Cpl Roman F. Klick 36620923
Co "A", 353rd Engr Regt
A.P.O. #502, c/o Postmaster
San Francisco, California
15 November 1943
Dear Aunty Clara,
Monday
So I rode the fellow down to the movies tonight and let him run it. Only it wasn't all as simple as that. For one thing, we had a break in the film as the splice between the news reel and the main feature broke off. On another occasion the sprocket holes started to jiggle around that we had to stop the machine. Then to climax the affair, just two minutes before the end of the show, the projection lamp burned out and we finished with only the sound going and no pictures.
Before I went to the motor pool to get the truck, I tried to get as many men as possible to sign the payroll. I'm not trusting anyone with the job this month because for the past few months the payroll has been messed up in one way or another in the signing and I would like to be the one to blame if anything goes wrong instead of having to offer some weak alibi that it was out of my hands. It is only natural that I will note more carefully than others whether the man is signing his name on the right line and signing it correctly.
The payroll is about 2/3 done and I hope that sometime tomorrow I can put it on Lt Yantis's desk for his signature, fully completed. Then, after I clear up the other pertinent work around the office, I can start my new payroll plan for the next month.
The tents in our company are brightening up considerably and the walks are almost gay white ways. Quite a few gasoline lamps were put on sale at $6.25 per by the PX. Gone are the days of the candle. A fellow can read in his tent without fear of hurting his eyes now. It seems that in our tent John Edie bought the thing outright and hasn't asked anything from us fellows. It is rare that I am in the tent during the early evening hours and I wouldn't think of turning on that bright beacon when I come in after the rest of them have hit the hay; so as far as me benefiting by it personally, it just isn't so.
Tomorrow morning Lt Podelwitz is going to give us a half an hour lecture about military censorship and it should prove to be rather interesting. He may answer some questions as to what I've been writing that has been blotted out and then too, he may say that several things are permissible to write about which heretofore I have thought to be taboo.
By the way, Harvey had the misfortune to become slightly pixilated while in town the other day and worse than that, he ran into an MP. The toss up of it was that they asked that necessary action be taken and Harvey was automatically reduced from Pfc to Private along with a fine and a week's work on the woodpile. That was an expensive last drink.
Just two hours ago I started this letter but, true to form, Tommy Campbell managed to sabotage my efforts. Out of the twenty-four hours of the day at least five solid hours is wasted in idle chatter. To cut these conversations short would make you unsocial but it sure is trying to allow those minutes to go by when there is a job to be done. That is one thing I have admired about people like Jerry Moro and even Patricia Svolos. They seem to have been able to regulate their lives in such a way that outside interferences have been cut to a minimum and as a result the added time saved has helped them get ahead of the next fellow.
The box of candy is just about gone. I still haven't a haircut. I never sent out the shells. I haven't rewritten Anita's letter or have I sent out a letter to the Reeds or answered the letter from my Dad, Marie or Virginia. I haven't been swimming since the day of the cramp. My French lessons have not been resumed thus leaving a greater task than ever trying to catch up from the place I left off. I caught one of the most peculiar looking insects you ever saw. It looks like a piece of burnt out match stick or like a chip of heavy lead pencil. I've got it in a tin box and will wait three or four days for it to die before inspecting it minutely.
So-long,
/s/ Roman
Roman