by Fannie Flagg
Elner said, “Maybe so, Ida, but those pigs paid for your wedding.” As Elner later told her niece, “Now, Norma, I love Ida…but Lord, she’s bad to put on airs.”
And it was true. Ida’s ideal woman at the time was Eleanor Roosevelt. True, the woman had absolutely no sense of style, her clothes were atrocious, her hair a disgrace. But she had spunk. She was a real go-getter, with agendas of her own, a real no-nonsense person who did not sit around in the background. Much like herself, Ida thought.
Ida had her own political aspirations for her husband: first become governor of the state, and then later sweep on into the White House. But, sadly, Herbert Jenkins was perfectly content to be just a banker and live in Elmwood Springs, and it upset Ida to no end. “If I thought a woman could get elected, I’d run myself,” she said. Poor Ida. She was born ahead of her time.
It seemed as if summer flew by that year. The movies continued to inspire fashions and hairstyles, and everybody wanted a figure like Claudette Colbert’s.
Especially Gerta Nordstrom. She attended the county fair in October and made the mistake of stopping at the “Guess Your Weight” booth. The man had been right on the nose and announced it in a loud voice for all the world to hear: “The little lady weighs one hundred and seventy-nine pounds!”
The fair was fun for all the 4-H kids, who won lots of blue ribbons. Elner Shimfissle took first place in Preserves and Jellies. And Merle Wheeler had the largest tomato.
On November 16, Gerta and Ted’s son, Gene Nordstrom, now a junior at Elmwood High School, threw the winning touchdown pass, and they finished the season as tri-county champions. Then, before they knew it, it was December.
The Morgan Brothers Department Store had their usual big, beautiful Christmas display in the window, this year with moving parts. Seeing Santa’s reindeer bob up and down thrilled everyone. Little Norma Jenkins got a Sparkle Plenty doll, and her mother, Ida, received the fox fur she had wanted, with plastic eyes and nose.
On Christmas Eve, Tot’s husband, James Whooten, got drunk on eggnog and fell into the Christmas tree, but other than that, everybody had a great Christmas.
Now that the Depression was ending, the bakery was back in full swing: the long glass cases lined with cinnamon buns, cream puffs, and cupcakes, all looking wonderful. Everybody loved to go into the bakery. It had such a sweet smell and a pretty shiny black-and-white-tile floor that Ted and Gerta kept so clean, you could eat off it. And a lot of children did. If they dropped a pastry, they’d pick it right up and continue eating it, and their parents didn’t mind.
At the movies, Clark Gable had been replaced by the new heartthrob of the moment, Tyrone Power, and all the boys wanted to be John Wayne. But as it turned out, not all the women in town still wanted to be Claudette Colbert. One afternoon in May of 1941, when the newly formed Elmwood Springs Ladies’ Bowling Team had been on their way out to the new Blue Star Bowling Alley to practice, Ada Goodnight, the larger twin, announced that she wanted to become an actress just like her idol, Joan Crawford. Her youngest sister, Irene, made fun of her, but as their mother said later, “Who knows, Irene? Ada may not have the acting talent, but she certainly has the shoulders for it.”
The weekend dances continued out at the lake, and as Birdie Swensen noted up at Still Meadows, “There seem to be more fireflies than ever this summer.”
September came around again. And, as usual, over at the high school, the seniors were very happy to be seniors, the freshmen were nervous, and the sophomores and juniors felt like they were in limbo and just slogged through the long days. At the end of November, Irene Goodnight, who was a junior, came home and fell onto the living room couch and sighed, “I’m so bored with home economics, I don’t know what to do. If I have to bake another angel food cake, I’ll throw up.”
Then on December 7, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and, suddenly, everybody’s world was turned upside down.
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THE VERY NEXT DAY, all the senior boys at Elmwood High School drove to Springfield and signed up for military service, including eighteen-year-old Gene Nordstrom, who joined the marines. Emotions were running high everywhere. People couldn’t believe that the Japanese had attacked us and killed so many of our boys. “I don’t understand it—what did we ever do to them?” asked Gerta. Everyone agreed. Verbena Wheeler said she would never eat another can of chicken chow mein as long as she lived. James Whooten was so mad about the attack that he sobered up for three days and tried to join the army, but failed the physical.
