CHILD OF THE GREATEST GENERATION
A World War II Home Front Memoir
By Gene Herst
Copyright © 2014 By Howard
Herst. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever
without prior written permission of the author/publisher, except in the case of
brief quotations embodied in reviews. This is a true story with the names of the characters and
places changed to protect privacy. ISBN: 1495314588
PROLOGUE
My generation is passing
into history. Despite a myriad of WWII books and movies about our parents at
war, the story of the children who lived through that time has yet to be told.
The real life struggles and triumphs of the American home front between 1939
and 1945 need to be preserved for those who will follow. Never again will our
nation unite so seamlessly and selflessly to give so much for so long.
It was a time when Americans
stood tall, and were ready to contribute at all levels of our society. When
faced with the destruction of our Republic we came together to defend our
homeland: school kids, mothers, grandparents, teachers - people from all walks
of American life. Here is our story. The story of those who never saw the front
- but stood behind and held fast. For our soldiers - we had their backs.
Without the strong roots and steady resolve of these sons and daughters - the
nation would never have made it through those tear-stained years. We made their
ultimate sacrifice on the battlefield count. Not one life was given in vain.
This book salutes the children of the Greatest Generation. Sylvia Smart. Writer, publisher, and the daughter of a
Pearl Harbor veteran.
CHAPTER 1
WE’RE GONNA GET INTO A WAR
I
would have recurring nightmares of heavily armed paratroopers dropping on our rooftop
and then come crashing down through the ceiling into my house. They wore black
helmets and black clothing. Frightened, I called out to my parents, who just
sat there in the kitchen and were indifferent to my pleas for help. I’d run
outside and try to reach the barn because there were lots of hiding places
there. I see my little cousin, Judy by the barn doors, waving me on and
yelling, “Don’t let them catch you! Run, Gene! Run!”
The
paratroopers came after me as I screamed for help. If I could reach the barn, I
would be safe. As I ran, my legs moved slower and slower, and the black
helmeted men were getting closer. My feet suddenly began tingling. Just before
one of the helmeted men caught me, I awakened with pins and needle sensation in
my toes, sweat on my forehead, and my heart pounding. As I became more coherent,
I would realize I was no longer at grandfather’s farm, but at home in our
Florida apartment. I’d pull the covers over my head, telling myself if I stayed
awake until the morning light, I wouldn’t return to the dream world and face
its horrors, least ways not until the next night.
My
parents were unaware of how perceptive their eight-year old son was with regard
to the war in Europe. I saw pictures in magazines and newspapers of Nazi
soldiers and tanks on the streets of Paris, and bombed out buildings in London.
I remember a newsreel in the movies that showed a torpedoed freighter sinking
with smoke billowing skyward from her hull.
I
heard people talk on the street and in stores about the war in Europe. They
spoke of children orphaned, people starving, and losing their homes. Our
neighbors, the Baranskies, told my parents they had lost contact with their
family ever since the Nazis invaded Poland. I’m sure Sigmund
Freud would have traced my childhood nightmares back to all those visuals,
yet those pictures of weaponry and soldiers fascinated me. I would thumb
through periodicals and newspapers searching for images of them.
In 1941, we lived in Palm Beach
Florida. Our house was a rental, one of nine single-story duplexes that were within
walking distance to a public beach. It was a Sunday morning. My dad sat at the
kitchen table. He wore a white sleeveless undershirt that exposed a Merchant
Marine tattoo on his upper left arm. He puffed on a cigar as he read the news.
I sat next to him engrossed in the comic section of the paper. My Mother, who
was an attractive, 27-year-old brunette was mixing pancake batter at the
kitchen counter.
As my father read, he mumbled, “We’re
gonn’a be in a war soon.”
Mom turned to look at him. “Did you say
something, Bob?”
“Yeah.
Looks like Roosevelt’s dead set on continuing to send war equipment and
supplies to England and Russia.”
“So,
why should we care?” She asked.
“Because
the next thing you know, America will be at war with Germany again.”
