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^[[21]] ^[[November 20, 1973]]

Dear Alice:

In the last week of May 1918 the 88th received its 18 planes. To take care of them, and of the squadron's other paraphernalia, it had assembled about 120 enlisted men. It had 40 officers, including 4 who were non-flyers. There were an adjutant, a medic, an engineer and an ordnance man. Those four had authority over all the enlisted men. Each plane had a crew of (I think) three mechanics to keep it in order, but their relation to the pilot of the plane was merely as consultants. Their boss was the engineer. The 36 flying officers had only one responsibility for the lower ranks. We had to censor their letters. Postage stamps were not required. The words "Soldier's mail", written in the space where the stamp normally would belong, entitled them to free postage. We as officers did not have to submit to the indignity of having someone else read our letters, but the enlisted men did. The censoring job was rotated among the flying officers, two being assigned to it each week. The outgoing mail was divided between them. Each letter was supposed to be read through and deletions made if necessary. Place names especially were forbidden. When he finished with a letter the censor sealed it and wrote OK on the upper lefthand corner of the envelope, with his own name and identification.

Most of the enlisted men did little writing, but there were a few who got off a letter daily. I still recall long, impassioned letters that Private Andrew J. O'Donnell addressed each day to Miss Blanche Pelkey in his home town of Providence, R.I. I knew him only by his literary style, not by sight.When the days passed uneventfully the censor's job was light. But let something exciting happen, such as an air battle with casualties, and we could expect an avalanche of letters next day. Let me jump ahead here once more, to tell about the night late in July when German bombers raided our airfield. They came in some time after midnight, and made several passes over the field. They scattered bombs all over the premises, making quite an uproar. A guard came to the officers' sleeping quarters, to warn us that we should get into the shelter trenches that had been dug outside for such occasions. Some fled to the trenches as they were, some put on their pants first, and some stayed in bed. The tumult woke an observer named Wheeler, who asked what was going on. When someone told him we were being bombed he said ^[["]]My God! Think of the letters I'll have to cebsor tomorrow!"