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THE WORLD WAR TWO YEARS
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September 1, 1939 came in world history and two cataclysmic events occurred: the Nazis, on some flimsy pretext, invaded Poland and started WWII; and little five year old Mil started to school, a year early, at Clovis La Casita School, Seventh and Thornton
World events were moving. Franklin Delano Roosevelt, though the mood of the country was heavily weighted toward isolationism, in his farsighted wisdom, could see that there was no long-range way out for the U.S. Placentia Bay , Newfoundland
The American ship was sitting at anchor in the bay when Churchill sailed in on HMS Prince of Wales, a new British battleship, only recently completed and delivered on March 31, 1941. Sunday morning found FDR transferring with some difficulty, due to his polio, over to the Prince of Wales for Sunday worship, and asking the blessings of Almighty God on the endeavors of the Allied cause.
HMS Prince of Wales
The total complement of the Wales---all the sailors who could be were on deck, some sitting on fourteen inch big guns---and singing heartily, serious hymns for serious times---hymns in fact selected by Churchill himself: "Onward, Christian Soldiers," "O God, Our Help In Ages Past," and (the U.S. "Navy Hymn") "Eternal Father, Strong To Save."
Out of this conference, called "The Atlantic Charter," came a number of important decisions, notably, "the Nazis go down first," in case the Japanese get involved.
Ironically, events sped up. the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941; Germany declared war on the U.S. December 8, 1941; the Prince of Wales, which had heard wafting across its deck at Placentia Bay, "Oh hear us when we cry to Thee, for those in peril on the sea," was sunk off the Malay Coast near Singapore, by Japanese planes, on December 11, 1941.
For the first half of 1942, times looked rather bleak for the Allies, who were caught behind in war preparation.
In our hometown of Clovis , military personnel (railroad troops) soon were arriving at Camp Reed
Dozens of Clovis businesses---like Jim's Barber Shop, Gateway Auto, Clovis Tailors, Whatley's Second Hand, Jack Holt, O.K. Rubber Welders, Barry Hardware, Coney Island , and Westward Ho, along with the Magic Steam Laundry, set in to do their part in the war effort.
It seemed like just about everything was scarce or rationed, or both, including gasoline, tires, meat, coffee, sugar, shoes, some clothes...and on. Patriotic movies were shown early in the war, such as: "Back to Bataan ," "Bombardier," and "The Fighting Sullivans."
Mil began his education at La Casita School, walking from the laundry at 415 W. Grand, west on Grand, past Tom Phelp's neat little "Red-and-White Store," by Ms. Crook's Beauty Shop, on down to Thornton, turning north at the Blaylock Grocery, then proceeding north past "The Little White Church On the Corner," (Ned Biddix's father's church,) past the haunted house and on to school.
Down at the laundry, Dad rented the one-story building abutting the laundry to the west; this did two things; he needed the space occupied by Johnny's Motorcycle Shop, and this improved my little boy vocabulary considerably, for I was wont, in my spare time (that is---all my time before becoming a school kid,) to pick up some very interesting, but strange,words, most of which I didn't know the meanings, as I lingered on the periphery of that raucous shop.
Dad was overwhelmed with the amount of laundry coming in, from the regular Clovis trade, which included, besides private citizens' dirty clothes--- hospitals, motels, hotels, cafes, barber shops---and now the military. It was a good thing we had Johnny's Shop's space---it was filled with bundles of dirty clothes by noon on Monday...and a sign went up: "NO MORE LAUNDRY ACCEPTED THIS WEEK."
Before the clothes could be washed, they had to be sorted or "checked in." Each bundle had to be opened and separated piece by piece---according to color, fabric, and fading potential. Thirty or forty bundles had to be gone through, each afternoon late, for tomorrow's run.
The next morning brought washing, spinning the water out, opening nets of damp clothes and shaking out the sheets for the mangle and the pants and shirts for the pressers. Then came the pressing and ironing, folding, pigeon-holing the pieces, and the final wrap-up of the person's clean clothes.
Dad wore khakis and rubber boots, and was 50% wet by noon; when the washing was completed, he daily put on a set of dry khakis. The wet bundles that he handled likely weighed 75 pounds. This was---day after day---for seven years. He had one day off---in seven years. No one could be trusted to run the boiler. The one time he was off, for an emergency, Dad joked that "E." nearly blew up SW Clovis , with his limited boiler acumen.
As early as my days in the fourth grade, I went straight to the laundry from school and helped him do the "check-in" for tomorrow's run. My job was to net all the sheets, pillow cases, and other white stuff in a big, heavy, porous net, as he threw this stuff on the floor. I then gathered the top and pinned this sack with a heavy numbered pin. This required considerable bending over---no prob for a little kid!
Those were times of good togetherness with Dad and me. At about 4 p.m., the day began to wind down---the women workers were through and going home; it got really quiet and peaceful there in the laundry, and the smells of starched, pressed clothes--smells of cleanliness, health, and well-being just permeated the air. Sometimes it smelled as if the whole laundry had been ironed!
