Memorial Day Musings

If you're a regular reader of the Bird's Eye View, you may recall my post of several days ago in which I decry the loss of letter writing, a victim of our technological age.  My handwringing was only exacerbated-- for a while--over this past Memorial Day weekend.

The New York Times ran a story of the discovery made recently in the family garage by a woman named Mary Owen, the 52 year old daughter of the late Donna Reed, beloved film and television star.  Owen discovered an old trunk that contained a stash of several hundred letters that had been written to her mother, the Iowa-farm-girl-turned-Hollywood-darling, during the Second World War.  Reed had apparently never mentioned the letters to anyone.

WWII Pinup Queen Donna Reed

The letters are poignant, heart-rending for many reasons, not the least of which is that nearly all the writers--then young GI's and sailors--are now dead, either as war casualties or simply old age.  Some contain photographs, drawings, cartoons, and all of them are written by young men eager to connect to a flesh and blood female.  In the words of one young man writing from the Aleutian Islands in July of 1944, "It has been a long time since any of us boys have seen a woman, so we are writing to you in hopes that you'll help us out of our situation."

One of those GI's who is still alive, an 84 year old now living in California, tells of beginning his correspondence with Donna Reed after meeting her at a morale-booster event at which she appeared and he was lucky enough to engage her in conversation.  "She seemed like the girl next door," he said.  And apparently she had that appeal to many of America's young from far flung farms and small towns across America who found themselves scared and lonely in places around the world they had never heard of until they got there. 

How sad, I thought, as I read the article, to think that such letter writing is gone forever.

GI Fan Letter to Donna Reed

Not so fast.  That same New York Times includes an op-ed by the wife of a soldier involved in today's conflicts, deployed now (for the third time) to Iraq.  I suggest you read Melissa Seligman's piece for yourself for several reasons: she's a good writer, her story is a moving account of what it's like to be the stay-at-home spouse when a loved one is far away in today's war, and most importantly in terms of this blog post, because she puts the lie to my sob-sister story about the loss of letter writing. Here's the link.

Let me include here an especially relevant part of her piece. She talks of how difficult it was when her husband and she relied on email and webcam conversations.  She talks of calls that would take place in the middle of the night (for one of them) and sometimes end in tears.  Her two year old daughter would plead to see her daddy on the computer and when he would finally appear on the screen, she would walk away."  Sounds like two year olds I know.

"'She's just tired, I'd say,'" Melissa writes. "He'd look down, hiding his emotions.  I tried to hide mine as well.  I wanted to be delighted to drpp everything when the instant messenger paged me, when he gave up badly needed sleep to be with us.  But sometimes I couldn't help being annoyed at the interference.  I needed unbroken routines in order to be both a mother and father to my children.  At times, I wished he wouldn't call."

Here's what I especially love in this piece...

 "And then we found salvation in letters.  I had always kept a diary, but growing frustrated with my inability to really connect with David through the Webcam and on the phone, I started sending him long letters from my journal.  Before long, I was picking out stationery to match my moods and searching for the perfect pen to carry my thoughts.  David responded with enthusiasm.

Writing allowed us to regain control of our marriage.  On paper, our memories came to life.  Through letters we could share our concerns without worrying that we'd be misinterpreted.

As I read David's words, I smelled his cologne, I heard him whistle while I cooked, I felt his hand on the small of my back.  Amelia would stuff her daddy's letters into her pockets and take them with her to the playground.  At night, she would beg me to read the letters again.  Over and over until she felt content enough to sleep.

...We poured our hearts into the letters, and there were no time delays in the way, no fears that an argument would be unfinished when the satellite dropped."

 

The Ultimate Written Communication

Here's Seligman's ultimate message, music to the ears of a letter writing enthusiast:  "I know I'm not the first military spouse who has struggled to communicate with a loved one on deployment--and I know I won't be the last.  For those who came before me, the burden to overcome was communicating without technology--waiting months for letters to arrive.  For me and those still to come, it's learning to communicate despite technology."

I'm delighted to be proven wrong in my pronouncement of several days ago.  Now it reminds me of Twain's famous comment: "The news of my death has been greatly exaggerated..." 

Let's hope that Melissa's husband, David, is saving her letters and that her children and their children will savor them as they read them again and again over the years.  It would be a shame if they were lost forever, or only found decades later in a trunk in the garage.