All the Best, George Bush: My Life in Letters and Other Writings Read online

  Well, Mum, I better go back and get some sleep—Much love to all,

  Pop

  Dear Mum,

  . . . Thanksgiving comes tomorrow. I guess that I will hardly notice it here—that is outwardly as we can’t leave the base and just get 1 hr. off, but it won’t just be a regular day Mum. We all do have something to be thankful for, even though the days are darker than when we could all be together. I guess I’m the most thanks-giving fellow here, because even though I’m a couple of thousand miles off I’m lucky, Mum—Lucky for you and Dad and all the family and so many other things. I thought when I was away at school I understood it all, but being away in the Navy for this long and with so many different types of fellows has made me see more clearly still how much I do have to be thankful for. . . .

  Much love, Mum dear

  Pop

  Dear Mum,

  Gosh it was wonderful hearing your voice today—It was swell of you to call. I got the message just after I came back from church. . . .

  It was interesting to see a lot of these fellows, today. Some tough ones, some common, other grand fellows. We all are up to our beds for a few minutes after church, and most of the fellows were quiet—thinking of other Thanksgiving days. For many it was the first time away and it was a bit strange. It will always be strange to me, to be away on a day like this, at least until I have my own home. It’s days like this that makes me anxious to be out fighting—though I know I can never become a killer, I will never feel right until I have actually fought. Being physically able and young enough I belong out at the front and the sooner there, the better. The job seems so tremendous, yet it must end and when it does and we have won perhaps days like this will once again be symbolic of happiness and freedom and the ironic note added by a brutal war will be far removed. . . .

  Much love,

  Pop

  Dear Dad and Mum,

  . . . Yesterday a friend of mine cracked up. His motor cut on him and all landing sites were poor. He managed to get it fairly well down but then he nosed over, flipped onto his back, and was hanging by his safety belt—about 1 ft. from the ground (his head). The tail was wiped right off the plane. Luckily he unhooked his belt and could slip out O.K. Poor Ed. He hasn’t been doing too well anyway and this may be just what he doesn’t need. The motors are apt to cut on cold days—Once I started looking for a field but the thing got going O.K. again . . .

  Barbara knitted me a pair of socks which she claims don’t look at all like socks but she’s sending them anyway. Maybe I can make a neck protector out of ’em if they are too big. . . .

  Much love,

  Pop

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  Well my first Xmas away is over and gone, but I don’t believe I’ll ever forget it. I missed you all very much, yet I wasn’t homesick. Your lovely presents are wonderful. I’ve got the bracelet on and it’ll never be taken off permanently until I’m back for good.7 It’s beautiful, Mum, and it means an awful lot to me. The goggles I wore today and they are wonderful. I’m surprised you could get such grand ones. They are just what I needed—good protection by that rubber and it holds my face mask firmly in place and also they don’t hurt across the nose. The bathrobe is swell, too. Thank you so much—oh yes, the stocking too—I only hope that we’ll never think we’re too old for them . . .

  . . . My Xmas take was good. $25 from Gampy, and numerous socks and the like. Got a big box of food from the Pierces and Barbara is sending me soon what I asked for; namely a decent picture of her . . .

  As always,

  Pop

  Occasionally in my letters home I would include diagrams to illustrate what I was learning. This is a typical example:

  Dear Mum,

  Well the sky is clear today and it looks like I’ll get my hop in . . .

  My inverted spins were really pretty good fun. You are really thrown outward with terrific force and if it weren’t for the belt you’d fly through space. I also had immelman’s and falling leaf.8 An immelman’s starts off like a loop. Dive to pick up your 125 knots, pull back to upside down—now here’s the difference—instead of coming on around you do a slow roll from the upside down position and fly on out:

  They are about the hardest but are also good fun. . . .

  Pop

  Please keep in mind as you read this letter that I was a very innocent eighteen-year-old, and it was 1942. Things were very different way back then. Having said that, I do not think it would be a bad thing if more eighteen-year-olds today were just as innocent. As to the reference to my sister, Nancy, I suspect Mum had caught her kissing a beau.

  Dearest Mum,

  Now about your question, Mum. I do love to kid you and did this summer but I agree with you in part. I would hate to have Nancy a necker at heart. Nothing could be worse. Kissing is not an obligation a girl owes a boy regardless of how often he takes her out or how much money he spends . . . but I don’t think that it is entirely wrong for a girl to be kissed by a boy. Let us take this famous case Pierce vs. Bush summer ’42. I kissed Barbara and am glad of it. I don’t believe she will ever regret it or resent it, and I certainly am not ashamed of it. I’d tell you, Mrs. Pierce, or anybody but at the same time I might as well tell you I have never felt towards another girl as I do towards her. Whether the feeling is mutual I cannot say. To get back to my example, however, if Barbara sort of forgets me, which is not unlikely, as I have no chance to see her at all, I don’t believe she will ever dislike me more for having kissed her. She knows how I felt towards her and she must have shared some of the same feeling or she would not have allowed me to kiss her. I have never kissed another girl—this making myself just as much of an oddity as Nancy, since most of the boys do not stop with kissing—(how terribly true that is here, more than home, but then again most of these fellows are grown men—also men with different background.) It’s not because I have honestly disapproved of it, however. If I said it were I would be lying. In conclusion a Mrs. Simmons kiss, both sides willing, I believe harmless; to neck—entirely wrong—for a girl to be kissed by someone whom she loves (or thinks she love) and who—she is sure cares for her—O.K. This is a very uncoordinated piece of writing and unorganized but I’ve said about what I mean. For a kiss to mean engagement is a very beautiful idea, Mama, but it went out a while back I guess.

