Mrs. George, who owned George’s Confectionary with her husband, told us that it had something to do with the “Japanese and rubber.” “I won’t be surprised if ALL chewing gum becomes scarce, as well as all the penny candy and of course Hershey bars and the other chocolates. Sugar is going to be rationed VERY SOON.”
“How do you think Mrs. George knows this stuff?” I asked Buddy.
“Maybe she’s a member of the FBI or something,” Buddy answered.
On Saturday afternoon, when I got home from Miss Leah’s Dancing School, Buddy couldn’t wait to tell me what he had heard Nana and Tom talking about at the store.
“I guess Nana’s a member of the FBI, too,” he said. “Nana thinks that sugar and butter, meat, and canned goods will be rationed. Tom said tires and gasoline as well as coal and heating oil would be, too. He said that even shoes will probably be rationed because of the leather.”
“How come?” I asked.
“For the soldiers,” Buddy said. “Soldiers need shoes. They’ll need shoes and butter and chocolate and tires—all kinds of stuff.”
Chapter Eight
Hartford is the state capital of Connecticut. It is a big city with a couple of big stores. G. Fox and Company is the biggest. It has escalators. They are moving stairs that take you from one floor to the next. The elevators are faster, but you get to see more from the escalators. You have to be careful when you get off. The stairs sort of disappear into little slots. There are stories about children whose shoelaces got caught. Mom said it’s not true. The only thing is to be careful so you don’t fall.
The children’s department is up on the eighth floor, so it is a nice long escalator ride. I like looking at all the ladies’ dresses, the furniture, the rugs, the lamps, and all the other things. Each floor has different stuff on it.
Finally, we got to the children’s department. It is divided into a boys’ department, a girls’ department, a young man’s department, and a young woman’s department. Buddy will get his Easter outfit in the young man’s department. I will get mine in the boys’ department. We will have to go up another floor to the toddlers’ department for Maureen’s outfit.
Buddy tried on a pair of long gray flannel pants and a checkered jacket that is called “tweed.” He got a shirt, a clip-on tie, a sweater vest, and new brown shoes. He even got a hat that looks just like the hat my dad wears. It had a little red-and-green feather in the band.
I got a new pair of knickers. I was not old enough for long pants yet. So I got a new pair of knee socks that have a diamond pattern on them. I also got a tweed jacket and a sweater vest. The sweater vest almost matched my knee socks. I was hoping that Mom would buy me a fedora hat like Buddy’s, but I got a tweed cap. I DID get brown-and-white saddle shoes, though.
The clerk told Mom that “next year we’ll all need ration stamps for shoes. We’ve already heard that by fall, ladies’ skirts will be shorter, men’s pants won’t have cuffs on them, and all clothing will have fewer pockets to save material.”
We went up to the toddlers’ department on the next floor.
The toy department is also on this floor. Mom let me go look at all the toys by myself. There were lots of stuffed animals and teddy bears. Chicks, bunnies, and ducks and very fancy Easter baskets with HUGE chocolate rabbits and green cellophane grass were on display for Easter.
Games like Uncle Wiggly, Chutes and Ladders, and Monopoly filled the shelves.
There were counters and counters of dolls—very expensive Madame Alexander dolls and Nancy Ann Storybook dolls in their polka dot boxes, all dressed like nursery rhyme characters. Maureen already had a couple of them. They were more to look at than to play with. Several sizes of Dy-Dee dolls that could drink water from a bottle and then have their diapers changed were next to a whole case of Shirley Temple dolls, all with special costumes from her different movies.
Buddy was looking at the few two-wheelers they had in the toy department.
“Look now, young fella,” the clerk said. “These will probably be the last bicycles we’ll have until the war is over. There is going to be a shortage of metal and rubber soon.”
“Boys,” we heard Mom call. “Come see Maureen’s Easter outfit.” There was Maureen in a pretty white dress with little flowers on it, and a light blue coat with a matching hat that looked like a little bonnet. She was wearing light blue socks and shiny black patent leather Mary Janes.
After we finished shopping, we walked to a big restaurant called De Pasquale’s. Dad was waiting for us. We ordered a pizza for lunch and then headed home to Meriden.
As we drove home along the Berlin Turn-pike, I kept thinking how nice we’d all look on Easter Sunday at St. Joseph’s Church.
Chapter Nine
Uncle Charles got a letter telling him that he had to report for duty on the twelfth of May. So Mom and Dad decided to have a party for him and his girlfriend, Viva, and some of their Wallingford friends.
“The sooner the better,” Dad said. “You never know what’s going to happen.”
The party was the night before Easter Sunday.
Cousin Mabel Powers and her husband, Bill, came, too. Mabel was Mom’s favorite cousin. She was a little older than Mom, and her father, Uncle Jack, and Tom were brothers. They lived across the street from the store in Wallingford. I heard some great stories about Cousin Mabel when she and Mom were growing up. Cousin Mabel loved to swim, but without a bathing suit, which was shocking in those days.
