LETTERS FROM SPAIN

June 3,1938

Dear Ma, Pa and Jeanette:

I am writing now from the training base of the Spanish People's Army—the base for the Internationals. Here we will be put through a fairly intensive period of training for frontline action.

I am trying to recall for you some of the experiences and emotions evoked in the five days just passed. But just now I sit with a full belly and it is still impossible for me to believe that a war is ravaging this country. It would be wrong though to draw conclusions that everyone is in as satisfactory a position as the soldier.

Last night we marched into the nearby town behind a spiffy band. I don't know how the other fellows took it, but as the townsfolk lined the narrow streets as we paraded three abreast barely brushing the passerby with our swinging shoulders, those shoulders went back, the spine straightened and the chest went out. Your throat choked suddenly because the older women, careworn faces, thin, undoubtedly thinking of their own sons and husbands at the front, cried as you marched past. The little kids rushed by happily: they liked the hullabaloo. The young girls smiled or raised arms in the popular salute. A wave of vindication, of justification, of grim determination and of happiness swept over you because our 4,000-mile journey was being understood, appreciated by these people.

In these towns—and I expect all over the country—everything is on a war basis. Nothing can be bought unless you have a ration card. The conscription is being vigorously enforced and the appeal for 100,000 volunteers for the front and 50,000 more for fortification construction is meeting success. The Party slogan—"All Catalonia for the War" has been taken up by the other parties and the idea that this hitherto backward (so far as the war was concerned) province can make the same stand as Madrid is gaining more recognition. But until I am in better position to generalize, I'll allow (?) you to get your political information from Bob Minor's report to the Party Congress and the Daily Worker stories.

The toughest thing for the Americans to face is the language barrier. Sleeping on floors, no desserts after the one-course meals, no malted milk or ice cream, candy—how we long for candy !—the anti-typhoid injection—major and minor tribulations are being taken in stride. But when the boys feel out of contact because they cannot speak to the people it is a sad situation. In France I did pretty well. In Spain not so well, but can read all the papers, am fairly able to understand the speeches and instruction given in either Spanish or German (and then interpreted by one of the English boys). We are setting about to study—a little group of us—at least one hour each night, and hope to become proficient. Jeanette, I would urge the YCL comrades to study languages. If they want to become good Bolsheviks, develop the real spirit of internationalism, then the first step is to abandon this form of damned Yankee provincialism, isolationism. Take the German or Polish fellows who are here. They are sure to know at least one, if not two other tongues.

We passed through Barcelona. It is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Modern, streamlined construction is going up all over. Damage done by fascist bombing is speedily repaired and we saw little evidence ... our own base is a church which had been used as an arsenal by the fascists and from which they had to be blasted.

I received my uniform before coming here and will send you some pictures soon as they are developed. I am in perfect health—a little sore in the chest because we got the typhoid injection today, and look well, only I need a haircut—my perennial trouble.

I long for the sight of all of you and especially want you to send me pictures. I sent you all the dock picture because I figured it would be good for you to know that I saw you all the way across the ocean (you were posted on the bulletin boards). Now that you have my address I can expect mail. Encourage others to write to anyone they know here, because the boys go for mail like a shot in the arm ... Love to Sid and Sam and Judy and Mary. I am writing Sam a long letter on the Jews in the I. B. soon. Deepest of affection.

Wilfred

Sunday, June 5

Dear Doris,

Sunday in Spain. (It used to be tough rising before 11 to get your Sunday Workers in time to sell them. Then the best part came, strolling or lolling on the boardwalk. The satisfied revolutionist strutting his stuff after a week of arduous (?) Party campaigning ...

Yes, Sunday in Spain. How different, yet what amazing sameness. The immediate present is kicking me in the face, but it is very quiet, so peaceful, almost blissful this morning as we sit around on our (guess?) blankets, leaning against the unyielding wall, unshaven, but quite, quite content ...

But now, by God (notice Stalin uses that expression too) if there ever was a time to remain awake, eyes wide open and head low, this, to be sure is precisely that moment.

One of the supreme joys here is the immediate springing up of warm, strong comradely feeling—whose source is the common character of the will that brought us here. Another is that bright eye of fondness that the Catalan women have for us. The distrust that the Trotskyist POUM tried to sow is dissipated by now by and large as the people realize we are no conquering horde from an invader's shores but the material and spiritual symbol of the sympathy of the wide world. How the little kids love us. The little girls rush to shake our hands. De me las manos! they say. The muchachos solemnly march at our sides ... It is perhaps one of the most compelling reasons for the study of the Spanish tongue.

Although I am more fortunate than most, what with two years in high school, and able to read the press, I need plenty of study and practice. So we have started a little class with me as instructor. This class is over and beyond the military and political instruction we are receiving at this training base.

You know from other sources perhaps that we arrived in this country one week ago through the usual back-breaking route which the kind censor will leave to your imagination. Sadly enough we spent but a day, a night and a half in Paris and never got around to the Louvre or even the Eiffel Tower. But we did see the gorgeous, si, magnifica, Party building and we visited some real-stuff dancing halls ...

Smilingly,
Mendy

June 17

Dear Comrades of Branch 8:

Revolutionary greetings from an advanced outpost of another section of the democratic front ! Of course I am still at the training base for the Internationals, and strictly speaking am not at the "advanced outpost" yet, but I'm sure you'll pardon my enthusiasm ...

Perhaps a report is in order, so you may consider this as such.

Our group of Americans had a marvelous trip abroad. For me it was an introduction into the splendid life all of us will lead under Socialism when sea voyages will be for the many and not restricted to the few ...

Paris was disappointing, because we had barely a day and a half to look around, but we did see the Party headquarters, of modern structure, streamlined, chromium plated and glistening, a real model for our American Party ...

And then Spain. Barcelona, a most beautiful city, streets empty because everyone is now either at the front or at work in war industry. The most striking example of bomb destruction is a magnificent cathedral, some six of whose spires still stand, but all there really is left are two walls; the other walls and entire interior being totally demolished. Like a ghost church.

As for us, we are located in a church which was captured from the fascists. The Party quarters here likewise is a former fascist hangout.

