Richard Rosa arrives in a Korea that is no longer at war, but not yet at peace. The early letters carry the disorientation of a new posting—heat, unfamiliar routines, and the first stretch of distance from home.
In these first weeks, daily life is shaped less by conflict than by environment: days of relentless rain, mud that slows everything to a crawl, and tents and bunkers that offer little shelter from the elements. The war may be over, but the conditions remain unpredictable, and even the simplest tasks are affected by weather and terrain.
With little to do but wait, Rosa fills his time reading, writing, and listening to the radio when he can. Mail becomes a central thread—its absence felt sharply, its arrival bringing a rush of connection to home. The letters move between the ordinary and the personal: meals, routines, small frustrations, and questions about family life continuing half a world away.
There is no single defining moment here—only the steady process of adjustment. In these early letters, Rosa is still finding his footing, learning the rhythms of a place where time stretches, and where the distance from home is measured not just in miles, but in days between letters.
July 23, 1954
Letter Pages & Envelope
Notes:
Rosa’s July 23, 1954 letter leans heavily into the monotony and physical discomfort of his early days in Korea, where “nothing to do” coexists with constant environmental strain. The absence of mail is immediately felt and explained away through rumors of delays back home, reinforcing how central that connection already is. What dominates the letter, though, is the weather: relentless rain turning everything into mud, swelling a nearby creek to the point of flooding, and forcing the men into improvised defensive work with sandbags. Living conditions are damp and fragile—a leaking tent, equipment breaking under wind stress, roads nearly impassable—so that even basic shelter feels temporary. His duties continue regardless, with guard shifts and inspections layered on top of exhaustion and poor sleep. The tone is steady but edged with fatigue, shaped by waiting, wet conditions, and the sense that even small improvements—clear weather, dry ground, a letter from home—would carry outsized relief.
Transcript
July 23, 1954
Dear Mom and Dad,
Nothing to do so I thought I’d write again tonight. How is everything going at home. I haven’t received any of your letters for some time now. I hear they have grounded the mail planes in the States, so that is probably the reason.
How is the weather at home? I hope you are having nice summer weather. If you are take advantage of every minute of it. Boy the rain we are having would make anybody very disgusted. I can’t even remember when it started to rain steady, but it must have been over a week now. The last few days it has been pouring instead of just raining too. The creek is, as I told you, only about twenty feet to our rear, and it really raised and started to come over the banks. In fact nearly all the guys are outside right now shoveling it up. They are filling sand bags and making a wall. If it doesn’t stop tonight or tomorrow I’m afraid even that won’t be any help. I hope it stops raining soon that’s all. Everything is wet around here. The tent is all damp. I have a little leak right over me. If I touch it, it will leak more so I’m suffering with it for now. The roads are all muddy. Some of them are washed out. The ones going up to the OP’s are so muddy trucks don’t get up there to them. Oh well, it has to stop sometime.
I have the grave yard shift tonight, it being from 3 to 6. I’ll sleep tomorrow tho. Oh, I almost forgot I might not. We have a full field inspection to lay out tomorrow morning. That won’t take very long tho. This morning I slept all morning until 12:00.
I told you that the tent was about to fall. Well, this morning the wind was blowing pretty good, and the pole broke. We got another one from supply and fixed it. It should hold for awhile.
Well I think I’ll get some sleep so I won’t fall asleep tonight on switch. Write and let me know what is happening back home. Your darling little daughter could also write a letter once in awhile.
Your son,
Dick
July 26, 1954
Letter Pages & Envelope
Notes:
Rosa’s July 26, 1954 letter captures the early rhythm of adjustment, where small comforts and inconveniences take on outsized importance. Mail arrives in a rush—“hitting the jackpot” with eleven letters—and immediately becomes both a source of relief and a new obligation to answer. With little structure yet in place, he fills his time resting, listening to a shared radio, and observing the environment around him. The setting is defined by heat, sudden downpours, and muddy, unpredictable conditions, with weather shaping daily life as much as duty. He notes improvised routines—a makeshift shower, borrowed equipment, limited access to supplies—and the informal economy of camp life, from radios to film and magazines. His requests from home are practical and telling: food, reading material, and small comforts rather than entertainment. At the same time, the letter remains anchored in home—family projects, pets, local news, and the health of relatives—revealing how closely he measures his experience abroad against the familiar rhythms he has left behind.
