“I'm
finally getting to writing to all my college 'buds' I ran around with in and
during my short college career at good old S.C.
Those were the days but I wouldn't trade any of them for the time I'm
heading towards. So far it's been hell. Everything has to be clean. We mop our floor
and shine our shoes every morning. Remember
when we didn't even make our beds at Sellers.
Those days are long past. Our
blanket on our bed has to be stretched tight as a drumhead….”
--Letter from Bill Stanley, Jefferson Barracks,
Missouri, to my father, Winfield, Kans., Tuesday, March 2, 1943. Bill was a private and had been my father’s
freshman year roommate.
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