Archive for January, 2017


January 30, 2017

I continued to delve into the treasures of the trunk. Besides the myriad of letters, I unearthed a note sent to Mom from Dad. I could have picked it out as his from a hundred notes. “Happy Birthday, darling, to the best wife I have.” Dry wit from a man who would remain happily married for over fifty years.

There were postcards and war rations and a few things I won’t post for fear of having the items misunderstood: a propaganda pamphlet in appalling English, with Goebbles; Nazi stationery neither of my parents could bring themselves to write on.

I recognized one postcard from Dad’s longtime buddy, Bob Balfour, who served with Admiral Halsey. The card was sent from the U.S.S. Missouri, postmarked Sept. 6, 1945, just after Japan surrendered. Aboard (besides Balfour), were high ranking admirals and generals from China, the Soviet Union, Great Britain, Australia, New Zealand, France, the Netherlands, and, of course, Japan. General of the Army, Douglas MacArthur, stood before an array of microphones and declared before the world the hope of mankind that a better world would arise out of the blood and carnage of the past–“… a world founded upon faith and understanding, a world dedicated to the dignity of man and the fulfillment of his most cherished wish for freedom, tolerance, and justice.”



January 26, 2017


My parents had never mentioned their medals or what they did in World War II to merit medals. Yet when I delved into the trunk, I unearthed small blue boxes of medals, suggesting stories I hadn’t heard . . . yet.

I could guess what some of the medals represented. The black, red, and white medal that said “Germany” at the top had to be Dad’s. I knew he had joined a battlefield unit that pushed into Germany. I knew, as an Army doctor, he had set up a battalion aid unit in Germany toward the end of the fighting. But what about the medal with bars that read: Marksman, Carbine, Rifle, Submachine? Or the one with soldiers on front and a very large bird on the back? Was that my mother’s? I loved the medal that read: Freedom from Fear and Want, Freedom of Speech and Religion. And a Purple Heart. That one surprised me, though I had a good idea where it came from.

I knew I would never know the whole story of each medal, not until I’d read every letter in that Army trunk.



January 24, 2017

On my knees in front of the open trunk, I stared at the stacks and stacks of letters, most written while both of my parents served overseas A few of the letters had been penned from the States, as they waited in different staging areas of the country. I picked the nearest stack and carefully wriggled one letter from the boot strings. The envelope said it was from Lt. Helen Eberhart to Lt. Frank Daley. My hands shook as I lifted out the letter are began reading.

One sentence (“I miss you so much, my darling.”), and I had to return the letter to its envelop, into its stack, its home for over 70 years. I couldn’t hear those voices–not yet.

Fortunately, there were other treasures in that chest, discoveries that intrigued me, rather than sent me into tears. Each soldier had been given a Bible, and President Roosevelt sent a letter to each soldier. In case you don’t have “eagle eyes” (an expression Dad used frequently), here’s what it says on that Bible page:


As Commander-in-Chief I take pleasure in commending the reading of the Bible to all who serve in the armed forces of the United States. Throughout the centuries men of many faiths and diverse origins have found in the Sacred Book words of wisdom, counsel, and inspiration. It is a fountain of strength and now, as always, an aid in attaining the highest experiences of the human soul.

Very sincerely yours, Franklin D. Roosevelt

And yet, there were even more intriguing artifacts to discover in the old, but enduring Army trunk….


January 21, 2017


I’d waited so long to open the mysterious Army trunk from my parents’ attic that a part of me was afraid to open it. I’d imagined where it had been–England, France, Germany, on a ship bound for China, Burma, or India. One of the rusty locks was broken. Another hung loose. With a breath and a prayer, I lifted the lid.

Inside were letters–so many letters they were in danger of overflowing. Airmails and V-mails, stationery and telegrams, cards and postcards. Packs and stacks of letters tied in boot strings, untouched since 1945. Here was my parents’ story in hundreds of letters. They’d written each other 2-3 times a day while caring for wounded soldiers, prisoners of war, and survivors of concentration camps.

I fingered the letters and grew more and more determined. I had to write their story. What I didn’t know was how long it would take me.



January 19, 2017


This is me angry. And young.

