Hello darlings-
I hope you aren’t angry because of my slack in writing-I just didn’t have time last week due to our schedule. We have school in the daytime now so we can write it at night anyway.
We finished our math course yesterday and believe it or not I have an average grade of 92% in all my tests. That was third highest in her class. If I can do as well in physics as I have in math everything will be okay.
Tell Dad that a fellow cadet in my squadron was washed out because of stomach ulcers yesterday. Gosh-you can’t be sure of anything here. He was a swell kid too-they put us through a pretty tough grind and it’s survival of the fittest I guess. I’m worried so darn much about my math and then found out I have the third highest grade in the class. I don’t think worrying does anybody any good but, you know us Mother-if we haven’t something to worry about we aren’t happy. My code is coming along beautifully so far my average is very high. I can take down 10 words a minute now.
Some poor fellows just can’t get it through their heads. Take the cadet in our next room for instance-he’s worried sick thinking about washing out due to his code-he can’t get those dots and dashes through his. The instructor told us that it comes easy to some and hard for others.
We had mail calls a few minutes ago-we all rushed madly to the mail orderly’s tent. Thelma sent me some goodies and a letter-I also got a letter from you and Ed Schneider. Everybody is so swell about writing me.
Say, mother you said in your letter if I wanted anything to ask. Well, here I go, if you could find a little radio-the smaller the better-about 6 inches by 4 inches if possible. If you can find one I’d appreciate it very much. It’s very lonely without any companionship except cadets at all and I think a radio would help. Remember Mother if you can get a small one it’s a lot handier. They charge you 100 prices out here for a radio! You tell me how much they cost and I will send you the money as soon as we are paid.
I will write tomorrow
Your loving son, Jim
P.S. The pictures were cut out of a Los Angeles paper.