Vol. 2 - No. 5-----Jan. 15, 1945-----Editor: Roz Richards
Subscription Price:----- A Letter A Drizzle


That comments appearing in parenthesis throughout The Drizzle are the personal observations of The Drizzler. However, many of the nicknames clothed in parenthesis in a number of the letters reproduced in The Drizzle are the brain children of the individual letter writers.


If you do, here's a little suggestion that's absolutely guaranteed to blow all of the cobwebs out of your belfry and make you feel as alert as a flirt. Just climb aboard a motorcycle without a windshield and do as S/Sgt. Carl Stauffer did-pilot the mount all of the 1200 miles from Denver to Monticello via St. Louis in 33 hours through one of the winter's worst blizzards in zero weather. Variously known as the Monticello Motorcycle Marvel, the Denver Dare-Devil, and Motorcycle Mike, Carl wound up his "non-stop flight" from Denver when he pulled into the old home town the night before Christmas after an eventful trip in which he spilled twice while streaking along about 65 miles an hour, once when he struck a dead dog laying in the road and again when his motorcycle swerved out of control and crashed into a highway guard rail.

Both times old Lady Luck must have been riding along on Carl's handle bars because he picked himself up from the first spill with nothing more serious than a bruised leg, while he stepped out of his second performance of highway gymnastics with only a banged up elbow. It was a painful bruise, however, raising a bump almost the size of an egg. Making the entire trip in one long stretch without once stopping for even a cat nap, "Careening Carl" was twice warned by gasoline station attendants not to proceed ahead because highway conditions were impassable due to the blizzard. He ignored their advice, however, and plowed right on through to Monticello to completely surprise his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Fred Stauffer, who didn't have the slightest inkling of their son's plans. Carl remained here 36 hours, then struck out for Denver the morning after Christmas, the return trip straight through Iowa and Nebraska requiring 36 hours-the same length of time he was home. The mercury clung to zero during the entire trip except when he struck the Colorado border when it shot up sharply. Arriving at Lowry Field, Denver, where he is stationed, the sergeant was much surprised to find that his face was frozen, this despite the fact that he was wearing one of those warm army flying suits with head enclosure and glass "look-outs" over the eyes.

The Monticello young man has been stationed at Lowry Field for the past four months, going there from the Boeing Aircraft Plant at Seattle, Wash., where he received a half year's training in flight mechanics for service aboard the giant Boeing B-29 Super Flying Forts. At the present time, Carl, who enlisted in the army air corps with Lt. Ray (Burn-'Em-Up) Burns four years ago Nov. 1, goes to school three days a week, studying radar, and then he assumes the role of an instructor the other three days of the week.


