Best Alisa Allgood Podcasts (2025)

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July 30, 1971: Palm Trees, Pool Days, and the “Lucky Guy” 5:47

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1d ago5:47

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Send us a text Sarah’s in Miami, swimming laps and soaking up the sun — but the real heat in this letter comes from the parties, the old friends, and her love for one “lucky guy” back in Vietnam. She’s four months pregnant, feeling strong, and starting to enjoy the countdown to September. There’s a lot of honesty in this letter — including her thou…

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July 30, 1971: A Suite in Hawaii, Eggs Benedict, and You 5:06

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Send us a text Dick’s letter today reads like a dream. He imagines their upcoming reunion in Hawaii in vivid detail — a suite overlooking the ocean, champagne in bed, and eggs Benedict served with love. He’s counting the days, longing for the wife and life he’s aching to return to. And while he says he’s not a poet, what pours out onto the page is …

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July 29, 1971: Ground Rules, Frick & Frack, and One Hell of a Blowjob 8:28

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Send us a text It’s July 29, 1971. My mom is four months pregnant and visiting her friends Judy and Dick in Miami. It’s hot, breezy, and full of freedom — a chance to rest and reset. She’s sleeping late on a waterbed, drinking G&Ts, and laying down some very clear house rules. But even in the sunshine, her mind is on my dad — still in Vietnam, stil…

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July 29, 1971: A Ticket to Paradise and the Arms of My Wife 4:55

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Send us a text Dick has big news — their long-awaited R&R is officially on the calendar. In today’s letter, he confirms the date, imagines the moment they’ll reunite, and signs off with all the tenderness of a man who’s counting down every last day. Support the show The Allgoods: Vietnam Through the Eyes of Love is a personal podcast project based …

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July 28, 1971: In the Air to Miami 3:56

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Send us a text Sarah wrote this letter on the plane to Miami — a trip she’d been planning for weeks to visit her friend Judy. She picked up Nancy and Gordon that morning, they dropped her off at the airport, and then drove her car back to her apartment. Even mid-flight, she made time to write to Dick — quick, funny, and full of love. Support the sh…

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July 28, 1971: “Love Is a Memory Time Cannot End” 6:18

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Send us a text Sarah’s first night in Miami is quiet and warm. She’s staying as a guest at Judy and Dick’s ultra-modern apartment, getting comfortable in a queen-sized waterbed and writing to Dick after a long travel day. The letter is full of easy moments and soft humor, but one line on the wall in her room lingers: “Love is a memory time cannot e…

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July 28, 1971: Spare Ribs and a Crashed Mail Plane 6:49

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Send us a text Dick’s letter today includes a few missed letters, a cigarette relapse, and a familiar craving for ribs. A Pan Am cargo jet went down, possibly taking one of Sarah’s letters with it — and in the same breath, Dick mentions prepping for a Saturday night cookout. If you knew him later in life, you know ribs weren’t just dinner. They bec…

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July 27, 1971: Keeping Track of You 4:50

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Send us a text Dick is two days into trying to quit smoking, and it’s wearing him down. But what rises to the surface in this letter is his devotion. Even through cravings and restless sleep, he’s thinking about Sarah’s day — picturing where she is, what time it is for her, and who she’s with. He wonders if her friend Judy might be pregnant. He pla…

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July 27, 1971: My Little Richard Watched Over Me All Night 4:56

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Send us a text On July 27, 1971, Sarah Allgood writes from San Antonio with a quiet update: she didn’t get on her scheduled flight to Miami. After a rough night and the toll of the Texas heat, she follows Dick’s advice — she rests. All day. In this letter, she shares what it feels like to listen to her body, to sleep in, and to be cared for — not b…

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“Little Richard & the Hamburger Steak” — July 26, 1971 9:31

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Send us a text n this letter from July 26, 1971, Sarah Allgood picks up a five-foot teddy bear and names him “Little Richard” — a stand-in for the real Richard, who’s still thousands of miles away in Vietnam. She’s just come from her four-month pregnancy checkup, she’s exhausted from the heat, and she’s doing everything she can to take care of hers…

