From the way you talk you must have several standbys for when you get hard up-not bad if they stack up as nice as you say and I imagine they do.īy the way-if I should get a heart attack and kroke one of these days I want you to get half my dust. See that you don’t knock out any down there-maybe you’d have to marry the gal, she may be a queen, but that family of hers maybe don’t want any of those war babies. Maybe she’ll have another and we can be uncles anyway. I sure wanted that kid to live and be a boy for her sake, but guess that’s the way it goes. Marg sure can take it as I received a letter from her shortly after and she seemed all-right. The baby was a boy as you probably know and only lived a couple of weeks. Sure hated to see her go as we really had a good one planned for the holidays. My little red head went back last month so think I’ll have to get busy again and find another. We all get the news out of the papers anyway. Can’t tell you much because of the naval censors-guess it’s a good idea. Guess they could use a few men in the picture business eh’. Bet you made quite a leading man in that play-maybe the movies will put in a bit for you when you get out. The letter, typed and signed with Hunt’s full name, is a last will and testament. The letter was filled with bravado and euphemism (and colorful spelling), and for later generations it evokes the American 1940s as surely as a Benny Goodman swing tune or a Bob Hope road movie. In it he mentioned Dick’s performance in a play, girlfriends, and, with sadness, the death of sister Marge’s newborn child. Hunt mailed the letter from San Francisco, where the Tambor had been sent for repairs before its war-long service throughout the Pacific. Hunt survived 12 war patrols aboard the USS Tambor.įive days later he wrote a letter to his brother Dick, who was stationed at the Naval Air Station in Corpus Christi, Texas. “I Knew the Odds” In this photograph taken at the end of the war, Torpedoman Robert Hunt manages a hint of a smile. By Christmas 1941, Robert Hunt, torpedoman on the submarine USS Tambor, had witnessed the Japanese bombing of Wake Island, had slept in the Tambor’s forward torpedo room on the way back to Pearl with a bomb-induced leak bubbling in the corner, and had stood on his sub’s bow and seen the devastation of Battleship Row as debris in the oil-slicked harbor bumped against the hull.
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