Transcript
July 26, 1954
Dear Mother and Dad,
Well I finally got some mail today. I hit the jackpot too. I got eleven letters! I received two of yours, the ones of July 9th, 16th, and the 14th. Boy, it was really good to get that mail. I’ll be pretty busy answering it now. I’ll have to make the time. All I feel like doing now is laying around and listening to the radio or sleeping. You asked if we had a radio and if there is any music on it. One of the guys in the tent does have a radio, one of those Zenith trans-oceanic ones. They are a very good radio. If I had 16 months over here I think I would invest in one. They have good music on most of the time, at night especially. They have music all night long on three or four different stations. The music is either popular or jazz. Once in awhile they throw in a western tune too.
Well I’m glad we aren’t the only ones having rain. Boy one of these days it’s going to stop. It started out to be a very nice day. The sun came out and it was hot. Right after chow this afternoon, it started to cloud up and all of a sudden it let loose. It stopped for awhile, but only to start up again. Right now it’s really raining. It was nice last night. The creek or river as it is now cleared up pretty good, and I took a shower in our own little shower. I really needed one too.
It was a little cloudy after chow last night as I said, but I did manage to take some pictures. I finished the last roll and I had it sent this morning. Glad you finally got those pictures I sent. I didn’t take any at a train station. They were, I think, taken when we got off the boat. When I get home I will explain them to you. I’m sure glad the ones in Pusan came out. I was afraid they wouldn’t because we were bouncing in the trucks and it was cloudy. Don’t worry about film, I can get all I want over here I think. They only cost $2.15 too. You can just imagine the profit they are making on it.
Don’t bother to send any games like you mentioned. If you can send a package when you get the time, you know that the food will always go. The food would be better kept if they were sealed, although you can also put your cookies in too. You could also send some books along too. They get books at the P.X. but I’m in no position to get any. Maybe an Esquire, True, Argosy, ones like that.
I received letters from Aunt Flo, Aunt Mary, Mrs. Eiser, Bobby. I wrote to Frank and when I get these letters answered I’ll write him again. I hope you had the papers sent to Hq. Btry., 57th F.A. Bn. when you told them to start them. If you sent them through 9th Dept. it will take more like two months to get them. It will be good to start getting them. Glad you sent Downbeat. I’ll be waiting for it.
I was very sorry to hear that Ward Arnold had passed away. It would be very nice to send a card.
I suppose by now all the house has been painted. Is the garage finished yet? Did Dad get the new doors for the garage?
By the time you get this one Cindy will probably have had her pups. I hope they are nice pups. Dad better pick the best one out for me. I suppose Pepper will be a little jealous at first.
I haven’t been down to the battery in over a week. Sayfried is still down there in survey. He will probably make V.F.C. this coming month. I might if I get some envelopes.
It’s pouring out again. You can’t win over here. Maybe it will stop for sure around the 15th of August. What’s the weather been like at home? I hope you are getting a few hot days.
Has Dad been fishing lately? If it’s been cool and raining a little he probably has.
How is Grandma Roe and Grandpa Romelli feeling? In the letters they mentioned they weren’t feeling too best.
Well, there isn’t anything else I can think of now so I guess I’ll just have to close for now. I’ll be waiting to hear from you tomorrow morning. I’ll try and write again tomorrow. That is if I get some envelopes.
Your Son,
Dick
July 30, 1954
Letter Pages & Envelope
Notes:
In this early letter from July 30, 1954, Rosa reveals a life shaped less by conflict than by routine and environment, as he begins adjusting to his new posting in Korea. His focus is on the small details that structure his days—early mornings, duty shifts, meals, and the constant presence of unpredictable weather—rather than on any sense of danger or action. Mail quickly emerges as a lifeline, with the arrival of a single letter from home carrying noticeable emotional weight and marking the passage of time. He takes quiet comfort in simple things, like a decent meal or fresh vegetables, while also noting the inconveniences of camp life, from disrupted routines to not yet settling into basic facilities. His questions about home—work being done, the condition of the house, and family matters—show how firmly his sense of stability remains anchored there. Even mentions of pay day and his effort to mail his letter promptly underscore how routine and responsibility provide structure in an otherwise unfamiliar setting. Beneath the surface, without stating it outright, there is a sense of transition: Rosa is not yet fully settled, but is steadily finding his footing, measuring distance not just in miles, but in the days between letters.
Transcript
July 30, 1954
Dear Mother and Dad,
I received your letter of the 23 and it was the only one yesterday morning. I didn’t get a chance to write yesterday so I thought I’d write now. It’s 6:45 in the morning and I just came on duty. I ate breakfast before coming over. That did me some good, I guess, I suppose. Last night we had a good meal, we had steak. It wasn’t the best, but it was steak. I want to try and get this letter mailed by night “aclude” if it won’t go out until tomorrow morning.
