War or No War

Mrs. Irene Kelly, Pittsburgh widow, has a son in Italy: Technical Sergeant Charles E. ("Commando") Kelly, 23, the "one-man blitz" who received the Congressional Medal of Honor for mowing down some 40 Nazis. In Pittsburgh, Mrs. Kelly has two sons--Howard, 16, Danny, 11. Last week Son Howard sharpened a pencil, and got in touch with Washington:

"Dear Mr. President:

"I am writing this letter for my mother, who is deaf and whose sight is failing. Doctors told Mom that she may never hear again and it is only a matter of time before her eyes fail her completely.

"Mom wants to thank you for the very nice letter you wrote to her about Charles. Only three of us are at home now, Mom, Danny and myself. . . . (Charles is one of seven Kelly boys in service.)

"Mom would like to ask you to do her a favor, Mr. President. . . She would be grateful to you for the rest of her life if you could let Charles come home on a furlough for a few days.

"Mom is going to say a prayer for you and . . . another prayer that you will make a lonely mother's heart light and happy by letting her see Charles soon."

Howard's letter had hardly been mailed before Brother Charles began telling Italy goodby. For some days, the sergeant had been slated for a furlough. But if young Howard's letter had done nothing else, it had restated a simple American credo. Even in the 28th month of a $312 million-a-day war, the still-unregimented U.S. people believed that people come first. The War Department, taking time out to judge assorted tales of loneliness, sickness and heartache, generally agreed.

In New Jersey, Teresa Truax, 19 months, was gravely ill with leukemia. Her father, Sergeant Elmer Truax, was Somewhere in the South Pacific. Only the Commander in Chief of the South Pacific area could approve a furlough, and communications to him must be only on matters of military import. But Mrs. Truax kept trying. Last week she got a letter cold, with official language, warm with hope: The matter was receiving the "attention of the appropriate officials of the War Department." Teresa's mother beamed: "I guess we're getting some action now."

In Ohio, Technical Sergeant Paul Waggamon, 27, arrived at the bedside of his dying wife, Marjorie, 22. The Army had flown him in from India in time to celebrate his second wedding anniversary. Said he: "There's lots of good in a country whose Army will take the trouble to bring one of its soldiers halfway around the world to be with his wife during her last few days. . . ." Marjorie died next day.

In Georgia, little Barbara Montrose wrote to the President: "I am nine years old and I have a little sister, five, and a brother, seven. My little sister will be six years old on Easter Sunday. My daddy has to go to the Navy April 6. I asked him why he couldn't stay until after Easter. He told me I would have to ask President Roosevelt, and so I am asking you. We love you."

Selective Service's Lieut. Colonel H. Cliff Hatcher, who received Barbara's letter "for action," made prompt reply: "We have contacted the local board and advised them to delay the induction of your father until Monday, April 10, and we hope that you have a very happy Easter and your little sister will have a very happy birthday."

In Iowa, newly married Mrs. Patricia Behr, 25, had her back broken in a traffic wreck. The Army immediately gave her husband, Flight Officer Andrew J. Behr an emergency furlough from his Utah base. When his leave was almost up, the Army sent a hospital plane, flew the young couple to their home in McKeesport, Pa.

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