This was one of the answers to a series of questions I asked my 93 year old Moo Moo when I spoke with her last week about living in the US during the 1940s (wartime).
I'm writing this on April 14, 2020 at the height of the Coronavirus pandemic, our cases arching upward, peaking like a small boat on a big wave while we watch it hoping, daily, that it begins to flatten or, even better, sail down the other side.
I haven't had this much daily tutelage in bell curves since graduate school...not a big fan then, not a big fan now.
I called my beloved grandmother, one of the rocks in my life, for a number of reasons. I checked in to tell her that hubs and I are okay. Also, I had told her a few days prior I would be calling to pick her brain about tough times, about being in a multi-year state of want/need/lack/despair/tragedy/grief/longing/etc. Honestly, I really wanted to talk about all the directives we are being asked to adhere to, all the civil liberties we are being asked to reconsider for our own safety and the safety of others. Kind of like arguing with your spouse about who left the butter on the counter overnight where the cat would invariably find and lick it and then getting an unexpected call from a relative who is filing divorce papers and trying to figure out where to live, I wanted a serious reality check and a huge kick in the ass guaranteed to help me feel better about this uncertain time in life.
Plus I wanted to write a good blog post.
So I asked her 8 questions. Her answers, some surprising to me, are herein.
Q1: V: "What was the worst thing about World War II and living in Rensselaer, {NY}?"
M: "All we had was old men."
V: "Umm, what?"
My Moo Moo then went on to explain that in a square city block, during her teenaged years, every boy around her age, some as young as 16, went off to war. The only people she saw for 3 years whether home or out were young girls and older couples. There were no school dances, no proms, no lindy hops.
At family weddings, my Moo Moo always danced the jitterbug with her sister, my Great Aunt Ginny and not my grandfather. As a child this was curious to me but now I understand. They grew up dancing together as teen girls.
Q2: V: "What did your parents tell you about what was going on?"
M: "My mother told me to pray, especially for the families who sent all their boys away."
Moo Moo clarified that during WWII, many families in Rensselaer sent ALL their sons to war. My grandfather and his brother, the only sons of my Great Grandma and Grandpa Hamlin both enlisted. "Pray hard for the Hamlins." is what Moo Moo remembers most about what my Great Nana taught her.
Q3: V: "What items were scarce?"
M: "Oh! Gosh! Many things. Coffee and sugar for sure!"
I'm not surprised she remembered those first. Pity the fool who gets between my grandmother, her coffee and her sweets. Moo Moo observed that you had to shop only at your neighborhood grocery store and at your particular store things were rationed and available only on certain days of the week and/or in limited supply each month, for example: if you bought two pounds of sugar the first week of the month, you couldn't get more until the first week of the following month. During this time, her brother was off to war, so that left 4 girls and my great grandparents in the family household. She excitedly recalled a very special dessert made from bread, canned milk, and sugar pressed into a cast iron frying pan and cut into triangles. It was a delicacy in those times.
Q4: V: "You mean you couldn't go to East Greenbush to get groceries if you wanted to?"
M: "No, no, no! You had to stay local. I can't remember how but if the grocer didn't know you then you had to prove you lived around the corner or no farther than Columbia Street."
As strict as that seems, Moo Moo didn't seem to think that the grocery boundaries caused too much of a ruckus. She harkened back to those at home being generally accepting of what was going on and carrying on; coming together for the good of the city, country and world.
Edit: There were ration books that proved your location. I learned this after a Google search a few hours after writing this.
Q5: V: "Did your parents keep their jobs during wartime?"
M: "Oh yes! My father worked as an auto mechanic and my mother was a nurse for Doctor Wilkie. Both of them were very busy during those years."
She also informed me that when townspeople came in with, say, cars that needed fixing or an ailment that needed tending to but had no cash on hand, both the auto shop and doctor's office would float a personal loan to people who had sons or spouses in the service, knowing that soon a paycheck would be received and the bill immediately rectified. People offered and kept their word with a simple handshake. Business owners felt comfortable having known and trusted everyone within their towns or neighborhoods for the entirety of their lives.
Q6: V: "Can you tell me about where you worked?" (This is a favorite story I've heard dozens of times. It never gets old.)
M: "I welded bombs for the American Meter Company at 80 State Street in Albany with my sisters and my girlfriends. It was a great job. We felt like we were doing something very important for the boys overseas. We would take the finished ones and write messages to the boys in CHALK on the shiny surface telling them we loved them and missed them and couldn't wait for them to come home. We drew hearts."
She apprised me of a little secret this time: these girls knew the boys wouldn't see the messages because these were shells that needed to be filled with explosives and by the time they actually went through the additional manufacturing processes and got to the troops the chalk would have long worn off...but the idea of chalked love letters made the girls feel giddy, and giddiness felt good after standing on your feet and crafting cold steel weaponry all day, so they did it.
Q7: V: "I expected sad memories. This coronavirus is making people so depressed and it's only been a month and a half that we've been isolated. Don't you remember WWII as a time of great sadness?"
M: "Well you know I try to keep everything happy. I try to only think about the good memories. And, we were lucky because all the boys in our neighborhood came back home."
She added that some were never the same, including my Great Uncle Bill, but they made it back...and that was something to be happy about.
Q8: V: Do you remember victory gardens?"
M: "Oh yes! I remember families planting all sorts of things and sharing. My father planted onions and tomatoes, specifically, and my mother had no room for her beloved flowers because he took and used every one of her flowerpots for green onions! {scallions}"
Victory gardens are making a comeback, which is why I asked. We plant veggies every year but this year we'll make an even greater effort.
I really expected Moo Moo to tell me of great hardship, of great sacrifice, of wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth, but instead she shared what was good about the time: neighbors praying and looking out for one another; sharing and caring; moments of laughter during long days of uncertainty; sugary bread as a dessert families could look forward to once in a while.
Bringing the boys back home.
Weddings and babies. (Gratefully, that's where my Dad comes in.)
Reflecting on her spirited replies, I will, if asked about this crisis in years to come, try my very best to recall the good things that happened as a result of having to pause our lives: taking stock of what really matters; eating more clever and homecooked meals together; an appreciation for the wonderful lives we have; exponentially increased respect for our freedoms; a renewed focus, for some, on prayer and God; and learning to find enjoyment in the moment. For me, in particular, it's also been a creative boon.
Please feel free to share in the comments what good things you are learning or taking from this uncertain time.
Thank you for reading and please be well.
#1970s #1980s #thegreatestgeneration #victorygarden #americanmetercompany #rensselaerny #mushroomtumbler
