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 Tracy A. Sugarman to his wife, postmarked July 26, 1944

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"ersatz" comfort down the long lonely beach to my boat. I lugged it over the gunwhale and let it drop inside the gun turret. Then I sat and gazed very sadly at the horizon. When we reached the ship I dragged the pouch bumpety bumpety bump up the gangway and let it bang its way down the ladder toward my quarters. I was very sad. I sat on the edge of my sack and looked with great distaste as a May issue of the New York Times which was bulging out of the neck of the bag. I started to discharge the bag and had disgorged New York Times and Herald-Journals with mad abandon when suddenly I came across a box mailed from Peekskill. "Oh Henrys," "Hersheys" - and I couldn't even feel glad. "Why" - I cried "why O'Henrys, why Hersheys, why *no* Junie?!" I pulled out the box and my fingers suddenly numbed and grew cold. Letters, millions and millions of letters were jiggling and slushing around the bottom of the sack. Hardly breathing I reached gingerly in and pulled out one, then another, then millions and billions of letters - Junie, Mom, Pop, Bob, Marv, Ronnie, Poritzky, Rosie, Shirl - ! I just sank back and sighed. I gathered them very quietly in my arms and ran up topside to a cabin where I just sorted them out and laid

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 Tracy A. Sugarman to his wife, postmarked July 26, 1944

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  October 26, 2011
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