First of all, The Drizzler wishes to express his sincere regrets over his inability to "go to press" with a December issue, but the Christmas rush at the post office was so heavy that it was an impossibility. But let's not tarry any longer 'cause I'm brimming with news. So if you're all tuned in, let's get to navigatin': Rufus (Nic) Freitag, who is still with the naval supply depot at Bayonne, N. J., has been promoted from lieutenant junior grade to the rank of a full-fledged lieutenant. Back there before his graduation from M. H. S. in 1924, "Nic" was a member of that tricky triumvirate which included Ted Burgy and Luke Lemon, the Washington township agricultural whizzards. . . Pfc. Armin Loeffel, who has been itching for service overseas, has finally received his wish and is now in England, having arrived there about two weeks ago. He is with an engineers' battalion. . . Pfc. Orville Anderson, shot thru the right shoulder by a German machine gun bullet while guarding a bridge near Paris Aug. 31, recently arrived at McCaw Gen. Hospital, Walla Walla, Wash., an institution which specializes in nerve conditions. Orville, who served with Gen. Patton's 3rd Army for 44 days before he was wounded, will soon submit to an operation to restore life to his right arm which is now paralyzed. Orville, a New Glarus boy, is the son-in-law of Conrad Elmer, Jr. . . residing west of Monticello. Here's hoping the operation is a complete success! . . Leo Felts, with the Marine Corps at Havana, Cuba, is glad to note that Frederick Voegeli, a member of the naval hospital corps at Bremerton, Wash., is in the same line of work as he is. Leo wants to be remembered to Eddie Zweifel, Carl Babler, "Boob" Kissling, "Cec" Wirth, Wilbert Marty, and the whole gang. He also promises to be "seeing you soon." Okay, Leo, I'm on the look-out for you. . . Pfc. Eddie Loeffel, who has been having a hard time keeping his girlish figure down somewhere near the 200-pound mark, has a distinction owned by few, if any, of his old Monticello high school pals. For the second time while traveling from island to island in the Southwest Pacific, his boat has been sunk by enemy action, but fortunately no lives were lost on either occasion. The second sinking occurred last month. And, ladies and gentlemen, take it from Eddie, a December "dunking" in the icy waters of the vast Pacific ocean isn't exactly what might be called fun. In the first sinking, Eddie lost his money and everything else because he had them locked in his locker. That made the "Big Boy" just a little bit peeved and he vowed, right then and there, that this was the last time the sharks were going to have a chance to play poker with Eddie Loeffel's lettuce leaves. Since then he's been carrying his currency buttoned in his uniform pockets. And so the last time Eddie took "the plunge," his dough didn't desert him. . . Thanks to you fellows scattered all over the world for those nice Christmas Greetings. They came from such far-away lands as England, France, Belgium, Germany, Italy, the Solomon Islands, and India. . . Raymond Zumkehr, stationed at Fort Lewis, Wash., dropped in on the Drizzler during his recent furlough home. Army life apparently agrees with Ray because he's looking tip-top. He's a great booster for The Drizzle and says his captain and lieutenant are among a group of his buddies who read it regularly. . . From Somewhere in Italy, Sgt. "Al" Baehler writes that he recently had a chance to see a "little of Pisa," but about the only object of interest he saw was the Leaning Tower. Parts of the city were badly damaged by artillery and aerial bombardment. "Al" says "Those Germans are really masters in destruction. I don't believe we crossed a bridge in our last move that hadn't been built by our army engineers. They are also fiendish at planting mines, but these don't hinder our soldiers so much because the army has boys who know how to handle them." . . . "Hoot" Wittwer, who is with the army air transport command making fine use of the great amount of valuable experience he obtained working for the Howard Aircraft corporation in Chicago, sends us an interesting picture of a quaint little native church where he attends services Somewhere in the Solomon Islands. Say, Hoot, how about another letter with a humorous description of some of your recent experiences? That one telling how you fed the fish every time you went aboard ship was a dandy. Those poor pisces must be getting awfully, awfully hungry with you ashore these many weeks. . . Capt. Norman B. Steussy, Somewhere in Italy, takes time off from a busy schedule to drop The Drizzler these few lines: "Keep the Drizzle coming as it sure is interesting. My fellow officers also enjoy it." Glad to hear it, Norman. And you can (be) sure I'll keep The Drizzle rolling right along in your direction. . . Corp. P. F. Blumer, the former local bee and honey king, recently landed in India after almost two months on the ocean. Say, Hoot, you should'uv been with P. F., think of how many more fish you could have fed on a long voyage like that! You'd probably be the fish-feeding champ of the whole world instead of just the Pacific. For a while Paul was stationed at Calcutta, then was flown by army transport plane to Bangalore which is considered the best camp in India. P. F. speaks of receiving a "very most welcome Drizzle which happened to be the October issue. Please keep sending it." You bet I will, Paul. . . Betty Jane Woelffer is back amid the familiar surroundings of her nurses training days, having recently accepted a position as surgical nurse in the Methodist Hospital at Madison. Betty, who assists in the operating room, is thrilled with her assignment. She began her duties Jan. 3rd. Prior to accepting the capital city position, Betty had spent five months on the nurses staff of the Mease Hospital at Dunedin, Fla. . . Lt. (jg) "Ed" Klassy, aboard the U.S.S. Williamson Somewhere in the Pacific, had a rare experience not so long ago. Way ahead of schedule, the Williamson was steaming along alone several hundred miles from the nearest land enroute to rendezvousing with another ship. The commanding officer ordered the "Willie" to stop, issued a swimming call, and in a few minutes, most of the crew were over the side and in the water. "It really didn't make a bit of difference, remarks "Ed", "But just the same it felt a little funny to realize there was nothing under me except water for over 30.000 feet." Remind you of the ol' pond, Ed?