As Mom
poured pancake batter into a hot pan, she said, “I don’t believe it. My friend,
Mona told me that some news guy on the radio said Americans want no part of the
war in Europe, and the government will never send our soldiers to fight over
there.”
Dad
shook his head, and snorted. “So, Mona, the ‘pom-pom’ tells you what some
gullible idiot said over the radio, and you believe it?”
“Mona
is up on all the latest political stuff.”
Dad
blew smoke across the table, “I’m glad you have a reliable source that keeps
you up with world affairs.”
“Mona
said that Lindbergh is supporting something called the pacifism movement which
will keep us out of the war. He’s quite influential with the people, you know.”
“All
that hoopla don’t amount to a hill of beans. Just because he was the first to
fly across the Atlantic doesn’t mean he will be able to influence Roosevelt to
keep us out of the conflict. From what I’ve read, we’re already involved.”
Mom
raised her eyebrows. “How?”
“I
told you! Roosevelt is shipping tanks, planes, and cannons over to Russia and
Britain.”
Mom
looked at Dad dubiously. “How do you know?”
“I’m
reading it right here. There’s even a picture of the stuff being loaded onto
freighters over in Savannah.”
Mom
flipped the pancakes over in the pan. “Since when?”
“Since
April. Haven’t you been reading about it in the papers?”
“I
mostly read Hedda Hopper and the ads. Don’t pay much attention to politics. If
I want to know what’s going on in the government, I ask Mona.”
“You
can’t learn about world events from Hedda Hopper’s column. She reports on
celebrity stuff.”
I
stood up and leaned over to look at the pictures my father mentioned. “Doesn’t
that make Hitler mad?”
“It
must!”
“Does
that mean America will go to war, Dad?”
“It
might. Don’t know for sure.” He blew a smoke ring across the table.
Mom
flared up. “For Christ sake, Bob, don’t speak to the child that way. He’s too
young to know anything about it.”
“That’s
what you think. Kids his age know something is going on. You wait and see. One
of these days a Nazi U-Boat will torpedo a freighter off our coast and
Roosevelt will have to declare war.”
“Germany
is too far away. It’ll never happen.” Mom mused.
“You
and Mona, including that jerk on the radio are living in a dream world, and so
is half the country. Washington’s been getting ready for war. Why do you think
they started registration for the draft last year?”
Mom
frowned with concern. “What happens if you don’t register?”
“Not
sure. Maybe a fine or jail.”
I had
never heard of the draft. “What’s registering for the draft mean, Dad?”
“Gene,
don’t interrupt when I’m talking to your father!” Then she asked Dad, “Did you
register?”
My
father blew smoke toward the ceiling, “What for?”
She
threw her arms up in disgust, “So you don’t get in trouble. That’s why!”
“Just
never got around to it. Anyway, they probably won’t call up family men.”
She
transferred the pancakes to a platter and poured more batter into the pan. “Are
you sure about that?”
“No,
just supposing.”
Mom
shifted her hips defiantly and pointed the spatula at him. “For heaven’s sake,
Bob! Don’t you think you should look into it? What if you get arrested? What
would happen to me and Gene if you end up sitting in jail?”
Dad
took another puff from his cigar and reached for his coffee cup. “You’ll do
what any faithful wife who cares about her husband would do! Bake me a cake
with a hacksaw inside.”
Mom’s
cheeks reddened. “Darn it, you’re not funny! You sit there and smoke like you
don’t have a care in the world while I worry about you getting in trouble with
the law.”
Dad
scratched his chest. “You worry too much. I’ll deal with it when the time
comes. You tend to worry even when things are going well. You’ve got to quit
looking at the morbid side of everything.”
Mom
placed both hands on her hips. “Well, things usually don’t turn out good for
me.”
“You
wish it on yourself. Right after we got married you became riled up when I
couldn’t find work.”
“You
bet I did! I agreed to marry you because Brogan promised to make you a partner
in his business, but he never did.”
“No
fault of mine or his. Too many people lost their jobs and stopped eating out.
He had no choice, but to close the restaurant.”
