Episodes

Send us a text It’s June 23, 1971 — and after more than two weeks of missed connections and shutdown phone lines, the call finally goes through. Sarah hears Dick’s voice, and everything rushes in at once: the relief, the longing, the ache of being apart for so long. She writes this letter just after they hang up, still feeling the high of being close to him again — and the emptiness that comes right after. She talks about how much she misses him, how proud she is of the letters he writes,...

Send us a text On June 22, 1971, Dick Allgood hadn’t received any letters in three days—and it left him wondering if Sarah had forgotten to write. Of course, she hadn’t. But it speaks to how closely they watched the mailbag, how much those letters meant, and how deeply they missed each other. This one is pure classic Dick: playful, possessive, deeply loving—and yes, very much an S.D. letter. His mind drifts to his “wittle chick-a-dee,” and let’s just say he hopes she’s saving a bundle of hu...

Send us a text In this letter from June 21, 1971, Sarah writes to Dick after a crushing disappointment: the tape he sent her snapped halfway through playback. She had waited eagerly to hear his voice—only to cry for over an hour when it broke. The rain outside mirrors the ache inside as she describes waking up and instinctively reaching for him, forgetting for a moment that he’s still so far away. Still, her love is steady. She promises she’ll always be his wife, his “wittle chickie-dee,” t...

Send us a text This letter might not look like much on the surface — it’s short, it’s simple, and nothing dramatic is happening. But that’s what makes it hit me. My dad wrote this to my mom, Sarah, on a slow Monday in Vietnam. He’d been on alert all day, but nothing happened. He couldn’t get through to her by phone even though he tried and tried. So instead, he picked up a pen — again — and poured out his love the best way he could. He calls her “my precious,” “wittle chick-a-dee,” and sign...

Send us a text It’s Father’s Day, June 20, 1971. And for the first time in writing, Sarah tells Dick what they’d both been hoping: he’s going to be a father. She’s writing from Texas. He’s flying rescue missions in Vietnam. They are thousands of miles apart — but what’s between them is something rare and unshakable. This isn’t just about becoming parents. It’s about a love that’s real. True. Equal. Sarah writes about a long day on call, the letter that didn’t arrive, and the one that fina...

Send us a text It’s Sunday, June 20, 1971 — Father’s Day — and Captain Dick Allgood hasn’t been able to reach his wife Sarah on the phone for over two weeks. So around noon, while on alert in Vietnam, he picks up a pen and does the next best thing: he writes. This isn’t a long emotional letter — just a midday check-in. A note. A moment of connection. He talks about their bank accounts, her loan, their shared budget, her travel plans to Miami — and yes, how much he loves her. It’s simple...

Send us a text It’s past midnight in Vietnam, and Captain Dick Allgood has just stayed up trying to reach his wife Sarah by phone — again. They haven’t spoken in more than two weeks. But instead of going to sleep, he writes. Because he misses her. Because he wants her to know that she’s his home. This letter is raw and real — filled with longing, worry, hope, and the kind of love most people never find. He calls her his wittle chickie. He asks about her pregnancy symptoms and reassures ...

Send us a text This is the 30th letter my parents exchanged since my dad left for Vietnam 54 days ago — and it still manages to surprise me. It’s June 19, 1971. My dad, Captain Dick Allgood, is in Vietnam. But instead of writing about danger or despair, he’s writing about fireworks, roast beef sandwiches, and how badly he wants my mom — in every possible way. It’s raw. It’s deeply personal. And as their daughter, reading it isn’t always easy. But it’s part of a love story that defies the ...

Send us a text It’s June 19th, 1971, and Sarah is in full pregnancy mode — craving coconut cream custard, upgrading her bra size (34DD, thank you very much), and missing Dick so badly it hurts. In this funny, raw, and tender letter, she shares everything from maternity fashion goals to her deep desire for intimacy, made even more intense by the distance between them. She dishes on her friends’ complicated relationships, vents about missing his letters, and makes it clear: their baby was mad...

Send us a text In this letter from June 18, 1971, my dad, Dick, has just received a bundle of mail from my mom — three letters, a card, and a poem book — and he reads and rereads every word. It’s been days since he heard from her, and nearly two weeks since they’ve been able to talk on the phone — a gap that feels unimaginable today. In this quiet moment of reflection, surrounded by war, he makes a decision that will shape the rest of his life — and mine: he’s going to leave the Air Force. ...

Send us a text In this letter from June 18, 1971, my mom, Sarah, is having a quiet day in San Antonio. She’s pregnant, seepy, and missing my dad in all the little ways — especially his cooking. She tries to recreate one of his signature breakfast sandwiches — bacon, eggs, cheese, lettuce, tomato — but admits it’s just not the same. “Mine get soggy,” she writes. “Yours never did.” That one line hits me. Because years later, after Vietnam and his time in commercial finance, my dad opened Al...

Send us a text In this letter from June 17, 1971, my mom — Sarah Allgood — writes from San Antonio during a whirlwind of paperwork, pregnancy fatigue, and a surprise that didn’t go quite as planned. She’s working full time as a military nurse at Lackland AFB, pregnant with me, and trying to sort out her official separation date, medical records, base briefings, and I.D. card requirements — all while making sure my dad has cookies and love letters sent to Vietnam. She vents about a clueles...