So, Mabel and Flossie would walk out into the ocean as far as Flossie could stand. Then Mabel would duck down under the water and take off her bathing suit.
“Here, Flossie,” Mabel said. “Hold my bathing suit while I swim out a way.” Flossie would stand there and just wait, holding Mabel’s suit, until she came back.
“Did you ever think about tricking Cousin Mabel,” I asked my mom, “and going back to the beach with her bathing suit?”
“Are you kidding?” Mom said. “She’d have killed me!” And Mom laughed and laughed.
When Cousin Mabel and Bill came in, I whispered to her, “Can I ask you a favor, Cousin Mabel?”
“Sure,” she said. “What is it?”
“Well,” I told Cousin Mabel, “I’m the only one in my class that hasn’t lost a baby tooth yet. Blackie said that my lower front tooth is loose. I wiggle it, and I tried to pull it out with a string tied to a doorknob, but all that happened is the string broke. Can you help me?”
“Let me get some strong string,” Mabel said. “Then come with me into the ‘Powder Room.’”
We had a small bathroom with a sink and a toilet just off the hallway from the kitchen to the door to the backyard. Mom called it the Powder Room. It’s where she kept her nail polish, her lipsticks and powder and rouge, her hair curlers, and her curling iron. I was especially intrigued with the curling iron. Mom would heat it on the stove, test it out on a folded piece of toilet paper, then, when it was just the right temperature, she’d curl her bangs and fluff them up so they looked soft and pretty!
I secretly (or so I thought) tried it once, but it was too hot, so I had a big burned-out spot right in the front. Mom NEVER mentioned it.
Anyway, Cousin Mabel and I went into the Powder Room. She sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat and tied the string around my loose tooth. She wiggled and tugged gently.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“Un-uh,” I answered.
Someone knocked on the door. “Go upstairs!” Mabel yelled. “We’re busy in here.”
She wiggled and tugged. It went on for a long time. And to tell the truth, it was beginning to hurt.
“You okay?” Mabel asked, noticing the tears in my eyes.
“Yes, Cousin Mabel,” I answered. “I’m okay!”
All of a sudden, there was a tug and a twist and a crunchy sound and a “Hooray” from Mabel.
“Here it is!” she hollered.
She wet a washcloth and held it to my mouth. She opened the locked door and led me
out into the kitchen.
“This boy needs some COLD ice cream,” she announced. “He’s just lost his first tooth!”
My first tooth and I were passed around so everyone could have a look.
My uncle Charles’s best friend, Mickey Lynch, gave me a dime “in case the tooth fairy has the night off,” he said, “what with the Easter Bunny coming and all.”
I felt quite grown-up, but even so, I’d be sure to put my very first tooth under my pillow.
Chapter Ten
Dad has just come home from the Bronx in New York, where he had been to see Blackie’s mother and father, Aunt Kate and Uncle Tony. I was sent up to bed, but I crept out into the upstairs hallway so I could listen.
I could hear Mom quietly crying.
“Oh, Joe, he was such a great young man, everything to live for. It’s so sad, so sad,” Mom said.
“I feel so sorry for Tony and Kate,” Dad said. “It’s the hardest thing to lose your first son, let alone ANY child. Kate’s eyes have so much sorrow in them. I don’t think she’ll EVER be happy again.”
I wondered if Dad was right. Then I began to wonder, Why?
Why was there a war anyway?
Why did the war make everything different when it was so far away?
Why did Uncle Charles have to go and be a soldier?
Why did Blackie’s plane get shot down?
Why was my cousin Blackie, my cousin Anthony, who gave me a Hawaiian guitar and a hula skirt and who carried me on his back and listened to every new song I learned—why was Blackie dead?
WHY?
The End
Come home to 26 FAIRMOUNT AVENUE!
26 Fairmount Avenue
a 2000 Newbery Honor Book
“A wonderful introduction to the art of the memoir.”
—The Boston Globe
★ “Effervescent . . . dePaola seems as at home in this format as he did when he first crossed the threshold of 26 Fairmount Avenue, an address readers will eagerly revisit in the series’ subsequent tales.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
Here We All Are
★ “DePaola continues to share engaging childhood memories in this breezy follow-up to 26 Fairmount Avenue.”—
Publishers Weekly (starred review)
On My Way
★ “DePaola is irresistible.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
“DePaola’s writing and recollective skills are so fresh that kids will feel like he’s sitting right next to them.”
—The Horn Book
What a Year
“As charming and engaging as its predecessors.”
—Kirkus Reviews
THE WAR YEARS
Things Will NEVER Be the Same
“The fifth installment in the series is delightful.”
—School Library Journal
I’m Still Scared
★ “Utterly charming and believable. . . . A slice of real life, true in its history and emotional resonance.”
—Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
Why?: The War Years Page 3