Episodes
July 6, 1971: Friends in Low and High Places
Send us a text It’s Sarah’s last full day of work in the Air Force, and everyone shows up to send her off. From enlisted techs to commissioned officers, they take her to the NCO Club, buy her beer, and give her a card that makes her cry. She drinks more than usual — martinis, pink ladies, Kahlúa — …
“The Miles Are Getting Closer: July 5, 1971”
Send us a text n today’s letter from July 5, 1971, my dad writes from Vietnam after a full day on alert—“no real action or excitement,” he says. But I can’t help wondering if that’s the truth, or just the version he was allowed—or willing—to share. Like so many servicemen during the war, he may hav…
July 5, 1971: Lipstick Before Bed
Send us a text It’s July 5, 1971, and my mom—Captain Sarah Allgood—is writing from San Antonio in the middle of a hot summer day. My dad, Captain Dick Allgood, was stationed at a real wartime airbase in Da Nang, Vietnam. He’d just sent her a steamy Special Delivery letter, and she’s responding the …
July 4, 1971: Two Letters, One Lonely Day
Send us a text On July 4, 1971, Captain Sarah Allgood wrote two letters to her husband, Captain Dick Allgood. She was pregnant, stationed in San Antonio, and just days away from separating from the Air Force. It was a holiday they normally spent together — with ribs, potato salad, and each other. B…
July 4, 1971: Yours. Mine. Always.
Send us a text On July 4, 1971, my dad, Captain Dick Allgood, writes from Vietnam with his heart on full display. His letter isn’t about fireworks or freedom — it’s about the kind of love that endures across oceans, months, and war. He tells my mom, Captain Sarah Allgood, how much he misses her, ac…
“The Wooden Box: July 3, 1971”
Send us a text This letter from my dad, written on July 3, 1971, is full of tenderness, memory, and quiet ache. He’s writing from Vietnam — still on alert, still in danger — but what he talks about is baking brownies, missing my mom, and planning where to send her letters when she travels to Miami.…
“Wittle Belly, Big Love” – July 3, 1971
Send us a text It’s been 68 days since my dad left for Vietnam. And in that time, my parents have been writing constantly — sometimes more than once a day. These letters were their lifeline, their only way to stay connected across distance, danger, and everything they were missing in between. In th…
“July 2, 1971: Baby Checkups, Farewell Parties, and a Buzzed Love Let…
Send us a text On July 2, 1971, my mom, Captain Sarah Allgood, wrote two letters to my dad — both on the same day, but in completely different moods. The first one came after her three-month pregnancy checkup. She writes with excitement and relief — she’s healthy, the baby is growing, and her docto…
July 2, 1971: From Vietnam With Love — A Tan, a Steak, and a Heart Th…
Send us a text My dad wrote this letter from Vietnam after helping one of his closest friends board a flight home. He says he was happy for him — but admits he was filled with envy. That could’ve been him. That should’ve been him. In this letter, he talks about catching a little sun, eating a decen…
“Saving Up Quarters and Casserole Dreams” – July 1, 1971
Send us a text This letter from my mom, Captain Sarah Allgood, is pure gold. It’s July 1, 1971, and she’s funny, flirty, and a little bit filthy — all while pregnant, lonely, and trying to get through another day without my dad. She’s dreaming of a life where she can “sit back, rest, and become bea…
Grooving to My Wife on the Roof July 1, 1971 – From Dick to Sarah
Send us a text In this letter from July 1, 1971, my dad writes to my mom after receiving three letters and a card from her — and his mood lifts right off the page. He’s playful, sweet, and a little jealous as another friend prepares to head home from Vietnam. He jokes about never getting a tan, tha…
Wuv You, Wittle Chickie-Dee Chapter 2 Recap: April–June 1971
Send us a text In this episode, I’m taking a moment to reflect on everything I’ve uncovered so far — from the day my dad deployed to Vietnam in late April 1971 through the end of June. My mom was still on active duty in San Antonio when she found out she was pregnant with me. My dad had just arrive…
