19 June, 1956

Dear Folks

In the last mail call Ohls, the kid who relieved Nick, got a Father’s Day card, & suddenly it dawned on me! I’m sorry I didn’t send you a card or something, dad, but evidently America is the only country that celebrates it. Anyway, you are not forgotten, believe me.

Today was the day I should have gone on the tour to Milan, if they hadn’t canceled it. Oh, well, that’s just that much more money saved. As of this coming payday, I’ll have a little over $300 on the books. That will come in very handy.

I got a letter from Northern about the new dorm arrangement at Gilbert Hall—8 men to a 3 room "suite"—how they figure that "Suite" part I’ll never guess. One thing I do know, & that is that I’m not going to like that set up at all. Two to a room was nice, but eight guys cluttered together will be impossible. Oh, yes—room rent is $288 a semester.

If I don’t like it the first semester, I‘m going to drop out & look around for another college.

Well, let me see—what is new. Nothing is new, that’s what. Fifty-four days from now I’ll be out.

Got another roll of film back from Istanbul—pretty good from what I can gather by squinting at it. In the box was a notice that developing costs are no longer included in the purchase price due to a Federal Court Decree. Now what was wrong with that, I wonder? Now you buy your film, take it to your friendly Kodak dealer, & he will send it in for developing. If they think for one minute I am going to run all the way back to Genoa, Italy, to have my film developed, they are sadly mistaken.

Read an article the other day which says your handwriting mirrors your health. If that is true, I owe somebody about sixteen years. Today I went back to Plato. That Socrates irritates the hell out of me sometimes. You should read it sometime. He takes any plain simple statement like "John, you are a naughty boy" & breaks it down into its atoms & molecules, twisting it around until if finally comes out that John isn’t really naughty, after all—in fact, John isn’t really a boy. Of course all this is made easier by the fact that whomever he is speaking with never says more than "Yes" or "In that case, Socrates, I should say that we must agree." Still pretty good, though, at times.

I am hungry, which also isn’t new, but not much can be done about it at the moment. I also stink, which can be remedied, I hope, by taking a shower.

When I get home I want to have a six month’s stock of pretzels, three gallons of milk on hand at all time, & an ice cube tray full of Coolade popsicles. If we go to the lakes, don’t expect me to be around much in the evenings, as I will be taking the car into Fort Atkinson to any & all movies.
I’m worried about my movie film. I hope it isn’t ruined. Let me know as soon as you get the binoculars.

Don’t think I’ll be going over any more unless possibly Saturday. If I do, my sole purpose will be to get stinking drunk.

It is as hot as a pizza oven in here tonite, & we still must suffer through wearing whites every day. We wear them because the Captain says we will wear them—& he has his clothes cleaned & pressed every day.

My writing (hand-type as mentioned before) is improving, or at least changing. I used to write uphill. Now I write downhill. Oh, well.

Oh, did I tell you I bought a shirt? I really like it—it’s blue & short-sleeved, which means I probably won’t get to wear it until next summer; by the time I get home, snow will be ready to fall.

Which reminds me, for no particular reason—that I’ve got to clean out my locker. It’s a mess—I just jam everything into it & force the door shut. Think I’ll do that tonite.

Enough for now.

Love

Roge