Mom
transferred the last batch of pancakes onto the platter. “We ended up with you
working on your parents’ farm for room and board and fifteen dollars a month
for spending money. It was like getting an allowance for being a good boy and
keeping your room clean.”
Dad’s
face flushed. He removed the cigar from his mouth and jammed it into an
ashtray, folded his paper, and angrily tossed it onto an empty kitchen chair.
“Remember? We married and had a kid during this depression. The farm provided a
roof over our heads and food in our bellies. You didn’t have to eat at soup
kitchens or sleep on the street like so many poor souls had too. Did you?”
He
drank his coffee, and under his breath, I heard him mumble, “She’d complain about being hungry with two
loaves of bread under her arms.”
“I
hated living with your parents.” Mom said.
“It
wasn’t so bad. Gene loved the farm and being around all the animals. He played
outdoors all summer long.”
“Sure.
He’d get dirty and tracked cow manure into the house. I was the one that had to
clean it up.”
Dad
chuckled, and winked at me. “It was good, clean dirt. Wasn’t it, Gene?”
“Yeah,
Pop.” I knew he was having fun with my mother.
He
continued, “You just tracked it into the house to see if it looked good blended
with the rugs.”
“No,
Dad. I didn’t mean to. It got stuck on my shoes. Didn’t want to make Mom mad at
me. Isn’t that why we moved out here?”
Dad
looked at me questionably. “What do you mean, son?”
“Didn’t
we move out here so I wouldn’t track manure into the house, and make Mom mad?”
They
both laughed. “For heaven’s sake,” Dad remarked. “What gave you that idea? We
moved out here because I got a swell job at the marina. I liked the farm but
the winters are too cold. Made my joints hurt, I feel better living here.”
Mom
added, “And Gene always caught bad colds. Don’t you remember all the times he
missed school?”
She
placed the platter of pancakes on the table, sat down, and said, “Put the funny
papers away, Gene. Eat your food before it gets cold!” Then in a softer voice,
she asked my father, “You think the Germans would come here? Europe is so far
away.”
“It
won’t surprise me. A yachtsman told me he spotted a periscope in the water off
Ponte Verda Beach. There’s been some talk that the government might commandeer
privately owned boats for submarine patrols.”
Mom
shook her head, pushed a strand of long black hair away from her face, and
rolled her eyes with skepticism. “Baloney! They’re just flapping their lips!”
“Maybe,
but the Coast Guard started a mounted beach patrol to watch for Nazi spies that
might try sneaking ashore from submarines.”
When
he mentioned, ‘mounted patrol’, it spiked my interest. I leaped up from the
chair. “Dad, do you mean they’re riding horses just like cowboys in the movies?
Are they wearing guns?”
“Yep.
Just like the cowboys in the movies, except they’re sailors and they also have
dogs with them. I’ve seen them on the beach.”
“Wow!
Can you take me to see them?”
Before
he had to chance to answer, my mother reached out and forced me back in the
chair, “Let’s stop this crazy stuff, Bob! You’re scaring the boy.”
“No
he’s not, Mom. I want him to tell me about the sailors and their dogs.”
“Stop
pestering Daddy! When you’re finished eating, put your dishes and silverware in
the sink, and go to the bathroom and brush your teeth. We’re going to the beach
with Phyllis and Margaret.”
“Oh
boy! Is Dad coming with us?”
“No.
He’s working today.”
She
stood up from the table and as she collected the plates and utensils, I heard
her sigh and whisper under her breath, “Wars,
Shmors. My God, what’s the world coming to?”
CHAPTER
2
DAY
OF INFAMY
CBS radio announcer reported
that the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor with the opening words, “This is no
Joke...” at 2:31 p.m. EST on December 7, 1941.
___
I brushed my teeth and
then went into the living room where I found my father dressed for work and
shoving cigars into the breast pocket of his shirt. My mother remarked, “It’s
such a nice day for a stroll along the beach. Not too sunny or warm outside, too
bad you have to work and can’t go with us.”
Dad placed a Panama
fedora on his head, and ran his fingers across the brim. “I’d rather be fishing
than working.”