We got down to serious "checking in"---getting the run for tomorrow ready to go- so we could go home--- and listen to "Fibber McGee and Molly" at 7:30 p.m. But, ah, my readers, are you ready for this? At four p.m. on KICA were four fifteen-minute "little boy programs"---"TOM MIX," "THE SHADOW KNOWS," "SUPERMAN," and "THE 'LONG' RANGER." We worked and listened right there at the laundry. In fact, I was able to get my "TOM MIX SECRET WHISTLE SIGNAL RING," for 25 cents and two Ralston cereal box tops. When they signaled me on the show, I answered back with my ring.
As I got into the fifth and sixth grades, I arrived at the laundry as early as I could from school--I had a bike by then--and began the "check in" process by myself, so we could go home earlier. On Saturdays I'd go early and have the Monday run mostly finished by 12:30 p.m. and headed down to the Lyceum in time to sing along with their only musical selection, "Elmer’s Tune." (Later they got "Twilight Time.")
I'd had a hard week and was now set for a serial ("The Perils of Nyoka"), a western and a murder mystery. My fifty-cent Walking Liberty---a silver half dollar--- would buy me a ten cent movie ticket, a ten cent sack of popcorn, a five cent coke, and after the movie--- a twenty cent ham salad sandwich at Woolworth's, and a five cent coke. Check it out---$20.00 worth today. (And if you want to carry a "good luck" Walking Liberty, made of real silver, one will run you $38.00 to $50.00 today.)
Not knowing any better, I called the serial "The Pearls of Nyoka." Google it for fun.
Those were tragic times, in a war that cost the U.S.A. 913,000 casualties, and the world an estimated 70 million dead. One day in December, 1944, at the laundry, a family member came in and walked straight to Ms. E. folding clothes over at the mangle. He handed her a telegram which she grasped and hurriedly read---then collapsed into the arms of co-workers. The mangle was stopped and the laundry came to a halt...Her son was wounded in the Ardennes... in a battle that would be called "The Battle of The Bulge." She was off work for two days. Her son eventually came home with a steel plate in his head.
One day, about mid-April, 1945, when school was out, I got on my bicycle and went straight down to Barry Hardware to get a bolt for my bicycle basket. The people in there were all gathered around the radio. It was a somber group. Someone whispered to me: "President Roosevelt died." This shook me up. He was the only president I had ever known.
I hurriedly got on my bicycle and rode down Grand to the laundry. The women workers were winding up and Dad was wrapping bundles of clothes. The radio was not on yet. I parked my bike in Johnny's Motorcycle Shop and went in and said to Dad (barely able to control my sixth grade emotions) "Dad, President Roosevelt is dead."
Who will ever forget the black accordionist playing Dvorak's "Goin' Home" there by FDR's train? I will always feel that Roosevelt was a casualty of World War II, just as much as a soldier. He could've gone to Campobello and relaxed his last years. In spite of his fiscal policies, which have been endlessly debated, I personally consider him to be in the list of Top Five Presidents. There is no guarantee that anyone else could've pulled it off---that is---VICTORY.
"Going Home"
Victory in Europe was to come in early May, and Victory in Japan
Oh, how many of the "finest American generation" paid the ultimate price for the ambitions of Hitler and the Japanese. Still today, we weep for their memory. And there was something SO AMERICAN about the USA
It happened coincidentally, but with the surrender of the Japanese, our days at our old beloved laundry were o'er. The sale which had been in the works (without my knowing it) was completed sometime around the third week in August---to a fine Clovis family---the Stebbins, who would within several years move the Magic Steam Laundry over to West Seventh Street on a nice corner lot...and maintain the quality which the laundry had always produced.
We soon were on the road to Tres Ritos and my dad's newly-adopted hobby---fly fishing for trout. The British would soon oust Churchill and I would learn about it (but never understand it) when I took Current Events in the seventh grade.
From the clean-starchy-pressed smells of the old laundry, I was headed to the farm and would soon have the dust of a tractor assailing my nostrils, and the pollen of a wheat truck making me sneeze! I would come to LOVE windmills. Dad had bought a farm!
Several weeks ago, an email came to me. It was from "ANONYMOUS," and simply stated: "Your post---The Magic Steam Laundry"---"BEAUTIFUL...ENLIGHTENING." I had written this post almost a year ago, May of 2012, and had always planned to do a part two.
I read "STORY ONE" over---enjoying going back to 1938 again and remembering the bath in the washing machine that first nigh--- the bacon and onions and red-eye gravy Mother cooked on that hot plate, hooked to the gas jet near washer # 1. Reading my story, I suffered my blistered feet all over again, remembered that strange smooth, slick white stucco on the outside of the laundry, heard the marvelous train sounds three blocks south at the railroad again, saw the sandstorms barreling down Grand toward Main St., and of course--the smell of the finished laundry again....I said to myself---it's time for the "war years".
Most folk who lived then were affected and had those years etched on their minds and hearts. You can't tell one story without telling the war story.
I always liked the final words in one of Clint Eastwood's westerns, "The Outlaw Josie Wales." Wounded Clint and his pursuer are calling a truce, and referring to the Civil War, Eastwood says: "I guess we all died a little in that damn war."
"Going Home", Georgia Boy Choir
4-13-13
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Absolutely loved both your stories about the laundry and the war. Such beautiful detail made me imagine I was there. And the Josie Wales quote was just perfect. Thanks again for giving me another enjoyable reading adventure.
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