Season 6
The Allgoods: April–October 1971 — The Story So Far
Send us a text From April through October 1971, Sarah and Dick Allgood wrote hundreds of letters across an ocean — a living record of love, war, pregnancy, and perseverance. In this special recap episode, I pause to reflect on what these first seven months have revealed, what it’s taken to read the…
October 31, 1971: Counting Down to Two Weeks Together
Send us a text Halloween 1971 — Dick can’t get a phone line out from Vietnam, and Sarah can’t stop counting the weekends until he’s home for a short leave. Their letters from this night capture exhaustion, humor, and aching anticipation. It’s the last day of October, and both of them are dreaming o…
October 30, 1971: Dreaming of Our Whole Life Together
Send us a text As October draws to a close, Dick dreams of his entire life with Sarah, while she spends the day painting, cleaning, and getting ready for the baby she can’t wait to hold. Their letters reveal the rhythm they’ve created across oceans — one built on anticipation, care, and the simple …
October 29, 1971: A Highchair, a Phone Call, and Two Weeks of Hope
Send us a text Two letters written on the same day — one from a lonely wife surrounded by couples, the other from a frustrated husband fighting red tape. Sarah, seven months pregnant, keeps her hands busy and her heart steady — painting a highchair, dreaming about home, and reaching out to her mom …
October 28, 1971: Two Weeks, Two Nights, and One Growing Heart
Send us a text Two letters written the same day — one from Vietnam, one from San Antonio. My dad, Dick, is planning to buy his ticket home the next morning. My mom, Sarah, is seven months pregnant with me, feeling every kick and learning to sleep again. They both mention Thanksgiving plans, family,…
October 27, 1971: Steaks, Scotch, and the Little Things
Send us a text It’s October 27, 1971. My mom writes from San Antonio — very pregnant, missing my dad, and thinking about all the little things that make their life together what it is. She talks about having dinner with friends, cooking steaks, and realizing how lucky she is — not just to have him …
October 26, 1971: My Beloved, Counting the Days
Send us a text It’s October 26, 1971. Sarah is seven months pregnant and counting down the final weeks until Dick’s R&R. She calls him “my beloved,” remembering the first night they made love and the life they’ve built since. Dick, half a world away, writes that he’s ready to get away from the …
October 25, 1971: Long Binh and the Weight of the War
Send us a text On October 25, 1971, two letters cross the ocean — one from my dad in Vietnam, one from my mom in San Antonio. He finally makes the trip he’s been talking about for days — a quick run to Long Binh with his commanding officer, Ken. She spends her day at home, seven months pregnant, mi…
October 23, 1971: Ordinary Love in an Extraordinary Time
Send us a text Two letters cross the ocean on the same day — one from Vietnam, one from San Antonio. Sarah is surrounded by friends, lasagna, and a little chaos. Dick is half a world away, flying, gambling a dollar into ten, and thinking about the woman who commands his every thought. What unfolds …
October 22, 1971: My Parents, Their Letters, and Me
Send us a text On October 22, 1971, my parents had been married for one year, two months, and one day — and they were seven months into the pregnancy that would become me. My dad was in Vietnam, still flying missions, and my mom was in San Antonio, feeling her belly move and counting down the days …
October 21, 1971: The Home Stretch Before Home Leave
Send us a text Four weeks left. Sarah is restless in San Antonio, and Dick is marking the same days in Vietnam. Their letters on October 21 are filled with humor, longing, and the easy rhythm of two people who know exactly who they are to each other — husband, wife, lover, soon-to-be parents, and b…
October 20, 1971: Letters Without Fear
Send us a text Six months into their separation, Sarah and Dick’s letters reach a new kind of intimacy — fearless, playful, and full of trust. From tie-dye baby shirts and Mexican lunches in San Antonio to quiet nights on alert in Vietnam, they write with a freedom that only comes from knowing thei…
