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Dear Gen. Charles Cathcart, Jan 24th, 1948
I suppose you’ve been wondering where I’ve been. It’s been three years, after all, and I can’t help but notice you didn’t write me when I know you have my address. I had to hear from Peckem—Peckem, of all people—that you had retired from field work once you got your second star. Did you know that people used to call him Pecker instead of Peckem? Those were the days. Write me next time something happens. I don’t want to hear it through the grapevine, after all the time I’ve known you.
Regards,
Col. Korn
Dear Col. Korn, Feb 19, 1948
Of course, I got the promotion!!!! I’m not sure how you could have doubted me. I’m even working on my third star right now, and they said there’s no reason for me to be involved with field work anymore. Really, commanding like I did on Pianosa is for the lower men, lower than us. Although, you’re only a colonel now, and I’m a general. Are you still doing field work?? They’ve got a nice golf resort near here, and I’ve been enjoying it greatly. Maybe you should come sometime. They have a military discount, although I think it’s better for generals than it is for colonels.
Cheers,
Gen. Cathcart
Dear General Cathcart, Feb 24th, 1948
Why did it take you a full month to return my letter? Next time, write me on your stationary and not one of the postcards from that golf resort you like. I know you have stationary, Charles E. Cathcart, with a name like that. I don’t like golf, anyway. I’m much more fond of skeet shooting—do you remember nothing? To answer your question: of course I’m not doing field work; there aren’t any real wars happening right now. I hear they’re starting to stir some shit up in the Pacific, but we’re in the clear for now.
Instead of asking me to visit the golf course, how come you don’t invite yourself to my house one of these days? Unless, of course, you don’t like the Mississippi weather. A man like you seems like he wouldn’t do too well in the heat. You’re so used to your ivy-covered buildings, and you probably never consider that we’ve got them down here, too.
Use your stationary next time,
Col. Korn
Dear Korn, Mar 1st, 1948
Mississippi isn’t really my type of place. I think you’d be better off coming up here, it really would be better for both of us. How do you like my stationary? I’ve actually had this ordered for about twenty years, but I’m very sparing about using it, because it’s so fine. Consider yourself one of the lucky few to get an embossed Charles E. Cathcart letter. It didn’t say ‘general’ on it, so I added that in pen myself at the top. I bet you could barely notice the difference between my penmanship and the embossing. I played seven rounds of golf yesterday and tried a cocotini. They make them with coconut liqueur, Korn. You’re a real coconut !!!!!! I bet you’d like it.
Sincerely,
General Cathcart
P.S. Do you even have a first name?!?!?!?
Dear Charles, Mar 5th, 1948
I see you forgot my title in your last response to me, so I’ve forgotten yours, too. You could stand to make your letter a little longer next time. You’re filling the page with beefy letters as if you’re a schoolboy again, and I know your penmanship isn’t naturally that large. Speaking of your handwriting, I could certainly tell the difference between your stationary and your handwriting. The stationary’s better by a long shot. Keep using it. I like it. Unlike most other people’s letters, which wind up in my circular file (trashcan), yours are going in my desk drawer.
I have had a cocotini before, and I do not care for them. Down here, we have mint juleps. Much stronger. Think you’re man enough to drink one, Chuck? Smart enough to drink one? I started questioning your intelligence for asking if I’ve got a first name. Of course, I do. Maybe try asking instead what it is, if you’re so keen on knowing.
Say, Chuck, if we’re asking semi-invasive questions about one another: did you ever get married?
Your Fiend,
Col. Korn
Dear Korn, Mar 12th, 1948
Surely you mean friend. You must mean friend. I assume your last sign-off was a misspelling, which you will address to me in your next letter at your earliest convenience. For your information, I’ve had mint juleps, and I find them watered down. Clearly, it’s a poor man’s drink . You must be lying about being able to tell the difference between my stationary and handwriting, it’s the only explanation for your truly baffling response. And I’ll have you know that I spend plenty of time throughout the days between when I receive your letter and when I craft my response, thinking about everything I want to say to you. Right now, I’m being selective, but maybe I’ll be less selective if you decide to visit me here in New York. Think about it, Korn!!! Everything is entirely dependent on what choice you make.
Of course I’m not married. Do you really think that a wonderful man like me would shackle himself to some women, even if she was the beautiful kind with big, buoyant breasts? No. This would distract me from the important things in life. Why, Korn, are you married?????
Tell me your name,
Gen. Cathcart
Dear Chuck, Mar 17th, 1948
I’m set to fly to New York in a few months, so I will be paying you a visit. If you’re lucky, this letter will get to you before I do, and you’ll have time to set up a guest bed. If it doesn’t, I’ll simply drop in unannounced, and you’ll have to be a good host and offer me your bed. That’s how you do it in New York, isn’t it? That’s how we do it in Mississippi, if you ever cared to visit.