Send us a text This is the second letter my dad, Captain Dick Allgood, wrote on June 17, 1971 — a quiet but incredibly tender note sent from Vietnam to my mom, Sarah, who was back at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, pregnant with me. He opens with a simple apology: he missed the morning mail run, so he’s sending this one regular. But what follows is anything but ordinary. He tells her to always dream of him — “wet or dry” — and thanks her for the audio tape she sent, while gently a...

Send us a text In this letter from June 17, 1971, my dad — Captain Dick Allgood — writes to my mom, Sarah, from Vietnam. She’s at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, pregnant with me. He’s halfway around the world, but he’s still thinking about everything — whether her special delivery letter got mailed, what her coworkers are like, how she’s feeling, and how their friends are doing. He even tells her about a book he picked up that made him think of one of her favorite phrases: “slam-ba...

Send us a text In this deeply personal letter from June 16, 1971, Captain Dick Allgood writes to Sarah from Vietnam on a sweltering, emotionally heavy day. He’s just watched Patton again, he’s feeling the weight of distance, and the loneliness is creeping in — but even in that space, his devotion to Sarah is unwavering. What begins with a playful “How do you like being the wife of me?” quickly turns into something more reflective. He opens up about the mental toll of Vietnam, the dangers of...

Send us a text After a few weeks in Florida, I’m back home in Montana — back to the letters, and back to the long road ahead. This is the June 15, 1971 letter from my mom, Sarah, to my dad, Dick, written during the height of their separation in the Vietnam War. It’s intimate, emotional, funny, raw, and full of the kind of unfiltered honesty that makes these letters so unforgettable. I’ll be honest — I fell behind these past few days. Traveling, spending time with family, and just trying t...

Send us a text In this heartfelt letter from June 15, 1971, Captain Dick Allgood writes to his wife, Sarah, from Vietnam on a rare day off. After watching a movie about honesty in relationships, he finds himself feeling homesick and deeply reflective. He shares what it means to miss her — not just physically, but emotionally — and what it feels like to love someone so much that just seeing and talking to them would be enough. At this point in the war, Dick is flying dangerous rescue mission...

Send us a text It’s Father’s Day morning, 2025, and I’m sitting quietly in Miami at my best friend Kelly’s house while the rest of the house sleeps. I’m using this early moment to catch up on one of the two letters my parents wrote on June 14, 1971. I fell behind yesterday—life happens—but I’m back at it today, because this project is my way of honoring them. They never stopped writing to each other. And I don’t want to stop either. My dad, Dick Allgood, was in Vietnam. My mom, Sarah, was i...

Send us a text In this Father’s Day episode, I read a letter my dad, Captain Dick Allgood, wrote to my mom, Captain Sarah Allgood, on June 14, 1971, while on alert in Vietnam. The day before, he was dreaming of sunshine. Today, he’s dreaming of her — her body, her scent, her softness — and the baby they had planned together before he deployed. That baby was me. Sarah was still serving in the Air Force then, working as a nurse while newly pregnant and exhausted. In this letter, Dick reflects...

Send us a text Today’s letter comes to you from Miami, recorded after an especially emotional and meaningful morning. At sunrise, we took a boat across Biscayne Bay to Boca Chita Key, near Elliott Key, where I was able to spread my mother’s ashes in the waters and place she so dearly loved. This spot held deep personal significance for her — for years, we participated as a family in the Columbus Day Regatta, a cherished tradition that brought us back to these waters every fall. Today, wit...

Send us a text In today’s letter, Dick writes to Sarah during a long, rainy day on alert in Vietnam. His words are full of longing, tenderness, and a deep sense of connection — reminding her, and all of us, that their love was about far more than physical closeness. From the sweet humor of their private “chick-a-dee” exchanges to his reflections on how they “make love in so many ways” — even through these letters — this is a powerful window into how they held each other close through distan...

Send us a text In today’s letter, Sarah writes a late-night note to Dick after yet another lonely evening out with friends. Her longing for him grows stronger by the day — and tonight, she doesn’t hold back. This intimate letter captures the rawness of their separation: from her growing frustration at empty parties, to a moment of pure physical longing when Dick’s words stir her most private desires. It’s a window into the honest, playful, and deeply sensual connection that bound them acros...

Send us a text In this letter, Dick Allgood gives us a Vietnam story we rarely hear — one built on love, small human moments, and unwavering devotion. On his day off, he borrows a truck and takes a couple of sergeants to Long Binh Army Post — not to escape the war, but to scrounge some food to make life a little better for his crew. That night, after a barbecue and a quick visit to the club, he chooses to leave early — so he can come home and write to Sarah. From his bed in a rain-soaked ...

Send us a text In this June 11, 1971 letter, Sarah writes to her husband, Dick — a rescue pilot flying missions in Vietnam — from San Antonio, where she is navigating life, work, and pregnancy while they are apart. She shares a slice of daily life: taking a much-needed day off, trying to beat the Texas heat by the pool, playing cribbage, and passing time at the club. But beneath the surface, her longing for connection is palpable — missing her husband in every familiar moment. Even after ...