  Now for me to continue and tell you the facts of life—of the life I’m living in 1940’s—Apparently Mum you seemed so terribly surprised when Pressy and I hinted around about the “things that went on?” Pressy and I share a view which few others, very few others even in Greenwich share. That’s regarding intercourse before marriage. I would hate to find that my wife had known some other man, and it seems to me only fair to her that she be able to expect the same standards from me. Pres agrees as I said before, but not many others our age will. Daddy has never discussed such things with us—of this I am very glad. But we have learned as the years went on by his character what is right and what is wrong. Most fellows here—true some are engaged and some believe as I do—but most fellows take sex as much they can get. This town in particular seems full of girls (working in offices etc.) rather attractive girls at that, who after a couple of drinks would just as soon go to bed with some cadet. They are partly uniform conscious I suppose, but the thing is they, as well as the cadet, have been brought up differently. They believe in satisfying any sexual urge by contact with men. They all say “I’m not that type of girl, but all-right—just for you!” Every single girl says this. These girls are not prostitutes, but just girls without any morals at all. Somehow it does seem a little worse for girls to me, I suppose it shouldn’t but it does. Leading the life we lead one cannot help but feel the desire for a woman. I would be most facetious were I to deny ever having experienced said feelings. The difference is entirely in what we have been taught; not only in “what” but in “how well” we have been taught it.

  This pertains not only to the N.A.S. [Naval Air Station] Minneapolis, Minn., but to every town in the co
untry, to college campuses—yes, even to Yale University. Boys you know—boys I like very much—and even boys I admire have had intercourse with women. . . .

  Some guys, you know one perfect example in New Haven, because they love a girl believe in relationships before marriage. This seems to me more excusable than just plain sex—sex to satisfy physical biological emotions—yet I know it is not right.

  Most of this you have probably known, but this is how I feel. I hope that this letter does not seem presumptuous. To think all this was brought on by your asking me what I thought about kissing.

  Much love,

  Pop

  professor “sexology” Ph.D.

  Dear Mum,

  Last night I really had quite a scare in night flying. I finished all my night flying last night. I just had one solo yesterday. The wind was almost from south—a little southwest, but they had the runway laid out west. This meant we were landing somewhat crosswind to start with—an undesirable setup. Furthermore they had the runway much narrower than usual. It was like landing on a pin. All the instructors were griping about how narrow the runway was. You see with the crosswind there was considerable drift. In other words you’d have your plane pointing one way, and you’d be making true a different course over the ground. It was quite tough, but I surprised myself and really made some nice landings (Night flying is much easier alone as you can see all the signals more clearly and command a better view of the runway.) Well, I was coming in for my last landing. I got all “squared away” and even got a green light from the truck. Suddenly I heard this scraping noise—I had hit a tree—Well you can imagine my feelings. I didn’t know whether the next second I’d hit one with my prop instead of my wheels. I gave full throttle and climbed up—flew across the field and came in again. It turned out later that two instructors also hit this tree. The runway was too close to the woods on the east side of the field. I just thanked my lucky stars I wasn’t 2 or 3 feet lower or I’d have hit the prop and then, well I don’t really know. It’s a funny thing—you don’t ever get scared till afterwards. Same with a dangerous landing or something. . . .

  So long for now, Mum

  Much much love,

  Pop

  Dear Mum,

  Yesterday was one of the—if not the—most unpleasant days of my life—at least 1 1/4 hours of it. I had my “D” check with Ensign Warren. He was very nice on the ground, but no sooner did we get in the plane than he started yelling. In no time in my life have I ever felt so uncomfortable. According to him I just couldn’t do a thing right. Frankly, before my check I was confident but once in that plane I was lost. Taxing, climbing—even on fundamentals like that—he bellowed. I was so flustered I couldn’t think. (How I pity guys with instructors like that) Well we got on the ground and I was beat. But after it was over he gave me a very weak “up” nevertheless it’s an “up.” It was an experience I’ll probably have to undergo again. But I sure hope not. That must be the philosophy of some pilots to make you fly under tough conditions. The fact remains however, that I got an up. . . .

  . . . The realization came upon me yesterday that I’m 2/3 on the way to my commission and wings almost. It is a wonderful feeling and I just hope that in 3 months more I’ll actually get through . . .

  Much love to all,

  Pop

  This next series of letters was written from the U.S. Naval Air Station in Corpus Christi, Texas, where I was stationed from February to June 1943.

  Dear Mum,

  . . . Today I went to church here. There were only about 12 cadets and 8 others there but it was very nice. The Chaplain was an awfully young fellow with a most appealing nature. It was held in ground school. I was very poor about churching in Mpls. . . .

