New River, NC
February, 1943
Dear girls,
Well, I won the case at last – got a complete acquittal, in spite of the fact that the Sergeant had made a confession of guilt to the Colonel himself. I claimed, and proved by cross-examination of the prosecution’s witness, that it was an involuntary confession, wrung from the Sergeant by threats and harsh treatment. The case took three hours of testimony and examination of witnesses, and I really had a wonderful time – and the Col. of course, was furious. He called in the senior member of the court, a Major, his executive officer, and read him the riot act. Told him that he had been put on the court to see that “Justice was done” – that he had been hornswaggled by “That God-damned sea-lawyer” and that this was the first case that he (the Col.) had lost in his 26 years in the Marine Corps. And he called in the recorder (a 2nd Looey), who is the prosecutor in a court martial, and told him that he was unfit to wear the Marine Corps uniform because he lost the case.
I learned a Hell of a lot. My biggest thrill of my Marine Corps career was when the Sgt. led me out of the court room, around the corner, put his arms around my shoulders and thanked me with tears in his eyes. It certainly convinced me, if I needed it at all, that Law, and more particularly trial practice, is what I want to do in life.
I thoroughly enjoyed making my final argument too, which was twenty minutes of talk straight from the shoulder, no notes, just planning it as I went.
I got very drunk that night at our regimental bar on the free drinks – the case was the talk of the regiment for a week, and needless to say, I loved it. Major Dolan, Commander of the First Battalion, was tickled pink, told me I was the luckiest man in the outfit, to be in a position to twist that old S.O.B.’s tail.
So I’ve been quite the hero, had a lot of fun, and learned a great deal to boot. The whole thing was very, very satisfactory.
Both of you sound busy as the very devil – which of course is swell – just so long as you don’t run yourselves into the ground. That’s what I like to hear, though.
If busy-ness is the criterion of happy living, I’m certainly happy. I’ve always got work to do, and we are out in the field all day, four or five days a week. March seven or eight miles out, have problems, running up and down the walls of these canyons, and march back again – last week I carried a 45 lb. mortar all the way, and it was a job, I can tell you.
We have a new organization – I have six squads now instead of four, and three mortars and three machine guns, and forty men instead of 28.
I’m going to have to live three lives in order to do all the things I’ve planned – for the first time I’m beginning to realize the myriad possibilities – and as I watch time go by, I realize what they mean by “life is short.” There are so many things – all calculated to make me wise – not by books, but by living and doing – and they all center around my sweetheart.
Love,
Phil
Unfortunately, any corrspondence pertaining to the particulars of this case has been lost. However, the case would be long remembered by the enlisted men, who appreciated Phil's dedication to exonerating one of their own, and by his fellow officers, who nicknamed him "the Legal Eagle" - often shortened to just "Eagle."
Phil fully intended to continue with his legal studies after the War, and had no shortage of plans for the future. However, the fact that he was well and truly in the Corps seems to have started weighing on his mind as 1943 got under way, and his letters begin to take on a more philosophical air. His sweetheart, Anne - nicknamed Rusty - was a fellow Swarthmore student, whom he had met on the train to Freshman Week at their alma mater, and Phil was clearly beginning to plan for a family.