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July 26, 1971: Together in Soul for Always 4:31

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Send us a text On July 26, 1971, Dick writes to Sarah during a quiet alert day in Vietnam. With no flying and no action, he decides to test himself — carrying an open pack of cigarettes and a lighter in his pocket all day without lighting a single one. The letter drifts between light updates and deeper reflections: dreams of Sarah and the baby, a c…

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25 July 1971: Just One More Weekend to Mark Off 5:20

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Send us a text Sarah writes from San Antonio on a quiet Sunday, still holding onto the sound of Dick’s voice after what might be their last phone call before Hawaii. With calls costing $25 — a major splurge for them — she stretches every word in her heart. She spends the day rereading his letters, doing laundry, getting ready for her OB appointment…

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“Big Girls Do It a Whittle More Often” — July 25, 1971 6:21

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Send us a text In this letter from Sunday, July 25, 1971, Dick Allgood comforts Sarah after a tearful phone call. With a mix of tenderness and humor, he tells her, “You will always be the biggest girl in the world in my eyes. Even big men have to cry and express their feelings — big girls do it a whittle more often. When you stop crying and worryin…

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“Only 45 Days: A Letter, a Call, and a Mother-in-Law 6:44

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Send us a text On July 24, 1971, Sarah Allgood writes to her husband Dick after hearing his voice over the phone — a rare gift while he’s serving in Vietnam. She’s emotional but trying to stay strong, counting down the final 45 days until they’re together again. In her letter, she shares updates on daily life, asks him to thank her mother for mater…

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July 24, 1971: Boy, Did I Get in Deep 4:35

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Send us a text On July 24, 1971, Dick Allgood writes to his wife Sarah after spending his day off handling an assignment from his superiors. A local Vietnamese woman who worked in the hooch was flagged by the police for having an expired ID pass, and Dick was ordered to escort her through the renewal process. Between the Buddhist calendar, a langua…

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July 23, 1971: Dreamed of You Twice 1:46

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Send us a text It’s just after 7 a.m. in Vietnam when Dick writes this note — a quick hello to Sarah before the day begins. He’s full from breakfast, still warm from dreams of her, and completely wrapped up in longing. It’s short, sweet, and deeply personal — proof that even the smallest letter can carry the biggest kind of love. Support the show T…

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“Red, White & Sherbet: July 23, 1971” 7:40

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Send us a text In this letter from July 23, 1971, Sarah writes from San Antonio with updates on baby shopping, Dairy Queen cravings, and an orange sherbet cocktail recipe worth stealing. But under all the activity, there’s a deeper undercurrent of tension with her mother-in-law, loneliness without her husband, and a quiet determination to carve out…

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July 23, 1971: Wet Dreams, Welfare, and Those Damn Nancys 5:42

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Send us a text This is the second letter my father wrote to my mother on July 23, 1971 — from Da Nang, Vietnam. He wasn’t dodging bullets or flying missions. He was stuck on a quiet base, doing almost nothing — and he knew it. In this letter, he talks about how the Air Force feels like a “welfare society,” how little he’s being asked to do, and how…

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Cheater, Cheater, Kebab Eater — July 22, 1971 5:36

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Send us a text July 22, 1971. Sarah spends the evening with friends at Joe and Jean Sebato’s — enjoying wine, cherries jubilee, and a warm circle of people. But something’s missing. Her husband. The baby’s father. The other half of her world. What makes this letter so compelling isn’t just who’s in the room — it’s who’s not. Jean — who recently had…

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July 22, 1971: A Stereo Confession, a Miami Hello, and One Loyal Husband 5:39

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Send us a text In this letter from July 22, 1971, Captain Dick Allgood writes to his wife, Sarah, with a confession: he didn’t wait to buy the record player like he said he would—he found a deal too good to pass up. Now their stereo system is complete, and he’s hoping she’s not upset. He shares this with humor, tenderness, and that familiar mix of …

