28
WBM february 2012
A lifeline and a lost art
Paul Wieser’s letters were stored for
years in the attic of their home, in his
wife’s hope chest after the war. Their
son, Paul Wesley Wieser of Phoenix,
Arizona, recalls seeing them bundled
in stacks while he was growing up in
Linden. He was about seven then, but
he and his brothers did not hear about
the letters again until he was about 50,
when his father moved to Wilmington
to be closer to the battleship.
“As he got older he began to speak
more,” the young Wieser says. “It
became a whole different kind of
relationship.”
Jean Wieser died in 1958, and Paul
Wieser, who died in 2006, donated
his love letters to East Carolina
University. Later they were trans-ferred
to the Battleship North Carolina
museum.
“It was then about the only way
to communicate,” their son says. “A
phone was a luxury for many, many
people.”
Sometimes words were not enough,
as the elder Wieser writes in many of
his letters.
“I wish I could see you soon, but
I guess that’s going to be impos-sible
for a while,” Wieser writes on
December 16, 1941, a little more
than a week after the Pearl Harbor
attack. “I did so much want to talk to
you before we left for good. I could
write it but I’d rather tell you face to
face.”
Depending on where the battle-ship
was deployed, some letters would
not make it home for a long period
of time. False news stories, includ-ing
some broadcasted by the enemy’s
Tokyo Rose, reported that the North
Carolina had been sunk, Ramsey says.
“They didn’t know if they were
OK,” she explains. “When they didn’t
get letters, you’ve got to imagine…”
In Laura Stone’s letter to her hus-band
Edgar Stone, she expresses sor-row
for him that she was getting his
letters faster than he was getting hers.