The Internationals do everything to win favor with the Catalan people.

Catalonia, you know, was a long time in waking to the realization that this war was her's. But now that she is awake she is taking us to heart. We are reciprocating by doing work in the fields for the local peasants. Today sixty of us cleared up a field of lentil beans. It was pleasant, easy work. (Worst is, we'll have to eat these beans later!) We also are contributing one day's bread and one day's beans to the town workers. More, we are helping to raise funds for the establishment of a school for the children of the refugees who have fled from Bilbao, Santander, San Sebastian and Teruel. These kids all have horrible tales to tell ... One of the refugee kids told me that his father in Bilbao, a metal worker at the age of 50 had volunteered in the defense of that city, but was not able to break through during the evacuation. His older sister also was caught. But he and his mother are safe enough being supported by the local municipality. Other little boys are orphaned too, their fathers in Franco's prisons or dead.

And now the situation is really grave. The fall of Castellon, as every loss of territory, worsens the situation. Spain cannot afford to lose in ground like China or the Soviet in 1917-1919. But while this grave condition is admitted, it must also be acknowledged that all the conditions for victory exist within Spain. First of these is the People's Army, united and strong. Second is an industry built over on a war basis. Third is a true government of national union, supported by all political parties, by the two trade union organizations, and the peasant unions. The Spanish people know that they are battling on the pivotal point of a cracking world front. They know that the masses all over support them and are seeking to isolate the aggressors. Further, they know that this support is creating difficulties for Italy and Germany and that it is a matter of time before internal and external factors will soon break the tenacious fascist grip on Spain. Thus they rally confidently around Premier Negrin's slogan: Resister es Veneer! To resist is to win !

So Abby and I are here to help Spain continue its resistance. We deeply sense the honor to stand to the fore for democracy at this great crisis for all humanity. Whether or not we come through the hard struggles that lie ahead, we are fully conscious of living life to its fullest. There can be no regrets, only supreme joy. As machine-gunners we'll shoot the works.

Let me close urging you to write as often as you desire. We are eager for news of Brighton, what our comrades are doing, of the proposed legislative conference, of the growth of the Party, news of you, Lennie and Dan, and Mary, and everyone else.

Two requests—if you can—send via first class mail pamphlets and paper-cover books every once in a while—and some hard candy. Abby, Dave and I will be eternally thankful.

Salud! Venceremos
(We Shall Conquer)
Your loyal comrade
Wilfred Mendelson
(Mendy)

June 20

Dear Larry,

I know I ought to be chastised for not writing sooner, but what the hell one doesn't change habits very easily, despite the super-charged Spanish atmosphere. As a matter of fact the boys who were good back home rate swell here (and vice versa).

There are some pretty great guys here. Perhaps you remember Archie, the Frisco longshoreman, who presided at one of the YCL convention sessions. "Louder, louder" he kept calling from the chair. Our group of 20 stowed him away and he led the life of Reilly on the food we brought him from the sympathetic crew. Another honey is one Jones, also a dockworker, but from Liverpool, a member of the City Council on the Labor ticket and on the National Committee of the all powerful Dock Union.

As John Little remarked (see Daily of June 4 which arrived today) the composition of the Internationals is youthful to the extreme

—a majority between 20 and 28. This accounts, among other things, for high spirits which surmount petty difficulties like a lack of four poster beds, six course meals, and two suits of clothes.

There is a good sized group of Americans here at one of the International Brigade's training bases (are any more coming?) and we have been busy getting our 15th Brigade of English-Canadians-Americans organized. I've been busy enough and consequently happy, working on the Political Committee of the Company and as editor of the wall paper. I don't seem to miss out on jobs like that! I expect to be named next week as Political Commissar for the company.

It is funny that I had to come to Spain to see really for the first time a true cross section of the American people. Thus three auto workers have come from Detroit (Ford and Chrysler)—steel boy from U. S. Steel in McKeesport, Pa.—sailors, longshoremen, U. S. Army and Navy men, ranging in home ports from Frisco, Chicago, Sheboygan, Pittsburgh to our own New York.

Pardon for the haphazard thought sequence, but I am writing in the hour just before the political session and everybody is crawling all over me making inquiries if the ration of cigarettes are ready to be passed out, if the mail has come, etc. The boys go bats whenever they're out of cigarettes and they holler bloody murder if things get slowed up. Me, I don't give a damn. But when a dip of chocolates was dished out the first time you could just see boys' mouths water. Let me tell you—to hell with beds, three square meals—the keenest miss are sodas, malteds and Love Nests. As for girls in Spain, they dazzle you with their high-breasted brilliance, but nada, nada—at least until my Spanish improves. Jackie Freeman speaks it like a native. When I ran into him, all he could say was, "Heck, it's getting like Times Square." He's just pulled out of a three months tour of hospitals down with pneumonia contracted at Teruel. He's gone up to the Brigade now and will not see him until the recruits go up. Will write more of him later.

(After return from afternoon work.) Let me tell you, Larry, if anybody ever accused me of going to Spain to escape from work, he should know of the great mistake I would have made. We're putting in seven and one half tough hours daily marching kilometer on kilometer (5/8 mile), practicing combat tactics, infiltrating thru field on field, crawling on your bloody belly, charging finally up steep summits hurrahing like devils until your lungs are like to break. And then to top it off we may put in a short stint helping the campesinos pull lentils ...

Great changes must have been worked recently in Catalonia for the receptions we get are unvaryingly good. Everybody in town, three year old tots barely able to lift their arms to the charming (teasing) muchachas all are glad to see us. Most enthusiastic, however, are the refugees, whole families, fled from Bilbao, Santander, San Sebastian, Teruel and points west. At the base we are comfortable, war is unreal, Spain looks like any place in upper New York, though hilly as hell. Things move very slowly but I expect to become a good shot. Have done two hits out of five on second day's shooting at three hundred meters in kneeling position. Also learning to handle light machine gun whose origin you can guess. This applies to most of the equipment in use. I will write often (I swear) when things begin to pop, but want you to use enclosed short letter for propaganda at some camp ceremony (probably too late for July 4.) Will try to keep you supplied so you can tone up the YCL branch. Get those who know me to write ... Meantime give Sophie my love ...

