WW2 Love Letter from Hamilton Hotel
It’s December 31, 2014
It was a great Christmas trip. Check out was 12 noon at the Harbor Court Hotel in the Financial District of San Francisco. The Harbor Court is in the historic red brick YMCA building across from the ferry docks. It has views of the Bay Bridge. There was one thing left to do in San Francisco. I wanted to go see the Alexander Hamilton Hotel where Morris sent Arline his last letter before shipping off to the South Pacific in WW2.
My taxi driver got tangled in one way streets. This caused just the right delay so that as I peered into the Hamilton’s front security door, a resident was on his way out. He was curious. “Can I help you?” “Yes!” I gave him the quick story. Tom was not only kind, but he’s also a real estate agent. The Hamilton is now condos. But the Art Deco style of the hotel is totally preserved. Boys shipping off in WW2 got a last taste of America in Art Deco style at The Hamilton. My tour included the ocean view deck and there’s a piano in the lobby. I wondered which room Morris had occupied when he wrote the letter. I looked up from the roof’s deck and saw a star in one window.
Read MoreJohnny’s the Best at Smoke Rings
I light a candle and think of Johnny’s smoke rings.
Love,
Yours Truly
Flying Fish at End of Rainbow
Love Letter excerpt by Morris to Arline November 1944, of awe and gratitude.
Read MoreDiamond Ring – Practically Given Away!
Morris was in the South Pacific when an ad ran in LOVE romance magazine. Rationing had an effect on romance during WW2 and here we see one example, a fun one. HAREM Company (The House of Rings) did all right on the romance theme. They dealt Flashing Replica Diamond Rings. From the full ad, however, seems even better served were folks in the biz of selling real diamonds.
“LADIES! Have you ever longed to own a real diamond ring? Of course you have. But today, due to the war, diamond prices are soaring higher and higher. They are beyond the reach of most people. Yet you can naturally satisfy your desire for beautiful jewelry at a price you can easily afford…When package arrives pay postman $1.74 plus 26¢ postage charges.”
Read MoreWar Today Freedom Tomorrow
I didn’t hit on a letter to write about today but here’s a clipping Morris included in one. For Morris and Arline the dream came true. The home of my childhood was just like this ad promised- a heavenly horizon in the 50s and 60s.
I return to the letters, feeling alone in a moment after an argument. I want to pull a letter for this date in the past. My dad’s sign offs are like a powerful love force. The words “All my love Darling” to me are gold. It’s gold because Morris made good on his word to the very end. He was an “All my Love” capable man.
My parents commitment lasted past 50 years. The communication was always respectful between my parents. They had differences, small ones like about my mother’s decorating. When she wanted to add an antique she had to get his OK and she didn’t always get the OK. Once she bought a painting by Longfellow’s niece. It’s mine now. It’s a beautiful watercolor of a lone pine tree on a ridge. When she bought it at a church sale, she told my brothers, then about four and seven, not to tell their dad. Good training Mom.
My parent’s roles, he the masculine breadwinner and she the feminine homemaker, were clearly defined. They kept arguments away from us children. I have no memory of Morris ever raising his voice or cursing at anyone. I do have memories of him being respectful to many people from all walks of life. My mother was spared so much because of her husband’s protection. To have known such great people, as they were to each other, is grace in action.
Read MoreTiki Hut Souvenir Shoes from WWII
My mom, Arline, is well from her fall injuries. My visit with her is about to end. I look in the hope chest one last time. I take out the wedge shoes my dad brought to her from the Philippines. They held mystery and I was fascinated by them when I was a child. I could never walk in them though. They’re of hard carved wood. Never seemed to have had much of a life outside the hope chest.
I tried them on from year to year, from the time when I was old enough to get into the hope chest independently. The shoes are only a souvenir. But they are my style! “Philippines” painted on their soles. In the wedge is a carved tiki house and palm tree. The small rads holding the straps on the back of the shoes have come out. The black velvet toes slips and hand painted soles are now aged and chipped.
Whatever questions I ever asked Arline, yearning for just a taste of the exotic her answer was pat and dry. There were no stories, no tales of strange ladies.
“Dad bought them in the Philippines,” was all she ever said.
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