Veteran of 35 missions over Europe and holder of the Distinguished Flying Cross and Air Medal with three Oak Leaf Clusters, S/Sgt. Roger Foster, tail gunner on the B-24 Liberator Bomber, "Dog Face," is now in Port Washington visiting his parents, Mr. and Mrs. E. W. Foster. His father, "Fos," is well remembered here as Monticello high school principal and athletic coach for many years and his mother as the former Zoe Hancock. "Rog," who starred in the pole vault and broad jump on the University of Wisconsin track team before entering service a little over two years ago, participated in raids over Kiel, Bremen, Paris airfields, Munich, Aschersleben, and enemy military installations in support of Allied ground forces now fighting in Germany. He received his wings at Tyndall Field, Fla., and completed his combat training at Tucson, Arizona, and Pueblo, Colo. On Feb. 1st, he reports at Miami Beach, Fla., for reclassification and reassignment. At the U. W., "Rog" was an associate of such notable Monticello sensations of sorority row as Capt. "Doc" (The Answer Man) Youngreen, whose mental achievements won him numerous academic honors; Capt. P. Emil Voegeli of England, the former Duke of Langdon Street; Carl (Babs) Babler, the Pride of the Pacific, and Lt. Dauntless Dick Schoonover, who slowed down his brisk military stride long enough on his last furlough home to conform with the slower, more measured tempo of the wedding march which he performed with attractive Alice Dushold of Milwaukee in the culmination of a university romance.

Another recent arrival home from abroad is Cpl. George Wittwer, veteran of 34 months overseas, 23 of them in Northern Territory, which is a part of Australia, and the remaining months in New Guinea. A son of Mr. and Mrs. Ernest Wittwer, residents of the Grand Central Hotel here, George served with a hospital unit in the Pacific war theatre. During his stay abroad, he lost 25 pounds, but his loss of weight in no way impaired his health. It was four years ago Jan. 13th that George was called into service with Madison's National Guard Company along with Capt. "Les" Weissmiller, now a lieutenant colonel serving as executive officer of Deshon Gen. Hosp., Butler, Pa. George leaves Jan. 28th to spend 7 to 14 days at a rehabilitation camp at Hot Springs, Ark., to receive a new assignment after he departs from there. His brother, Jack, is attending officers' training school in New Orleans. The Wittwer boys are cousins of Sgt. C. J. Dick, the new Prince of Wales, who is with the 348th Station Hospital near Cardiff; Lt. Leon Babler, navigator on a Flying Fortress stationed Somewhere in England, and Art and Carl Babler, Somewhere in the Pacific.


