Saturday, 10-9-43.

Dear Jane,

It started last Monday. I don’t know how long it will last, but this Monday will have the same program. Act as chauffer to our Commanding Officer Lieutenant and drive him to Ensenada. After getting there I pitch in with the crew and do labor. You throw steel pipes into one skip; wire into another, etc. It must be as hot as in the Sahara Ensenada. On Wednesday afternoon I drive the Lt. back to San Juan, here, put on my whites, become gentlemen and take dictation in the office.
I have written no letters this past week, as a schedule like that upsets your stability or something. You can’t figure out a laundry situation; you can’t stand the change in temperature, working conditions- or perhaps a combination of both- without getting cold.

Too, working for a man like that you have to be on your toes all the time. Imagine he would be very successful man in private life. New to the Navy, he tries to be aggressive in vain and soon finds his “hands are tied” by other officers one rank above him or better in love with the government procedure as well as inclined to self “comer”. And it is because his “hands are tied” so large a part of the time that accounts for 7/8ths of his correspondence being personal letters. However, that is the part of my “job” I have the most zest for. For instance, read the enclosed one.

Salvage units are just in the experimental stage and it will take time and experience to prove just how much authority the Officer-in-Charge of such a Unit needs.

Meanwhile, I suspect the Lt. is beginning to find out that the impressive title they gave him as Officer-in-Charge of Material Recovery Unit so and so doesn’t mean too much. His desk is in the office of the Drydock Repair Facilities and he’s gradually being forced to realize he cannot work independently of them and that since the letters he writes to his superior in Washington must be reviewed first by the Drydock Lt. Commander he’s batting his head to a great extent against a stone wall. For the letters never seem to reach Washington and his suggestions don’t have a chance.

You can sense the friction between the elements in combat about the office. It will take some time to come a head. Meanwhile until my Unit head ceases to be a loser, I must be a loser too, it seems. It is just my luck to land in a situation like that, but it seems it’s always been that way.

When the Lt’s. Assistant, a Chief Pay Clerk, told me he was going to make me first-class without taking this test that’s ordinarily necessary, “we were going to do our own rating as the men come direct from the Bureau, etc.”, I believe he was “talking through his hat.” He’s never mentioned it since. So yesterday I went to the Drydock and asked how I go about taking a test for second-class, since my pay records, health records, etc are in control of the Drydock men, not the Salvage Unit. (Meanwhile a lot of Drydock men, in fact some of the very men who came on the ship with me from Trinidad jumped a rate last week. Sucker, De Bevoise!) It hasn’t been decided how I go about taking a test yet. How come I’m doing stenography (yeoman’s work) when I’m a storekeeper and so on into the night.

Must admit it was the most stupid thing I ever did taking that storekeeper’s rate. However, since I expect to be out of the Navy in a couple of years it would seem rather foolish to start over again and strike for third class yeoman. The difference between yeoman and storekeeper is that one does office work and one might possibly land in the disbursing office, but more often, especially in Puerto Rico, gets anything but office work, usually something heavy or similarly disagreeable in a warehouse.

The other night I met a fellow whom I used to work with in Washington. He couldn’t get anywhere there, so he got a transfer to Puerto Rico, and then he did get somewhere. However, he’s already left the Engineers and is in the Navy now. Was in the old Navy as an Aerographer 3^rd class; is in the new Navy as a Boss’n Warrant Officer. (Don’t ask me how he got the jump). Anyway, I was mighty glad to see him and vice-versa. He’s not supposed to be seen with an enlisted man but we had a nice time last night. He hasn’t changed much. Has the same type of set-up. An apartment, the same type of girl friend, the same debonair manner, and the same lack of interest in getting married. He’s opposite from me in that he’s always, regardless of the group, at home; always good company. We went to Jack’s last night- it’s the most American place I’ve seen here. The excuse was rum-cokes, mostly. There was dancing there; I didn’t, lacking a lady. There was gambling there in a room hidden in the back. He gambled- came out a few bucks ahead. Would like have to see that room but didn’t. Despite the sinister sound of everything, believe that if you had him out to the house for a weekend, you too would admit that he is one grand personality. Again I wonder who he really feels for, if anybody; don’t know him well enough to know that. He’s going to New York Tuesday, some sort of Officer’s Indoctrination Schooling, or something. But of course there’s one more day for fun. Tomorrow, Sunday. A couple of parties. We meet at his girl friend’s house. I’m to be there. Well, I could stand a little change, a little excitement- even the futility of the conversation to be handed out between the Boca- Chica laden glasses tomorrow. For Monday will be a very busy, unexciting day.

Received an airmail letter from Lyla tonight. Will answer that next. Think I owe Shirley one, too.

Also heard from Elsie. Had written before. To Elsie from Philly, to one or both of them from Trinidad, to Roy from San Juan. They couldn’t have gotten the letters, since they didn’t know my address. How come the letters never came back?

Am beginning to write paragraphs open to misinterpretation. It means that’s enough for tonight, I guess.

Just one more thing: when I crossed out San Juan on one of Lyla’s letters and wrote somewhere in the Caribbean or something, it was intended to be a joke. I guess the joke was on me.

Bought those bonds with honest-to-goodness Navy money. In civilian life it would take about a year to save up for those two bonds. But I still prefer civilian life. (I guess I bought a parachute)

Thanks for care of the insurance bill.

So Hook Creek Café Society now heads for Freeman Inn!

May Judy be dry all day tomorrow!

Skip the pipe cleaners for awhile.

Meant to tell George before he took the screens down, “you just pull the nails out with your fingers.” Oh, well….

Chas.