CHOICES
© 2002 James D. Pearce
"Son," said the old man, "let me tell you a little something about choices and circumstances ~ about myself ~ and about the 'greatest generation'."
~~~
You've heard a lot about the Great Depression and World War II, and the people who lived back then.
World War II ~ a really big, long war with a terrible number of people getting killed or hurt bad ~ came hard on the heels of the Great Depression, and you might say they were just different chapters of the same book.
Everybody in the USA had a hand in ~ and a story to tell ~ about the Depression.
But not everybody in the USA had a story to tell about being a "veteran" of World War II.
Those stories were reserved mostly for the younger fellows ~ a few young ladies ~ and a very few middle-aged males. Some of the older fellows ~ Eisenhower, for instance ~ also had stories to tell about being a veteran.
Now just because everybody wasn't a veteran didn't mean they didn't get shot at in World War II. Merchant Mariners, for example, were never called "veterans" even though they had some of the highest casualty rates of the war, sailing around the oceans filled with submarines and up near ports where the skies were filled with enemy airplanes.
And there were a lot of "veterans" who didn't get shot at ~ never stepped out of the USA, as a matter of fact.
I'd like to tell you about a friend of mine, Joe Dickerson, and myself ~ both of us were "veterans," you know.
~~~
Well, the biggest difference between me and Joe was that he was four years older than I was. In World War II, let me tell you, those four years made a lot of difference.
Another difference ~ even though we both were farm-country boys, when Joe was young he worked in the country, in Northampton County, and when I was young, I got a job in town ~ in a printing office, in Hertford County.
So far as being alike, we both were without daddies. Both his and mine had already died when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor in 1941.
Now, Joe, if he's of a mind, can tell you right off what it was like before the war with a dead daddy and a widowed mama and other younger children at home. Well, I can, too.
Joe knows what it was like to live for months on white potatoes and navy beans. He knows what it was like never to have more than one pair of britches to his name ~ or one pair of shoes, with or without complete soles. Well, I do, too.
The real differences started in 1942.
When the Japanese bombed our Navy, Joe was exactly the right age to become a "draftee." And on the road to becoming a "veteran." I was still a youngun.
~~~
Pretty quick, Joe ~ like about a couple of million others ~ was drafted.
All of a sudden they found themselves in a world where Uncle Sam put them in barracks with electric lights and flush toilets and practically forced them to eat three square meals a day. And they gave Joe new socks, new underwear, new shoes, new boots, a couple of hats and several layers of outerwear. No more clothing problems.
Unheard-of luxuries for Joe.
On top of this, this Grand Old Uncle gave Joe and his buddies real money ~ $21 in negotiable currency at the end of each month.
Almost unbelievable riches.
Me ~ I was still just a kid ~ but all of a sudden, with the war going full steam, I was making some money too, in the printing office. While Joe was still getting $21 a month, I was making $21 a week.
Really accumulating some wealth there.
Bought a War Bond once in a while. Almost felt like a War Profiteer.
~~~
Well, along about then while things were looking up for me, things started going downhill for Joe, even though he was still getting fed and getting paid.
He got caught up in something called "D-Day" ~ this happened on June 6, 1944.
Joe was in Company E, 116th Regiment, 29th Division on June 6, and he caught holy hell at Omaha Beach. His company was one of the first to hit the beach at 6 a.m., and most of them died at the water's edge while Eisenhower was sweating back at HQ.
D-Day wasn't all of it for Joe. He was in the middle of the hell at St. Lo, at Cherbourg, Brest, and Aachen.
He was wounded five times ~ five Purple Hearts ~ and the last one, near Aachen, damn near killed him. He couldn't fight any more ~ he was in a coma ~ and they shipped him back to the hospitals in the USA.
Joe spent Christmas 1944, and a good while afterward, in the hospitals.
~~~
On June 6, 1944, I had turned 17 years old and was almost six feet tall ~ and I was making $1 per hour ~ just out of high school but making from $40 to $60 per week at the newspaper. A lot of "overtime." Practically a Capitalist.
For Christmas 1944, I bought myself a real leather jacket ~ $25 ~ and gave my girlfriend a real pretty dresser set ~ $25.
