Dot was an avid correspondent with the neighborhood boys who had joined the service. Her letters do not survive, although occasionally she retained drafts of what she planned to write. Particularly memorable and amusing was what she composed in response to a letter she received from Jimmy W. Horton, who wrote on January 6, 1943 (password required) about his trip west to Hill Field in Ogden, Utah after completing training as an Engine Mechanic at the Rotunda Barracks adjacent to the Ford Motor Company factory in Dearborn, Michigan.

Dot saved this draft, written in pencil on construction paper, in the envelope of the letter. Year later, she copied it out in ink; I remember her pride at her clever and whimsical writing.

“After reading your noble treatise on the scenic grandeur of the U.S., I decided to give you the benefit of the knowledge I have gained in my travels from Richmond Hill to the great metropolis. I set out on my journey before the sun has returned from its sojourn in the West and while the gray mist is still hovering anxiously over the roofs & the church spires. As the the train pulls into the station I stand waiting for the exact moment when I shall spring forward, fearing lest I shall have to stand during the long ride. For with repetition I have learned that I can best appreciate the singular attractiveness of this trip while seated. As we go along the sun begins to rise, forcing the mist to flee in dismay. Soon we round the turn of Chestnut Street & the gorgeous high arched dome of the sky has spread out for all to admire. That’s one thing you have to say for Nature. She is never selfish with her charms. After 15 more minutes of floating through space we are suddenly plunged into a deep cavern and the light & beauty of the earth is hidden from our view. And so we roar through the very center of the world, until at last Union Square is reached. (Shades of Russia!) Then a hurried transfer to another train & a swift ride to 57 St. With a sigh of relief I hurry into the street and breathe in the crisp, cold air of N.Y. I also get a few cinders in my eye, but these are man-made disturbances and as such should not be charged against Nature. Unless I go deep into the subject & say Man is related to Nature & so in a mysterious way are cinders. However we won’t quibble. Suffice it to say that after whirling quickly through the streets in a taxi I at last arrive at my destination. Just read the letter backwards & you’ll see how I get home. Except the sun is setting & not rising.” — Dorothy M. Figueroa

I think it’s worth quoting a bit of Private Horton’s letter, which is interesting in its own right, and very much in the style of old travel guides. (To respect copyright, the letters are restricted by password.)

“Hill Field lies halfway between Ogden and Salt Lake City. One side, the West is bordered by the beautiful Great Salt Lake, while the other three sides are hemmed in by towering snow capped mountains. These mountains belong to the Sawtooth Range, I believe.

The field is approximately 4800 feet above sea level, while the mountains rise up another 4000 feet. The air is clear, warm during the day and cold at night while the scenery and setting is truly beautiful. Really “the heart of the Golden West.”

The train ride was long and in that sense boring, but actually was an extremely interesting trip.

We left Chicago on Sunday morning at 10 AM, after spending Saturday night on a Pullman. Chicago and North Western Railway carried us as far as Omaha. Where the Union Pacific took over.

Sunday afternoon I made my first crossing of the “mighty” Mississippi. It was a bleak and foreboding ice choked river. Then came the Corn Belt. Easy rolling country, looking bleak and deserted on a cold January day, stretched for miles.

Monday morning we awaked to find ourselves in what is the wheat country. The roll disappeared and I don’t believe there was a bump in the terrain. These were the prairies & old Buffalo country.

Then came the foothills. They rise suddenly, and the strangest feeling comes after passing the first hill. Around you, in front and to the sides are hills gradually graduating into mountains while looking back through the pass lies the Prairie. The only thing that stops the view is the horizon.

These foothills turned to the high rolling plateaus that formed the cow country. History certainly remembers the stories of this country. Cheyenne and Laramie were on the list of stops here. Two wide open towns, 40 years ago.

This itinerary is the famous Union Pacific Trail that carried many a wagon train years ago.

Then came the Rockies. Words cannot describe them. They must be seen to be appreciated. Towering snow capped mountains, hovering in the clouds.” — James W. Horton