  I got a letter from F. Von Stade.9 He was on a 14 day furlough at Aiken [S.C.] recovering from pneumonia—what a break. Anyway he called up Barbara . . . He claims Barbara said she was glad I was in Texas where the girls are lousy so maybe I still am in. I sure so hope so. If she “fluffed me off” without warning I would be absolutely sick no kidding. Every day practically guys are getting “fluffed off” from girls they’ve left. . . . All the time it happens. You know Mum it’s funny being thrown in with a bunch of guys so much older—They don’t seem older, but here they are, all thinking and talking about getting married etc. Everyone asks me, after looking at Barbara’s picture, when I’m going to marry her. Good heaven’s! To think that last year at this time I was thinking along lines of prep school proms and stuff seems unbelievable. That’s the hard part. Being around guys averaging 22 about it’s only natural to think as they do on general things, and yet my 18 years keep coming up. I wish I were 20 or 21. It’s not that I feel younger or anything, but I just wish I were. The fellows whose lives may be better for this thing are those who graduated last fall or Xmas from college. They have a degree and can probably get a decent job after the war and still will profit from having had military experience. Say the war ends in 2 years and I go to college. I’ll feel like the old man . . . all my friends’ll be through. That’ll all straighten out though, and if you think I’d change with any of those fellows at Yale, you’re sadly mistaken. I still would like to be 21—have a million dollars, and a beautiful wife. I can remember how I once said I wasn’t going to get married.

  . . . I do still love (I honestly feel sure of it) Barbara, Mum, yet I know that there is such a chance of her meeting some other guy. She is so very young and so darn attractive and I could hardly expect her to keep caring about me for years. ENOUGH OF THIS!!!!!!!! You both must think I’m crazy! . . .

  Much love,

  Pop

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  Today was the big day and after a great deal of confusion it seems that your loving son is a torpedo bomber selectee. Yes I got my first choice and tomorrow morning, unless some unforeseen circumstances arise, I pack my belongings and move out to nearby (3 miles) Waldron Field, new home of the Torpedo squadron. I really am delighted with my lot and provided all goes well I should be home with you all in less than 6 weeks.

  . . . John Buckby, one of my roommates now, 19 years old (the only other fellow I’ve met that young) is going to get married when he graduates. Naturally we all talk about these things, and he is convinced that he should—however, he has no money aside from the $250 he’ll be making and then his future is a bit of a “?” I don’t quite see how these guys get married when they know that they have no means of support and probably will be out of this country in a short time. . . .

  Much love,

  Pop

  Dear Mum,

  . . . Barbara knit me another pair of socks. The last ones, except for the shape, were really swell. These, she says, are too heavy and miles too big. At the last minute she always gets embarrassed and won’t send them until I persuade her.

  . . . Mum, I don’t know why, but I can hardly believe that I’ll be an officer soon. It just is something I’ve really wanted and now that it looks like I’m going to get it, I find it hard to believe. From what I can gather I will be the youngest flying officer (maybe officers) in the Navy. I’m not proud of being young—but it’s a fact so I’ve been told. The youngest in the Army is 19. . . .

  Much much love,

  Pop

  Mum, De-ah,

  . . . Mum, I’m really worried. I hope it’s one of her lapses which she falls in occasionally either because she’s busy or just to keep me anxious and interested; but I haven’t gotten but 1 letter in 3 1/2 weeks. Before there were a couple of 2 week famines but never this. I don’t know, hope it’s not the “fluff.” Being away from all nice girls I worry more than usual over Barb. It’s silly but that’s how its been. As I’ve said before Barb is really a smart girl in that she can be sweet and all that without committing herself to any great degree—Oh well, not much I can do now. . . .

  Much love,

  Pop

  I received my wings on June 9, 1943, in Corpus Christi, three days before my nineteenth birthday. After a short leave at ho
me, I reported to the U.S. naval air station in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, where I would learn how to fly torpedo bombers.

  Dear Mum,

  First of all and mainly is the matter of a glorious 5 days. Never in the world could any son ever have been given such a welcome. You and Dad just did too much for me. Not much else I can say about it, except that those short 5 days have made all my time away from home seem worthwhile. Trite though it may be, it’s a short stay with those you love which re-clarifies in one’s mind exactly what you’re fighting for. From now on it will be no picnic. Two months here (no more). A week or so at Chicago and then as quickly as one squadron can form at either San Diego or Norfolk or Oklahoma, we head overseas. That takes perhaps a week, perhaps 2 months, depending on the men available. Being here and seeing these monstrous ships in their battle paint brings home the point that it won’t be long now. I cannot wait—not because of the glamour or of the thrills—for heaven’s knows I love my home like few others—but because it is my job, clearly defined and it must be done. . . .

  One last thing, sweet Mama! The way you and Dad both were so wonderful about Barbara probably meant more to me than anything. After all you hadn’t seen me in ages and yet you didn’t object to my running off. I needn’t bother to tell you how much Barbara means to me—pretty evident I guess—knowing this you must know how happy you made me by being so marvelous about having her up etc.

  Goodnight and much, much love,

  Pop

  Dear Mum and Dad,