When "Bob" Amans wrote The Drizzler-the letter was a long time getting here-he was on the high seas bound for Sydney, Australia, for a little fun and relaxation. "Bob", a veteran of many Pacific Island battles, had just been promoted to first lieutenant. He is now in his 35th month overseas and hopes to get back home by Christmas. Here's hoping your hopes come true, lieutenant. . . Incidentally, Bob, here's a letter from none other than Tommy (the Tonsorialist) Brusveen, then Somewhere in Belgium, who uses The Drizzle to send his heartiest congratulations to you for the fine job you've been doing out there. Tommy has seen much of France, Luxemburg, and Belgium. He says he used to be skeptical about the stories of German atrocities in the last war, but now he has seen and heard enough with his own eyes and ears to know that these stories revealed only half of the sordid record of Germany's fiendish and revolting brutality. Tommy says he is going to send The Drizzler a nice war souvenir, for which I shall be deeply grateful. I'll be looking for it, Tommy, and many thanks for your thoughtfulness. . . Here's some more "Bob Blumerisms" right from the ol' Sage of the Siegfried Line: "I don't know why the Germans keep on fighting because they haven't any more chance of winning this war than a snowball has of freezing in hell." . "I've seen Gen. DeGaulle and heard him speak and he's quite a guy. The French are strong for him." . "Say, there's a drink over here called 'Calvados.' Well, some chap from a tank outfit put some of it in the radiator of his tank, then tested it, and it showed good for 35 below zero. It's liquid TNT, alright. The Yanks drink the bloody stuff, too. I've had some myself, and boy!, it's wicked, and how!" . "Well, Deppeler's O.K. Talked to him about a half hour ago. Johnny Blumer's in England, not wounded, but probably all thru with combat. I hope so because it's no picnic." . "Bob," who recently stepped up from private first class to sergeant, is with the 11th Infantry Regiment of the 5th Division which has been storming the tough Ratzi fortresses around Metz. He tells of having previously seen some of the beautiful French scenes pictured recently in LIFE.


For weeks Lt. Howie Steinmann, stationed Somewhere with the Marines in the Hawaiian Islands, had been looking forward happily to the arrival of an heir in Monroe where his wife, the former Gladys Bayrhoffer, is staying during his service overseas. In letters to The Drizzler, he always included a few personal lines about the impending blessed event, lines which seemed to throb with the great pride and joy with which he contemplated the little tike's arrival.

In his last letter, dated Nov. 22, Howie said, in part, "Well, Roz, soon I will be a proud father. Probably I am already, for all I know." And Howie was so anxious to receive the happy news that he had instructed his dad, Jack Steinmann, not only to cable him when the little shaver did get here, but also to send the glad tidings by telephone, airmail, and any other possible means so that he would be sure to receive the message one way or another.

Finally, on Nov. 27, the long and anxiously awaited cablegram did arrive. With the nervous but happy expectancy of a prospective father, Howie opened it. His joy quickly turned to grief, however, and his eyes filled with tears as he read the message.

It told of the sudden and unexpected death of his father, who was found dead in bed in his home here on the afternoon of Nov. 25th, the victim of a heart attack.

Two days after the receipt of the cablegram, on Nov. 29th, Howie drove 65 miles in a jeep to the largest city on the island to place a telephone call more than 3,000 miles away to his home here in Monticello. At 5 p.m., the call came through and for ten minutes he talked to his mother and brother, Lt. John, who had been called here from Fort Belvoir, Va. Howie had been hoping against hope that there had been some mistake about the cablegram, but of course there wasn't. His grief was made more bearable, however, when his mother and John told him the glad news that he had become the father of a dandy little baby boy early in the morning on that very same day.

The tragic news of his father's death, dropping like a bombshell in the midst of his joyful anticipation, must have been a crushing blow to Howie. And it was a great shock to all of us here at home because Jack Steinmann was the type of progressive, civic-minded individual which any community could ill afford to lose. He was one of those rare, exhilarating characters with an air of magnetic friendliness about him and always with a cheerful or humorous quip on his lips. In his chosen profession, the field of architecture, his unusual natural talent and dynamic energy had brought him outstanding success. Jack was intensely proud of his workmanship and it was this intense pride which drove him on searching his mind for original and unique designs, designs that won substantial building contracts in surrounding communities and in such cities as Madison and Dubuque.