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July 21, 1971: A Short Love Note to Miami 2:40

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Send us a text In this brief second letter from July 21, 1971, Captain Dick Allgood sends a tender note addressed to Miami—though his wife Sarah hasn’t even left Texas yet. He’s thinking ahead, making sure a love letter will be waiting for her when she arrives later that month. It’s short, affectionate, and full of quiet hope for the life they’re b…

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July 21, 1971: Stereo Dreams, Tape Deck Love, and One Proud Husband 5:47

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Send us a text In this July 21, 1971 special delivery letter from Vietnam, Captain Dick Allgood writes to his wife, Sarah, with two things on his mind: their future stereo system—and how much he adores her. He describes taping hours of music, explains the mechanics of their new tape deck, and jokes that he bought a simple model “so I can’t fuck it …

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July 20, 1971: A Bikini, a Quarter, and 49 Days to Go 6:03

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Send us a text Sarah Allgood is counting down the days until she boards a plane for Miami — and just 49 more until R&R in Hawaii. In today’s letter, she shares her travel plans, reassures Dick about her pregnancy, and responds to his vivid descriptions of longing. There’s humor, heat, and deep concern as she asks him — again — to please take care o…

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July 20, 1971: I Groove So Good to You 5:22

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Send us a text It’s July 20, 1971, and Captain Dick Allgood is writing from Vietnam to his wife Sarah in San Antonio. With just seven days to go before her Miami trip — and less than two months until their R&R reunion — both are counting the days. In this letter, Dick is physically tired from flying missions but emotionally steady and unwavering in…

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July 19, 1971: One Outfit, One Lover, One Life 6:59

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Send us a text Sarah Allgood writes to her husband, Captain Dick Allgood, on July 19, 1971, with her usual mix of sharp wit, practical planning, and pure devotion. She’s booking flights, paying bills, teasing him about math, and dreaming of his kisses — all while tanning by the pool and keeping his picture on her pillow at night. In this letter, sh…

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July 19, 1971: Grasshoppers and Other Sweet Things 5:21

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Send us a text Captain Dick Allgood writes to Sarah from Vietnam on July 19, 1971, recounting a quiet day filled with small rituals — rereading her letters, walking to the BX, grabbing a hamburger and baked beans, and watching the movie Flap, starring Anthony Quinn. The film includes a line about “getting drunk on Grasshoppers” — a sweet, minty coc…

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July 18, 1971: A Virgin for You, Forever 8:21

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Send us a text In today’s letter from July 18, 1971, Captain Dick Allgood writes to his pregnant wife, Sarah, from alert duty in Vietnam. He reflects on their R&R options in Hawaii, the women in Sarah’s orbit — including friends recovering from illness and heartache — and his unwavering fidelity. What starts as a logistics update turns into one of …

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July 18, 1971: Burgers, Banana Splits, and Getting Through Another Sunday 7:01

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Send us a text This letter was written on July 18, 1971 — a quiet Sunday in San Antonio, and just a week before my mom would head to Miami to spend a month with her best friend Judy. She’s tired, not sleeping well, and feeling the heat. She writes about waking up “seepy,” eating toast and apple juice, and trying to pass the time — first at Jack in …

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July 17, 1971: Big Beds, R&R Dreams, and the Wittle Chickadee Who Keeps Watch 5:42

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Send us a text In this sweet and steady letter from July 17, 1971, Captain Dick Allgood writes to his pregnant wife, Sarah, from Vietnam — completely certain of the life they’ve built together. “You and me,” he writes, “we have found what they look for.” He’s thinking ahead to their R&R — maybe Kona Village, maybe Waikiki — weighing the options lik…

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July 17, 1971: Newlyweds by the Pool, French Dreams, and a Gossip Contract You Won’t Believe 6:32

