“Dear
Folks:
“Independence Day seems extremely peaceful
down here at Cape Girardeau, since I haven't heard the explosion of a
firecracker all day. Maybe it's because
today is Sunday and they're holding off for the big celebration on July 5, or
maybe Fourth of July isn't celebrated here, since we are pretty well south, I
don't know. Anyhow it don't seem like
July 4 used to back home. I suppose
Stanley is carrying on with his firecrackers, cap gun, torpedos, Roman candles,
and sparklers, while Philip and Carol are begging to celebrate, and can't
understand why they're 'too little.'”
-- Letter from my father, Cape Girardeau,
Missouri, to his family in Bloomington, Kansas, Sunday, July 4, 1943. Cape Girardeau is only about 20 miles farther
south in latitude than Bloomington and it's a little north of Winfield,
Kansas. But, as a former slave state,
Missouri is much more southern in culture than Kansas. My father’s young cousins, Philip, 5, and Carol,
3, had been staying with my grandparents
while their parents, Woodrow and Maryjane, were separated. My uncle Stanley was 10.
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