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| June 20, 1942. From John to Father
Brennan (Camp Shelby, Mississippi). A month after arriving at Camp Shelby, John writes to Rev. Gerald P. Brennan, a faculty member of Marquette University's History Department. During World War II, Father Brennan corresponded with many former Marquette students who had joined the service. (History Department, Rev. Gerald P. Brennan, S.J., Papers, 1940-1945) |
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June 20, 1942 Dear Father Brennan: I've been going to write to you for the past two or three weeks but some how [sic] that intention was always side tracked. But here we are. Army life down here in the deep south is really tough on us Northerners. It is, of course, the sudden transition from a cool climate to that of the near-tropics that works the greatest havoc upon us. So far, I've come through in true Milwaukee style with all colors flapping at the mast. In fact I'm told that we take the manual exertion much better than do those who have lived down here all their lives.
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I spent last Sunday in New Orleans. When it came time
to go to Mass I had the choice of going to St. John's Cathedral or Immaculate Conception
Church on Baronne St. Which one did I choose? You guessed it right. I
couldn't, for the life of me, go to any but the Jesuit church. And did it ever
feel good to be back in familiar surroundings. That proves that I'm loyal to the
traditions of St. Ignatius, doesn't it. As you know Father, that for a number of
years, I've considered myself to be sort of a civilian Jesuit? After Mass I went into the
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rectory and met a Father Kearny [?] from Baltimore. As
soon as he found out I wasn't in trouble; didn't want a hand out of any kind; and was a
Marquette graduate he became very expansive and voluable. We talked for nearly two
hours hashing over religion and politics; war and international banking; and Huey Long's
assassination, to mention just a few of the topics. He is a great deal like our Father Lord, a real two-fisted Militant Catholic. He also studied his theology at St. Mary's under our Father Johnston. I have only one complaint to make about army life. We are not en-
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couraged to use our heads for much else but ballast!!
I suppose that is an integral part of any successful army, but it is sure hard on those of
us who have any pretensions about possessing some measure of intelligence. So far
the routine is one drab and monotonous series of right faces--order arms--and bugle
calls. Seven and one-half hours a day of it in fact. I can't be as critical of the food, however. Although there are no fancy [illegible] salads or anything like that, everything we do eat is well prepared, edible and substantial. Well father, I'm at the bottom of the page and one or two more letters to go tonite, so I'd better stop. Yours in Christ, John Holloway.
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