N.Y. Sunday April 24, 1966
Dear Mom, Dad, & Cory —
Here are some presents for you I came across while cleaning out my wall locker for inspection. Incidentally, you don’t know very much about my living quarters here, do ya Mom. Well, I’m sure you’ve heard how crowded New York is, but in the Army—well, now I know how horses in a stable must feel. But even they have more room. Our barracks (remove “s” from last word) is a three story building on very much the same order as those we lived in at Ft. Bliss. I live the “west wing” * [*Side note: I had my choice of which wing I wanted to live in and decided to stay as close to home as possible.] of the second floor in a large room we call a “bay.” In this room there are 13 “cubes” (stalls, the size of a cube). We live two in a cube. We each have two wall lockers (one for service clothes & one for civies) and a foot locker. Each cube has a desk and chair between the two bunks. Most cubes have three windows, but ours only has two (a blessing—we clean windows once a week). All the guys here are great and everyone gets along pretty well —except me and my cube partner! His name is Oliver and we’re fine friends—but not at 5:30 in the morning. This is the moment of the whistle (the type of whistle with which a cop directs traffic is used to wake us up each morning, save Sat & Sun) after which Oliver soon arrives (he lives in an apartment a few blocks away and seldom sleeps in the cube—isn’t that swell—I get all of that room to myself!) Naturally, he’s all dressed, shaved and washed (two of which I still have to do) and his bunk is all made. Therefore—he’s already to start cleaning up (we have to sweep and buff the floor each morn) and it drives him insane to sit and wait while I’m washing up and getting dressed like the others—he expects me to wake up at the same time he has to in order to get from his apt. to the barrack in time for rev….revelle?…revilie!…(I know Dad’s reading readin’ this Mom, otherwise I’d just spell it any old way)…revely?…revillie!…..?…..oh the heck with it, I hate the word so much anyway. Let’s just say it’s the opposite of taps and we’re all supposed to fall out for a formation to check if we’re all present (5:45am) Well, I keep tellin’ him that if he envies me for all the extra sleep I get each morning, he should live it up once in a while and sleep on his luxurious bunk. He’s not speaking to me after I make that remark (for which all the “hangovers” are grateful to me) so I try to bury the ax by tellin’ him that it’s nice and thoughtful of him to wait for me each morning, but I don’t really mind too awfully much if he just goes ahead & cleans up without me. “But how can I, your bunk’s not even made” he says. “I’ve been sleeping in it” I tell him, “Would you rather I slept in your bunk at night, then when I woke up in the morning mine’d be all all made and you could make up your own while pretending that you’d just slept in all night and didn’t have to get up early to come from your apartment. And then I’d pretend that I had and I was envious of you for sleeping in your bunk all night.” Olie is silent again and I’m tryin’ to figure out another way to bury the bayonet so I tell him that I think he gets out of bed on the wrong side at his apartment and should therefore give it up and start sleepin’ in the cube. So he says rather sarcasticly (and I can’t stand it when he gets sarcastic) “and you’ll watch me every morning to make sure I get out of my bunk on the right side, huh?” and I says, “I won’t have to, bein’ that you’re up against a wall.”
So much for the improvement of a “G.I. relationship.” I’ll try to send you a picture of our living quarters soon.
I saw my first Broadway show since I’ve been here a couple of nights ago. It was “Skyscraper” with Julie Harris and I’ve enclosed the program. I found it very hard not to enjoy—especially since the tickets were obtained free at the USO and me and my G.I. rodeo pal, Olsen, were seated in our uniforms among beautiful furs, diamonds, and rouge along the THIRD row! I decided later that the theater management must be prejudiced toward soldiers—I saw some sailors in FIRST row (and to think that that’s the gratitude the Army gets for being America’s first armed force—I guess some people are just never satisfied!). Friday night I got a free ticket to the Radio City Music Hall where I saw one of the many super-human epics that are on the market nowadays (program enclosed). This is, without a doubt, one of my most favorite places in N.Y. It’s almost always packed no matter what’s playing, and the day the movie is as good as the stage show—I’ll come every night (if I’m still a soldier in N.Y.). Too bad you can’t both join the Army and get stationed in N.Y.—we’d see free shows and movies every night!
Well, it’s time to get back to the book—I’m goin’ to see the publisher (I hope) tomorrow and Tuesday I’m goin’ to Washington on a 3-day pass.
I’m trying desperately to get completely organized by my twenty-first birthday. Then I can start practicing all my bad habits again from a fresh start. I’ve begun spring cleaning in my stuffed lockers and car trunk. I’m actually organizing, throwing things away, answering letters. I wrote Bessie Little, I’m taking in Broadway (two nites ago I saw the preview performance of a new musical with Clive Revil and Dolores Gray called “Sherry” that should be a success, but all Broadway Show orchestrations are becoming too brassy–no more R. & H. [Rodgers & Hammerstein] operetta sounds!) and I’m using up old stationery (note above address).
Dad, I’m sure you’ll appreciate all the presents enclosed. But so that you really have something to look forward to, and to supply you with proof of my conviction to responsibilities and activeness prior to the beginning of my adulthood, I’m sending you some 55 surprises next week unequaled by those enclosed with this important document. No, “Little Boy Lost” is not one of them…YET!
In closing, I’m sure that whatever it is you’re sending me for the most important Sabbath of the century will be much appreciated. If not you’ll hear from me again, and the reason I made this letter appear so messy was so that you’d do your best to avoid a second!
With confidence in you I remain
Yours as a matter of fact,
MR. sp/o Johnny 19875051 CRAWFORD