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A Letter From A Farmer, Now At Camp Pendleton
Dear Ma & Pa:
Am well. Hope you are. Tell brother Walt & brother Floyd the Marine Corps beats working for old man Minch by a mile. Tell them to join up quick before maybe all of the places are filled. I was restless at first because you got to stay in bed till nearly 6 a.m., but am getting so I like to sleep late.
Tell Walt & Floyd all you do before breakfast is smooth your cot and shine some things. No hogs to slop, feed to pitch, mash to mix, wood to split, fire to lay. Pratically nothing. Men got to shave but it is not so bad, they git warm water.
Breakfast is strong on trimmings like fruit juice, cereal, eggs, bacon, etc., but kind of weak on chops, potatoes, ham, steak, fried eggplant, pie and other regular food. But tell Walt & Floyd you can always sit between two city boys that live on coffee. Their food plus yours holds you till noon, when you get fed again.
It's no wonder these city boys can't walk much. We go on "route" marches, which the Platoon Sergeant says are long walks to harden us. If he thinks so, it is not my place to tell him different. A "route march" is about as far as to our mailbox at home. Then the city guys get sore feet and we all ride back in trucks.
The country is nice, but awful flat. The Sergeant is like a schoolteacher. He nags some. The Capt. is like the school board. Majors & Colonels just ride around. They don't bother you none.
This next will kill Walt & Elmer with laughing. I keep gettin' medals for shootin'. I don't know why. The bulls-eye is near as big as a chipmunk and don't move. And it ain't shooting at you, like the Higgett boys back home. All you got to do is lie there all comfortable and hit it. You don't even load your own cartridges. They come in boxes.
Be sure to tell Walt & Floyd to hurry & join before other fellers get into this setup & come stampeding in.
Your loving daughter,
Gail
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