PART TWO

Pullman High School

Southeast County

Women and Men at Home and Abroad

People From Both Near and Far

I had a very difficult time trying to figure out in what order to put all these stories. It seemed right to put the groups of interviews done at the schools in Parts in the order they occurred, but what about the order within each Part? Some people were unable to get to a school to be interviewed by a student. Where should those stories fit in? It turned out each Part fell together differently. This one got divided into Women and Men, each in alpha order, with all the Pullman people included, both those interviewed by students and those interviewed by me. There are also other people in Part Two, ones who live in Albion, Colton, Moscow, and Bearcreek, Montana. (Bearcreek? Montana? I'll burn that bridge when we get to it.)

Anyway, there are twenty-four stories in Part Two; the ones with by-lines were written by students in Craig McCormick's Sophomore Honors English Class at Pullman High School. Many of the stories include the feelings and expressions of the students who did the interviews and wrote the stories. When I first got their papers from Mr. McCormick, I began to wonder if we had laid too much on those young people, but as I continued to read I realized what a tremendous experience they'd had, a once in a lifetime moment. And I believe the kids knew it too.

Now then: when I initially spoke to this first lady about doing an interview, she kept telling me she would bring books the kids could look at, but she seemed very hesitant about actually talking with a student. She finally agreed to do it. I was amazed at what came out of that meeting.

Florence Broderick

By Kim Meinert and Nichole Lovrich

There are many stories about life during the Great Depression and World War II. Many of these stories are told in various forms such as books and movies by those who experienced first-hand the pain as well as the victory. Some of the tales have become famous. Most of them, however, have not. We are here to share with you one of those many untold stories. It is the life of a woman who is seventy-seven years young, Florence Broderick, more commonly known simply as "Cookie Grandma."

When Florence sat down with us at the yellow table with orange chairs typical of a public high school, she had with her a bundle of papers browned with age and an old, tattered Sad Sack cartoon book, as well as more recent clippings all neatly stacked and arranged to fit into a sturdy red folder. She carried with her the persona of a woman much wiser than us, yet one who welcomed these two teenage girls to look into her life as thoroughly as can be done in an hour and a half. We leafed through those priceless fragments one by one, and soon it dawned on us that this was not going to be just your average interview assignment. There was a paper signed by President Roosevelt, a telegram nearly sixty years old, as well as other antique documents not found in your average antique shop.

There were going to be emotions to be dealt with, as well as cultural barriers to cross. Although the three of us sitting around the table are all from the same country, thus have very similar cultures, it was apparent just from looking at the memorabilia in front of us that Florence had struggled and overcome much more than we had anticipated. We immediately threw aside our prepared interview questions, as it was quite obvious that they were not going to suffice. Getting started was slow at first, but soon we were talking with each other a mile a minute about life "back then," and before we knew it, an hour and half had passed, and sadly, it was time to stop. Here is just a small portion of the interaction between a woman and two girls who, based upon their experiences, hold very different perceptions of the world in which they live.

Born on May 10, 1924 in Bossburg, Washington, Florence Louise Peterson was the youngest of seven children born to Lena and Ole Peterson, Norwegian immigrants. When Florence was just a toddler, her parents moved their family to Colville, Washington where she and her siblings attended public schools. Although she grew up in the 1930s, Florence wasn't even aware that there was a Great Depression. We must have had very obvious looks of bewilderment on our faces when Florence told us that, because she quickly gave us an explanation.

"When I was growing up, I just assumed that everyone was poor. It never occurred to me that it could be any other way."

Thinking back on it, we shouldn't have been at all surprised that she was unaware of the Great Depression. The fact that Florence hadn't realized she was living during a depression is the same thing as young people today not realizing that they have been in an economic "boom" until about a year ago, when there was no longer a surplus of energy.

On August 14, 1943, Florence did what every high school girl dreams of (including us!) She married her high school sweetheart, Robert Lowry Keough. With a smile on her face, Florence added that she and Robert had been good friends and then dated throughout their four years at Colville High School. Only two months after Florence became Mrs. Keough, her new husband joined the U.S. Navy Reserve and became a member of the South Pacific Theater of Operations. Robert served as an Aviation Machinist's Mate, Second Class while he was in the Navy.