Had two or three pairs of pants. Lots of underwear and socks. Really feeling my oats.
~~~
Now World War II didn't stop at Christmas 1944. Had several more months to go.
All of a sudden, I realized I was almost 18. Thinking about Joe's experiences, I decided I would rather try something different from the foxholes ~ joined the Naval Reserve, and signed up for active duty.
For a few months before Hiroshima and Nagasaki ~ and a number of months afterward ~ I did my duty.
While Joe was in the hospitals, I was building quonset huts, shoveling dirt and working on a camp newspaper in sunny Southern California, and on weekends singing the Saturday nights away with other bums in Pershing Square and cruising the Sunset Strip in places like Hollywood and Los Angeles.
And then everything got squared away again, and both Joe and I came home.
We were both "veterans," you see.
~~~
You have to understand, both Uncle Sam in Washington DC and the general populace at large in the USA were really, really glad that we had won World War II.
Everybody knew that if we had lost, things would have been very bad indeed.
Both Uncle Sam and the general population were so grateful to the "veterans" that had pulled off this trick that they rolled over backward trying to show their appreciation.
The best example for all times of a nation's appreciation to its "veterans" is encompassed in the "GI Bill" that went into effect at the end of World War II.
No country ever went to such lengths to say "thanks" as did the USA.
When you came home, if you didn't want to do a thing for a while except sit around and drink a little whiskey now and then, the GI Bill would let you join the "52-20 Club," which meant that for a full year you could draw $20 per week without striking a lick of work. Along about that time, a fellow could afford to get married and rent a house on $20 per week.
If you had the urge to go back to school and college and get an education, the GI Bill would foot the costs ~ buy your books, pay your tuition and give you some housing money.
If you wanted to buy a little house and piece of land for your own, the GI Bill would see that you got it ~ no down payment and a 4 per cent mortgage rate.
If you decided to skip the schooling and go right on into the capitalist world, the GI Bill would stake you with a small-business loan.
And the GI Bill didn't make any distinctions to speak of between its eligible "veterans" ~ in the eyes of Uncle Sam and the GI Bill, Joe and Jim (me) were both the same.
As a "veteran," for the GI Bill there was little difference between Joe ~ who had damn near given his life five times ~ and me ~ who never had given anything more than a name and a salute ~ and had been a burden on Uncle Sam besides, getting a free hernia operation.
A really, really good deal for me.
And Joe and I both got jobs at the same small newspaper.
So here, everything comes down to choices ~ and circumstances.
~~~
Well, back in the late '40s, I had some other good buddies.
One of them went into the insurance business, and wanted to take me in with him as a partner.
"Man," I said, "everybody in the world already has all the insurance they ever will buy. Nobody is going to buy any more insurance. And I have a good job at the newspaper."
Another of these friends went into the service-station business, and offered to take me in as a partner.
"Man," I said, "there already is a gas station on every corner. Do you really think you'll ever see two gas stations on every corner? Besides, I have a good deal at the newspaper."
~~~
Joe did OK. He bought a Western Auto Associate Store and made a good small-town living.
Now, I have to tell you, when the fellow who went into the insurance business died, he was a multimillionaire.
And the fellow who went into the gas-station business ~ when he died, it was because he fell off his yacht at his winter home down in Florida.
Me? ~ Well, I did OK at the newspaper business.
When I quit working, I had a paid-for house and lot (4 per cent GI loan there).
I had a little pension.
And I also had a lot of gratitude in my heart for Frank D. Roosevelt and his insistence on starting Social Security back in the '30s.
And for Lyndon B. Johnson and his Medicare.
And for Joe ~ for doing the hard jobs for me in World War II.
~~~
"We all wound up pretty well satisfied," said the old man.
"Because that is what life in a free country is all about ~ choices ~ and circumstances."
"And the 'greatest generation'?"
"Well, some among that generation really were 'great,' and they should never be forgotten.
"But, as for many of us back then ~ well, I guess you'd have to say that a lot of us ~ most of us ~ we were just like every other generation, before and since ~ like your generation today ~ we really were just 'average' folks."
"Just another 'average generation'."
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