October 19, 1971: Thirty Wake-Ups and the Longing That Fills the Rain
Send us a text Dick is down to thirty wake-ups in Vietnam, filling his nights with letters, music, and a three-hour tape of The Rolling Stones, Tom Jones, and Crosby, Stills & Nash. In San Antonio, Sarah is still surrounded by rain — cleaning, planning, laughing, and missing him so much she can…
October 18, 1971: Thirty-One Wake-Ups and the Sound of Rain
Send us a text It’s mid-October 1971. Dick is counting thirty-one wake-ups until a short two-week leave home in November — a brief visit before returning to finish his Vietnam tour in the spring. In San Antonio, Sarah spends another gray, rainy Monday balancing dentist visits, friendship, and the s…
October 17, 1971: Eggs Benedict, Rain, and the Countdown Home
Send us a text On a rainy Sunday in San Antonio, Sarah plans Eggs Benedict and champagne for the morning her husband returns home. Across the world in Vietnam, Dick finalizes his leave — November 18 — and counts down the days. Between cookies, letters, and laughter, they dream of the same kitchen t…
October 16, 1971: Rain, Apple Pie, and the Kick That Moved the Paper
Send us a text While rain falls in San Antonio, Dick bakes an apple pie halfway across the world in Vietnam. Sarah stays home, feeling their baby move so strongly it kicks a piece of paper off her belly. Two lives divided by an ocean — connected by love, longing, and the quiet beginnings of a famil…
October 15, 1971: The Morning Letter I Missed
Send us a text Yesterday’s episode shared Sarah’s evening letter — the one where she joked about writing twice in one day. But there really were two letters that day. This is the one I missed — the first one, written that morning, full of errands, laughter, and small comforts that kept her steady w…
October 15, 1971: Letters in Tune Across a War
Send us a text It’s another day of distance — one letter from Vietnam, one from San Antonio — both written on October 15, 1971. He’s counting the weeks until his short trip home. She’s writing twice in one day, reaching acros...
October 14, 1971: Letters in Sync, Even in War
Send us a text Two letters written on the same day — one from a war zone, one from a quiet apartment in Texas. He finally has a date to come home. She doesn’t know it yet. Still, somehow, their words move in step — letters in...
October 13, 1971: Cookies, Cramps, and Counting the Days
Send us a text Three letters travel across the ocean in a single day — two from Sarah in San Antonio, one from Dick in Vietnam. Between them are sleepless nights, parties, laughter, a few cookies, and a love that refuses to l...
October 12, 1971: Cookies, Coke, and Blue Baby Gifts
Send us a text On October 12, 1971, Dick sat in his hooch in Vietnam eating Sarah’s cookies and drinking a Coke while balancing their checkbook and planning for their future. That same day, Sarah was in San Antonio — surrounded by blue baby gifts from her friends, cheering for her Pirates, and writ…
October 11, 1971 — A Scare, a Grape Soda, and Grateful Hearts
Send us a text On October 11, 1971, Dick writes from Da Nang without knowing that Sarah has just spent the night in the hospital. His letter is calm and full of everyday comforts — cooking, saving money, and sipping his wife’s favorite grape soda. Meanwhile, Sarah writes from San Antonio, home agai…
October 10, 1971: Trust, Distance, and the Strength to Tell the Truth
Send us a text While Dick settles into another ordinary day in Vietnam, Sarah faces a medical scare that leaves her hospitalized and alone in San Antonio. Their letters from October 10, 1971 reveal two sides of love and trust—one routine, one terrifying—and the power of telling the truth, even when…
October 9, 1971: Pitza, Lobster, and a Thousand Miles of Love
Send us a text A Saturday apart but perfectly in sync — Sarah eats “pitza” and beer for breakfast in San Antonio, while Dick sips Kahlúa after lobster and steak in Vietnam. Both write of laughter, longing, and the simple pleasures that connect them. One month since Hawaii, their love still feels fr…