Laudator Temporis Acti

Warning: This post, about my (now deceased) uncle's return home after World War II, will probably interest only my family members.

My brother showed me an old telegram that our uncle (a paratrooper in WWII) sent to our mother. I sent the following email to my uncle about his Odyssey (including the Circe episode):

Here is the text of a telegram which you sent to my mother on March 18, 1946:

ARRIVED 11:15 SATURDAY NIGHT ALSO MET AIRBORNE SLICK CHICK NECKED FROM ALBUQUERQUE TO KANSAS CITY

Sounds like quite a trip...

My uncle responded with the following reminiscences:

I landed in Seattle late Feb., 1946, after a ride on a troopship from Japan. After a train ride to Ft. MacArthur, California, I was discharged from the army on March 9, 1946, 3 months before my 21st birthday. Your Dad was on recruiting duty in L.A. after serving in the Pacific. In Japan I told the army that I lived at your parents' address in L.A. so I could visit them. After I got to Ft. MacArthur, I told them that I lived in Maine.

I visited for a few days and then went to a local air base and tried to get a ride East on an Air Corps plane. (Free). Because I was discharged, it was not possible. I had to buy a ticket on a regular airline. The Army gave me 5 cents a mile travel allowance. I received around $154.00. Believe it or not, the price of an airline ticket to Portland, Maine, was just about the same amount that I received.

Your folks gave me a ride to the Burbank Airport in Los Angeles. My flight left at 11:00 P.M. It went to Albuquerque, NM. (Your 61-year-old telegram copy covers this segment only.) The "chick" referred to was grateful to those of us who had saved the world from oblivion. However, she got off in Kansas City. (No pun intended.)

From Kansas City, my flight went on to Chicago. From Chicago we flew to New York City, then to Boston, then to Portland, Maine.

It was cold and dark. I hitchhiked and walked to the road to Brunswick, then with my limited luggage, I put on my pity-full look and hitched a ride to Brunswick. By this time I was very cold and uncomfortable. I still had on my uniform and did not have to wait too long for a ride. I did not have an overcoat as we didn't need an overcoat in California.

The guy let me off at the corner of Pleasant St. (Rte. 1) and Spring St. in Brunswick. Consequently, I walked the last half mile to 29 Spring St. (I was asked why I hadn't called my father from Portland to ask for a ride. I said that I didn't know how much he'd charge me.)

I walked into my home at 11:15 P.M. The trip took 21 hours using planes, autos, and foot power. I had been gone since Sept., 1944, 18 months. (Eighteen months of still untold unique experiences.)

"I didn't know how much he'd charge me." This is revealing. My grandfather was a penny-pincher — when my mother graduated from high school at age 16 and got a job at a bank, her father started charging her for room and board.

Related post: Memorial Day.