Take care of the girls in my absence, don't fall in love too often, and inform me of the Spain work going on in camp. You can send me some husky sized paper pads via the F. A. L. B. Enclose gum in all letters. Have a malted on me !

Mendy

June 22, 1938

Dear Folks,

Congratulations to a brainy set of parents and a crackerjack sister. Your letters arrived this afternoon—the first for any American at the training base and I am the envy of all ...

I read them over several times and am beginning to get used to the idea of having received from you.

I've got to admit it had me crying from joy—but absolutely unashamedly. And now I want to confess about my first letters. I was feeling a little low and so tried to avoid personal remarks because I didn't know how to handle them, so tried to cover up about writing about Spain in general, and wasn't successful there either.

But now, I'm quite adjusted. I'm absolutely happy, the food agrees with me and I have a husky appetite, which is sometimes difficult to satisfy. But we are all becoming expert foragers and learning how to make up for the possible deficits in the meals.

I am happy because I am absorbed in my work (did I tell you this before?) as editor of the Brigade wall paper and as assistant to the Political Commissar ; by the way I expect to become Commissar for our Brigade recruits next week.

Our bunch. which is a true cross-section of America, auto workers from Detroit, steel men from McKeesport and Pittsburgh, sailors and longshoremen are quite united and this will certainly show good results at the front.

Listen, Pop, you know I hardly could say goodbye. Everything was stiff and formal and touchy. I regret it now. But I want pictures of you to keep constantly at my side. Jeanette writes about you forgetting to give me money, but I am still 27 dollars ahead at this writing, which is just about 27 more than most.

As for taking care of myself, let me tell you straight that the greatest proletarian force in the world is seeing to that. From instruction to military generalship to equipment—tanks, planes, heavy and light guns …

Maybe you could use some of my pesetas—we make to a day, about 4oc American money. But living is cheap what with a haircut costing 1 peseta and practically anything can be bought with a cigarette.

One word to Sam on the Jewish question. The real international language here is Yiddish. Jews from Germany, France, England, Poland, Czech, Hungary, Rumania, all the front ranks of their respective movements have come to battle the common enemy of the workers, and of the Jews as a special oppressed minority.

And Spain is perhaps a fit arena for this struggle. Here it was that the Medieval Inquisition drove the Jews from their homes and their livelihoods. Today Jews are returning welcomed by the entire Spanish people to fight the modern Inquisition, and in many cases the direct descendants of the ancient persecution—the Catholic Jesuit hierarchy—the feudal landholders combined with the finance capitalist oligarchy.

Yes, Pop, I am sure we are fighting in the best Maccabean tradition. And so goodbye for the present.

Salud and love for a speedy victory and return.

Wilfred

June 22

Dear Dan,

I know you must be thinking: What the hell has happened to Mendy? But Abby and Dave have written so you at least are aware of the fact that I came thru with all in fine shape.

Out here, Dan, one learns to appreciate one's friends. At the front friendships spring up and last till death separates. But I am thinking of the friends one misses back home. When ever things go a little slow at the training camp, or work gets hard tramping miles on end, practicing various combat formations and tactics, it only requires a hasty look to recall our friends who expect such big things of us to make our chins set more firmly and our wills to stiffen. And you, Dan, are one of the swell guys I keep constantly in mind to cheer my spirits. You and the cheery Friends, Mrs. K's sad smile, Bea's warm eagerness and pep, the whole bunch of girls.

But I have something else for warmth, the great friendship of the Catalonian people. Not so long ago Catalonia didn't feel the war was theirs but Franco's move in the Pyrenees, the bombing of frontier cities and the port of Barcelona, have truly aroused them. And they appreciate the Internationals, symbols of world-wide sympathy for their struggles.

When we march in the streets, the shops are emptied, the window balconies jammed as every one pours out to watch us pass ...

About myself—I am doing fine, tanned like a true Brighton Beadier, a good shot really, like a Coney Island range expert and doing a fair amount of political work as editor of the Eng-Am Brigade Newspaper (Sh—! expect to be named a Political Commissar next week—) for the 15th Brigade here at camp.

The Brighton Friends can be proud of their members—Dave and Abby are both applying themselves conscientiously to their work, and are very popular with all the boys. We've all become accustomed to the food and are really quite healthy and contented.

I am especially lucky because I can read Spanish and speak it a little. You see most of the boys feel a little bit lost at first, isolated somewhat. But we plan to hold affairs of our own, sports, matches, shooting contests, etc., with the aim of drawing the boys closer together. To combat whatever lonesomeness exists (and why shouldn't our boys long for the magnificent people they left behind) we expect you to keep up a steady correspondence. Also the Friends might help by sending some writing paper so we can hold our end ...

I know that you in the states are aware of critical period that lies ahead. This summer may well seal the fate of world peace including the Americas. Everybody knows that both sides are preparing for a gigantic battle. Should the combined Italo-German-Franco forces break through either on the Levante or Eastern front France will be cooked for fair. So will Czechoslovakia. War will be forced upon the European Democracies in a life and death struggle for independent existence.

Everybody must be brought to the realization of the fact that Premier Negrin's slogan "To resist is to win" means that every day united Spain continues its efforts time is gained for the peace forces all over to gather their strength, to mobilize their allies in tremendous demonstration to change the world situation. To change it in a favorable direction for Spain. To change it in a direction favorable to peace.

In this light Spain is holding the fort for America. But if America does not rally—Spain's efforts will have been in vain. That, however, is unthinkable, the point I am making is that time combined with untiring resistance the Loyalists will conquer, and time coupled with internal difficulties will lose for Fascism.

But if America allows time to pass, and merely observes from the sidelines, it is cutting its own throat.

One more point, the Internationals are looked upon justly as heroes. But those within its ranks cannot look upon their soldiering as any other but a grim task, that sooner or later all young men will be confronted with—unless—unless we raise such a torrent of hell as will lift the infernal embargo and pour in aid to this sorely beset country.

President Roosevelt has made tentative moves toward doing just this. Only your untiring work will prevent reaction from defeating neutrality revision. It would be in order then, I believe for your group to work toward the end of electing a Congressman from our District who will back the President, and express the will of the people.

