OLD TILLAMOOK TIMES: “Dear Folks” #4

EDITOR’S NOTE: For the next few weeks, we will be sharing entries from Old Tillamook Times, provided by Sandi Burgess Botten Dean, featuring Karen Kranweiss Nudelman’s blog in which she describes the search and book writing that started a little over 10 years ago when she first received “the letters” and began reading. Then came the idea for a story, then a book – “Dear Folks” tells a young man’s story through letters he wrote home to his parents in Tillamook, Oregon. Links to the introduction to the story and the series are below.

By Karen Krantweiss Nudelman

There are small piles of letters around my home. Letters from various families offering insight into a different era. Some are perfectly set in neat stacks. Others are haphazardly thrown in boxes. A few are out of their envelopes and strewn across my bed. Some are fascinating. Others are so dull, obligatory and void of emotion that I can’t imagine the person who wrote it.

But not Chuck’s letters. No, the words on Chuck’s letters serve as the buttons and knobs of a time travelling machine. They envelop the reader in a 360-degree landscape of his world and his time here on earth. I hold his letters in my hand gingerly and carefully put them back into the protected sleeves of a binder. They are unique. They are magical. They are treasured.

Maybe he knew there was little time for small talk (although he did partake in it). Once he wrote so voraciously, he went through three different colored pens. I’m surprised he didn’t poke a hole in the letters or the pages didn’t catch fire. He had something important to share with his folks and he needed them to see his authentic self.

Alice and Frank Hunter’s son was a 19-year-old boy when he left Oregon for his Army Air Corps training in April of 1943. His early letters represent his last teenage year beautifully. He was an unfailingly dutiful son. His entire life up until then was very sheltered. He worked alongside his dad on their dairy farm. He cared and loved for countless animals. I imagine that he won and lost high school wrestling meets. His universe stopped at the outskirts of Tillamook County, Oregon. Everyone in that bubble knew each other’s business. When Chuck inquired of his mom about someone’s welfare, you could tell that Chuck already knew the answers, but wanted his mother’s take on their situation. The occasional perfunctory errands of everyday life punctured each letter: Deposit my check. Send me more film for the camera. Did the railroad ever return the funds on my unused ticket? Send more money. Please. And white T-shirts. And please, please send more money.

During training, he confided his worst fears for only his parents’ eyes to see. He couldn’t bear it if he washed out and failed to make pilot. Sinus issues plagued him, and it became evident that they may deter him from flying. He loved to fly and took countless photos in front of the incredible machines that would take him up and into the skies one day.

He told them secrets about his training that miraculously made their way past the Army’s censors. Maybe they didn’t raise red flags or maybe they were not deemed as confidential as Chuck made them appear to be. His parents’ pride in him meant the world to him. Their acceptance of his journey might settle his nerves, but he didn’t need it to pursue what he desired. Nothing would stop him from soaring into the clouds.

As a mother to a son myself, I identified with Alice. She enjoyed a close relationship with her youngest child. The mother/son bond was unshakable. Chuck was gracious enough to recap her questions in many of his answered letters – it may have been many weeks since she penned those questions, and he was thoughtful to remind her. She had an important agenda. Keep him fed. Keep him from dating the wrong kind of girl. Keep him optimistic by peppering him with questions about his future. Keep him safe.

A dynamic between Chuck and his parents was emerging. I felt I had a solid read on their relationship. Until one moment in 1944 when the tone of the letters changed. The moment he left American soil, a new Chuck blossomed. He left the teenager behind, and a passionately opinionated man took his place. A man with strong character. A man who was not to be questioned. A man who could see his future as clear as the blue skies he occupied.

Here are the links to the introduction to the Dear Folks, and #1: