Memories of the Big War

Do you know where you were at about 7 p.m. sixty-three years ago today? I certainly do. December 7 always triggers memories of my youth, a youth where war and the likelihood of war were constantly in most people’s minds. And now it seems that, in my dotage, war and the likelihood of war is becoming a constant again.

But, let me tell you of the last good war. I say ‘good’ because it was the last war where we, the United States of America, were truly united because, I believe, we were correct in believing and doing the right thing, the just thing and (although many will disagree) the moral thing.

The last good war, World War II, was a totally different war than just about all we have fought since, including the one against terrorism that we are fighting today. First of all, everyone knew in their innermost selves that we were at war – and knew it virtually every waking moment. There was no way to avoid it; the newspapers, magazines, radio, movies were full of it (think of CNN on steroids). We all had ration books and, most importantly, we all had brothers, uncles or cousins who were in the armed forces.

For a kid physically removed from any possible danger the war was an exciting time. The movies were filled with gallant Americans fighting the dirty enemy. “The FBI in Peace and War” and similar radio programs warned us constantly of the chicanery of the enemy. Posters, such as the famous “Loose lips sink ships” one, appeared in many public and private places. Thoughts of death and mutilation were far from my mind until the big brothers of the kids down the street came home damaged or dead. And even then the excitement remained. They were not family. I was not close to them.

Even the newspapers were exciting: the huge headlines, the maps of places with exotic names, photos and stories of the heroes in combat. My reading skills and knowledge of geography improved considerably during the war.

The war was central to my growing up and had significant impact on my family. I was almost five years old when we entered WWII. And, in some ways - since it is the first memory I can recall – it was the beginning of recorded time for me. It was a Sunday night around 7. The kitchen had not yet been divided in two; it was still a very big room. I was playing on the floor. The radio was tuned to the news as it always was when Aunt Jennie visited. Then, the interruption – the Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor. As with the 9/11 actions, America was stunned. They had attacked us directly. True, it was not the mainland and Hawaii was not yet a state; but they had destroyed American ships and killed Americans. As with 9/11, we should not have been surprised. In fact, the Pearl Harbor attack should have been less of a surprise since the war had been going on in the rest of the world for more than two years. But, then as now, we found it hard to accept that we have enemies, real, flesh-and-blood people who hate us.

Despite our being 3000 miles from the front, the war became our life. It was our constant companion. It so captured America’s imagination, thoughts, fears and dreams that even kids did their bit to help. It united America as little has since.

Some background

I don’t want to delve into politics too much but some background is necessary. Although my mother was born in the States, we were very much a first generation Italian immigrant family. My father had come here in 1912, my mother spent some of her youth in Italy. While there was a strong love of Italy and things Italian, the primary drive for them and their children was toward assimilation. English was the language they used most of the time; however, Italian dialect was also spoken often around the house. My father’s mother, brother and sister remained in Italy, so there were family ties to the homeland as well. Nonetheless, being a US citizen was the sine qua non of those days for an immigrant. My father served in the army in the first war and during the second he was on the draft board and was an air raid warden.

Since Italy was now one of the enemy, my parents and other Italian-Americans were in a difficult spot. Their children were fighting Italians, their blood brothers. Other Americans were skeptical of the loyalty of Italians. During Mussolini’s rise, he was praised by many Italian-Americans, my family included. In fact, for many years there in the living room was a photograph of my brother, Eddie, dressed in the uniform of the Fascist youth; it was taken while he was a guest of the Italian government for a month in the 1930’s.

Although my mother came from a family of seven girls, we were closest to Aunt Jennie, her sister, and Uncle Musty, my father’s brother. Both Jennie and Musty were strong personalities. I don’t know whether they were always politically conservative or not, but during the war they were definitely anti-Roosevelt. My aunt’s hatred of Roosevelt stemmed from a campaign promise he had made in 1940: “Mothers, your sons will not go to war”. When young men, her son included, began to be drafted, she went ballistic. While my parents may have disagreed with her, they did not often voice it as she was the older sister and quite powerful in her beliefs, which she shared with us almost every evening as she listened to Fulton J. Lewis, an arch-conservative, read and comment on the news.

The economy

Today, Bush cuts taxes and urges us to go out and spend as a way to beat the enemy. This approach was totally opposite to what happened in the war years. We couldn’t buy many things without a book of ration coupons. Getting a new book of coupons was like getting a pay check. When we went to the grocery store, we took along our ration books. When my father bought gas for his car, he needed his ration book. Of course, new cars were not seen, as the production of all the car companies went for military purposes. The names of airplanes were as well known then as the names of cars today – Flying Fortress, P-47, Stuka, Spitfire, Zero; I can still see them in my mind. Miniature planes came along with your box of cereal.

Price controls were also in effect. Our wartime economy was a government-run economy. And, it really had to be as the economies of our allies were in shambles and this war really had the potential to destroy Western Civilization.

Air Raid Drills and other wartime activity

What could be more exciting to a little kid than an air raid drill? The sirens blaring, the closing of the curtains, the dowsing of the lights. But, maybe because you were a kid you knew it was only a drill. It couldn’t be real; the Krauts and the Japs were very far away. Yet, when the horns blew, my father, who was an air raid warden, put on his helmet, picked up his flashlight and went out to check that there were no lights shining from any homes or businesses in the neighborhood. We, of course, shut all the lights, drew the curtains and then peeked out to see whether anyone had their lights on.

The only way to communicate with the troops was via the mail. (Unless of course, your son was wounded or killed; in that case you’d get a telegram.) So, my mother would write letters to her sons and, for some reason, she felt that I should do so also. My sisters were exempt from this task, but I was not. It was a real pain for me as I had no idea what to write and would be frustrated by my inability to do so.

After Italy fell, my parents were able to send packages to my father’s family. Perhaps once a month my mother would create these huge care packages filled with the basics. She would sew them up in heavy cotton and my father would lug them to the post office after filling out the appropriate forms.

We spent days rolling the aluminum foil in which gum sticks were wrapped into a giant ball. Where this ball went I know not, but it was a patriotic thing to do. As it was patriotic for the females to knit sweaters and assemble bandages.

Daily entertainment was largely over the radio; periodically, we would go to the local movie house when they were giving out free dishes. Movies then were accompanied by newsreels which largely reported the US view of the war. Even movie stars were dragooned into the war. Some saw combat, many sold war bonds. Contrast that with today’s volunteer army.

While before the war kids played “cops and robbers”, we, the kids of the early ‘40s, played war games. There was no escaping the real world, not even in play.

Hiroshima and Nagasaki

Even now, almost sixty years later, I find it hard to comprehend the power of the atom bombs we dropped on Japan. (And those bombs were tiny compared to today’s generation!) At that time we really didn’t get a complete picture of how horrific the damage was, or at least I didn’t. The strong impression drilled into my Catholic mind was that the second bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, a Catholic city. The nuns saw it as another attempt to persecute Catholics and drilled it into our heads. They ignored the catastrophic effect of the bomb, as did most of America. We were just happy that the war was finally ending.

VJ Day

VJ Day was the day the Japanese surrendered. It so happened to also be the Feast of the Assumption (a fact noted by the religious among us). My sisters, cousins and I spent the day cutting up newspapers which we threw from the window when the formal announcement was made. The whole country was a bedlam. Even Cambridge Street was crowded unlike any other time before or since. You could cross the street only with great difficulty and with a degree of risk. Drivers and others were drunk. I can still see the guy down the street playing the bagpipe. The blaring of car horns was constant. It was an unbelievable day across the country.

Back to “normalcy”

The return to the life we led before the war never happened. The Cold War began virtually immediately. In many ways this was even scarier than the hot war that had just ended. But, that is the subject of another day.