People remained in shock for quite a while. It seemed that overnight, the whole town had suddenly focused on the war. But as the weeks went by and after all the boys had gone off to their different training camps, they all got busy doing what they could to help.
Hazel Goodnight organized groups of ladies and high school girls to drive over to Springfield and meet the troop trains they knew would be passing through. They would set up a stand and serve the boys hot coffee and sandwiches through the train windows. Scared soldiers on their way to who-knows-where threw pieces of paper with their names and addresses on them, hoping to get a girl to write to them. Some did and always sealed their letters with a kiss.
Within six months, Ander Swensen had the Sweet Clover Dairy operating close to twenty-four hours a day, busy shipping milk and cheese for the boys at all the training camps close by.
The poor cows had no way of knowing there was a war going on. All they knew was that people seemed to be in a hurry.
Schoolchildren were busy collecting rubber and scrap. In June 1942, Beatrice Swensen agreed to be head of the local Red Cross. She was in charge of the ladies rolling bandages and packing up boxes to be shipped overseas, and Elner agreed to help her. Because of the mandatory blackouts, all the streetlights in town were painted blue. It made all the little white houses look like something on the moon. But as Ruby Robinson said, “It must be working. We haven’t been bombed yet.”
People on the home front were kept as informed as possible. News of the war was broadcast over the radio three times a day, and three times a day, everyone stopped what they were doing and listened. And every Sunday night, they all tuned in to FDR’s fireside chat.
By the end of 1943, everybody had a ration book. Sugar rationing was hard on the bakery business, and most of the sugar Ted and Gerta were allowed went into the baking of cakes and cookies that they mailed to their son, Gene, his best friend, Cooter Calvert, and all the other hometown boys all over the country. Cooter Calvert was all the way up in New Jersey, and Billy Eggstrom was stationed at Scott Field in Illinois.
Ida Jenkins, who had always prided herself on her yard and beautiful camellias and boxwoods, suddenly appointed herself chief inspector of all the town’s Victory gardens. She even had a green uniform made and a cap with a gold star on the brim. It meant nothing, but she so enjoyed wearing it as she marched through people’s gardens, barking orders.
She was good at her job, and for the duration of the war, the town did have excellent produce. As Verbena Wheeler said, “Ida can be a real pill sometimes…but she does know her squash.” Someone else remarked, “By God, if Ida had been a man, she would have made general by now.”
Ada Goodnight, thanks to an old boyfriend who had been a crop duster, knew how to fly a plane and went to Texas to join up with the newly formed group of women fliers known as the WASPs. Female pilots were desperately needed to ferry planes and supplies around the United States and free up the men for combat duty.
Letters were so important. After a long wait, one mother in town danced with joy when she received a one-word message from her son, who had been in the Battle of Midway. The word was “Okay.”
The next day, Hazel Goodnight was happy to get a letter from her daughter Ada.
SWEETWATER, TEXAS
Dear Mother,
Sorry to be so long in writing. We’ve been in flight training 24 hours a day, it seems. Did you know that Texas was HOT? I am nearly burning up here…but have met a swell bu
nch of gals. My roommate is a real corker from Wisconsin, named Fritzi Jurdabralinski. She is the best flier here. Me second, I think. Will let you know after the next test flight. Send all my love to Bess and Irene. Please write news of home.
Love,
Ada
ELMWOOD SPRINGS, MISSOURI
Dearest Daughter,
The biggest news from home is we continue to miss you. We are doing everything we can here. You would be proud of your sister Irene. She is working part-time at the dairy, and your sister Bess is doing fine over at the Western Union office.
Mr. Ericksen fell off his bike and broke his leg, so Macky Warren is now delivering telegrams. Elner Shimfissle brought us two dozen eggs and asked about you, as does everybody. Oh, and I almost forgot, last week, I caught that rotten Lester Shingle in the bushes outside Irene’s window again. Chased him, but he got away, dammit.