June 30, 1971: “We’re Going to Make Love — Love — Love” — The End of …
Send us a text This is the last letter my mom wrote in June 1971. It’s also the end of Chapter 2 in this story — one month at a time, one letter at a time. She was 12 weeks pregnant with me and still writing every single day from San Antonio, where she was finishing her time as a U.S. Air Force nur…
June 30, 1971: The Last Letter of the Month
Send us a text This is the last letter my dad wrote in June 1971 — a month that spanned open heart surgeries, flash floods, military cloud seeding, and long days for my mom at Wilford Hall. Now it’s the 30th. My mom has just a few days left in the Air Force, and she’s preparing to step into motherh…
June 29, 1971: Cloud Seeding and Cardiac Surgery
Send us a text On June 29, 1971, my mom — Captain Sarah Allgood — was seated on a prep table at Wilford Hall Medical Center in San Antonio, training two younger nurses through a triple coronary artery bypass. She was over 30, pregnant with me, and had just four days left in the Air Force. She was p…
June 29, 1971: I Be Loving You
Send us a text My dad wrote this letter from Da Nang on June 29, 1971. It’s one of those days where his love for my mom just spills over—quietly, sweetly, completely. He tells her, “I be loving you,” and it’s not just a phrase. It’s the truth of how they lived—how they stayed connected every single…
June 28, 1971: The Quacks Salted the Clouds
Send us a text In this letter from June 28, 1971, my mom, Captain Sarah Allgood, is nearing the end of her military nursing duties — just five days from maternity leave and three months pregnant with me. She’s tired, fed up with a chatty coworker, and not holding back about how much she misses my d…
June 27, 1971 – My Panties Are Wet Just Writing This Letter
Send us a text In this letter, written on June 27, 1971, Captain Sarah Allgood isn’t shy about how much she misses her husband — or how badly she wants him. It’s raw. It’s funny. It’s incredibly personal. And it’s real. From splitting headaches to bridge games, tacos, teenage neighbors asking awkwa…
June 28, 1971: More Than Love
Send us a text In this letter from June 28, 1971, my dad writes from Vietnam with tenderness, humor, and longing. He tells my mom how much he loves her — but also, how much he likes her. That mattered to both of them. My parents used to tell me that love alone isn’t enough to make a relationship la…
June 27, 1971 – Not a Cold Bastard: Love, War, and the Letters That S…
Send us a text This letter from Captain Dick Allgood, written on June 27, 1971, reveals the tender truth beneath his famously gruff exterior. “I am not a cold bastard,” he writes to his wife, “I just may present that on the surface.” And it’s true. Anyone who knew him knew he was a softy at heart —…
June 26, 1971: A Lonely Day, A Wittle Tear Break
Send us a text This project is starting to get heavy — not just because of how much they wrote, but because of what these letters carry. On June 26, 1971, my mom wrote two letters to my dad. She was pregnant with me, and he was across the world in Vietnam. They couldn’t call. There was no FaceTime.…
June 26, 1971: Pie Arrives, the Lines Are Down, and the Waiting Conti…
Send us a text On June 26, 1971, Dick writes from Vietnam after a quiet, unsettled day. Two new pilots have just arrived — one of them, nicknamed “Pie,” seems like a good guy and will soon become part of this story. The other is clearly nervous, a reminder that no matter how long someone’s been in …
June 25, 1971: The Kind of Love That Reaches You
Send us a text In this letter, my dad writes from Vietnam on June 25, 1971 — and something about it stopped me. Yesterday, my mom wrote about ESP. About how she could feel him reaching for her across the world. He hadn’t received that letter yet — she’d just mailed it. But somehow, he writes back w…
June 25, 1971: Love Delivered (or Not) by ESP and the U.S. Mail
Send us a text In this letter from June 25, 1971, Sarah writes to Dick on her day off — lazy, cozy, and full of longing. She didn’t get a letter that day, and it leaves her feeling empty inside. She knows he’s writing. She just doesn’t trust the U.S. Postal Service to get it right. Still, she finds…