I hope I do take up a terrible amount of the limited space you have in your mind. So much of it is devoted to golf and money that I would hope there’s some left for me. Call it Colonel Korn’s real estate. It’s terribly nice to have lost the lieutenant part of my title. Perhaps I ought to keep climbing until I’m a three-star general. Do you think I could make three stars before you? Maybe not in wartime, but next war. Next war, I will.
Marriage, Chuck? You want to know about mine? There were many women in Mississippi practically throwing themselves at me, but you know me. It isn’t my can of worms. I, too, have more important things in my life than women. It’s not exactly that I don’t want anyone, rather, just not a woman. Do you understand, Charles? It would only complicate matters. Will you have a place for me to stay in July? That’s when I’m going to be in New York.
Once Again, Your Fiend,
Col. Cato Korn
Dear Cato, April 2nd, 1948
It’s a ‘C’ name, just like mine!!!!! Although, you made that ‘fiend’ instead of ‘friend’ mistake again, which really is a shame. Type your letter next time on a typewriter. Then again, don’t. I like your handwriting. I don’t think I’ve met another Cato before, so where did your name come from!!??
It’s been a few days since I last wrote this paragraph, but something is terribly wrong here. I had a party the other night, for other generals, their wives, and high ranking military personnel. Parties like this were what I lived for, Korn—or, Cato. This one should have been one of the very best parties of my entire career. We toasted to our successes, and four-star Gen. Dreedle told me that there’s a good chance they’ll give me a third star. Everyone had beautiful women clinging onto their arms like they were life rafts by the Titanic. I didn’t have anyone. I was standing in the center of a decadent room in my mansion of a house, surrounded by people who were proud of me, and everything felt so empty.
It feels like everything is against me and there’s nothing I can do to fix it!!! It’s so hard for me, Cato, you wouldn’t understand how difficult it is!!!!
You know, I constantly felt this way in Pianosa. As if I would never be good enough. But you always knew what to say, and you always knew the right move to make to solve everything and put it all right again. This time, you’re not by my side. There’s no house up in the mountains, filled with tomatoes, where we can go to spend a weekend together. I don’t think I’m missing a marriage, since like I said, a wife and family would only get in the way. None of this makes sense, Korn. I thought by now, I wouldn’t need your advice anymore, but here I am, asking for it again!! Do you know what to do?!?
Sorry if the letterhead is getting wet. It’s definitely not tears, in case you were wondering. I spilled some champagne on it, that’s all. And I’m going to set this whole thing on the radiator so it can dry out, so maybe the ink will run a little bit. You should still be able to read it. By the way, I’ll give you my bed in July, if that’s how you do it in Mississippi.
Write back soon!!!!!
Chuck
Dear Chuck, April 11th, 1948
Sounds like you need your right-hand man. I had wondered after all these years where your newfound success had left you. Now I know. Maybe it’s something golfing can fix, if you’re going to be at the club so frequently anyway? Or maybe if golf was going to fix it, it would have already. You’re writing me longer letters at my behest, despite my lack of visiting. It’s just like Pianosa. I remember sitting by your side on your bed—it was large, wasn’t it?—and you were upset about something. It was the missions, I think, because you weren’t sure how best to get international recognition like you desired. So you called on me.
Actually, it wasn’t calling on me so much as I happened to be there in your moment of need. Now, of course, you have the success you wanted. Yet you aren’t happy. As per your last letter, you seem quite miserable. It’s fascinating, really.
When you were on your bed and trying hard to posture yourself into appearing brave, I picked up your hand. That was when I noticed you had no wedding ring, like at least two of the men on our base. I have a theory about that, you know. You calmed when I sat by your side. We watched the sunset together, and I told you to raise the missions. So you did. Wasn’t it easier like that, Chuck? You were good at it, too. I could do the thinking of the task for you, and you could simply let it happen. And it was all your idea. Your idea to raise the missions, your idea to raise the troop morale, your idea to fly the most dangerous missions, all for the glory of the squadron. It got you everything but me.
Maybe if you ask nicely, I could arrange to visit sooner than July.
Love,
Your Favorite Fiend,
Cato
Dear Cato, April 15th, 1948
You write with such certainty, and I want you on my doorstep on May 3rd. Maybe you’re right, maybe it wasn’t the success so much as the process of getting there. I’m not sure why, but some of my best ideas happened when you were around. It’s like you’re a good luck charm, or something. I know you don’t like golfing or cocotinis, but I want to share both of these things with you when you’re in New York on May 3rd. This letter is short, but it’s because I want to send it quickly so you can be here quickly.
I think you made two mistakes in your sign-off this time: the whole ‘fiend’ one again, and now I think you’re doing it to devil me. But the other, ‘love’??? You, Korn? ‘Love’ ?!?!?!
