The War

t four, I really didn't know why we were at war, or what the ramifications might be in the event that we lost. I have only vague recollections of President Roosevelt's famous "... day of infamy" address and have no idea where I was when he gave it. I did know that our enemies were the Japanese and the Germans and I could recognize their flags and insignias. Collectively, we watched, cheered, and cried through the many inspirational and patriotic movies produced by Hollywood during the war years and prayed for victory in school.

The war effort touched every facet of our lives, from what we ate and wore, to how we worked and played. I don't think the Vietnam War would have lasted as long if the population at home had been required to support it in the same way as that of World War II. Rationing, sacrifice, and a supreme effort to achieve the goals of war require almost universal acceptance by the citizenry. This requirement makes wars of questionable validity unlikely and the terms of complicit politicians short.

Every young man that was able went to war. In my family, my father, my cousin, and my cousin's husband were all drawn into the effort. Those at home no matter what age, infirmity, gender, or occupation were asked to help in whatever way possible. We planted a large "Victory Garden", as did others on our block. About half of our backyard was converted to garden space every summer where we raised all sorts of vegetables from turnips and cabbages to peas and tomatoes. Most of our meals included several vegetables and we were told not to complain. For the most part we didn't. I must confess however, that on some occasions I did complain when confronted by a plate of turnips or eggplant (only half-heartedly and always without success). Usually I got a firm lecture on how the residents in the old boarding houses had to do the dishes if they complained about the food. (In all honesty, when I was confronted by the vegetables I considered unsavory, doing the dishes did not seem too bad a choice.) However, from past experience I knew that the choice of eating the vegetables or not was really not offered, only the lecture.

The war drives for essential materials were incessant. Children pulled the ubiquitous little red wagons from door-to-door collecting newspapers while bound stacks of newspapers and discarded clothing piled up in the lobbies and basements of our schools. Churches and other organizations held clothing drives and everyone pitched in mending tatters and boxing the clothes for shipment overseas. It seemed like we collected and recycled just about everything, nothing was wasted. Recycling was not really invented with the birth of the environmental movement. It was invented, cultivated to a high degree, and, lamentably, discarded during World War II. The environmental movement merely rekindled some of the art.

My brother and I acted out the war by playing war games outside with toy guns and those fashioned from sticks. However, our biggest war games were fought on the dining room and bedroom floors. I was always the enemy aggressor and the loser. I suppose that was to be expected since I was also the younger and he, as he often assured me, the wiser. The war games were sometimes very elaborate, albeit primitive. My invading armies consisted of columns of soldiers in the form of broken checker pieces, poker chips, and similar objects spirited away from old games. I had a few pieces of artillery and machine gunners made of tin with determined soldiers painted on their fronts. These were very simple pieces, mind you. They consisted of small flats of tin bent in the shape of an 'L' so they would stand up. They must have been produced early in the war or even before since the figures still portrayed the flat helmets similar to those worn by the British. Rolling stock was rare. We had a few toy trucks and tanks as well as a couple of small cast metal planes. I would assemble my armies in the dining room and invade my brother's defensive positions in the back bedrooms. The wars were fought using old playing cards as bombs and bullets, tossed like Frisbees, at the opposing soldiers and positions. If a card landed on a solider or knocked over one of the tin pieces, they were killed or destroyed. Bombing runs consisted of dropping playing cards from our toy planes as we stood over the target. We played the games about as long as World War II lasted. However, by the time the real fighting was over my brother had grown older and had lost interest in floor games. To my disappointment he had developed other interests to complex for me to understand. I found no satisfaction in playing the games by myself so the shoe boxes full of our make believe armies were put away on a shelf to be unceremoniously discarded at a later date.

I was seven when the war ended. The jubilation at our house was muted because my grandfather had died the year before. I also don't recall any celebrations or street dancing such as one sees in pictures and film captured by the likes of LIFE magazine and other publications. On the day the war ended I accompanied my brother and his friend to the corner of 24th and Van Dorn to sell the extra edition newspapers to passing motorists. My brother and his friend set up "shop" on the corner and boldly called out, "EXTRA, EXTRA, read all about it, World War II is over." Success was considerable. The motorists stopped and bought newspapers and, perhaps because they were feeling expansive by the moment, sometimes tipped my brother and his friend generously. At seven, and acting out my role as the younger sibling, I did nothing but sit on the corner with a pile of the extra editions in my lap. Eventually, a large black Cadillac slowed and stopped across the intersection from me in front of my brother and his friend. They eagerly approached the car in anticipation of selling more of their papers. To my surprise, the big car backed up and stopped in front of me. The back window opened and a woman said in a kind voice, "I would like to buy a newspaper." I gave her the paper and she gave me the price of the paper and a generous tip. She smiled and the car continued on its way. I was very proud of my one and only sell and it was significant because it was the first time I ever earned money outside of my home.

The war years quickly faded into memory and the Country and Lake Street set about enjoying the fruits of victory and the availability of all the products that had been rationed. As for me, I turned my attention to other matters but never forgot that kind lady that said, "I would like to buy a newspaper."