In the rest of Frank Stevens’ March 4th letter home—the first to go to the new Chicago address—he betrays some hints of wanting to get back home, or at least of moving on to a different assignment.
Looks as though that scuttlebutt about getting relieved the first of March is bum dope, I just hope we will all be home by next Christmas. I’m glad you found a nice place, it sounds as if it’s going to be all-right. Did you notice whether or not there were any good looking squaws in the new neighborhood??? I’ve been doing all right for my sweet smelling sister, tell her that her short snorter will be the envy of the gang. Did a little work today. I had to give 40 shots (plague), it’s days like these that make the crew wonder whether or not I should be tossed in the drink. The Boots just came through and informed us lights were going off in five minutes so I’ll have to finish this tomorrow. Till then, love, Frank.
April 6th, 1945
Just have time to finish this off. Things are still going along okay so don’t worry. Nothing new except a batch of sore arms. Have to quit now. Lots of love, Your Keed, Frank
Things must still have been hopping on board, despite Frank’s minimizing of his duties. Whatever the reason for misdating his postscript, the letter did get off in time to arrive with a March postmark at the new home of his parents, William and Agnes Tully Stevens—who probably still discarded their boy’s advice and continued worrying about him.