So long Dan. Salud and love

Mendy

June 23, 1938

Afternoon

Dear Folks,

The most amazing thing about the human body and mind is it's capacity to adjust itself to ever-varying conditions.

Here I am living close by a little Spanish town, the like of which America has never known, yet within three weeks nothing is strange ; it has all become a part of me.

The burros, the peasant women who walk along slowly, balancing huge bundles on their heads, the small shops, the goat and shepherds, and the perennial dogs.

But penetrating this old world mode of living is the streamlined army efficiency. Motorcycles, fast cars, powerful Ford and Soviet trucks, aviation, are making this people loth century conscious.

And, oh, how necessary this is if poor Spain is to weld itself into a force strong enough to conquer the Imperialist oppressors and invaders.

The new and old appear side by side continually.

Thus we will find girls accompanied by parents to the theatre (not always) and others will get up on the stage as leaders of the United Youth Alliance and spur the soldiers on to greater heroism. But there goes the post call, so close for the present.

Wilfred

June 25

Dear Lennie,

It's taken me a month to get set for you, but here it is—a letter from Spain! Remember how romantic and full of symbols that phrase used to sound? Well, the vividness of that homegrown impression has worn off somewhat, but the strength, the reality that lies behind the picturesque phrase remains.

I'm a veteran of one month standing (still at training camp) and things that used to hit me between the eyes now only strike glancing blows. Such as the pitifully thin refugee kids who have come to Catalonia from every part of Franco-held territory. Such as the queues of women outside the municipal bread stores.

But it would be wrong to dwell on the grim side of the war (of course I won't even pretend at this time to talk about the front) for above all and penetrating everything is the sublime confidence and knowledge in the absolute certainty of the people's capacity to resist and conquer.

How is this demonstrated to me, a foreigner, with as yet but a limited knowledge of the spoken language?

By the fact that every youngster has been mobilized for the war—wears a uniform—that is, the towns are bare of people fit for service and evading conscription.

By the warm "Salud" of the villagers and farm folk, arms uplifted in loyalist salute.

By the bright smiles of the muchachas ...

By the rapid entrance into the factories of young girls and women to replace men needed for the front. We see everywhere only girls in the shops and stores, mainly women in the field. (That is why, perhaps, all of us are eagerly volunteering to help in the harvesting.) By the unity of all expressed in all speeches of the various fiestas (sometimes utilized by the non-understanding Americans for siestas) of CNT, UGT, and Left Republican speakers.

Everybody here follows minutely every debate in Commons on Chamberlain's policy of letting British shipping go hang. And equally are we interested in every declaration of Roosevelt and Hull. It looks like these two are advancing every day. The Senate condemnation of bombing of open cities, Hull's Nashville speech and the advance news on Roosevelt's speech on June 30. But when, when will the embargo be sent to hell?

One thing about which there is an absolute unity of opinion in the Negrin government and all its backers and in the army—is the realization that the bastardly weak ( from the point of view of morale) democratic capitalist powers will not step in to help Spain with direct measures until Spain out of her own resources and strength proves and demonstrates real possibilities for victory. That seems to sum up the position of Daladier, of British Labor, or Roosevelt. So everything is being tuned up on both sides of the lines for a very tough scrimmage sometime this summer (for Musso and Hitler also realize that their chances to bluff people like the foregoing depends on a quick smashing blow).

Well, Spain is going to crack through to victory, mainly relying on her own strength—her own men, her own munitions. But the International aid from us volunteers and the marvelous equipment recently received (do you know from whence?) is telling all Spain that the international working class is with her and more—that our powerful reserves back home are working desperately hard to change foreign policy in the interests of Spain, of world peace, of world democracy.

But in Passionaria's trenchant phrase, Spain will not win with castrated men; and Dr. Negrin's statement that the government is going to give the works to any and every compromising bastard in the rear guard shows that the government of national union is fully aware of the difficult period ahead but is preparing to accomplish everything necessary to overcome all sabotage, all hesitation, in order to win.

Lennie, to write about personal things in the midst of a period of the greatest stress for all humanity seems entirely out of place. You remember our old days in the NSL when everyone of us, Eddie Alexander, Bert Witt, Ruth and George Watt, Sid, were working our heads off to build a student organization. You remember that our thought and strength were poured into the organizational work. Personal comfort, personal life was secondary ...

In Spain I am re-living my NSL days. And I am happy. I wish you could see Leo and perhaps put a bug in his ear. His only hope for joy is in intense work for our common aspirations. He doesn't have to come to Spain to find that out once again. Let him recall our swell years in Brighton, '32-'34.

You know that the keynote to victory and long life in this war is health and military efficiency. I am strong, well strong enough to have made one son-of-a-b--- of a climb. (Did you read Matthews' article in the Times of June 5 describing his visit to the Lost Division?). And yesterday I rated in the first five shooting with practice rifles at targets 300 metres away.

I'd better close now because I've got to arrange the next issue of the wallpaper which I am editor of (at least there are no Student News or Young Worker advertising and financial worries and to hell with the printer!) ... Of course this letter is meant for YCL consumption. Boy how the press gloats over Joe Louis' victory.

As ever,

Mendy

June 27, 1938

Doris dear,

... Along came a comrade whom I half believed dead—a bright courageous Negro who came across last June along with Mae's brother and a whole host of my friends. He was YCL section organizer in Crown Heights and if you see Mike Saunders you might tell him I saw Joe Taylor and that he's in good health—never been wounded in any action. He gave me news of friends—some cruel, terribly hard to take, and other good, reassuring ...

Incidentally this is being sneaked in during a class on the light machine gun (notes are being given which, however, I got some time ago), while the boys go sadly along breaking their heads on the Spanish names and the workings of the mechanisms (not necessarily Spanish).

Cubans and Americans are in the class and our instructor for this session is a young Wisconsin boy, about twenty-four, now a Lieutenant who has seen a good deal of action. He is having a hell of a time pronouncing his Spanish and the Cubans are ribbing him.

