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January 12, 1994
Dear Family:
Letter writing
is basically a lost art. We now communicate inadequately and
impersonally by e-mail and telephone. That's the sign of the times,
and who knows what the future holds. But a sense of history
and insight into character, hopes, dreams, concerns, values and
personalities are lost by not writing letters.
I waited until
it was too late to learn all I wanted to know about my parents�
formative years. These things become more important as one becomes
older. Roots, a sense of family and history then become more
interesting and relevant.
Several years
ago, Gary said he would like to have the family letters. I
am pleased to provide each of you the letters in this binder.
They commenced with a letter from Dad�s sister Mary written while
Dad was in the Navy in WW I, and other letters continued for many
years. A number were written while Mother was teaching (Principal)
near Coolidge, NM and Dad was attending UNM during the Great Depression.
Others were written after Ladd joined the Navy in 1942 and I was
attending UNM. Most were written from 1942 to 1946 during
WW II. Some were written after WW II, including a few from
Nedra and me, a few from Dad, one from my grandmother (Mama) Stewart,
and one from my Aunt Adelia Stewart Sallee.
During the almost
four years Ladd served, and the two years I served our country,
letters or cards were written almost daily to each other and to
and from our parents. It is probable that more than 2,500
letters and cards were exchanged. Some of the letters remain,
and copies are in this binder. A few of the letters detail
some of the activities leading up to joining the Navy. Many
letters and cards were not kept. But the ones that remain
provide an insight into a different era --- an era of deadly conflict
and apprehension concerning life and the future. They also
provide some insight into the character and values of our family.
My parents worried constantly about their only two children whose
fates were in the hands of the God and the Navy. Current and
future generations of family might, or might not, find the letters
interesting and/or even instructive. Be that as it may---,
The letters frequently
contain purposely-misspelled words and grammatical errors as a matter
of family jargon. Li'l Abner of the comic strips was popular,
so we often wrote in "Dogpatch-eze". We frequently
referred to Dad as "Pap", for this reason. Ladd
and I had taken German in College, so we often threw in a few German
words: mein hund, for my dog; der eltern, for the parents, etc.
Dad frequently slipped in some Spanish words: escopita, for gun;
truchas, for trout, etc. And we usually referred to Pensacola
as Pepsi.
Dad�s letters
were replete with humor, wisdom, sound advice and encouragement. Mother�s
letters tended to be more perfunctory, and deal with daily living.
But the family letters were invaluable and eagerly awaited by a
young person so far from home in an insecure war-torn world.
They made life much more bearable.
In 1944, during
World War II, I had five semesters of college and was still seventeen.
Ladd had already joined the Navy and Dad had been in the Navy in
World War I, so it was only natural that I would volunteer for the
Navy. There were two Navy programs that offered opportunities
to become an Officer. One required that a person have at least
two years of college and be at least nineteen years old. The
other program was only available to those having less than two years
of college. I did not qualify for either.
I joined the Navy
when I was seventeen on October 13, 1944 ---- 3 days before I would
have been required to register for the draft. So I suppose
I was a draft dodger. By volunteering, I was able to enlist
at a slightly advanced rating (Hospital Apprentice 2nd
Class) and thereby ensure that I would serve in the Hospital Corps.
Hospital Corpsmen
usually had good hospital food and slept on real beds. We
received considerable training, much of which helped me later in
life. The Hospital Corps was the place to be, unless you were
one of the Corpsmen assigned to the Fleet Marines. In that
case, it was alleged that the Japanese always aimed for the red
cross on the helmets of the Corpsmen. I met one of the "Marines"
made famous by the picture and statue of the flag raising on Iwo
Jima. His name was John Bradley, a Hospital Corpsman assigned
to the Fleet Marines. I heard today that John Bradley, 70,
the last survivor of the Iwo Jima Flag Raising, passed away.
Mother accompanied
me on the train from New Mexico where I had been attending UNM to
Pensacola, Florida, where I joined the Navy. I did this for
two reasons: 1) New Mexico had already filled its quota for the
Hospital Corps, and 2) Ladd was stationed at the Pensacola Naval
Air Station where he was a Corpsman assisting in flight medicine
research. By joining in Pensacola, I was able to visit Ladd every
day for a month until I was called to active duty on November 13,
1944.
Ladd joined the
Navy in 1942 and was sent to Notre Dame University. He was
ill much of the time, and was subsequently transferred to the Great
Lakes Naval Training Station for "Boot Camp." Following
Boot Camp, he attended Hospital Corps School at the Great Lakes
Naval Training Station, and was then transferred to the Pensacola
Naval Air Station, where he was stationed for the remainder of World
War II. He worked with two renowned flight medicine researchers
and authors, Dr. Greybiel and Dr. Clayton White who later became
President Eisenhower's personal physician.
From Pensacola,
I was placed in charge of a group of other new recruits and sent
to Boot Camp at the U.S. Naval Training Station, Bainbridge, Maryland.
As an immature country boy from New Mexico, I learned about tipping
the hard way. A tray on the table in the railroad dining car
contained some coins, and we simply divided it among us. This
didn�t go over well with the waiter who demanded the return of his
tips left by previous diners. As I disembarked from the train in
Washington, DC, I saw Eleanor Roosevelt at Union Station.