Many were the long and delightful hours which The Drizzler spent with Jack Steinmann, and in his passing, I have lost a close, loyal, and genuine friend. Those of us who knew him intimately know of the many times he had given financial aid to friends in distress. And this was nothing unusual for him because Jack and generosity were synonymous.

The passing weeks have already emphasized the immeasurable contributions which Jack Steinmann made to the progress of this community in his professional capacity, just as they clearly reflect the irreparable loss which his untimely death has inflicted upon it.


Signing his letter as "The Voice of the South," Lt. "Bo" Woelffer, the ol' Texas Tantalizer, complains that he didn't get the last issue of The Drizzle which included mention of one of his more recent excursions into the realm of romance. Did you get the second copy, lieutenant? And , say, why don't you just call yourself "the Voice" and give us a sample of Sinatra. Go right ahead and warble, "Bo." I'm listening-with my ears plugged full of cotton. . . "The Drizzle really is super!" says Frederick Voegeli, with the naval hospital corps at Bremerton, Wash., "It's the cream of the crop when it comes to a servicemen's paper." (Thanks, Frederick) "I like the duty here in the hospital. The schedules are very demanding, but that's the only way a corpsman can become proficient. The Bremerton Naval Yard is the largest on the coast, second only to Brooklyn in the nation. Plenty of large ships always in for repairs. Went aboard a carrier to look at its battle scars." . . Erv Spring and Fritz Haldiman, those two surging sergeants, who lolled amid the luxuries (?) of the gloomy, desolate Aleutian Islands for approximately two years, are now at Camp Callan, Calif., only 12 miles from San Diego. According to the honorable Erv, they can see the Pacific ocean from their barracks' window.