This peaceful class is held in a poster-strewn room in the Church, a fitting place for this purpose since this was the center of reaction and an arsenal for the fascists. Regarding the posters I've sent my father one and I'll send more so the garish Center will reflect a few of the Spanish people's struggles. I know some beauties have been seen in New York, but the artists are attaining a level in this particular field which neither the Soviet nor even the French Popular Front artists have come near reaching.

You know that close to 60 per cent of the population was illiterate or at best semi-literate, the chief means of conveying government slogans, popularizing the demands of the moment is through the visual field. All this old-line talk of art and politics can have no sense at all where the fight for existence, all life and hence its reflection in art, is so tightly bound up with the course of politics. Every instruction is given by these wonderful posters. Calling up volunteers, stressing need for fortifications, for continued resistance, explaining the aims of the war—appealing separately to worker, farmer, small commercant (store-keeper), urging women to replace men in the factories ; then to women—how to nurse your children ; to soldier—to avoid venereal diseases, drunkenness ...

I sent a long letter to Lennie a few days ago but he probably has not received it since you tell me he has got that out-of-town job he was angling for—for which I am very glad ... Drifting from lousy job to lousy job he had queer notions about not trying for Civil Service and if he hadn't caught on to this job, which is his first opportunity in several years to do some good work, he would be miserable, mentally as well as physically. Back in '33 and '34 Lennie and I had wonderful times in the student movement, collaborating on the District Committee of the NSL and Student News—our pride and joy. He always looked to me for help in studying our Marx and Lenin and I'm proud now of the progress this new job signified he has made. For some years our ways were separate, but when I came back from Unity last year and entered the Brighton section, got a job near where he worked, we got really close again. When in January I got ready to leave for Spain he had his heart in throat, kept asking if I was really sure. We had long discussions which were sometimes painful. But he was always timid about discussing finalities, and he would wince when I'd give him my sister's crack: "The condemned man ate a hearty meal ...

Girlie, not committing any military indiscretion, big battles are looming on the horizon. How long before we move from base to brigade position is still unknowledgeable—but surely a matter of days now, at most a few weeks. When we start up, I'll let you know ...

It's time to sign off—class is just about ending and it's my turn to assemble the machine gun ...

As ever, pen, book and now rifle in hand,

Wilfred

June 30, 1938

July 2

Dear Mom and Pa,

I guess we'll all be applying soon for membership in the Union of Agricultural Laborers. I for one believe that the stint of work turned in yesterday entitles me to a card by any union standard ...

People speak on the question of morale. Christ—one can carry on if necessary without food and clothing—but without that continuous barrage of love expressed in your wonderful letters—it might be too easy at times to fall prey to a faint heart.

And it isn't only me—(you needn't restrain your emotion on that account—) but all my close friends who are a real part of me—both our destinies so intimately intertwined—eagerly read your letters and tears come to their eyes so readily as they do to my own.

Mom, you surely remember the mother of Gorky's character, how she rose to help her son, taking leaflets in to the factory hidden beneath her skirts even though she hardly realized the particular meaning of her actions. But she was hound by love to her son and his comrades.

Mother, to me you're a modern reincarnation of Gorky's figure and my friends agree. I felt a little squeamish the first time selling Dailies and even collecting for Spain in the train. You've got plenty of heart—all the courage of a Spanish mother—to overcome every inner uneasiness and conquer that train. You're one of those Bolsheviks of whom Stalin said can conquer any fortress.

Sometimes one doesn't always meet with immediate success so one must develop "the long view." Yes, people will refuse your leaflets, your own relations may remain obstinately silent and oblivious to a world cracking round their heads, but that can never stop you because you know you are right and must keep driving ahead, wearing away like water on a stone.

Only we mustn't get any queer ideas about the nature of revolution ; it will never come as a result of any single action but only at the summit of a series of movements, major and minor, over a long course of years. Understanding of this gives significance to every one of our little activities preparing one or another stage of these movements.

Besides your inspiring work you must learn to lead others—to show your responsibilities, share the hard work and don't try to do it all at once, for it's a long and hard battle we are facing. I'm glad, sure Mike, to hear from Sid and Sam. Let me tell you a little secret, our Party is not a private organization, it is for the people who support it. And you'd best get busy filling its ranks with Sid and Sam and a whole host of others.

You ask me where I am. I hardly know more than you. Read Joe North and Matthews in The Times and you'll be following me ... When they have no news then things are going smoothly—expect such to be the case for another month or two ...

I am living like a Boy Scout—built a wonderful dug-out and lean-to to sleep in and eating better than I have in a long time.

Love to everyone,

Wilfred

July 4

Dear Larry,

The Glorious Fourth is here and everyone naturally is in full accord with the Police Department slogan for a 'safe and sane' Independence Day. (Of course waking at 5:30 is a hell of a way to start off, but it has plenty of common sense behind it—up at dawn prepared for any eventuality.) We have moved up to the Lincoln Battalion which remains at rest (and in training). You doubtless will be apprised of our activities just as soon as we are via Joe North and Matthews. North was around a day ago and probably will return to cover our fiesta. There's a plane circling in our territory—he dropped a few about two kilometers away.

This has happened several times in the three days since we came here. It sure looks sweet as the wings just manage to slice off a piece of the early sun, glitters unconcernedly and continues on its appointed rounds.

First guy to meet me is George Watt—who for one thing knew I was coming from his mother's and sister's mail. Still the same boy, but much more confident of himself. We were up half the night, he giving me the whole story of the famous last action. While I don't propose to give you the story—anyway the censor would scrap the best parts—the conclusion is that you had to have plenty of quick-moving brains, decision and just ornery fortitude to come through. Jackie Freeman is here, part of the observer's corps. I have been assigned as No. 2 gunner on a light machine gun, but will probably switch over to Jackie's work because it affords a greater opportunity to learn in short order—army movements, trench construction, relative strength of positions, strength of fire, etc, Only drawback is that it takes me out of the main body of men. But I suppose that be in a better position to exert myself if I have some essential military knowledge.

Jackie is all right. Knows plenty about observing, mapping art and so forth. Next to the officers, probably one of the most capable guys around. Is not an officer because he's been out ever since Teruel with pneumonia ...

