldozer came out today and it seems as if my name is becoming Mr. Lana Turner for all the remarks which one hears after reading the selected items in the paper. I'll send the paper to you by airmail tonight.

Only a dozen letters came in the mail today and I didn't get any. That means that for three days I haven't received one single solitary letter and as you well know that is a rare occurrence. Many other fellows are in the same boat this time so when the mail does comes through again, I'll bet that at least five will arrive at the same time.

Last night I finished writing to you at nine bells and hit the hay early for a change. I was all tucked in bed by nine fifty and when the others came in from the show they didn't even notice me at first. When they did see me they didn't believe their eyes at seeing me in bed. Someone remarked that maybe I was sick. I do not recall the last time I ever was in the tent with any of the rest not sound asleep. I had intended writing a letter to Uncle Jack that evening but I figured he would have said I ought to catch up on the sleep first. It didn't seem to help awful much because I still kept that permanently tired feeling. That is another thing I don't remember --- when, outside the days I was home on furlough I did not have that terribly tired feeling since being in the army.

Old "Pop" Wanner, the 1st Sgt the landlady's daughter knows, is applying for an over 38 discharge. If he gets it, Mike is in line for the 1st Sgt. Job in H&S.

So-long,
/s/ Roman
Roman