Love from,
Mother
1943
The boys didn’t know exactly where they were going, but they all had a general idea. It was their last three weeks in San Francisco, and the town was swarming with servicemen like them, looking for dates. The USO dances were so crowded that there were about ten soldiers to every one girl, so Gene had more or less given up.
That afternoon, he was just hanging around with his friend Beamis outside a big department store in Union Square. Lucky Beamis had a date that night with a girl who worked there, and he was waiting for her to get off.
As they were standing there shooting the breeze, someone came out of the revolving glass door, and Gene caught a quick glimpse of the girl behind the perfume counter. “See you later, Beamis,” he said, as he went in to buy a bottle of perfume for his mother.
In the next few weeks first his mother, then his aunt Ida and aunt Elner, and even his little cousin, Norma, each received a beautifully wrapped bottle of perfume from the I. Magnin department store in San Francisco. It took a while, but he finally got a date. Her name was Marion.
For their first date, he wanted to impress her, so he took her for dinner and dancing at the Top of the Mark, the glamorous supper club in the sky overlooking the city. He had on his dress blue uniform, and she wore a lavender dress and had a white gardenia in her hair. Anyone who saw the couple that night sitting at the small round table by the window could see that the boy was in love.
Dear Folks,
By the time you get this, I will have shipped out. I am sorry there was not time for you to get here for the wedding. It was just a quick courthouse affair. But don’t worry, when I get back, we will come home and do it up right. I can’t wait for you to meet Marion. You won’t believe how beautiful she is. Also, sorry I haven’t written sooner, but these last two weeks I have been busy dealing with stuff, making sure Marion gets my allotments from the government, etc. Gosh, life sure changes when you are a married man. I’m so happy I don’t think I’ll ever climb off this pink cloud.
Love from your lovesick son
P.S. Tell Aunt Elner thanks for the preserves.
In late 1943, the war was heating up, and Bess Goodnight relieved a man who had been drafted and she was now running the Western Union office.
The army needed all the men it could get. Even thirty-two-year-old Snooky Pickens, the movie projectionist who was terribly nearsighted, was drafted and ordered to report to training camp in two weeks. He quickly trained James Whooten to take over his job at the theater, but it was always hit or miss. With James working the projector, sometimes the picture was on the screen, and sometimes it was on the side wall.
That summer, the weekend dances at the lake were canceled. There was nobody left to dance with, except Lester Shingle and a few old men.
At around ten A.M., the names of the boys from Missouri who had been killed in action were posted on the Western Union office front window. Bud Eggstrom, who had served in World War I, had a son who was somewhere in the Pacific, but he didn’t know where. Every day, he would get up and walk downtown to look at the list, along with all the families whose sons were serving. And every day, they all held their breath. Every day that Billy Eggstrom’s name did not appear on the dead or missing-in-action list, Bud would stop by the church and say thank you.
By 1944, Hollywood had gone to war full-time. Even cartoon characters Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck were reminding people not to waste precious gasoline, so needed for the war effort. Film stars such as Jimmy Stewart and Henry Fonda had entered the service, and others were kept busy entertaining the troops. Suddenly, big Hollywood stars were crisscrossing the country, selling war bonds.
In May 1944, movie star and Missouri native Ginger Rogers went on a tour of the Midwest selling war bonds, and when they found out that she would be stopping in Elmwood Springs, the whole town went crazy. Mr. Warren and a few of the other men helped set up a platform in front of the theater for the occasion.
On the day Miss Rogers was to appear, everybody within miles around was there and crowded the street, so excited they could hardly stand it.
At around three o’clock, she arrived looking exactly like herself, only better. People screamed and cheered as the high school band played “Hooray for Hollywood.” Mayor Ted Nordstrom proudly presented her with a key to the city. Immediately after the presentation, the Tappettes dance troupe, under the leadership of Dixie Cahill, came running out of the theater and up onto the stage to perform a special dance number in her honor to the tune of “Isn’t It a Lovely Day.”