This is one hell of a youthful army. Officers and men, the average age (excluding the Spaniards who are in every squad, section, company and battalion of the internationals) is not more than 23, the Spanish are all about 17-19. Talk about winning the youth in the fight for peace and democracy, where the hell would Spain be without the youth?

Worked hard the first day, cutting down a big tree for our chiboda or semi lean-to and dugouts. Keeps the dew off our backs and the sun off our troops. Quiet comfortable—thus answering my old question—where and how do you sleep?

From the material I've seen, we can confirm once more if it needs any confirmation, that if not for one well-organized section of the world's alert population, Spain would be —! ...

Yale is battalion aide (runner and other things). Martin is a sergeant attached to the 15th Brigade. Harry is with transmission (used to be Unity's electrician).

They are all in good health and pleased as hell to hear about the board placed in the casino last summer. I guess they'd all be interested in correspondence from Sophie and Louis. You might get some greetings adopted and actually sent to us...

The literature problem is a main consideration. This is the readingest army! M. and I opened the day walking around, head low on the lookout for books, pamphlets, papers. Seems more like a Party school than anything else, let alone an army base. Still amuses me to see guys holding their breath over detective and sport stories. I'm reading that Soviet mystery by Jasienski, Man Changes His Skin. Get a hold of it, you'll like it Damn good piece, exposing sabotage and Trotskyist work in the Far East. He should know, wasn't he caught for similar activities?

I'm enclosing a copy of The Volunteer, now no longer edited by Edwin Rolfe who is here in camp instead shouldering a rifle. Get it up and around if you like, Get a flock of my friends to sign it and send it back. Tell Sonia to send me a pretty picture of herself, and you don't have to be Bashful yourself. And slip gum in the letters. Enclose a stick for the censor, he'll appreciate it.

The coffee has come and best be up to get my portion. Read the Daily Worker, and other good things; and send along occasional literature of import. Build your YCL to replace tenfold the good Unity boys who have gone under and love all around.

From a sentimental guy,

Mendy

July 6, 1938

Dear Mother and Father,

Do you remember how well I used to live at Camp Unity? Well, sometimes it seems impossible to distinguish between the Camp and the Battalion. All Catalonia is hilly (nobody calls them such, but they really are mountains—part of the Catalonian chain) and we are in a valley between four or five of these hills.

This is a beautiful country and Camp fades into insignificance before the beauty, the grandeur of our surroundings. The sunsets alone are worth the admission fee to Spain. Impossible to describe are these sky-waves of majestic purple, rose, shadings of violet and lavender.

And as for my bunk, while it can't compare in finished construction to a Unity one gives me vastly greater satisfaction, because—what the hell I built it with my own back and shoulders. (It's the first bit of mechanical effort I've indulged in since I made a tooth-brush holder back in 6B.)

Well behind the lines . The Battalion will be at rest for some time yet. Guarded by Abby's and my rifles, we are living "the life of Riley." Since we've come here, June 30th, the food has been fine. We are resting a good part of the day—Siesta lasts from It to 4 and we have plenty of leisure hours too ...

I've met Leonard Lamb, who is second in command in the Battalion. He and George and Wolff—all younger than twenty-six represent the new type of political and military leadership which exists not only among the Internationals, but also throughout the entire army. July 4th was a big fiesta. We paraded into town to the soccer field to engage in some short-order drill, listened to our Battalion and Brigade leadership and eat our fill. George was chairman and lie introduced the new Brigade commander Valledor, for the main speech. Maybe I ought to clear up any confusion on this Battalion and Brigade business. The Battalion consists of several companies and the Brigade consists of several Battalions. Thus the 15th Brigade (Internationals) bases within it the Washington-Lincoln, the MacKenzie-Papineau, the British and others. Thus the Brigade has all the English-speaking volunteers. I am sending you a Volunteer and you can learn what you want about our new Brigade commander who has replaced the Czech, Copic.

Unfortunately, I am unable to give you a good first-hand impression of Valledor, because it so happens the sun was very warm, the ground remarkably soft, and the speech somehow, as M. would put it, had soporific effect. In any event I fell asleep.

They tell me we sent a telegram to President Roosevelt and also received one from Negrin. Very nice and I heartily approved.

As for Jeanette, her letters are my real bright spots, which I eagerly anticipate. But tell her that I heartily disapprove, the very idea of even thinking about the bare possibility that a branch may be named after me. Too, too menacing.

Why the hell are you still working in the store? Papa used to say that if I ever got a steady job there would be no necessity to continue working. Well my job now seems steady enough, despite all this bantering about volunteer withdrawals. Every time Hitler and Mussolini win a victory they begin to negotiate with England on the basis of an expected immediate collapse of the Loyalists. And every time they suffer setbacks all talk of withdrawals stops. This exposes the humbuggery of the Non-Intervention Committee proposals. Only our victory will bring about evacuation, and that is our goal. The Soviet delegates' expression of doubt of the whole scheme should prove conclusive.

I think it particularly important that you two should be clear on this, because it would be cruel to be misled. Further you've got a real job on your hands combating false optimism in this line, because such optimism is fatal to the understanding of the Spanish war and will impede largely, very largely efforts to aid Spain and the Lincoln-Washingtons.

I close with great love for you and supreme confidence we will all come through victoriously.

Comradely-in-arms,
Wilfred

July 10

Dear Mom and Pop,

... Sometimes, mind you only sometimes, my thoughts go back to home, and while all around a bunch of buys sit on ammunition packs, a bomb here, a bomb there, in these quiet and healthful surroundings, I imagine the goings on in the Mendelson home ... Do you still have to go to those interminable Knishe parties for Spain? I hope as a sincere friend of Spain you are serving courses easier on the digestive system.

When I return home my habits will be changed some. I expect to wait for cops blowing bugles before crossing streets, walk in the streets with my belongings wrapped in a blanket which in turn is slung around one shoulder. At home lineup to eat, messkit in hand, sit on the floor squat-legged and use only one utensil—the spoon. Then, wanting a nap, the thing to do will be to wrap myself in the rug (or blanket) roll over on the floor and sleep soundly till 5:30 in the morning until the tune of bugles (or milkman's horse). But if the boys who go to Barcelona get over this awkwardness damned soon it's possible same will happen to me. Say did you see Roosevelt's swell speech on the 1938 elections? Boy his line is sure growing fine. But I guess it's not all of his own volition.