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Send us a text This letter from my mom, Sarah Allgood, was written on a Saturday in July 1971. She’s pregnant, missing my dad, and doing her best to make it through another weekend alone in San Antonio—while newlyweds lounge by the pool just outside her window. She tells him about a dream that leaves her out of breath (yes, that kind of dream), sha…

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July 16, 1971 – Sleepy Warm and Counting the Days 6:02

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Send us a text In this letter from July 16, 1971, Captain Dick Allgood writes from Vietnam with his usual mix of steady affection and quiet urgency. He reassures Sarah that he’s still writing every single day — even if the mail isn’t reaching her — and responds to her news that the tape machine chewed up his last recording. Not yet knowing she got …

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July 16, 1971 – “Wittle Girl Weekend” and a Bell System Strike 5:47

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Send us a text In this tender letter from July 16, 1971, Sarah is feeling raw, restless, and deeply in need of connection. After a day of sunshine and swimming with friends, she comes home to six letters from Vietnam — and a wave of emotion she can’t quite outrun. “Today was one of those ache and cry days,” she writes. “Some days I actually hurt fr…

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July 15, 1971: The Club Card, the Gossip, and the Countdown 4:26

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Send us a text In this letter from July 15, 1971, my mom is doing what she did best — keeping it all together. She writes to my dad about a busy day filled with errands, phone calls, time with friends, and dinner at the Officer’s Club. There’s some tension in the background between people they knew, but she doesn’t dwell on it. The real heart of th…

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July 15, 1971: Writing Through the Distance, Loving Through the Fog 5:18

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Send us a text This letter from July 15, 1971 was written by my dad, Captain Dick Allgood, from Vietnam to my mom, Sarah, back home in San Antonio. It’s soft, steady, and full of love — the kind of love that makes plans, sends letters ahead to new addresses, and counts quarters in “the pot” for future joy. He tells her he’s tired, not feeling great…

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July 15, 1971: Six I Love You’s and a Future in Miami 3:27

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Send us a text This is the second letter Dick Allgood wrote to Sarah on July 15, 1971 — and in it, he tells her “I love you” six times. It’s heartfelt, direct, and full of plans for the future. He’s thinking ahead to their upcoming move to Miami, coordinating where to send letters, and doing everything he can to stay close, even from across the wor…

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July 13, 1971: The Best Kind of Love 5:05

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Send us a text In this short but powerful letter, my dad writes from Vietnam about what truly matters in life — and what doesn’t. “My work and your thoughts on it will make our lives and our happiness,” he writes. “Money is not the key. Love and happiness is the only key of our love.” That line says everything about who he was. He reminds my mom th…

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July 14, 1971: A Full Day, a Quiet Fear, and a Balcony Fall 9:42

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Send us a text On July 14, 1971, Sarah Allgood writes to her husband Dick from San Antonio, sharing a full day in vivid, personal detail — from a pregnancy scare and cravings to her upcoming trip to Miami, a phone call from her old hospital, and even a disturbing late-night incident upstairs involving two men and a fall from a balcony. Phone calls …

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July 13, 1971: Breakfast, Bikinis, and Eight Pages of Love 8:40

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Send us a text This letter was written 54 years ago , and it’s one of the longest ones yet — eight full pages of life, longing, and love. My mom was in San Antonio, a few weeks away from visiting her friend Judy in Miami. But instead of picking up the phone, she wrote her a letter — because long-distance calls were expensive back then, and this was…

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July 12, 1971: The Luckiest Girl Alive 7:54

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Send us a text In this letter, my mom writes, “I’m the luckiest girl alive.” And reading it now, I believe her. If someone loved me the way my dad loved her — I’d feel like the luckiest girl alive too. She had just received two letters and a tape from him in Vietnam. She tells him she could’ve sworn he was right there in bed talking to her. And the…

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July 12, 1971 – Five Letters for One Love 3:57

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Send us a text On July 12, 1971, Captain Dick Allgood mailed five separate letters from Vietnam—all in one night—just to share a handful of candid helicopter photos with the woman he loved more than life itself. The pictures were a surprise gift from a fellow airman, but instead of keeping them to himself, Dick thought only of Sarah. In these short…