All right then, men, I'm off! What's that, Whitey Hill? You say you've known it all the time. That'll be enough of your wisecracks for now, but let's have a lot of your old, delightful blarney for the next issue. Whitey is still hospitalized in England recovering from an operation to join the ends of the main nerve of his left thigh severed by a shrapnel fragment Oct. 13 while serving with Patton's army. It must have been quite an operation because the incision is 12 inches long and required 37 stitches. Say, Whitey, how many sets of instruments did the surgeon ruin carving into that tough hide of yours? Whitey's slated for return to the states for hospitalization at any time and he says it's anybody's guess as to the success of his operation. Well, we're all pulling for you, you old rascal-and mighty hard, too! . . . Before the Germaniacs launched their big counter-push, "Boob" Kissling was Somewhere in Belgium, living in a barn which he described as better than living on the ground. "Boob" was greatly interested in Kenny Holcomb's story in the October Drizzle and hints he is in the locality where Kenny parachuted to safety. Tommy Brusveen, by the way, was of the same opinion so he and "Boob" may have been quite close together and unaware of it. "Kiss" inquires about Wallie Barlow and slyly insinuates that the navy pilot is by no means the commanding officer of his own household. Okay, "Boob," here's a little information about Wallie: He is now in the Naval Air Transport Service with headquarters at the Naval Air Station, Patuxent River, Md., near Washington. NATS is the world's largest airline with daily service to many key points of the war fronts. Its planes girdle the globe, flying a million miles and carrying two million pounds of cargo every month. NATS pilots are selected on the basis of temperamental fitness for the long unadventurous flights often required of them. Steady hands and cool heads are absolute essentials. The Atlantic Wing, to which Wallie is assigned, has many different routes, among them from Patuxent to such distant countries as Bermuda, Brazil, and Africa. The local pilot recently flew from Patuxent to Miami and will undoubtedly be making one of the longer hops before long if he hasn't already. . . Henry Zentner, who enlisted in the Merchant Marines some months ago, has crossed the equator six times and was in the first convoy to reach the Philippines after the invasion. "We were there almost (censored) weeks and saw some action. There were no direct attacks on our own ship, but a Jap suicide plane crashed into a (censored) next to us." He also reports having had a ringside seat at the "Big Show" and having seen a "Jap plane shot down last night." Henry is a brother of Walt Zentner, USN, who was home on leave last summer after many months in Australia aboard a submarine tender. . . Lt. Ray (Burn-'Em-Up) Burns has been transferred from Corsica to France where his outfit, the Twelfth Air Force Marauders, were given top billing as the world's best medium bomber group. He is now "up in front" as lead bombardier, dropping "eggs" on Ratzi war plants. Credited with nearly 45 missions, Burnsey is now attending university French classes three nights a week, learning the language. If you ask me, Ray, "she" must be a pretty nifty little looker to give you all of that inspiration. . . Sgt. W. James Murphy, the Baron of Barkeley, Texas, says it was a Wave, not a WAC that he met on the train enroute back to camp and that she's still writing to him. States Warren: "She recently recovered from pneumonia and says she has a surprise for me which she made under the oxygen tent. What could that be?" Darned if I know, W. J., but it certainly looks like love to me. What do you think, fellows? I know James will be delighted with your opinions-or won't he? . . Air Cadet Roger Klassy is now at Iowa Pre-Flight, transferring there from California. The dorms are swell and the food fit for kings. A day's schedule includes 3 hours of physical training, 6 of classes, 1 of swimming, and 1 ½ hours of evening study. . . Hilmer Gordon, still on a Pacific Island inhabited by Head Hunters, is temporarily disabled with an infected hand and knee, now gets plenty of bunk fatigue and how he loves it! Sleeps 15 hours a day! . . Pvt. Karl Freitag, inducted into the services June 19, landed in France with his infantry outfit Dec. 14. That's really moving, isn't it, gentlemen? . . Rev. A. R. Achtemeier, whose monthly letters of news and religious thought and prayer must bring all of you all kinds of cheer and comfort, broke his left leg in four places just above the ankle when he slipped and fell on an icy Madison street Friday. Surely a tough "break" in more ways than one. Confined to the Methodist Hospital, the pastor is expected to be brought home this week. I know I speak for all Drizzle readers, Rev. Achtemeier, in wishing you a very speedy and completely successful recovery! . . S/Sgt. Wilbert Marty's in the army hospital at Sioux Falls with a wrenched back and 'out-of-line" vertebrae suffered playing basketball at Rapid City Air Base. "All I do is eat, sleep, read, and write-and watch the nurses go by," he says. (A lot nicer than watching the Fords go by, isn't it, Sarge, but quit your kiddin' and admit the gals stop at your "station" on all trips.) "Anyway," continues the ol' tail gunner, "As Heart-Throb' Woelffer would probably say, "God bless the women-I love 'em all." (Ah, at long last, someone gives "Bo, the ol' Romeo," credit for all of his brave and extensive pioneering in the treacherous field of feminine impartiality. A very noble gesture, Wilbert). . . T/5 Harry Schuerch's back in Temple, Texas, after a furlough at home. It surely was swell seeing you again, Harry! . . Herman (Shy) Theiler, on the post office staff at Banana River (Fla.) NAS, thinks he may take a boat ride soon. Had hoped to get to Monticello last fall, but unforeseen circumstances altered his plans. . . Capt. Hoppe Babler, the wizard of the ivory balls, is at Kelly Field, Texas. . . Lt. "Harv" Trumpy's at Las Vegas, Nev. . . A dandy letter from Pvt. Fritz Marty, formerly of Monticello but in recent years of California, Somewhere in Holland with the 566 Amb. Mtr. Co., hauling wounded from just behind the front lines in Germany back to evacuation hospitals. His brother, David, is with U. S. forces in England. . More about Fritzie in the next issue. . Sgt. Wilbert Wild, a ship's gunner with the 35th Transportation Corps, has been in the Southwest Pacific since early '42. Wilbert's married to an Australian girl and they're parents of a baby boy, born July 18. Wilbert is at sea much of the time. . . T/Sgt. Kenny Holcomb, now with the Air Transport Command at Romulus (Mich.) Air Base as flight radio operator on domestic and foreign ferry service. The ATC is very similar to the NATS with which Wallie is affiliated. Both services are engaged primarily in flying priority cargo and passengers to all parts of the U.S.A. and the world and bringing the disabled and returnees back to the states from the battle fronts. Kenny himself flew back to New York from England via ATC after his spectacular escape from the Ratzi Gestapo. He had a big thrill the other night when Sgt. Spence, with whom he shared his thrilling experiences in Belgium and whose home is in Detroit only 20 miles from Romulus, visited him. Sgt. Spence was home on furlough from Miami Beach where he has been in a hospital resting because his nerves were pretty well shattered upon his arrival in the states. Kenny hopes for assignment to domestic ferrying service so he can be closer to that swell little miss with whom the Holcombs were blessed shortly before Christmas