Then I endured 12 harrowing weeks of Boot Camp. I was then transferred
to the Hospital Corps School at Bainbridge, Maryland. I immediately
learned that the academic "Honor Man" from each class
of 120 Corpsmen could choose his duty station.
This was a hell
of an incentive!
Having taken advantage
of the incentive, I chose the National Naval Medical Center, Bethesda,
Maryland. By doing my job well and staying out of trouble,
I fought the battle of Bethesda until my personal Independence Day,
July 4, 1946. I had a couple of Navy Leaves and was able to
visit my parents once while they still lived in Douglas, Arizona,
as well as in Mountainair, NM where Dad served as District Conservationist
with the U.S. Soil Conservation Service. For one leave, I
forged some Red Cross papers that allowed me to hitch a ride on
a Navy cargo plane as far as Amarillo, Texas where I took the train
on to Mountainair.
While stationed
at the National Naval Medical Center, I hitched a ride into Washington,
DC with Mrs. Cordell Hull, wife of the Secretary of State.
When President Harry Truman visited the National Naval Medical Center,
I positioned myself at the foot of a vacant bed; the President shook
my hand, asked where I was from and politically remarked, That�s
a fine State! And I was in Washington for General Eisenhower's
victory parade following Victory in Europe. I took the opportunity
to sit in the Senate Gallery and hear issues debated.
I was privileged to see and hear many Hollywood stars (mentioned
in the letters) when they entertained at the National Naval Medical
Center. While stationed in Maryland, I was able to spend some weekend
liberties sightseeing in Washington, DC, Philadelphia, and New York
City where I ate and slept at USOs. I also volunteered
to take a patient by train from Bethesda to Pensacola where I was
allowed to remain for about two weeks while visiting Ladd.
I traveled to Ft. Monmouth, NJ and visited Captain Tracey Prater
who was in charge of the Messenger Pigeon component of the Army
Signal Corps. Captain Prater was from Tucson, and I had known
of him while living in Safford before the War.
My Navy experiences
were positive, useful, and provided more maturity, more education,
and some wisdom. My life would have been much different had not
WW II occurred. I have no claims about heroism. I was
only one of some 12,000,000 military personnel, and I served my
country by doing my duty and caring for hundreds of sailors, marines
and officers who had been wounded or diseased while fighting for
our country. I was fortunate to have two Special Watches with
some outstanding Officers. One was Marine Lt. Col. Cosgrove,
an Annapolis graduate who was a paraplegic because of a Japanese
sniper. The other was Navy Captain Glen Howell who was the
U.S. Naval Attach� to Canada, and was from Boise, Idaho. It
was a privilege to know them and spend many hours visiting with
each. I was a late bloomer and did not get involved in any
Navy romantic adventures.
Both Ladd and
I eventually earned promotions to Pharmacist's Mate, Second Class.
When I entered the Navy, I was paid $54 per month and was receiving
$66 when I was discharged. I sent money home every month, and usually
sent a few dollars to each of my grandmothers.
Following my discharge
on July 4, 1946, I took the train as far as Belen, New Mexico, arriving
about midnight. I hitched a ride south to Bernardo, and walked
in the bright moonlight the remaining 6 or 7 miles across the bosque-lined
valley road, over the Rio Grande Bridge, to the top of the mesa,
and north on the dirt road to our home. I removed my white
Navy uniform for the last time. The home was in Veguita, where
my parents were living in a two-room adobe house with a dirt floor
and roof and no plumbing while they were building and developing
the New Mexico Boys Ranch. Ladd was already home and was,
as he liked to joke, the first boy at the Boys Ranch. So I
guess I was the second. The home at Veguita is now a slightly raised
mound of melted adobe, but represents the location where a happy
and fortunate family was re-united.
A few days later
we all went truchas fishing in the Pecos Wilderness Area as we had
fantasized in many letters, by packing in to Lake Catherine atop
the Sangre de Cristos for a few days. Ladd and I worked at the Boys
Ranch for the weeks prior to returning to college that fall at UNM.
I am now the oldest
or our clan. My parents and brother Ladd have crossed the
Great Divide and gone on to greener pastures, great trout fishing,
unbelievable quail hunting, and water-witching heaven.
Nedra Clair Callender
joined the U.S. Marine Corps and graduated from Officer Candidate
School at Quantico, Virginia in the summer of 1949 immediately after
she earned a Bachelor of Science degree in Biology from the University
of New Mexico. She was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in the U.S.
Marine Corps Reserve, so she outranked me even prior to our marriage
on August 26, 1950 --- and she still does! We have been blessed
in every way, particularly by having three outstanding and loving
children.
I'm pleased that
the enclosed letters remain. Please care for your copies and
keep them in the family. They may be more interesting to future
generations. You might keep them with the manuscript An
American Family: Not Merely A Couple With Children.
With love,

Larry J. Gordon
P.S. About 1996, the New Mexico
State Game Department refuges and facilities at Casa Colorado, Bernardo
and La Joya --- all in the vicinity of Veguita --- were made
part of the Ladd S. Gordon Waterfowl Management Complex to honor
Ladd for his distinguished contributions to conservation in New
Mexico. In a letter to the State Game Commission requesting
such a designation, I noted that Ladd�s roots ran deep in that area
even prior to his conservation contributions.
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