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July 12, 1971: Stereo, Snapshots, and So Much Love 8:13

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Send us a text On July 12, 1971, Captain Dick Allgood writes the first of five letters to his wife, Sarah. It’s the day she’s officially discharged from the U.S. Air Force, and he fills the page with excitement, tenderness, and pride. He tells her to expect a wave of mail—each envelope packed with color photos from a recent helicopter flight in Vie…

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July 11, 1971: A Great Big Pile of Love 5:25

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Send us a text This letter is pure devotion. My dad had just gotten off the phone with my mom after finally reaching her — the lines in Vietnam had been down all day, and he was antsy, pacing, waiting to hear her voice. But once he did, something opened up in him. This isn’t just a letter about a phone call — it’s a letter about everything he felt …

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July 11, 1971: Apple Juice, Hip Huggers & Showing Up 6:42

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Send us a text In this letter, my mom is still glowing from hearing my dad’s voice — one of those rare phone calls that managed to break through Vietnam’s overloaded phone lines. She tells him there’s only one better way to be woken up — by his kiss, his touch, and the kind of love they shared so easily. But if she can’t have that, a phone call wil…

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July 10, 1971: Letters, Lust, and Logistics 6:56

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Send us a text This letter is such a snapshot of who my dad was. Written from Vietnam on July 10, 1971, it moves fast — from longing and sex to plane tickets and savings accounts — and somehow it all makes sense. That was my dad: wildly in love with my mom and completely grounded in taking care of her. He was always financially minded, even back th…

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July 10, 1971: No One Makes Waffles Like You Do 5:31

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Send us a text In this letter from July 10, 1971, my mom wakes up craving waffles — but my dad isn’t there to make them. So she goes to Oscar’s with a friend instead. It’s such a small moment, but it says so much. My dad wasn’t just a romantic. He was a cook — a good one. Even later in life, when he opened the Allgood Bar & Grill, waffles were alwa…

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July 9, 1971: Friendship, Cherry Cheesecake, and 60 Days to Go 7:04

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Send us a text In this letter from July 9, 1971, Sarah leans into the lifelines that are getting her through: her deep love for Dick, the baby growing inside her, and the women around her who keep showing up. From cherry cheesecake and grocery runs to tearful toasts and going-away parties, her community in San Antonio becomes a stand-in for the par…

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July 9, 1971: Miss Your Lover, as Your Lover Misses You 4:20

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Send us a text In this letter from July 9, 1971, Dick writes from Vietnam with tenderness, apology, and longing. He’s on alert again, soaking up sun on the roof, trying to pass the time—but what’s really on his mind is Sarah. He congratulates her on her promotion (belatedly, with an honest apology), and dreams of their reunion—both emotional and ph…

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July 8, 1971: Dreaming of Miami 5:30

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Send us a text On July 8, 1971, my mom was just starting to imagine a new kind of life. She had left the Air Force behind and was writing from San Antonio, pregnant with me and dreaming about where she and my dad might end up. In this letter, she asks her friend Judy to send the want ads from the Miami Herald — and you can feel how real that hope w…

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July 8, 1971: Daddy of Your Babies, Reporting From the War 5:41

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Send us a text On July 8, 1971, my dad was on alert again — another day of waiting, paperwork, and passing time. But in the middle of it, he sat down to write to my mom. This letter is tender, grounded, and a little raw, filled with his signature blend of blunt honesty and deep love. He tells her she’s his life — his wife, his lover, and the mama o…

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July 7, 1971: Big Speakers, Bigger Heart 5:34

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Send us a text My dad could always sniff out a good deal—and he was pretty proud of the pair of giant speakers he picked up at the BX in Vietnam for a steal. He didn’t have anything to play through them yet, but that didn’t stop him from planning for the life they’d build together. But the real heart of this letter is the dream he shares: watching …