Wondering about the family's status, and plans for after the Army

After the hoopla of Christmas, Maj. Gillham comes down with a cold (from watching the football game, I'm guessing) and he begins some introspection on the future of the Gillham family.  What's more, he's still not even aware of the fate of his family on its trek eastward.  From our current perspective it is hard to imagine such primitive communications, and I can only imagine what sort of a nagging worry it was for him not knowing whether the family made it home safely to Atlanta.

Tokyo
28 Dec 1945

Dearest Lovely,

I have an old cold -- the first I have had in a long time.  So I am staying in and trying to get rid of it.

The worst thing that has happened to me lately is that I haven't had a letter from you in a long time.  I know you were busy during the last days at Robles, but just a line would help a great deal.  Now that you are (or were) traveling, it is the time that I am the most anxious about you.  I feel so hopeless and helpless when I can't hear from you.  The last letter I got was sent 10 Dec.  Since then I have received one from Dan from Cambridge, Mass., dated 15 Dec. and one from Clark Gillham from Knoxville dated 17 Dec.  So the mails seem to coming through O.K.

It takes us so long to exchange an idea that I guess we had best start talking now about what to do when I get out of the Army.  It looks now like I will get away from here about May 1st.  That should give me time to get back to the states and get discharged by June 1st.  If the children are out of school then, I would like for us to go somewhere and take a two or three week vacation and then go back to work.  I guess I will go back with Southern Bell unless something turns up to change my mind.  I don't know yet what separation center I would go through, but normally you go directly to the one nearest your home and start terminal leave from there.  If you would like to work it some other way, such as meeting me in California, let me know and I will see if I can work it.  I don't imagine it would be wise to get the furniture out at this stage of the game.  It would only be for a few months before we would have it all to do over again.  I think the goverment will ship it for me when I am discharged, and it is all crated now.

As it is now I don't even know if Father got out to drive back with you.

We got an issue today of a tooth brush, tooth paste, Barbasol, razor blades, and soap, but no cigarettes.  I am always short of cigarettes, so if you could send me about four cartons and some film No. 120 it would help out.  The Christmas packages coming in here now are terribly beat up, so pack them well.  That is about all I can think of that I need.  If it isn't too heavy, 1st class mail is a good idea.

I love you, my darling and certainly hope you are all right,

Love to all,

Bill


[Note for the post office on separate sheet]

P.S.
Tokyo
28 Dec 1945

Dear Frances,

Please send me those heavy socks, some film, some food and some reading matter.  You know what I would like in that line.

Thanks,

Bill

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Frances' brother, Dan Holsenbeck, was attending Harvard at the time, which explains the reference to a letter from Cambridge.  Clark Gillham was a distant relative of our Gillhams that Maj. Gillham found listed in the phone book while they were living in Knoxville in 1934-36.  Clark and his wife, Tot, had by now become good friends of the Gillhams, and they remained so throughout Maj. Gillham's life.

Maj. Gillham mentions his government-issue toiletries, including Barbasol, which is a well-known shaving cream.  Barbasol was developed by an MIT professor who was trying to come up with a shaving cream that didn't require lathering.  The product was first produced and marketed in Indianapolis in 1920, and soon it was selling nationwide.  The original Barbasol (and most likely the product that Maj. Gillham was issued) came in a tube, unlike the common aerosol cans we know today.

The "No. 120" film that Maj. Gillham requests was the standard size film for the old Brownie cameras developed by Kodak for amateur use in 1901.  The 120 film was 6cm wide (or 60mm, nearly twice as wide as the later 35mm standard) and contained roughly 16-18 exposures.  This was replaced in 1965 by the 220, which doubled the number of exposures.

I haven't been able to find anything definitive regarding the necessity of request letters from soldiers for shipping items overseas, but I am assuming it was a practice like many others during wartime designed to make sure that all actions were necessary and that no resources were being used frivolously.

Working on MacArthur's first report to Washington, and a trip to a geisha house

This next letter was written four days after the last one, which is an uncharacteristically long interval.  He does mention that he is having to work hard to produce the first major report to Washington, and that he has been writing "into a void," with no letters from home since he left San Francisco, which must make it difficult to keep up the semblance of a correspondence.

