cookies got through unscathed. How did you know my favorite was chocolate chip?
I'd die for those. Between the box my mom sent and yours, I was the cookie king here at Udorn. And don't you think the other jocks weren't wandering over to my hooch to bum a few. Yes, I shared them, like you requested. Would I hoard them? Don't answer that. I carried out your wishes to the letter. You made a lot of jocks happy. I gave some to the enlisted guys on the flight line, too. Those guys bust themselves twenty-four hours a day, and it was a good feeling to make them smile. They thank you, too.
Hey! Gotta zoom off. One of those beautiful Thai ladies is giving me a look I can't resist. Look, you take care of yourself, hear? Your letters are like life to me here at Udorn. I really enjoy getting them. Don't stop! I won't, either. I promised Mike that I'd take care of you, so expect a letter once a week.
Merry Christmas, Gale.
Your Friend, Kyle.
December 24, 1974
Dear Kyle,
I want you to know that your lively letter-which sounded like a buccaneer swashbuckling-was my Christmas gift. I sat here with two bills, a magazine and your letter in my hand. Your letter, by far, was the one I wanted to open and read.
I had to giggle about the Great Cookie Heist! Just to brighten your day, I'm sending another box (air mail, of course, so it doesn't take three months via ship to reach you) of chocolate-chip cookies. Keeping busy is my only way to keep my sanity, and it's nice to be able to cook for someone who loves my cooking so much. So, in your own way, you're helping me, even if it's something as simple as appreciating my cookies. Baking them keeps my mind off so many terrible thoughts I shouldn't be thinking.
Enough of my maudlin musings. I hope the bloodhounds of the Udorn post office can't smell these. I've triple wrapped them in foil, plus wrapped each cookie individually to make sure no odor escapes to get their attention. And I've disguised them in a plain cardboard box instead of sending them in a suspicious round tin, which I'm sure tips them off that it might be cookies or other goodies inside.
Hi, I'm back. I started this letter an hour after getting yours. When I'm lonely, I write letters to my friends here Stateside. Yours is the only one going overseas. It's Christmas Day now, and I got lonely. I'm learning to turn on the radio or television set just so I can hear the sound of another human voice. What hurts is when the nightly news comes on and they show at least fifteen minutes of footage on the Vietnam War. I forget that it's going to come on, and then, some part of me focuses in on it, no matter what I'm doing. I'll hurry to the living room to shut it off, but it's like I'm mesmerized by some power and I just stand there watching and listening to it. What's wrong with me? Why do I have to watch the shooting, the killing they photograph?
It's worse on the radio because I never know when some news flash is going to come over it. At least with the television on-and if I can remember to turn it off-I only have to avoid hearing it at 6:00 p.m. and 11:00 p.m. I'm learning all these little tricks to avoid pain. Amazing what a human being will do, isn't it?
Thanks for listening to me. Just talking to someone, another military person, helps. I don't say anything to anyone around here because they all have a husband, brother, sister, son or daughter over in Vietnam and I don't want to depress them or make them worry any more than they already do. Thanks for being a compassionate ear. Please, fly safe. You're in my prayers every night along with Mike.
Warmly, Gale
December 23, 1975
Dear Gale,
Merry Christmas! I tried calling you yesterday, but the airman over at Ops said you'd just gone home after twelve hours of duty. I was going to call you and tease you unmercifully because I hadn't yet received those chocolate-chip cookies you promised to send this year. Now that I'm Stateside and stationed at Homestead AFB in Florida, I wonder if the cookies really got lost in the mail or if the same guys in the post office over in Udorn are now stationed at Homestead with me. I'll fill out a form at the post office, but it won't do any good.
You sounded better in your last letter. I know it's tough to go on without knowing about Mike, but you're a fighter and I admire your courage under the circumstances. Just hang tough. It's all you can do.
So, you're going to be stationed at Travis AFB, eh? Busy place. You'll be there for three years and get plenty of opportunity to visit San Francisco-lucky lady! Have a bowl of clam chowder down on Fisherman's Wharf for me, will you? It's one of my favorite places. I like the smells, the color, the people and activity. Quite a place. Take a cable- car ride for me, too. I like that bell they ring. Makes you want to get up and dance up and down the aisle while they're ringing it, ha, ha.
I can't believe you want me to tell the story of my life! Me, of all people! All I do is give you a hard time, lady. So I make you laugh a little. Nothing wrong with that. I figured it out: fifty-two installments, one letter a week to you, three or four pages at a time, and I ought to have my autobiography finished in the forthcoming year. Brother, are you a glutton for punishment, but, if that's what you want as your Christmas present, I'll indulge your whim. Next letter, I'll start. Can you see it now?
'I was born in Sedona, Arizona, to a grocer and his wife. I was red, wrinkled and too long. My mother, upon seeing me for the first time, broke out in tears because I looked so ugly. Of course, she reassures me that as I grew and filled out, I was the cutest kid in Red Rock county.'
Whew, that was close! I'm such a handsome devil now that I couldn't let that info slip out to my flying buddies. I'd never hear the end of it.
Is this the kind of thing you're wanting to hear about in my letters? The down-and-dirty life of Kyle Anderson? Ha, ha. I think you're a real masochist, Gale-a new and provocative side to you I never realized existed. Okay, okay, I can hear you nagging me in the next letter to quit quibbling and get on with it.
So-Merry Christmas! You get fifty-two installments over the next year about me and the story behind this fantastic jet jock. It ought to hit the
I know you don't have anyone to go home to for Christmas, and you've already said you'll spend it there at base. I really think you need to get away for a while and get some down time. You've worked yourself to a bone this year, Gale. Even I take time off and go see my folks in Sedona once a year. Why not take the thirty days leave you've got coming and get some R and R? I worry about you, sometimes. You're a strong lady with a warm heart, but stop and smell the flowers, huh?
Merry Christmas, Gale. As I hitch my foot up on the brass rail of the O Club bar, I'll lift a toast to you.
Your special friend, Kyle
December 30, 1975
Dear Kyle,
I can't believe you didn't get the cookies I sent! Are you
I'm so happy you've decided to send me your autobiography. I'm going to do the same thing. Not that I have had a terribly exciting life, but I think that's only fair. As you get writer's cramp and the next let-ter is hounding you to be written, you can fondly think of me having to write to you, too. Only, I won't see it as a royal pain as perhaps you might as the weeks roll by. Letters have been a life-sustaining source for me, giving me hope and often lifting me out of the depression I allow myself to get into.
Actually this year, I'm doing better. But I want to get on with writing my life story to you, too! I hope you won't be bored to death. I can see you sitting at your desk, feet up on it, letter in hand, snoozing away. Ha, ha.
Okay, here goes nothing. Promise me if you do get bored, tell me. I'll stop my autobiography. As I said before, my life's pretty nonedescript (my opinion).
I was born in Medford, Oregon. Unlike you, I was a pretty baby (according to Mom). She said everyone in the hospital oohed and ahed over me. I don't really remember. However, my star status quickly sank because my older