Thirteen-year-old Tappette Norma Jenkins had been nervous to begin with, and Ginger Rogers was her very favorite movie star in the entire world. So when she looked up and saw her in person for the first time, she fainted halfway through the number. A distraught Dixie Cahill had to run out and drag her off to the side. As Norma’s aunt Elner said later, “Being in such close proximity to greatness had just been too much for her.”
1945
Dear Mom and Dad,
I’m sure Marion wrote to you about the baby. You are now the grandparents of an 8-pound, 7-ounce, 22-inch-long baby girl. Her name is Dena Katrina Nordstrom. Can you believe I am a father? Have you gotten her photo yet? What a beauty. I am convinced that she will be Miss America 1965. All the more reason to get this rotten mess over with soon. All the married guys with kids feel the same way, and it makes us fight even harder.
Gene
P.S. Lost my friend Beamis last week.
1945
Sporadic gunfire could still be heard as the medic slowly crawled toward the soldier. When he reached him, he quickly removed the chain around his neck, shoved the metal dog tag up between his two front teeth as hard as he could…and moved on.
It was a brutal job. He had sometimes cracked a tooth or split a lip in the process, but with so many bodies blown apart, guts, brains, arms, and legs everywhere, mistakes could be made. In the rush to get the dead and wounded off the battlefield as soon as possible, dog tags had fallen off or were lost, and mix-ups had occurred. This was the only way they knew to try to get the right soldier shipped back to the right place. With so many casualties, too many families had been sent the wrong body.
As the medic crawled over to the next one, he hoped the boy he had just left would make it home okay. He looked like a nice kid. Probably came from a nice family.
All through the war, the town had conducted the required blackout drills and elected neighborhood fire wardens, but nobody really believed that Elmwood Springs would be attacked. They heard about the war, saw it in the newsreels, read about it in the paper, but the war was so far away, most felt that it couldn’t possibly reach them.
Then on a Sunday in 1945, fifteen-year-old Macky Warren, who was working for Bess at the Western Union office, would get on his bicycle and deliver a telegram that would change a family’s lives forever. Why did it have to be on a Sunday?
When he woke up, it was dark, and he could hear a loud clacking noise rumbling underneath him. From the vibration, he had the strange sensation that he was moving. But where was he?…In a ho
spital?…Still on the beach?
Twenty-two-year-old Private First Class Gene Lordor Nordstrom lay there trying to figure out what was going on. The last thing he remembered was being scared, running up the beach, then nothing. It wasn’t until he felt the dog tag that had been shoved in between his two front teeth that he knew where he was. Oh, shit…he was dead. He was dead on a train going home.
Well, that part was good, he guessed. He knew some of the boys never made it out of there. Then he suddenly panicked. “Wait a minute. I’m married. I have a little girl. What’s going to happen to her? Oh, God. I hope my GI insurance will be enough.” Then he thought about his wife, Marion. “Oh, Marion, I didn’t have nearly enough time with you.”
Two days later, when the train screeched to a slow stop, a man’s voice called out, “Elmwood Springs!” It was still dark, but soon Gene heard the sound of boxcar doors being slid open all the way down the line, and he began to get a little impatient. “Come on…here I am.” Finally, they were at his boxcar. He heard the loud scraping sound of a metal door being slid open, and bright sunshine suddenly filled the car. Two men climbed in and walked over to him.
One man said, “Are you sure this is the right one?” The other answered, “Yeah, it says right here on the tag: Nordstrom, Elmwood Springs, Missouri, but Ed said not to move him until the family gets here.”
While they waited, one of the men lit a cigarette. “God,” thought Gene, “that cigarette smells good.” Then he heard more footsteps and someone said, “Okay, boys, bring him on out.” Gene suddenly felt himself being lifted up, then lowered down onto something flat. That’s when he looked over and saw his parents and his aunt Elner standing there. He was so happy to see them, he wanted to shout a great big hello, but they were so quiet, so still, as they walked along beside him. As he was wheeled down the platform, he thought, “Say something, somebody….It’s me. I’m home.” But there was nothing but the sound of footsteps and the creaking of the wheels beneath him. Everyone they passed stood still and silent. Men had taken off their hats, and Hazel Goodnight stood with her hand over her mouth, then reached out and touched his mother’s arm as she went by.