Mom handed dad his billfold. “You left this
on the table. Will you be home early?”
“Can’t. They’re having a big shindig at the
marina.”
“So,
you’ll be rubbing elbows with the fat
cats, heh?”
“Mingling
with the guests and making sure everything runs smoothly is part of a manager’s
job.”
The
three of us walked out of the apartment. My father gave a departing wave, “Have
a good time. I should be home sometime after midnight.” As he walked toward the
bus stop, I heard him singing to himself. Something he did whenever he was in a
pleasant mood.
We
met our neighbor, Phyllis Melton and her seven-year-old daughter, Margaret at
the corner near our apartment complex. Mrs. Melton was of medium height with
bleached blonde hair, big blue eyes, and slightly overweight. I particularly
liked her light-heartiness and humorous mannerisms.
We
all wore shorts over bathing suits and sandals. The women carried bags stuffed
with towels, brushes, and suntan lotion. Margaret toted a toy pail and shovel.
We
casually walked the three blocks to the public beach. Being Sunday, with
schools and most businesses closed, the beach was crowded with people enjoying
a mild Florida December. Among the humanity lolling about on the sand and under
the trees near the street were the everyday regulars. These were mostly
unemployed due to the economic conditions of the times or seasonal residents
not affected by the Depression and
able to afford wintering on Florida’s east coast.
Although
the morning started out cool and overcast, by the time we arrived the sky had
cleared but the air was cool enough to discourage most from swimming. Margaret
and I kicked off our sandals, stripped down to bathing suits, and ran into the
water with Margaret screaming happily all the way. She entered the surf just
before me, and then suddenly spun around, and ran back screaming. “Oowie, oowie,
It’s too cold, too cold!”
The
water was rather cool, but I didn’t let that stop me. I wanted to show off to
Margaret and plunged into the breakers. Got properly soaked, and came back
ashore feeling chilled. My mother wiped me down with a beach towel as she
scolded me. “My God, how can you be so stupid by diving into cold water like
that?”
“It’s
n..n..not c..cold, Mom. It’s just c..c..cooler than I th...thought.” I replied,
shivering.
“Yeah,
sure. My son, little boy blue lips.”
Margaret
stood by, watched, and giggled. I remember thinking, Gee whiz, Mom, do you have to embarrass me in front of everybody when I’m
trying to play the “he-man”.
Later, Margaret and I collected seashells left by the receding tide. I
looked seaward and observed a two-mastered sailboat. She was sailing just
beyond the yellow buoys that marked the swim area. I marveled at how gracefully
the craft cut through the swells as she followed the shoreline southward. In
the far distance, I spotted a grayish freighter and could just barely make out
the black smoke that arose from its stack. I fantasized about the possibility
of a submarine stalking the ship and sinking it somewhere beyond the horizon.
Margaret distracted my thoughts by pulling on my hand. “What’cha looking at,
Gene?”
“That
sailboat out there.” I pointed out the craft to her.
“It’s
nice.” She held up her pail. “Come help me build a sand castle.”
“Oh,
alright.” I indicated a spot not far from the water’s edge where the sand was
moist. “Let’s build it over there.” As we proceeded to form the ramparts, three
other kids about our age came over and joined us in the construction project.
At
noon, our mothers collected us and we all went over to Stan’s Fish N’ Shrimp on the wharf. We sat and
ate at one of the outdoor umbrella tables in front of the eatery. Later, Margaret
and I tossed small pieces of food scraps to the pelicans and gulls that
gathered around us while our mothers chatted. Their favorite subject was movie
celebs. Mom had a crush on Clark Gable, and she liked to talk about him and his
actress wife, Carole Lombard.
Mrs.
Melton inquired, “My goodness, Lily, how come you known so much about Gable and
Lombard?”
“From
magazines and listening to Hedda Hoppa on the radio?”
Phyllis
waved her hand to signify disinterest. “She’s on at the same time another show
that I prefer to listen to is broadcasting.”
“Too
bad. You miss a lot of good stuff about Hollywood people.”
I
asked Margaret, “Did you ever see a Gene Autry movie?”