Well, how was it going back to work after those two weeks? Did you get everything done that you planned on doing? The house must look a lot better now that it’s painted. It sounds as though Cindy has or is going to have quite a place there. Where are you going to park the car? Way down in the back where you had pepper at one time? The picture of guys getting drafted I looked at. I don’t know one of the guys. The guy’s cooking is new, don’t know how bad it can be.
When they first come in they’ll be down at 10:00 when they can come home every weekend.
Well, we have had two pretty good days so far and today looks like another. About 2:00 last night it rained though. It got a little chilly too. How’s the weather been at home? I suppose it’s still hot and muggy, no rain. It would be alright if you took some of the rain we are having over here. I suppose by now you are all getting everything out of the garden. We had a salad the other day. It tasted pretty good. It had tomatoes, onions, cucumbers, and cabbage in it.
Well, tomorrow is pay day. I hope they have my pay, it would be quite a bit so I’ll get paid. If I don’t come — nobody is going to know about it. I haven’t been down to the battery in a long time now. We are away from things, but it hasn’t bothered me yet.
Well this is all I can think of now so I’ll address the envelope and bring it over to the tent and have one of the guys mail it for me. I can’t leave the position here too long.
Write soon.
Your son,
Dick
July 31, 1954
Letter Pages & Envelope
Notes:
Rosa’s July 31 letter captures both the monotony and minor irritations of Army life, from chaotic shift schedules to a drawn-out payday that leaves him determined not to participate in the soldiers’ deposit program. At the same time, his detailed fascination with cameras and PX goods reveals how moments of curiosity and small luxuries helped break the routine.
Transcript
July 31, 1954
Dear Mother and Dad,
Well I thought I’d write a letter as long as I haven’t got anything else to do. I’m a little mixed up with work today. I was supposed to go on from 12 noon to 3:00, but I couldn’t because I had to go down to the battery to get paid. We just got back and it’s 4:15, so I couldn’t pull the 3 to 6 shift either. I’ll have to go on from 6 to 9 tonight, then again from 3 A.M. to 6 A.M. I had from 12 to 3 last night and I nearly fell asleep. I guess I’ll manage though.
I never went through so much trouble getting paid as I did today. We were the first ones in line and the last ones to get paid. Here’s what happened—I guess I told you that they try to make everybody put money into a soldiers’ deposit. I went to get paid and he asked me how much I was going to put in, and I told him I wasn’t going to put anything in. He told me to go sit down for a while, so we went and sat down. That made me all the more determined that I wasn’t going to put any money in. After about two and a half hours we finally got paid. I got $127 all together. I guess that’s about two months’ pay. With the two allotment checks it wasn’t too bad. By the way, I was put in for Pfc once here, but I doubt if I’ll make it because I didn’t put any money in that thing.
I was thinking of sending some stuff home if I can get down to the PX. I was down there the other day looking around. They had cameras, jackets, field glasses, binoculars, duffel bags, and a lot of other stuff. A kid in our tent has a camera I might try to get, not his though. He got it over in Japan. It’s a Contessa Zeiss Ikon with Tessar lens of 1:2.8, 45mm. It has a synchro-compur shutter. He paid about $90.00, that including a nice case. It has a range finder, light meter and a lot of other things. The shutter speed goes up to 1/500. I suppose they all look nice but this is one of the best ones I’ve seen for the price. The other was a Contax which cost $187. If you have a photography book with prices, see what they cost at home—everything there. I have a pair of boots with hobnails on the soles. They are size 11 and I was wondering if Dad wanted them. I don’t have any use for them. They are new too. They were bought from an English soldier—I should say British. If you want them I’ll send them home.
Well I got my first Works News today. It was the one of the 2nd of July. I haven’t received any letters yet. I didn’t get any letters, so I guess I’ll be caught up on writing for a while. I hope there will be some tomorrow though. I think I’ll go down to the battery tomorrow if I get the chance. I want to get some things at the PX too. I’ll stock up on film too. I went up to the OP’s today but didn’t take my camera along. I couldn’t have taken any pictures because the camera I was with—the film didn’t come out too good. I’m going to get the negatives and have some more made. I was thinking of having them done at home and you sending them back to me. It would take a little longer but they would be much better pictures.
How is everything been at home? Nothing much happening around here, as you can figure out. I was talking to Sayfried today. He said he might go to survey school for two weeks. They have to send one man from the section, so he is the newest one there, so he thinks he’ll be going. I can’t think of any more to write so I guess I’ll close for tonight. This letter probably won’t go out until Monday morning, so I’ll try to write again tomorrow.
Until then—
Your son,
Dick