This is the fifty-fourth of 87 letters exchanged during World War II between Nicholas Salvatore and Elizabeth Galloway. For more see Nicholas and Elizabeth.


November 24, 1944

Happy Thanksgiving Elizabeth! We had a real, hot Thanksgiving dinner. Rumor is that Eisenhower decided everyone over here deserved to have one and he made it happen. I don’t know if that’s true but I’m grateful to whoever is responsible. It’s one in the morning here. We ate and drank ourselves sick, but happy. But I heard all the men in the field got the same thing and that makes me even happier. Do you know what we were eating out there on a normal basis? Dehydrated potatoes and eggs, spam, something that was supposedly beef, and D Bars (which come in handy when you need to hammer in some nails). Before I forget, do you think you could send some of those cookies for Christmas that you made for my birthday? I’ve been dreaming about them.

Did I tell you that my father has been writing more often? And since baseball season is over he’s been writing about real things. I think he misses me. He’d never come out and say it, but that has to be it. He’s been working at the factory and swears he’s been an upright and upstanding citizen since I left. I’ll see that when I believe it, but he sounds genuine enough. For the first time he talked about my mom’s death. It was only a few sentences but that’s more then he’s said about it my entire life. It’s made me not want to just go back to Chicago, but to go HOME to Chicago.

After our meal, when everyone was full and happy, I asked the head nurse about getting out of here. She said I’d never be sent back to my outfit, and probably won’t ever see the front again, but that they’ve been impressed with my work and that I’ll likely be sent to a medical detachment in a month or two. I asked about staying here but I guess they don’t like to have former patients taking on regular medical roles. That’s fine with me, I’m eager to get back to it. I mean, I’d rather be done with this for good, but as long as it’s going on I want to be out there doing something everyday.

Write back soon,


Next letter – December 9, 1944