The War Comes to Plum Street

5. Duty Calls Every Citizen, 1942

5. Duty Calls Every Citizen, 1942 Don’t You Know There’s a War On? THE YEAR 1942 dawned with very little hope for most people in middle America. There was no certainty that the United States would win the war, and very little in the papers to suggest that we could expect much good news anytime soon. The Japanese were a mostly unknown quantity. They had struck with great power at Pearl Harbor, and even if no one knew where Oahu was, a great fear settled upon the West Coast that they would soon swoop in from the fog to strike at places that we had heard of before. The draft was already firmly in place, and had been since 1940. Every young man knew that there would come a time, and probably very soon at that, when he would either be expected to join up or be drafted. Many chose to enlist. But many others waited quietly, looking for jobs in vital war plants with the dim hope that their work would be so important that Uncle Sam would choose someone else. Others simply continued the daily routine, working at the shop, or the diner, or the 5 & 10. When the call came, they would go, but the call would come soon enough without jumping the gun. In the meantime, there was home, or school to finish, or hay to make, or chores, or that girl up the street. The irony, of course, was that most of the defense plants, once they had expanded and began to add a full third shift and to extend the work week, refused to hire the young men that they all knew would Duty Calls Every Citizen, 1942 91 soon be called to wear the uniform. It became a kind of awkward stage for boys over eighteen. They were already old enough to join up, but still young enough and afraid enough to want to stay around home for a few more weeks. That spring and summer, the lists of the draftees in the paper grew longer and longer. Many were city boys, but a growing percentage came from out in the county, where the abandoned farmhouses of a later time each still held a family with children. Many of these rural folk led a hardscrabble life, clinging to the dream of farm-based prosperity that their fathers had known before World War I. Even of these, more and more left quietly for work in town, before light most of the year, returning in the late afternoon to milk and feed the chickens and tend to the garden or carry firewood before the evening light faded into night-long shadows. There developed a routine of induction for draftees and enlistees alike. There was not just one departure with leave-taking and grim good-byes. Would that there had been, because loved ones and boys embarrassed to be choked up would have had to endure it only once that way. The draft notice went out to a group of anywhere from ten to seventy-five across the county, announcing with the familiar ‘‘Greetings!’’ that they had been selected and were to report at a given date and time to the bus terminal for transportation to a given military facility for physicals . So there was a first departure. Part of this trip was seeing that there were others one knew from school, or from up the road. When there was a stop for a meal, Uncle Sam paid, which wasn’t so bad. At the place where the physicals took place, there was a packinghouse mentality. Those who had gotten the free bus ride and lunch had to strip naked and stand in lines while they were looked over, tapped, and made to cough for the army doctor. Stethoscopes allowed the inspectors to listen for signs of a weak heart or bad lungs. They judged eyes, ears, and feet, and looked for signs of venereal disease . The doctors did not say much, but noted on paper forms the important data that would determine whether each man would be accepted or rejected. Usually they returned home late that night or the next day. At this point they were wanted, but not yet accepted. The impres- 92 The War Comes to Plum Street sion at the time was that few failed the exams, but those who did often tried to enlist to avoid the stigma...