September 19, 1942

Well, the last two days have been bad ones. This gang is a sorry looking outfit today to say the least. At the present moment there are three of the twenty-three in this barracks who are bundled up in bed – their diarrhea is just slowing down, but they feel un-good. ‘Tis Cy Johnson, Bill Newsom and Bob Treadwell. There are six who are throwing darts a small distance at the end of the barracks, indoors. Two radios are going – not too loud, and this typer isn’t too soft or musical, but maybe it will lull the boys to sleep. Pete Joseph has a cold, Bryner is just getting over one and I’m right in there with them somewhere. In the Major’s and Captain’s barracks there are also a couple of “under-the-weather” boys. Wally Greene and someone else has the drizzlies also and nobody feels too hot.

At first when we moved to new barracks on the 17^th, we were packed in like sardines in the upper part of the barracks, as there was some screwy post rule that the downstairs should not be occupied, as the downstairs was to be used to have last minute inspections of enlisted men’s equipment or to have lectures in.

Well, we were 39 upstairs when there shouldn’t have been any over 30 at most. Finally, we squawked to the Col. since none of his underlings would do anything about it and the Col. did his squawking in the proper places and the 59^th moved downstairs in the same barracks, leaving the chemical warfare boys, etc. upstairs, where they were in the first place. Downstairs is far more preferable as it is cooler and also nearer to the lav.

Loads of love,