At 5 feet 7 inches tall and 110 pounds, Fred Plummer was 17 when he headed off to military training camp in 1938. Just over a year later, he enlisted in the Navy, where his ship, the USS Peary, was bombed and sunk in Darwin Bay, Australia, in February 1942.

“Despite the fact that we were extremely close, the war was seldom mentioned,” said his daughter, Stephanie Tartaglia, 71.

Fred died from colon cancer in 1978 at age 57, leaving an enormous hole in Stephanie’s heart.

Windows to his soul

Stephanie’s grandmother died in 1989, but it wasn’t until almost a decade later that Janis, Fred’s half-sister and Stephanie’s aunt, came across a treasure trove of letters while cleaning out her mother’s house. They were letters he had written home during the war.

Stephanie’s mother was facing early stages of dementia, so Janis passed these letters on to Stephanie, along with a heartfelt letter she wrote about the day her brother left for war.

Though I was in the first grade when the war started, I remember well the events that took place—loved ones leaving home, lives changed forever. I’ll never forget the day Fred left, walking down the street away from the house to the depot to leave. Mother and I stood in the living room and watched him walk out of sight and then had a good cry. He was just so young and such a small fellow. He undoubtedly had real fears even then of what he was getting into… The day he came back to Earle [Arkansas] on the train, I think everyone was at the depot to greet him—never saw such a crowd. Fred came back a changed person, changed by mental and physical suffering—I’m sure it happens to all.

For Stephanie, reading her father’s letters opened a window to his soul.

“Getting these letters was pretty overwhelming and made me miss him terribly,” she said. “Without these letters, I would never have the insight and connection with my dad that I do now.”

Lifelines over sea

Letters were a sailor’s lifeline between home and sea. Shortly after he joined the military, the American Red Cross Field Director wrote Fred's mother about their impact.

It is of the greatest importance that he receive frequent and cheerful letters from home, as he is now in the process of readjustment to an efficient man-of-wars man. Letters also tend to make homesickness less acute.

Through her father’s letters, Stephanie learned about his sense of responsibility he had to his family. The letters ended the same selfless way:

Don’t worry about me because I am just fine and hope everyone else at home is. Tell everyone to write!

Fred scrimped on his modest monthly income of $36 per month so he could send $5 home as often as possible. A year’s worth of clothes cost him $4.70, laundry was 50 cents per month and a stamp was three cents.

He beefed up on Navy food and quickly put on 20 pounds. He said he was seeing the world. He talked about the friends he was making and the crew’s spirits.

I am listening to Bing Crosby. He is talking about patriotism and singing, ‘[You’re] a Grand Old Flag.’ You should see the sailors listening in rapt attention.

Stephanie’s dad gave her a glimpse of life on a Navy ship. Quarters were small, as he shared the 16-by-16-feet space with 21 other men.

Yea, living on a ship is swell. I sleep with my head about six inches below the same table I eat on. Take a bath in a two-gallon bucket in a bathroom with about 800 other sailors. Boy, it’s fun! I really do like the Navy though.

But the tone of the letters began to change around 1940 as the men prepared for war.

For two days now we have stood condition II watches, four hours on and four off. Condition II is set when we are expecting a battle. We have changed battle stations and I am now in the magazine. In time of war, I and three others would be locked in, and if a shell hit, well that’s something else. Everyone on board is expecting war any minute so don’t be surprised if you should hear it, too. We have shell and powder hoists loaded with service ammunition and that has never been done before in peacetime.

“He kept the family informed about the type of work he was doing, which I find highly commendable,” Stephanie said.

Thanksgiving Day, 1940; I went to a prayer service this morning. More of a pep talk than anything else. Something is bound to happen. I, and everyone else here can sense it in the air. When it comes, may the Lord help us, for we’ll need it. I am thankful today for many things— a mother like you, brothers like Carrol and Norman, and the way Janis loves me.

As time went on, he began complaining about the food. Letters from home were received less frequently and homesickness was greater. Post-Pearl Harbor letters came home censored.

After his ship was attacked on February 19, 1942, wires home listed him as missing. It wasn’t until more than two months later that his mother received a letter from a nurse caring for him, letting her know he was alive.

He incurred second- and third-degree burns on over 70 percent of his body and lost most of his right ear. Six months after being honorably discharged, Fred married Reba, the love of his life, in March 1943. Stephanie was born two years later.

Love conquers all

Stephanie arranged her father’s letters chronologically in a notebook. Many were missing dates or envelopes, so organizing them was an ongoing project.

After Reba’s death in 2007, Stephanie came across some post-war letters from her father, which she also added to her notebook. Her father’s words in one particular love letter to her mother made a lasting impression.

“To express his love the way he did—to think that he’s this man so in love with my mom,” she said. “How at 21 years of age could he write [this] letter when most men that age are still boys?"

The letter was written to his bride three weeks after their wedding.

My Darling Reba,

This is my first attempt at writing such a letter because I have never been in love before. I love you is a well-worn phrase I know, but it is the only way I know to convey my feelings for you.

You are the fine and beautiful things of the earth gathered together into me. The simple things I mean, the true things. Seeing dew on a rose reminds me of your kiss, the good black earth full of grain and cotton that smells so fresh reminds me of holding you and drawing you close to me. To see you talk and laugh and hear you is like hearing good music played by the peerage of musicians.

You are a combination of the nicest and finest things in the world. The best part is that you grow better everyday. ‘I love you’ is still the best way of saying I want to be near you and with you always.

As Ever, With all my love, Fred.