LETTER TO SAM DECKER, JUNE 1953: Father refused me any going-away money, having made it clear that he viewed all those hours I spent working in his office as wages earned under false pretenses. Technically that isn’t true: only Father ever described it as “pin money” for my freshman year, but it’s equally true that I never corrected him. I suppose, then, that I’m guilty as charged—but to my own mind, what matters is that I never lied about it, even if Father doesn’t see the difference!

Some days the disappointment I’ve caused them is easy to shrug off, and I launch myself into the city feeling equal to anything. Other days (today, for instance) it’s a struggle just to leave my room. If I were to go back, Mother would forgive me everything; it wouldn’t take long for Father to come around; and I’d attend Ursuline College, and take classes in English or history, with a wall of my room saved for showing off my “little hobby,” just like Father and his model planes.

Darling, do you still say my name when you look up at the stars? I can’t always find a star in the sky here, but each night I try. My latest letters with my New York address are probably still on their way to you, and it’s anyone’s guess whether Mother will forward the letters you may have already sent to Cleveland. Once a day I ask at the reception desk for mail, just in case.

My budget doesn’t allow for newspapers or magazines, but fortunately there’s almost always an abandoned Times or Post in the sitting room. Even so, there’s hardly ever more than one story about Korea. Usually it’s buried in the middle somewhere, and it’s never about you, thank goodness. Of course, when Life does have something, it’s invariably next to an ad for Frigidaires or Philco radios, as if you and everybody else in Korea were no more significant than a household appliance! Really, I think most people want to forget we’re at war at all.

We’ve never discussed what will happen once the war ends, but I’m sure you’ll agree it’s hardly fitting for the next Robert Capa to stay in Cleveland. If you ask me, there’s no finer city than New York for a future Life photographer and Pulitzer Prize winner. When you arrive, you’ll have the extra advantage of a very friendly face waiting for you at the station.

4. American leg (Patty crossing the street), New York, 1953