See you soon,
Chuck
Dear Cato, May 15th, 1948
Thank you for arriving this time on such short notice. I expected nothing less from a man like you. I wish I could marry a man like you, you know? Someone who is so eagerly at my beck and call, who will drop everything and come to me, and who will sit on the edge of my bed and offer me advice. That’s really a wonderful thing. I bet every man wishes he could marry a man like that. Terrific, really. Although, is it really Mississippi custom that the host and the guest share the same bed??!?! I thought it was merely me giving up the bed for you, but that can’t be it. You were awfully warm. The bed feels cold now, and I’m not sure I’m fond of that at all. It’s almost not even worth it to get up in the mornings!!!! Have you ever considered moving to New York full-time? I think it would be good for you. You can find some skeet shooting place locally, and I’d even let you have a mint julep every once in a while.
You were right that things felt calmer with you here, but I still don’t know why!!!! I’m still pretty certain about the whole good-luck charm thing. You’re good luck . Those little kisses on the cheek before I putted at the golf course were nice. You did tell me overtly that they were good luck, and I did putt better with them. I went yesterday alone and did a few games, and the caddy dragged my clubs along in the cart, but it wasn’t the same without the good luck kisses. You know, a wife wouldn’t do that for me. I bet she wouldn’t even want to be on the golf course. You know how it is.
Are you still intending to come to New York in July? And perhaps now move yourself here permanently!!!?? ? Again, it must be much better than Mississippi. I’d even put in a good word for you, and maybe they could make a new rank of Lieutenant General for you so you could be sort of a general, the way you were sort of a colonel. All of this to say that I hope to see you soon. I am currently drinking a cocotini in your honor.
Quite Sincerely Yours,
Chuck
Dearest Chuck, May 22nd, 1948
Yes, I will be back in town in July. Moving to New York would be quite big for me, but I assume you already knew that, being as intelligent a man as you are. Every man would want to marry a man like me, you’re right. Or maybe a man like you. You can be appealing when you try. Next time I’m in town, I have a wonderful thing to show you that two men can do together—and it’s far better than what a wife has to offer. I’m sure at least 80% of the men on Pianosa were engaged in it. It’s a little bit risque for a letter, however. But I’m sure it will boost your morale.
This may come as a surprise to you, Chuck, but I’m considering retiring from the military. I had a background in education—administration specifically. If I did move to New York, I hear that some school systems are looking for a combination of superintendents and their assistant superintendents. I know you don’t have any education training, but we could go back to our glory days in Pianosa. Instead of missions, you’d be raising district test scores. Maybe you’d even get to find some awards in that realm, now that you’ve done so much as a general. I could consider the move if you could consider the career change. It must get boring, golfing almost every day with no good luck kisses. If we made golfing a weekend affair, it would make it far more of a novelty.
I am, of course, drinking a mint julep to spite your cocotini. You’ll come around to it one day. Speaking of which, I heard from Milo the other day. He’s doing splendidly. That Wintergreen is still working for him, or maybe it’s with him now. I’m not entirely sure.
Love,
Cato
Dear Cato, May 31st, 1948
A superintendent of schools?!!!?! I was shocked at this suggestion at first, but the more that I’ve looked into it, it’s quite an idea. I’m so glad I came up with it. It would be a true chance to relive our glory days of Pianosa, just in a different format. In a different font. And you and I are hardly too old for such adventures. Well, you’re nearly a decade my senior, so perhaps it is too late for you. No, it’s not. You’ll be alright yet, Korn, and you can be my good luck charm again.
I’ve got a friend from Mississippi, and she says they don’t sleep in the same bed when they have guests over. Isn’t that strange!? She must be from a different part of it than you are. Or perhaps she’s lying about it, just to drive us apart. My bed will once again be open to you, come July. Tell me, though, are you bringing moving boxes??? Should I give you the address to a local school system that has just started an opening for those two positions I mentioned?!!?
I’m excited for you to show me that wonderful thing you said men can do together. Morale raising, too! Who knows where that will take us?
I recently got a delightful rosewood cigarette holder in the mail, and it had no return address, but something tells me it’s from you. No one else would have gotten it engraved with ‘Chuck’ but you, Cato. I’m not sure what to say except for thank you, and it’s taking cigarettes great already. I won’t comment on your sign-off. I’ll return it, however, as a brave man such as myself ought to do.
Love,
Chuck
Dear Cato, June ?, 1948
Your next letter seems like it’s been delayed. Please write me soon!!!!!!!
Love,
Chuck
My Chuck, June 16th, 1948
I am packing my things for New York. Please forgive the amount of time it’s taking me. The next time you hear from me, it will be at your doorstep with all of my possessions. Prepare for our future together as superintendent (yourself) and assistant superintendent (myself).
Love,
Cato