On September 20th, 1944 Robert drowned at sea along with the pilot and crew on their torpedo bomber, SqadVC66. The cause was a mid-air collision during the Halmahera Campaign. Robert Keough was highly decorated and commended for his outstanding service in the Navy. He received the American Campaign Medal, the World War II Victory Medal, Silver Wings with three Bronze Stars, and the Presidential Unit Citation Ribbon Bar and Star. Also, Robert's unit as a whole was recommended for the Distinguished Flying Cross. In an envelope dated September 30^th - ten days after Robert had died - Florence received a telegram from Randall Jacobs, Chief of Naval Personnel, informing Florence of her husband's untimely death.

Florence also received in the mail a large parchment paper rolled and carefully placed in a tube that was signed by the President of the United States, Franklin D. Roosevelt. This prestigious document was sent to her as a testimony to Robert's valiant efforts to defend freedom.

We were amazed to hear from Florence that there were never any anti-war feelings or disgust with the government from her or anyone she knew. With a warm, reminiscent smile, she added, "Everyone supported the war. There were no hard feelings, just pride and hope, mostly. But, like I said, it was a different era."

On May 16, 1947 Florence got remarried to Robert (Bob) W. Broderick, and changed her name to Florence Louise Broderick. Bob had just finished serving in the Army for five years as a truck driver with the 161st infantry in Guadalcanal. Florence discovered that Bob had been a friend of her first husband during high school.

Florence had been employed at the Signal Centers of both Fort George Wright and Geiger Field since graduating from high school in 1942, after she had spent three months in training at the Spokane Telegraph School. Because her husband's job at the Harms-Rofinot Chevrolet Company, now Camp Chevrolet, was enough to support them both, Florence gave up her Chief Operator position in 1947 as soon as she was married. Florence was finally ready to settle down and raise a family.

"I didn't have any children with Robert, my first husband, and I wanted a family. I was just happy to have another opportunity," she said. Between 1952 and 1961, Florence and Bob had four children, two girls and two boys. In 1963, the Brodericks moved their family to the nearby city of Pullman, Washington, where Bob was employed at Brown and Holter Chevrolet as Parts Manager. Bob had just recently taken a promising job at Washington State University when he suffered a fatal heart attack on September 20, 1970.

Florence was left with four children to raise, ages ranging from nine to eighteen. Being teenagers ourselves, we can't even begin to imagine having to raise four kids by ourselves. But somehow, Florence managed to do it. Because she was a single mother supporting a family of five, she took a job at Myklebusts in 1971. Florence worked there as a sales clerk until the store closed in the late 1980's and she retired.

Florence now has eight grandchildren and four great-grandchildren.
Her oldest granddaughter enjoyed Florence's abundant cookie jar so much that she gave Florence the nickname of "Cookie Grandma," which now all of her grandchildren and many of her friends like to call her. Florence has enjoyed many things during her retirement, some of which include crocheting, oil painting, being a member of the AARP (American Association for Retired Persons), and helping out with the local Senior Center scrapbook.

We discovered that just because someone has retired and raised all their children, it definitely does not mean they aren't busy. Florence also has played an important role as a member of Women of the Moose, an organization that helps needy children living in the community. While Florence worked as a teletypist transferring coded messages from one base to another, she asked various service men and women and civilians to write a short message, or even just sign their autograph in her book of Sad Sack political cartoons compiled from Yank magazine.

"It [the purpose of Sad Sack cartoons] was a way to kind of take the tension off of everything and to put a little humor in the war," she said.

When she allowed us to flip through the pages of the small red book, there was a satisfied glimmer in her eye as we giggled over the comics. The people whose signatures cover the inside pages of the small book have come and gone. They all had their own story to tell, and Florence patiently listened to them.

"I've never really talked with anyone about my own history because it's very painful. Bob and I didn't talk about our past much while he was alive but I thought it was time, and this interview seemed like a good idea."

A good idea to put it mildly! We enjoyed so much learning about just how hard Americans worked two generations ago to preserve freedom and to make sure their grandchildren had an affluent country to grow up in. We now understand much more about why and how things worked, as well as the many aspects of our lives we take for granted.

