To Broadway With Love

From Rothschild

To Baila Miriam Rothschild, Manhattan, New York City, New York.
Dear Sis,
It's been a week or so since I last wrote, so I thought I'd better drop you a line. I'd write more but there's not much time to put pen to paper out here. Maybe that's good for me. You always said I put too much of myself down on paper and not enough into the real world. You'd be proud of me. This place is about as real as it gets.
I can't tell you exactly where we are. The censors go over everything we send out with a fine tooth comb to make sure our letters can't betray anything to Hans and Fritz. Ironic, isn't it? If I were back in Newark, I'd be bitching and moaning with the rest of the boys in the newsroom about the military brass not giving us the real story. I'm right in the middle of the real deal now, Sis. I think I preferred the propaganda line. At least here I don't have to tow it anymore. There's something to be said for the God's honest truth, even if it is ugly as sin.
How are things in the city? I wish I could see your latest show. Mom would be proud of you, seeing you up on a stage in midtown. Maybe she'd be proud of me, too. I don't know. She was a funny one. I could never tell with her. I think Dad and I are back on speaking terms, at least, which isn't something I thought would happen anytime soon. Read this to him, will you? Tell him I'm sorry for being such an ass all those years. I'd like to think I'm getting better. I'm out here doing something real, under my own name. It was about time I faced up to who I was. Nobody's even spit on me for it yet. Admittedly, the war is young. It's another one of those funny things. Most of the guys here, first glance, you'd think they were dumb as a box of bricks. But most of them are better fellows than the boys I went to university with.
Tell Rachel I love her. I know she's not much on literary pursuits and that's fine. She said all she needed to say before I left Jersey, and that's all I need no matter how many letters I get. Tell her I'll try and scrounge some French silk for a wedding dress. She'd get a kick out of that.
One more thing, Sis. Happy birthday. It'll probably be past by the time you get this, but I had to say it just the same. I got this out before June 15, so don't think you can stiff me for a present just because the army post can't deliver on time. It's weird, spending our birthday thousands of miles apart like this. Hopefully it'll be the last time. Newark never looked so good than it does from here.
Love your baby brother, by a whole 17 minutes,
Ben

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