She
shook her head and giggled. “Don’t like cowboys. Did you see Pinocchio?”
“Uh huh, but Gene
Autry’s my favorite.”
My
attention focused on a sailor in navy blues walking hand in hand with a young
woman. As he passed our table, I noticed his jersey had a white shield icon
above the cuff of his right sleeve and wondered what it meant. I asked, “Mom,
do you know why that sailor has a small shield on the sleeve of his uniform?”
She
looked around. “What sailor, Gene?”
I
pointed him out. “He’s over there walking with a lady wearing a yellow dress.
“I
don’t know. Maybe it’s just for decoration.”
Mrs.
Milton interjected. “I think it means that he’s in the Coast Guard.”
“Gosh!”
My dad told me about them this morning. Then I asked Margaret, “Did you see
that sailor? Hasn’t he got a neat looking uniform?”
“Uh
huh, I like sailors.”
Mom
chuckled. “Phyllis, did you hear what Margaret just said? You better keep an
eye on your daughter; she fancies sailor boys.”
Mrs.
Melton brushed a strand of blonde hair from her eyes. “It’s the uniform. Girls
go for men in uniform. When I first met Harry, he wore a uniform.”
“Was
he in the Navy?”
Mrs.
Milton threw her head back, and laughed. “Heavens, no. He was a doorman at the Edison Hotel in New York.”
Both
women laughed.
“I’m
going to be a sailor when I grow up.” I proudly declared.
“No
you’re not! Sailors are bums.” Mom decleared.
In
defense of my father, I spoke up. “But Daddy was a sailor, and he’s not a bum.
Is he, Mom?”
Mrs.
Melton cocked an eyebrow and slyly grinned. “Yes, Lil, tell us why Gene’s daddy
is not a bum. I’m anxiously waiting for your explanation.”
Mom
feigned annoyance. “Shut up, Phyllis. I’ll think of something.” She removed a
package of Chesterfields from her
beach bag, pulled one out and offered one to Mrs. Melton. They lit their smokes
with matches placed on the tables for the eatery’s patrons.
Then
Mom looked down at me and said, “Your daddy is no bum. He wasn’t in the Navy
and wore no uniform. He was in the Merchant Marines, and they’re different.”
“Bob
was in the Merchant Marines?” Mrs. Melton appeared surprised. “That’s a darn
good paying job. Why in the world did he quit?”
Mom
flipped the ashes off her cigarette in a deliberate gesture. “Because I wouldn’t
marry him unless he quit. I wasn’t going to sit home alone while he’s away at
sea for who knows how long.”
“Well,
if my Harry had a decent paying job, I wouldn’t care how long he stayed away.
These days, driving a taxi doesn’t pay much, and he has to work long hours to
make ends meet, so he’s hardly home as it is. My eighteen-year-old brother was
lucky. He found work with the WPA.*
“What
does he do?” Mom asked.
“He
works with a road construction crew. The government put lots of young men to
work through that program. After my father lost his job when they closed the
shop he worked at he went on welfare.”
Mom
nodded. “Lots of people did, and are still on it.”
Mrs.
Milton agreed. “But my folks feel its degrading. Still, it keeps them in their
house. So many people these days are living in hobo camps across the country.
Mom
responded. “I’m lucky Bob has a regular job, so does my kid sister who works at
Gimbals. My mother on the other hand, can’t work because of poor health, but
she’s too proud to take relief. I told her she should take it, but she never
listens to me.”
We
left the wharf, and strolled homeward, taking the long route that led by a
marina where we could watch the watercraft moving about among the mooring slits,
and see the wealthy tending to the needs of their berthed boats.
Mom
remarked, “Look at all those ritzies
and their beautiful yachts. Even now, with these hard times, there are still
people with lots of dough. Too bad we weren’t smart enough to snag one of them
instead of going after guys because they were good-looking, eh, Phyllis?”
“We
didn’t make out so badly, Lil. We’re not rich, but we both have a roof over our
heads and food on the table, and husbands who have jobs. Some of those gold diggers,
like my friend, Gladys Flushing
who married a rich, older guy just for his money ended up with nothing. Her
husband, like some others of his kind, committed suicide when the stock market
crashed and the banks failed.”