Many stories are forgotten, lost, or misplaced. Florence Broderick's bittersweet story, however, is still alive and has now been told to be remembered forever. And just remember, Florence, you'll always have us as your second set of granddaughters.

These next twelve stories are about women who did amazing things, took on tremendous responsibilities, kept the home front going, moved all over the country and even to foreign lands, all to do what they needed to do to support the war effort. I know you are going to like these ladies. If you met them all at once, I wonder if you could pick out the one who welded ships? Repaired airplanes? I am awe-struck at what these women did at a time when women didn't DO these things. They had all been raised through the Great Depression and had learned how to make do and use whatever they had on hand. Those lessons stood them well when the nation's young men went to war. They were able to step in and make the difference. Listen to their stories and watch for the reaction of the students who wrote about them.

EDITH CURTIS

By Kate McElwain, Emily Moers, and Anna Wagoner

Upon walking into English class on the day we were to interview survivors of World War II, we three felt as much of our class did – apprehensive at conversing with a stranger, wondering how to fill an hour and a half with questions, and bewildered as to what we should ask. Relieved to discover that the three of us would share an interviewee, we dutifully trooped down to the cafeteria, a more peaceful environment. Edith Curtis, a sweet lady with an infectious chuckle, soon laid our fears to rest. She came equipped with an outline of what she felt might interest us. She explained that her daughter had encouraged her to create a written document of her memories, and this interview had prompted her to begin to do so. Hardly a peep was heard from us throughout the period, so well had she organized her thoughts. We sat back and absorbed her story, taking as many notes as we could while learning that our lives are not so different from those of two generations previous, at least before the war interrupted everyone's lives.

Edith grew up in Orono, Maine and was a seventh grader when World War II began.  She attended a small school that housed six grades in one building; her graduating class had forty-one students.  Edith’s family of six learned to make do with what they had.  Due to the many young men enlisting in the military, Edith had no trouble finding work.  Her father was not allowed to fight in World War II, as he was too old and had a family.  Instead, he became an airplane spotter and head of the Victory Farm Volunteers.  He recruited high school students and college girls to work on farms to aid the war effort.  He received a ration card for gas, but was not allowed to use that gas for personal reasons, although he treated his family by taking them along on war business.  Once they traveled “way down east” to Washington County on the Canadian border.  After spending all day picking blueberries, the family waited in the car while Edith’s father attended a meeting.

There were many ways families were limited during the war.  Each citizen was allowed two pairs of shoes per year. Edith wanted “tenny runners,” but got Buster Browns instead.  At the year's end, the shoes were run through with holes, a constant reminder of the war.  Tires were also rationed as was meat, though not chicken or fish. Lamb chops were “such a big treat, and so expensive,” that Edith was allowed to chew the meat right off the bones.  Coffee and sugar were also rationed. Edith's parents were grateful when Edith turned fourteen so they could drink her ration of coffee.  Extra sugar rations were awarded for canning and “Victory Gardens” were encouraged. She and her family canned hundreds of quarts of vegetables and blueberries.  Local girls cut up vegetables to ready them for canning in a large canner at the town hall.  "We used powdered milk that was just the same as it is now, only even harder to get the lumps out,” explained Edith. 

Girls began to wear shorter skirts. Material was scarce. When the chicken feed was delivered, Edith begged the driver to select sacks of matching color and pattern. Three sacks made a dress, two made a broomstick skirt. Children at that time received no allowance but worked for their spending money.  A major source of income was baby-sitting, or “keeping house” as it was called then. Younger children did not generally accompany their parents to weddings, funerals, movies, or other such outings, so sitting jobs were readily available. 

At school each morning, Edith and her classmates saluted the flag, or at least they did until the war started.  When the war began, it was decided that saluting the flag was too much like Hitler’s salute, so instead the students put their hands over their hearts.  Next they had the Lord’s Prayer, and then the principal read some passages from the Bible and told of any job openings that might be available. 

Even though younger teenagers weren’t able to fight in the war, they all contributed in their own ways. One boy in a nearby town made a big difference. He was down by the water one day and saw two men getting out of a boat anchored in a nearby cove. He overheard them speaking in German and reported it to the authorities. The two men were arrested and later found to be Nazi spies. Laughing, Edith related how when the boys team from that town came to play in Orono, all the girls flocked around the boy asking for his autograph. He was a local hero.

