Letters – 1942 to 1945 #36

Capt. T.G. Leske 15 T.D. Gp Camp Gruber, Okla. 3-22-44 (Postmarked Mar 32 3pm 1944, Camp Gruber, OKLA, postage “free”) Miss Jane Axtel 538 S. Normandie Los Angeles, Calif. Hello Jane! Long time no write! Me I mean. Ever since we have been here I have felt out of sorts and sort of blue. Occasionally rays of sunlight would filter through into my darkened soul – of course, this happened on the days that I received letters from you. Before I forget it – many thanks for the camera. What was the damage, in terms of the coin of the realm? Your cartoons have gone over big with officers in my Group. I have them up on the wall next to your W A C on the urninal. Your several letters are here next to me and I will see if I can include answers to your questions, if any. If Casey only knew what my reaction was to her moving out, she would probably feel very hurt. Why the creature had to wait so long, I can’t understand. If she had any brains at all her moving date would have been several weeks earlier so that we could have been more convenienced. Just imagine, no open doors, no roommates, no Larsens. Where, by the bye, did you ever get the idea that I was crossing you off my list? And especially, as soon as I got on the train. After all, it would be pretty darn hard to so quickly forget as nice an episode as I experienced in L. A. with you. It was not only the fact that I saw you but the way in which you received me and just put up with me. I have often thought of the weekend and at the same time wished for more of the same. While on subjects concerning L.A., if a little birdie should whisper in your ear that this is a possibility of my being transferred to a post fairly nearby, have a little faith in the whisper. Your darling little co-workers – Farras(?) and Stephanie – certainly knocked themselves out in helping you compose one of your letters and it was more than generous of them to offer to let me buy them drinks next time I come to L.A. on a personal appearance tour. They might not be so free with their good intentions if you were to admit to them that I was old, bald, and snored and talked in my sleep while kicking my bedmate. Any hoo say hello to them This letter has extended itself to an amazing length. What an effect you have on me. Here my roomie is sleeping, it Sunday, a day of rest, women constantly calling me for dates, and I sit writing simply  volumes to those eyes and those xxxx (censured) in L.A. That’s all for now. Bestest Ted  

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Mom wrote on the envelope, a racy poem.  Can anyone decipher shorthand?