Growing Up in Williamsport, Ohio

My Brother Bob’s Letters
 
My mother saved everything. It had its good side and its bad side. My interest was primarily the papers she saved, and she did not disappoint. I have found most of the letters that my brother Bob wrote while he was in the Army with the exception of the time when he cut his foot through his boot in Korea. I can’t find that account and the fact that he was sent to KojeDo or Fuji to recuperate. That encompasses mostly the time after Christmas 1951 through January 1952. I feel certain the letters exist but I haven’t found them yet.
 
The fact is, my brother hated to write letters. He said so in almost every letter. His grammar wasn’t bad but it wasn’t good either. Neither was his spelling. Nevertheless, he wrote home every week. The first third of each letter was always the same. I know because I decided to put each letter in a plastic sleeve along with the envelope, which actually had the dates on them.
 
I slogged through (read) 200 or more letters that he sent home from the time he left in 1948 through 1952. I looked for specific things and found most of what I was looking for and tagged the pages. Since his two sons are deceased, I will give the two large notebooks to his grandsons in case they ever wonder. 
 
James Dobson of Focus on the Family fame said that he had to go through his father’s things after his death and he hoped he wouldn’t find anything disappointing. He was happy when he didn’t. I didn’t find anything in Bob’s letters to indicate anything different than who I thought he was. Everything I thought he was, was confirmed. He always mentioned Betty and me in every letter and often said that he was still our boyfriend. He asked about local people. He had done handy work for Dora Woodmanse, so he asked about her. She was an older lady who was born on Columbus Day and always told us that Columbus brought her and stuffed her in a stump. He asked about Junie King and a myriad of other town  people. He also talked of what he wanted to do when he came home….much of which, he actually did.
 
When he first left, he signed his letters with Bob. Later he signed “Your Son, Bob”. By the time he came home, he was calling himself (signing off as) Bruzz, a nickname my mother had given him.
 
©Marilyn Francis Ferguson 2021
Photography/graphics by Michele Ferguson Schuck