Reaction seems to be drawing up its plans of battle so dearly none can miss their intentions, no, not even the advanced bourgeois democrat in the White House.

Monday, July 11

Another day, more drill, a siesta ( nap) and back to you. You see, I also delay mail in eager expectancy to hear from you. And then when I do get mail so happy am I, there is no sitting down to answer. Let me tell you a little secret about this business. If a lot of people write one gets the peculiar impression they are interested in you—therefore I naturally would like a lot of nail from various sources. That goes not only for me, of course. So you want to be on your toes in the Friends extracting promises from people who know these boys to write to them. Well here goes for more drill.

So long—I love you all deeply,

Wilfred

July 12

To the Brighton Young Communist League,
In one week Loyalist Spain celebrates the conclusion of two years of struggle for independence.

In this period of great travail much talk emanates from London promising retirement from their country of the foreign invaders, but the Spanish people know that only upon their arms depends their freedom, that only military victory will decide the issue: Who will rule Spain?

We Americans, part of the Internationals aiding the forces of liberty, know we will return only following such a victory or at such time as the Government of the People agrees to dispense with our services. Meantime we look confidently, eagerly homeward for continued support to the Washington-Lincoln Battalion in their battle for world peace and freedom.

W. Mendelson

Tuesday, July 12

Folks,

Today I heard the best news in a long time. The mail situation seems definitely cleared up with everything clearing from here direct to the States. In return you too will be able to write directly, no need for use of the Paris address.

I still don't know if you got any of my previous letters but now we have assurance of steady intercourse. Well I feel wonderful.

Notice the air-mail stamp. (I hope to buy one tonight.)

This morning was swell. Got up with the intention of seeing the dentist. Had my coffee (what a coffee drinker Spain has made of me—only it's roasted barley) and marmalade, and then washed my teeth out of deference to the doc. Three of us walked to the Brigade hospital where we got fixed up. A really pleasant experience. I had lost a filling, but the tooth remained clear, so with no pain at all a temporary filling was put in and I had the rest of the morning off. We continued on to town where nought could be gotten except hazelnuts. Two and one-half pounds for a peseta. Picked up some magazines and books at the dentists which all here will surely appreciate. About the dental situation it might be a good thing to approach Dr. S., and if he isn't too overwhelmed with Norman Thomas pessimism, get him to join the Dentist Committee for Spain or at least get a good-sized contribution.

The dentist here had no electric drill, so he used one operated by a sewing machine pedal. Quaint but just as effective.

But now I am going to be busy filling out a four-page questionnaire and application for the Spanish Section of the Tuesday night club. Although it may take months before I get the actual book, I've already started paying dues.

Need I repeat that I am in absolutely sound health, browner than ever, and as heavy as I used to say in my post office exams ...

All eagerly read the Daily Worker —it is high treason to destroy the paper ! for news of the movement in their respective localities.

M. writes to tell me of the big plans to push circulation this summer. Well if the Daily means the hundredth part to you comrades, of what we regard it, then the drive is a sure-fire success. We are interested in the drive's success from a selfish point of view.

We see in every new reader, a new Spain booster. We see a Spanish victory and a happy return home. Boost the Daily!

I love you all.

Wilfred

July 15, 1938

Dear Jeanette,

Here it is 6:30 and while the boys are lining up for their coffee (roasted barley) I thought to myself it was high time to answer your many swell letters.

At 6:30 you can imagine it is pretty hard to get sentimental—anyhow the plain fact is your snappy interesting bits of love and gossip are some of the best things in life.

I've received plenty of mail—some 22 letters-tops for the recruits ...

Another thing is all this sentiment about "I don't know where you are." Hell you know I hope that I'm in Catalonia and that's about all anyone can know.

I've finished a month of training after arriving in Spain on the 29th of May—came up with my group to the Abraham Lincoln Battalion on the 30th of June and remain with this my permanent unit "til death do us part."

Incidentally, as the papers do or do not tell, we are still at rest—and may continue in such position for some time.

(11 A.M. after having tooth filled)

Maybe you expert a complete report from me, physical, political, and social.

Physically—I am absolutely tops. Remember when I returned from two weeks a-berry picking as black as Mussolini's heart? That's my color now. Give me a white turban and they'll be shooting at me for a Moor. I even fancy I'm picking up weight for after all life here is kinda easy.

Politically (well, it takes time). After working as adjutant or sumpin to the Pol. Commissar at the training base, we have all been divided up among the several companies of the Lincoln-Washington Battalion. I'm busy now on an article for the wall paper, have taken part, no need to mention !—in the political hour discussions and presided at my first Tuesday night club meeting.

Incidentally, my international transfer will soon be effected, having applied for admission into the Spanish organization. I also got my first pay in crisp peseta notes. Almost as thrilling as my first Macy check.

I've met a lot of my friends—are many more I didn't …

Your department store friends—Jack and Mannie (Macy) are mine. Swell guys to war with—I hope. Both are pals of Mae's and received mail from her same time I did. A little disconcerting to have all of us called equally "darling" and signed off with "love and kisses."

(In come now the rest of the "heroes" raising bloody hell. Think they respect a fellow writing his sister.) ...

Listen, Jeanette, the war has not yet made its full force apparent to me, except in the undue proportion of beans in the diet. I've seen a magnificent cathedral rising through Barcelona completely stripped of interior and exterior, shorn down to a couple of sky-scraping spires. But that can convey nothing to me. My brain says "Bombers," I know it, I see it, but the terror behind this destruction just isn't there.

Likewise, this business of air-raids. Practically every day, a really beautiful silver-gleaming bomber—not ours—comes darting across the sky, seemingly glances (censored) and then in complete confidence and accuracy, don't underestimate these fascists (censored). We all get down—we are invisible to the observer at his height because our chibodas (lean-to's or dugouts) are camouflaged—but there is no fear for me—yet. It is absolutely unreal, or merely picturesque or vaguely interesting like a good movie newsreel.