This is also the first letter where Maj. Gillham uses new air mail stationery that he must have purchased at the PX.  It has horizontal red stripes on the top and bottom borders, with a stylized sketch of an airplane circling a blue globe centered at the top.  The words "Air Mail" run along the base of the globe.  I will scan an example of this as soon as I can.

Tokyo, Japan
14 Nov 1945

Dearest Darling,

I haven't heard from you yet, but don't give up -- just keep on writing and the letters will start coming through before long.  From all I can hear, I imagine you are getting my letters in about 10 days.  I hope so, for I have been writing into a void for some time now.  Everyone has the same trouble at first, but as soon as mail starts coming to the new APO it comes all right.

I haven't had any time off since I have been in Tokyo, as we have been working pretty hard trying to get out MacArthur's first official, complete report on the occupation for Washington.  Today I went down to the Civil Communications Section scouting for a job and found the head of the Wire Communications branch to be a Lt. Col. Jacobs, a Southern Bell man who was construction supt. in Georgia.  He is going to try to get me into that section if he can work it.

I got my laundry back tonight and it was beautifully done in three days and only Y4.20 or less than 30 cents.  It had my room number sewn into each piece with red thread in Japanese numerals:  roku roku ku, or 669.  I also had a pair of new pants shortened for Y4.50 by a tailor downstairs who did a fine job.  Such services are very reasonable here -- it is only goods, especially food and anything that can be used as souvenirs, that are sky high.  As I get a chance, I am trying to get a few little presents for you all, but I am afraid you had better not count on them for Christmas.  So will you get everybody Christmas presents for me?  I will get these things off as soon as I can, but the mails are so burdened with Jap rifles, etc., that are being sent home that I am afraid it will be January before it arrives.  I got Pop a little brass pipe type cigarette holder like the Japs use.

Last night several of us went over to a "Tokyo Officers Club" run by some Japs.  It is a cross between a pub and a Geisha house.  We took our own beer since they can't get any, and for a cover charge of Y10 we were entertained all evening by the various "hostesses."  Some wore Japanese dress and some Western style clothes.  All our conversation was in Japanese, and we found it to be an excellent way to practice Japanese.  That is really the whole story and all there is to it.

Every night the little floor boy comes down to my room and turns the cover down for me.  And did I tell you we have an excellent orchestra that plays for us at supper?  It's a tough life.  In fact there is a sign in the lobby reading, "It's Hell, Ain't It?"  With it all, I am already anxious to come home, and will do so at the first opportunity.

Lots of love,

Bill

****************

Judging from Maj. Gillham's short description, the "Tokyo Officers Club" he writes about was probably not a traditional geisha house and was likely something set up just for American soldiers.  The geisha culture is very rigorous and structured and would certainly not be mixed with women in Western dress.

Traditionally, geisha start their training at a very early age and decide then to make it their life's vocation.  They are trained in dance, voice, literature, oration and what could be called hospitality -- serving food, pouring drinks, lighting cigars, making tea, etc.  All geisha are single and once they marry they must give up the profession.  The tradition got its start in 17th-century Kyoto, where men were the original geisha.  Women accompanied them and soon outnumbered them.  The okiya, or geisha houses, were very well respected and visited by the well-to-do.  The two kanjis, or Japanese symbols, comprising the word geisha mean literally "art performer," and a geisha's primary job is to entertain with dancing, singing and recitation.

Unfortunately, the international reputation of the geisha took a big hit after WWII when prostitutes in Tokyo began dressing like geisha for the soldiers, who didn't know the difference.   Soon the term "geisha girl" (mispronounced "geesha" instead of "gaysha") became synonymous with streetwalkers.  This is still a common misconception among Westerners.

The geisha today are very rare and usually cater only to foreign tourists.  It is estimated that there are only 2,000 geisha in all of Japan, most of them based in the spa resort of Atami, just south of Tokyo on the Pacific coast.

The decline of the geisha can be traced to Japan's general lack of interest in historical preservation, which is very different from attitudes in the West.  The Japanese embrace the new like no other country, and entire sections of Tokyo are routinely bulldozed and rebuilt into shiny glass-and-steel caverns without so much as a whimper of protest.  Anything of historical significance, such as temples, museums, and the geisha culture are generally sustained by foreign tourists.

Traditional geisha costume with ornate hairstyle,

face paint, kimono and high-soled shoes

Back view of a geisha, showing strips of unpainted nape, which act as a

sort of tease, like low-cut dresses in the West