Why oh why did I promise my dad that I wouldn’t open that Army trunk? I dusted it. I sat on it. I ran my fingers over the lettering. Yep. Definitely my dad’s Army trunk. And I’d promised him I wouldn’t open it until my mom left this earth to join him in heaven.

For the last 5 years of her life, Mom came to live with us in Ohio. She and Dad had lived in Hamilton, Missouri for over 5 decades in the same house, with the same friends. By an act of her will and her faith, she didn’t look back, except to stay in touch with friends. Instead, she settled in and started a new life in Ohio. And the trunk? Neither of us mentioned it. Never ever. She must have known I had it because she was there when we cleaned out the house, including the attic. And she knew I was reading everything I could about WWII.

One day as we were playing cards I tried to nail a date in 1944, when a certain battle caused the nurses to evacuate. Mom’s recollection didn’t align, and I was getting frustrated. So was she. “That can’t be right,” I said. “F.D.R. was still alive.” Mom slapped down her cards and said, “Well, Dandi, just look in the letters!” A silence fell so hard I could feel it as we stared at each other for what felt like hours. The elephant in the room was standing on the table. After more cold minutes passed, Mom said sweetly, “Anything else?”

As soon as our game ended, guess what I did. Yep. I opened that trunk.


January 16, 2017


When my dad was sick and in the hospital for the last time, he waited until I was alone with him and whispered, “Dandi, I want you to go home and go in the attic and find an old Army trunk. Put it in your car and take it back to Ohio with you.” That sounded tough enough–driving an hour to their home in Hamilton, MO, creeping up to the attic, where I hadn’t ventured in decades, and somehow dragging an Army trunk to my car. But the next request was harder, if not impossible: “Don’t open that trunk. Not until your mom is gone too.”

I did as I was told, though it was one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do. I couldn’t stand not knowing what was inside that old trunk. So when I returned to the hospital, I begged Dad to tell me. Finally, he said, “Letters. We wrote each other 2-3 times a day during the war, when we were both overseas, but in different countries. Your mom is embarrassed by how mushy our letters were and how many secrets they hold. She’d burn those letters, and I wouldn’t want that.”

I kept my promise. And when I finally got to open that trunk, I was amazed at its contents. Stay tuned for the next blog….


January 13, 2017

honeymoon dinner (2)

My publisher is planning an e-book promotional sale of $2.99 for this book. I decided I’d take advantage of that and “rerun” a few posts to pass the time leading up to the sale. Hey–TV does it, right? So, here goes:

Everybody knows war marriages never work out, right? I’ve been trying to think of ways I can share the extraordinary lives of Lt. Helen Eberhart Daley (nurse) and Lt. Frank R. Daley, MD (Dr.), who happen to be my parents and “stars” in the book, With Love, Wherever You Are. They look so young here, with no idea what lay ahead of them. They wanted to serve their country by taking care of its soldiers wherever the Army would send them. They’d only known each other a few weeks before getting married, then being sent to different fronts for the duration of the war, with only their letters to keep them together. And they were only happily married 52 years.



January 10, 2017

When I was a kid, my two favorite words were “‘Member when. . .?” The words came out soft as clouds and steeped in magic, words that could unlock the past and let me in. I was blessed to be born into a family of great storytellers. My mom, Helen Eberhart Daley, had 10 brothers and sisters, who married and gave me dozens of cousins. At our yearly reunion, those words, “‘Member when…?” sparked and fired around the dinner table, ushering in tales of ships crossing the ocean to America, of horse trading and working the land, of love and loss.

And of war. Five of Mom’s brothers fought in WWII, and so did she. That’s where Nurse Helen met the dashing Frank Daley, an Army doctor. I grew up on their true stories of war, sacrifice, and love. March 7th is the release of WITH LOVE, WHEREVER YOU ARE, A Novel based on their amazing true story. It’s a book I’ve been writing since childhood, when I steeped myself in their memories. My hope is that their story would honor them and others like them. I’ll be blogging about the stories behind the story. Hope you stay tuned!

I’m glad that while I could, I pestered my parents for “‘Member whens.” And now, my grandkids are pestering me.



Ellie-Nee book gig