“No
family to help her out?” Mom asked.
Phyllis
shook her head. “Nope. Her in-laws wanted nothing to do with her. She and her
baby moved in with her parents who could barely feed themselves since her
father lost his job.”
My
mother sighed. “I guess we aren’t that bad off after all.”
**
Margaret
and I were walking a few steps ahead of our mothers. As we neared our apartment
complex, I observed the people on the street acting unusual. Some were
conversing excitedly in small groups, while others stood around as though they
were horror-struck. Even Margaret realized something was wrong.
I
looked back at my mom and Mrs. Melton. They were busy talking and didn’t notice
anything out of the ordinary. Wide-eyed, Margaret tugged at her mother’s arm, “Mommy,
mommy, look! Everybody on the street acts like something happened!”
Our
mothers stopped conversing, and looked around. Mrs. Melton spoke up, “It’s
true. Look at the people, Lily. They seem in a state of shock and look troubled.
Something bad must have happened.”
Mom
stepped back. “My Gosh! Do you suppose it’s one of those deadly hurricane
warnings?” She looked up, “The sky’s clear; I don’t see any storm clouds.”
“I
think it’s past the season for hurricanes.” Mrs. Milton said. “I bet there’s
been a terrible accident or an important person died. I’m going to ask somebody
what’s going on.”
As
we moved along, I noticed a middle-aged, portly man rushing toward a bungalow
across the street and yelling at a woman in a doorway, “I don’t believe it. Are
you sure it ain’t just a story on the radio or somebody’s idea of a hoax?”
No,
it’s not! The woman in the doorway emphatically yelled back. The newscaster
said, ‘This is no joke...,” and I never heard the rest of her response.
As
we neared the manager’s office, a wide-eyed elderly man wearing a bathrobe and
sandals came rushing down the walkway toward our direction. When he noticed us,
he stopped short, and in a shaky voice, muttered, “Isn’t it terrible? I just
can’t believe it!”
“What
happened?” Both mothers asked in unison.
“You
don’t know? You didn’t hear?” My God, the Japanese bombed Hawaii this morning.”
Mrs.
Melton and my mother paled. Margaret asked, “Mommy, what are Japanese?”
I
was intrigued by the word, Japanese, and began to vocalize it just to hear
myself pronounce it, “Jap-a-neeze, Jap-a-neeze”
My
mother snapped out of her daze and grabbed my hand. “I’m going home to listen
to the radio, Phyllis. I’ve got to find out what’s going on. Talk to you later.”
The
man in the bathrobe mumbled as he shuffled away, “It’s shocking! That’s what it
is, shocking.”
As
we hurried to our apartment, I heard Margaret behind us screeching in panic. “What’s
wrong, Mommy? Did something bad happen? Why won’t you tell me?”
Once
inside the house, Mom removed the pack of Chesterfields and a lighter from her
beach bag and hurried over to our radio that was atop of an end table by a
chair. (I still remember that small Westinghouse radio with its oak stained
wood cabinet.)
Mom
lit up a cigarette, sat down and rotated the radio so that the control knobs
faced her while giving me the view of the tubes through the open back. As she
switched the apparatus on, I watched the tubes glow orange; a phenomenon that always
fascinated me.
After
a static humming sound began to issue from the speaker, she began to manipulate
the tuning knob for a news broadcast. When Mom noticed me watching, she said, “Go
find something to do, and leave me alone for awhile!”
I
got my magic slate, sat on the couch,
and began drawing. A moment later, my father walked through the door, surprising
both of us. Mom jerked her head up. “Bob! What are you doing home? I thought
you had to work late.”
“Party’s
called off. Isn’t it a fine thing? Japan made war on us! Who’d of known?”
Mom
shook her head, “It’s hard to believe such a thing could happen. And the day
started out so nice.”
“I
know!” Dad agreed. It was a sneak attack. They bombed us without a declaration
of war. Everybody at the marina was in a state of shock.”