To these Drizzle donors: C. "Slim" Freitag, Villa Park, Ill.; C. W. Loveland, Art Miller; Mr. and Mrs. Wm. Lemon, Monroe; Sylvia Breylinger, Casper Zentner, Frank Loveland, Mr. and Mrs. Edw. Schlittler, Walter Schlittler, Jake Voegeli, Jake Kopp, Edw. Wittwer, P. J. Klassy, H. C. Elmer, the late Glenn Zimmerman, Clarence Itten, C. Schmid, Zeller, Elm Freitag, Jake Burgy, Fred Moser, Mrs. E. Frehner, A. Kistler, Mrs. Edna Schuler, Walt Voegeli, Ruth Abley, C. M. Stauffer, L. Krauer, Dr. Clarke, Mrs. A. Aeberhard, F. C. Karlen, Mrs. Thos. Brusveen, Frank Pierce, Fannie G. Benkert, Mrs. Thos. Voegeli, Mrs. John Dooley, Dr. Horne, Joe Voegeli, Mrs. J. Daubert, John Keefe, Edna Babler; Edwin Steussy, Madison; Bernice Kingdon, Monroe; J. H. Disch, Earl Sarbacker, W. Gerber, F. X. Karlen, Fred Stauffer, W. F. Hoesly, Fred Hefty, A Friend, Ray Gessler, Fred Studer, R. Holcomb, Jr., F. W. Schuler, Madison; Ann Hammerly, Los Angeles; Mrs. Albert Moritz, Rudy Switz, Mrs. H. Krueger, Mrs. Fred Baumgartner, Frederick Strahm, Fred Karlen, Jr., Harry Klassy, Ed Gempeler, Alfred Wettach, Waldo Zimmerman.


Looks to me as if Dr. Fred Hammerly, the Hollywood obstetrical wizard, is now the stork's right hand man. In December Fred had a mere 50 deliveries-six of them within 12 hours! What do you do with all your spare time, Doc? And, say, did you get my letter? . . Another dee-lightful visit with that gay and dynamic citizen of the Windy City suburbs, C. "Slim" Freitag. He's a sparkling conversationalist and time always flies way too fast when he's around. Remember me to your family-and your folks, too, Slim. Just In: A letter from "Bob" Blumer, dated Dec. 30: "Spent Christmas Eve in a foxhole, then our outfit captured a town the next day. Ate Xmas dinner yesterday while dodging fire from German artillery. Didn't mind it so much 'cause I'm used to it. Such is life in the front lines." . . Otto H. Babler, widely known local dog fancier and owner of that internationally famous canine aristocrat, "Sir Smokie the Smudge," is unreliably reported to have turned thumbs down on an offer of a cool $500 for his prize piece of dog flesh. O. H. held out for $501 and the deal was off! . . Thus winds up another Drizzle. I'll be seein' all of you again in February. "Til then, the very best of the best of luck!

 The Monticello Drizzle, created for the Monticello Area Historical Society
by Roger and Madeleine Dooley.
A softcover copy can be purchased by contacting
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