But after the first action—there'll be more to report. No matter how strong one's political consciousness it will be natural to be intensely subjective. But the capacity of the mind to dominate matter —the flesh had better come to the fore soon or it will be too bad. But—the others have come through—and so will I.

The real test of every Spain volunteer—to prove how strong is the tie between his idealistic romanticism and dialectical materialism will make or break this young Bolshevik.

But once the test is over and "passed" then the so-called new steel can be tempered—one begins to throw away all his old values about life and people. One really adopts for the first time a world-view, a "long-run" range of mind, a calmness, a firmness that are necessary prerequisites for a good C.P. man.

As you can see I'm not entirely out of the so-called subjective stage. One of the books I just finished probably turned me in that direction. You'd do well to get it. Tide is "Spanish Testament" by a British Socialist correspondent Arthur Koestler, who was jailed when Málaga fell and who remained 102 days with a death sentence hanging over him and execution momentarily expected. Really a fine piece of work—of a guy who kept his guts off the floor.

He has one sentence which always was a part of me, but never freely uttered. I was pleased to see its printed expression. He says "A man may and does know he is going to die. But he can never believe it."

But enough of that business.

You seem to have some fear (I know it's not that) of not including enough strictly so-called political meat in your mail.

Listen, baby, just write, see it's the greatest moral and physical stimulant. I like every line of what you write and it's my great joy you've been so regular.

And let me tell you a little secret of my success.

This business of reading political stuff. Do you think for a moment I read against my will, being bored or something? That I read in order to become "important." The hell, I was lucky enough to plunge in at a time when my reading habits were being formed and since this was now my active life (at school) it was the most natural, normal, simple thing for me to spend all my reading time with the real stuff. You know I scarcely read a word of fiction during 1932-1934.

Well, you too I'm sure will get an intense thrill out of our Lenin and our Marx. And the more active you become, as you see experience prove and prove again the correctness of our theory, then you will get that unimaginable thrill (but perhaps you've already felt it) of keen hunger for more, and more, and more.

I want you to enjoy it—not like your forced labor on the piano—but you've got to practice, learn the scales, before you begin to spread yourself out with the masterpieces. Only, luckily, you will see in Lenin that he never takes anything for granted, that he always starts from first principles and then hammers on to bigger and better polemics against his befuddled adversaries. So you will always find your exercises intertwined with your masterpieces. Once you can read, enjoy and study—you've received the key to success.

But enough of moralizing. Perhaps you'll forgive me, for giving advice from the summits, like God handing the Commandments to Moses, is an old didactic habit not easy to break or to sugar-coat.

I want to close now, hoping this gets to the mailman and reaches you before the summer's end—at least before the end of the guerre.

So long baby, how long baby? till we clean up here.

Watch for the papers for the next drive along the Ebro, we'll be in it. Love

W.

July 17, 1938

Dear Mae,

Maybe I took too long to tell you about George, but I'm relying on your eagerness to read to make up for any differences in my writing.

Anyway here goes.

Coming into Spain via the usual overland route—my first contact with George came when one of M.'s letters passed through Brigade headquarters (through George's hands) before coming on to the training camp. Pencilled on the back was this not "Why don't you come up, you punk. George (remember?)." Minute, any fortute, to be frank, I couldn't figure out what it meant, but Abby who was standing right to hand, ups and shouts, "Why, it's George Watt, of course." That was pretty neat, eh?

About a week later—after a month in training we all piled into trucks to move up, as the novel expression would have it, to the Battalion, which if you've been receiving George's mail, is at rest and likely to be so for some time. We come roaring up the road, swirling dangerously around precipitous turns in our American camions (trucks) reputedly more dangerous than avions (planes) on the narrow mountain paths—and the first guy I lay eyes on is a tall, nattily dressed officer strolling along in his best Camp Kinderland counselor manner.

So I lets out a war-whoop—no apologies needed—I hadn't seen the man in a year. That night we had a little reunion ...

Give us the local dirt, the stuff that will carry us back to the boardwalk rail or now on to the watermelon-infested beach.

Tell us about the boys you girls are dazzling, about M. and the YCL, about the sun and the stars, the movies and the ice cream vendors.

Meantime the war goes on—perhaps at the most ferocious pace ever. The halo-German drive on Valencia seems to be key to the whole struggle. All the central provinces are rushing aid to halt the fascists. Valencia is going to prove another Madrid despite all the predictions of fascist success.

The whole summer will prove decisive to the future life of Spanish democracy. Of this there can be no doubt since Italy needs immediate victory to put their Anglo accord into effect. While Spain left to itself as it has been will manufacture resistance and victory out of its own soil and strength, our American organizations must see that every bit of aid coming from those shores is not only a physical stimulant but also a tremendous moral impetus to our Spanish trenchmates ...

Give my regards—and love to Nellie, and the other league people.

Goodbye for time being,

Mendy

July 23, 1938

Dear Monus,

Two whole nights we've been marching, the toughest grind I ever put in—in all my just short of twenty-three years. Absolutely grueling I thought the first night, and then it was impossible to sleep in the daytime heat. On the move again, we covered twice the territory of the preceding trip. Fellows kept dropping out all along the line—full pack, the ammunition, heat took its toll and trucks were picking them up. I might have dropped out too, just kept thinking, if the rest of my squad can do it, so can I. Time came when my squad of six had all quit, but by now my whole mind and body were keyed to the idea of coming through.

But let me confess it required plenty of counting—even mechanical counting of those who expected me to come through. Like this I would be shuffling along, unable to keep my eyes open, thirsty till you could cry (you didn't because you knew everyone else was in the same condition) and then it becomes intolerable. Inertia carries you on. After every rest period it's worse. So I say to myself—My folks, what are they thinking, you, Branch 8, the section.

Last night was my first sleep.

July 24—It looks like most any hour now and we'll be off. You know what that means. It will be a long time action and we hope to crack far into enemy territory.

When a mail system can be re-established will be determined by the fortunes of war. While our forces are tremendously strong in comparison to the enemy—and we confidently expect victory—accidents can and do happen to individuals.

I'm signing off for the time being.

Don't show this note to my parents. Take care of them.

I love you,

Wilfred