Mom
related our experience earlier on the street. “While we were walking back from
the beach, me and Phyllis noticed everybody on our block acted like something
real bad happened. An airplane crashed, maybe. We never expected an attack.”
Dad
took a seat near Mom. “From Germany, maybe, not Japan. It’s ironic; we sold
them our scrap metal to build planes. Then they used those planes to bomb Pearl
Harbor. They’re nothing but sneaky, treacherous rats!”
My
spine tingled from fear. “Dad, where’s Pearl
Harbor?”
“It’s
an island far out in the Pacific Ocean.”
“Is
it very far away?”
“Yes.
It’s a long, long way from here.”
I
wanted to know more, but my parents were so intent on listening to the news
broadcast, I thought it best to remain quiet for a while.
I
remember my father making this prediction. “We’re going to see a lot of changes
take place in this country.”
“You
mean they’ll be calling up all the men that registered with the draft board.
Isn’t that right, Bob?”
“That’s
for sure, but this war will put a lot of people back to work in the factories
and get this country back on its feet, which is a good thing. The bad part of course
is that a lot of young guys will be going off to fight and getting killed or
injured just like in the last war.”
“They
won’t draft you; you’re married and have a child. Can they?”
“How
the hell should I know?”
“But
you never registered, so they don’t have your name in their books. Isn’t that
right?”
“Could
be. But I think I’ll register in the morning. It’s the right thing to do.”
Mom
clenched her lips. “No you’re not! I don’t need to have a husband go off to
fight and leave me here alone. There’s plenty of single men to do that. We’ll
do just fine by staying where you are and working at the marina.”
Dad
raised his voice in anger. “I don’t want to discuss it now! I’ll work things
out for myself. Right now, I’m hungry. Go scramble up some eggs for dinner,
while I sit and think about what to do.”
Later
that day, the President made an announcement over the radio. “No matter how long it may take us to
overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people in their righteous
might will win through to absolute victory.”
Of
course, at the time, I was quite young, and did not fully comprehend what had
taken place, but I was aware that American soldiers and sailors suffered
casualties at a place called Pearl Harbor. I overheard people expressing anger,
and hatred against Japanese, which included Americans of Japanese heritage.
The
day following the attack on Pearl Harbor, the school I attended began the first
of a series of steps to promote patriotism that influenced my generation’s
attitude toward America throughout our adult lives.
_________________
*
WPA was a government program that employed millions of men to construct public
buildings and roads during the Great Depression era.
CHAPTER 3
A PEARL HARBOR BADGE
Prior
to the attack on Pearl Harbor, Germany, Japan, and Italy formed a pact of
mutual interest. Soon after Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, Hitler and Mussolini,
the dictator of Italy declared war on the United States. America was at war
with three nations collectively known as the Axis Alliance.
_____
“Those Americans who believed that we could live under the
illusion of isolationism wanted the American eagle to imitate the tactics of
the ostrich. Now, many of those same people, afraid that we may be sticking our
necks out, want our national bird to be turned into a turtle. But we prefer to
retain the eagle as it is – flying high and striking hard.” __FDR, 1942
**
My father predicted there would be significant changes taking
place in America after Pearl Harbor, and he was correct. World War II got America
out of the Depression. Factories began hiring thousands of men and women to
build the equipment needed to wage war. After February of 1942, automakers
manufactured vehicles exclusively for the military while the public had to be
content with pre-1942 models.
To
prevent the possibilities of shortages on the home front, the government
initiated a rationing program and urged people to grow their own food in what
was termed, victory gardens. To
conserve gasoline, the Administration urged citizens to limit driving motorized
vehicles. A poster read, “SAVE A GALLON FOR VICTORY”.
I
primarily noticed the changes at school. The first ones occurred on the Monday
following the Pearl Harbor attack. My fellow pupils and I were in our classroom
waiting for the 8:30 bell to announce the start of the school day. We all
expected the morning to begin as usual. First, the Pledge of Allegiance, then
we’d sing a few songs, one of which would be patriotic. However, that morning
began differently....
_________________________________________
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