Henrietta Hay's Column

On Pearl Harbor Day I was discussing World War II with several of my young friends. By young I mean that they weren't born yet when that war took place. They were asking about what I remembered, what it was like then.

Although I can remember lots of things that happened in those days, it is hard to recall how I felt. Fifty years later I can look back at it as a section of my life with a beginning and an end. But at the time it took five years of living one day at a time, without knowing much about what was going on or what the future might hold.

To the generations raised on television with its instant news bites, it is probably hard to realize that only fifty years ago we got our news from radio and newspapers. Believe me, slightly fuzzy black and white newspaper pictures of events days, weeks or even months old did not carry the dramatic impact of today's television. Unlike communication during the Vietnam War, we did not have blood and bodies with dinner each night. I'm not quite sure whether that is good or bad.

None of my immediate family was in the service, but my father served for the duration of the war as a member of the Arapaho County draft board, officially called a unit of the Selective Service System. I do remember how deeply he felt the pain of sending young men to war.

As civilians we did the best we could on the home front. When we entered the war I had a year old baby, which explains why I did not become Rosie the Riveter. But we learned very quickly that we had a job to do right here. We found out what the word "rationing" meant, as we watched many consumer products gradually disappear from sight. I still have my last War Ration Book, No. 4. It has quite a few stamps left in it, so that probably meant good news. On the back of the book it says, "Rationing is a vital part of your country's war effort. Any attempt to violate the rules is an effort to deny someone his share and will create hardship and help the enemy . . . If you don't need it, DON'T BUY IT."

I can't remember all the products that required stamps for purchase, but the first was rubber tires. Then gasoline was limited to three gallons a week. We were not merely urged to save gas. We had no choice. People with special needs were allowed to buy extra fuel, but they had to prove the need. Sugar and, I think, coffee were included. Even shoes required the ubiquitous stamps. I had a friend in the W.A.C. who got married in a white gown and Army oxfords. We had to present a given number of stamps in order to be allowed to buy any of the rationed products. One young friend asked how you knew how many stamps you needed. Easy. Uncle Sam told us. Everyone in the family had a ration book, including the babies.

I'm sure the women will remember that we could not get good hose. Nylons had just started to replace rayon a year or so earlier, and suddenly they both became rarities. We bought special makeup that we used to paint our legs so that anyone who was nearly blind would think we were wearing hose. Slacks, of course, were not allowed. Maybe they hadn't even been invented yet for "ladies". That would have been such a great solution to the nylons problem.

Looking back, we in the United States had it very easy on the home front. We coped and did what had to be done. We were doing our patriotic duty. WWII is considered by many to have been the last of the "good wars". Practically all Americans believed in it, supported it and were willing to sacrifice to win it. But historians estimate that it cost 38 million lives, of which 400,000 were American. How does one define a "good war"?

Over the next five years there will be many 50th anniversaries of events from Pearl Harbor to Hiroshima. But as we commemorate these dates and think about what has happened to the world since, I think we need to reflect on the fact that there are no "good wars." To quote Pete Seeger, "Where have all the flowers gone? . . .Where have all the young men gone?. . . When will they ever learn?"