Salt Lake City, Utah: April 21, 1930

My dearest George,

As I’m writing this letter you’re standing in front of me.  I’ve been thinking about you so you seem almost real.  If only it was a talking picture!

This is your third month away from Salt Lake, but how much longer before I can see you?  I wish it would be real soon for I’m sure longing for you.  I hope fate is good to us.

Right now they’re playing “Should I” over the radio, well should I too?  It’s not very effective on a piece of paper, but I love you and don’t care who knows it.

The ninth of this month had a little meaning of its own too.

About your folks.  I can’t tell you what to do, you choose for yourself.  If you let them come over you have them and can live with them, enjoying their company longer and in a different way than a visit.  Yet—it would seem good to see everybody and everything, even though it is a short time.  What do your folks think about it?

I saw the pageant the Church is giving in the Tabernacle.  It sure is wonderful.  People have been coming from all over the country to see it.  They are having a talking picture, in colors made.  If they run it till the 3^rd of May, as they are planning it will have been shown four weeks steady.  They surely had wonderful music, and I was just wishing you were with me to enjoy it, as I know you love good music.

I haven’t had my photo taken yet so I am sending you a snap.  The cut out isn’t much but I tore it out of my album and suggest we have a laugh together again—some time since the last one.

While looking for these, I found a little poem I clipped some time ago—here it is.

Punished

When I was walking out deep in dew,

I overheard my heart speaking of you.

I thought all my memories of you were dead,

Till I chanced to hear some things it said.

I am better mannered now than I was then,

I shan’t go eavesdropping ever again.

                -M.C.D.

George, dear, don’t let me wait a month for your next letter.  Even though it is only a piece of paper, it makes me feel happier than going out.

Good night dear, remember me in your prayers to night and think of me as the girl who loved you best always, and I am yours. 

With all my love,

Alice

Berkley, April 14, 1930

My sweet little Alice,

I was by no means my intention to let you wait so long.  As it is, one letter a day wouldn’t be too much to write to you, if I only could see you for a while tonight instead trying to scribble a few lines.  It is three months today since I came down here, a long time to be away from dear old Salt Lake.  I hardly ever get homesick for Germany, but I always feel blue when I think of Salt Lake.  Whenever I get back, the first thing I want is a date with you and I don’t care how late it is going to be do you?  8 hours won’t be too much, for I am saving all my love for you, and well, it will take some time to plant all the kisses I got for you.  By the way, is that picture just about ready that you were going to get for me?  All the boys here have pictures of their sweeties on their dressers, but from mine only Martin laughs at me.  Hurry please!

I have not come to a decision yet as whether to go home and see my folks or to let them come over, my aunt in S.L. thinks I should get them over here, and uncle Leo is willing to loan me some money on that, so what’ll I do?  If I could be stationed back in S.L. or Ogden, my folks could easily live with me, and how about you?  I sure would love to have you around too!

Of all the acquaintances I have had in this country with girls, you seem to be the only one that is more than just a friend to me.  You have always been so sweet to me and it is only my fault that we did not get together a long time ago, or maybe its fate.  But I still hope there is a chance to make good my promise, no matter how long it is going to take.

Well, I’ll close for tonight, Fred is calling for me and I got to shave yet.

So long darling, a big long kiss for you from your loving George.