A Young Officer, Feeling Ignored, Implores His Wife to Send More Letters—and to Stay True to Him Back Home & A Nineteen-Year-Old Soldier Replies to His Sweetheart After She Rejects Him for Another Man

“More mail came in to-day, but I still didn’t get a letter, and I really feel blue & disappointed,” wrote a twenty-four-year-old officer to his wife on January 20, 1951. “Everybody kids me now because I never get any mail from the states. I can take a little kidding, but it’s getting to hurt a little now. It’s bad enough not eating & sleeping and freezing night and day, but to feel cut off completely is too much.” By January 1951 many Americans fighting in Korea had been away from the States for six months, and all the usual wartime anxieties about sweethearts back home remaining faithful were creeping into their thoughts. Although the forlorn officer did begin to receive mail from his wife, his fears that she was neglecting him—or worse—had not abated. (The names of the couple have been omitted to protect their privacy.)

My Darling:

Just a couple of lines to tell you I love you. I got a letter from you that you wrote Jan. 8. It sure was good to hear from you. That’s the first letter I’ve had since I left the U.S.

I can’t see to write very much! I’m writing by the lite from under the hut, and it’s almost out! Please don’t worry about me, I’m all right.

I hope you are doing things right by me back there. If not, I want you to tell me so now. Because if I come home and hear one word the wrong way, you have had it. A lot of the fellas have had trouble from their wives back home, and not hearing from you has got me to wondering! So you had better let me know what is going on. Maybe I won’t get back; right now it looks pretty bad, but if I do, lady, you had better be right on the level with me, and if there is anything to tell me, start talking now. You said in your 1 page letter you couldn’t think of anything to say, well, you better start thinking, or quit writing. I’m the only dam fool around here who never seems to get any mail.

30,000 estimated enemy troops have gotten behind us. That’s bad. I’m going up on “forward observation,” probably tomorrow. (That’s to spot enemy and direct fire on them.) So now I will really be right on the spot. So if you aren’t living right, you better hope I don’t make it these next few weeks. I love you more than you realize. I always will. I won’t be able to write for a while after tonight. Please love me and pray. It isn’t worth it to be wrong, I know. Bye Bye my Darling.

I love you.

The officer survived the war and eventually returned to his wife, and the two remained happily married. A nineteen-year-old artillery gunner named Leon was not so fortunate. (His full name must also be withheld in the interests of privacy.) Serving with the Thirty-fourth Field Artillery Battalion, Twenty-fifth Infantry Division, Leon received a “Dear John” letter from his fiancée on June 14, 1952. Heartbroken, he responded the next day.

Dear Babe,

I just received your last letter in this morning’s mail. I held it in my hand for a minute while a little voice in the back of my head whispered, “This is it. This is the one.” Oh yeah, I knew it was coming. I could tell from the tone of your last few letters. Have you forgotten how well we know each other?

You tried to “let me down easy.” Well, if it’s any consolation to you, you did it about as well as a thing like that can be done. But, then, we wouldn’t have wanted it to have been too easy, would we?

You ask me if I understand. I do. I never said I was the greatest guy on earth; you did. I just agreed with you: but, to be fair, we didn’t mention any other places. You didn’t mention what planet you were going to live on, either; this, or his. Anyway, he’s there. I’m here.

“Be careful,” you tell me. “Take care.” I almost laughed out loud. We wouldn’t want to see me hurt, would we? There’s no need to worry about me. I’ll be all right. I swear it. You have other things to think about now. Hopes to hope. Wishes to wish. Dreams to dream. A life to live; and, I wish you the best of all there is.

Now? Now I will do what I have no choice but to do. But how? Do I say something brilliant like “may all your troubles be little ones”? Or do I treat this like a tennis match? “I did my best; it just wasn’t good enough, and the best man won.” How’s that?

How about “If you ever need a friend”?

That presumes a future. There are 500,000 N. Koreans and Chinese on the other side of that hill bound and determined to make sure I don’t have a future. Over here where your past is your last breath, your present is this breath, and your future is your next breath, you don’t make too many promises. Which leaves me what?

Goodbye,

Leon

Two days later Leon single-handedly charged a Chinese machine gun nest on his own initiative. He was killed instantly in a hail of bullets.