Tag Archives: World War II

A “Letter on a Record”

USO "Letter on a Record"

USO “Letter on a Record”

Before there was e-mail or Skype or DVDs or even cassette tapes, there was the “Letter on a Record.”  During World War II, servicemen could enter a booth at USO clubs operated by the National Catholic Community Service and make an audio recording.  The result was a two-sided, wax-coated cardboard disk, 6-1/2 inches in diameter and playable on a turntable at 78 r.p.m., that could be mailed to friends or loved ones back home.

One of these “letters on a record” is part of the collections of WKU’s Special Collections Library.  Speaking from Camp Crowder, Missouri, Private Thomas W. Sutton extends greetings to Eva Mae Stone in Washington, D. C.  In the few minutes of recording time available, Sutton asks her if she’s heard any good dance records lately (like Don’t Do It Darling), tells her about mutual friends, including “Chuck” (“he had to take a few weeks of basic [training] all over again and of course that didn’t appeal to him”) and, true to the nature of many soldiers, talks about his plans for his next furlough and how much he misses the “barbecue sandwiches and milkshakes” at one of his favorite hangouts.

A finding aid for Thomas W. Sutton’s “letter on a record” can be downloaded here.  For more information on World War II collections at WKU’s Special Collections Library, search TopScholar and KenCat.

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Kentuckians Remember D-Day

James A. Parrish, Sr., writes of D-Day

James A. Parrish, Sr., writes of D-Day

As another anniversary of the D-Day landings at Normandy passes, here are some memories of Kentuckians who fought on that historic day, and whose reminiscences are preserved at WKU’s Special Collections Library:

We were anchored 12 miles off shore . . . The sound was deafening.  It looked like a tornado from all the dust and smoke in the sky. — Ralph J. Glaser

I had land mines, supplies and men loaded on my truck . . . As I prepared to drive off the boat ramp, my truck stalled just before I got to shore and I had to be towed . . . I was deeply saddened as I looked upon the many American soldiers lying dead in shallow water on the beach . . . it was a shocking sight for a country farm boy who had grown up in the serene countryside of Daviess County. — Beverly Gilmore

It did not dawn on me until we were nearly on the sand that it was not raining.  What I had assumed to be rain hitting the water all around us was actually bullets fired from shore . . . Later I was taken along with the other wounded out to a hospital boat anchored off shore . . . they insisted upon putting me on a stretcher and strapping my arms to my sides.  They they . . . began to hoist me to the ship high above.  The rough seas caused the stretcher to swing out 10 to 15 feet from the ship’s sides.  I screamed awful things on the way up. — Bradley M. Green

We arrived at Utah Beach a little before dawn . . . Off shore with a rough sea running and in darkness, the assault waves climbed down landing nets into the bouncing landing crafts . . . Soon after hitting the beach, my foxhole buddy said, “Man, this is the real thing, isn’t it?” . . . He and I were approximately 20 yards apart at the time, and when I turned to respond, he was hit and killed by a large shell. — Russell C. Goddard

 

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Mail Call !

Bert J. "Jay" Borrone, WKU Class of 1941

Bert J. “Jay” Borrone, WKU Class of 1941

In the extensive collections of war letters in WKU’s Special Collections Library, no expression is more common than the joy of a soldier who has received mail from home.  In April 1943, Corporal B. J. “Jay” Borrone, stationed in North Africa, wrote to Dorthie Hall, his former classmate at Western Kentucky State College, and vividly described the whirlwind of anticipation, exhilaration, and sometimes disappointment, known as “mail call”:

“The truck driver is pestered all day to go into regimental headquarters for the mail even tho all know that it is not finished being sorted until 4 p.m. . . .  Usually it is about 7 before they get back and no lynching mob in all its fury ever went after a victim like we go after that driver. . . . [F]inally someone grabs the bunch of letters and starts yelling off names.”  Those lucky enough to receive mail, Borrone continued, “go off into a corner and get that beatific look for hours while the other poor guys that didn’t get anything pretend (very poor pretending by the way) that they didn’t expect any anyhow.  Pretty soon the score is tabulated on just how many letter[s] each fellow got and the winner comes in for a lot of kidding.  Then the discarded envelopes are looked at and sniffed at for evidences of female traits and more kidding follows.”

It was 3 a.m. as Borrone wrote these words, but even at such a late hour and so far from home, he was looking forward to “the promise of a grand sunrise and a perfect day” — and, no doubt, the next mail call.

A finding aid for the Dorthie A. Hall collection of World War II letters can be downloaded here.

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