Kids across America, as well as in Edith's town, saved their money to buy Savings Stamps on a regular basis to help the war effort. On one occasion some American pilots had been captured in Japan and were questioned about which air craft carrier they had flown off of. They had agreed they would all say it was the Shangri La, a made-up name at the time. When the United States decided to build a ship named the Shangri La in honor of those pilots, the kids in Edith's school elected to dedicate all their savings stamp purchases to the building of that ship.

Classes in her school competed against each other in scrap metal and War Bond drives. The winning class got an ice cream party or was dismissed early. For fun, churches got together and put on different activities for the kids in their youth groups such as sleigh rides and dances.  On Christmas Eve, they all caroled and visited the sick and the poor, bringing them baskets of food and toys.  Movies were a special treat costing only ten cents for kids twelve and under.  Newsreels of the war were very popular. Saturday matinees were either a western or a kids’ movie, Shirley Temple being a favorite. 

Edith was a Girl Scout and she saved her money every year so she could go to camp In the summer.  At one of those camps, they found out the war had ended.  “We all started cheering, shouting, singing songs, and everything,” Edith remembers.  She canoed across the lake to where her parents were to tell them the good news.

Later in Edith’s life, she married and had four daughters. Her youngest daughter was killed in a tragic motorcycle accident a few years out of high school.  Yet Edith has a happy outlook on life and is a woman fun to be with, one to whom you could listen for hours.

We learned of a woman’s life that ran parallel to ours – similar but on another plane. We could relate to her adolescent feelings of awe at the cute trumpet player in the school band. But we became aware of our distinctly different realities when Edith continued that the boy was later killed in action, his empty chair left as a reminder of him. After learning for so many years the historical points, the dates of battles, and the number of people killed, it was a wonderful feeling to be able to picture the personal aspects of World War II.

ALMA DRUFFEL

By Lyndee Giese and Stefany Larsen

On Monday May 7, 2001, we walked into Mr. Craig McCormick’s class not knowing fully what to expect. We had been preparing for weeks to interview older individuals about their experiences during the Great Depression and World War II, and now the day had finally come after once being postponed because of a fire in the school.

After the bell had rung, our teacher went through the list of individuals who were able to attend that morning. After several minutes we, Lyndee Giese and Stefany Larsen, learned that we would have the privilege of interviewing Mrs. Alma Druffel of Colton, Washington. When everything was arranged for the rest of the students, we began to walk around the room in search of our interviewee. After only a moment of searching we saw a beaming older lady dressed in a bright red suit jacket.

"I believe this is her,” Lyndee whispered, and of course it was.

We decided to take our interview down to the high school cafeteria. There we began to learn the story of a wonderful woman and her experiences in our country during a significant time in history.

Alma was born the daughter of farmers in Colton, Whitman County, Washington. She was the oldest of six girls and was only nine years old when the Great Depression hit. Being young and in a rural community, Alma described how the Depression seemed to just pass her by. Her family was able to provide themselves with anything they needed. Cows provided milk, cream, butter, and meat, they raised a big garden, and they canned their food.

“We were never hungry,” Alma told us very matter-of-factly, “We didn’t feel the Depression like the people in the city.”

This part of the interview surprised both of us to a certain extent. While preparing for the interview, we had done quite a bit of research about the Depression and the World War that followed. We had always assumed that everyone in the country had gone through difficult times, but as we talked to Alma, we were able to see another side of the story and understood that some suffered more than others.

Alma stated, "I do think the Depression was not hard on me, a nine year old, but it definitely was for my parents. Although we never went hungry we did without many other things. I remember mother saying later, when we asked her about those times, that they had not any idea where the money would come from for our next pair of shoes. My parents kept all those worries away from the children, I am certain of that."

When we asked Alma about her experiences during World War II, she enthusiastically began her story again. Alma was a Senior in High School when Pearl Harbor was bombed. She was in the middle of preparing for her Senior High School play for which she had two performances that day. The afternoon matinee went on without delay, but between the first performance and the second evening performance the bombing was announced. The next day at school, Alma recalls a school-wide assembly was held where everyone listened via radio to the President of the United States, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, declare war.

Alma admitted to feelings of fear, but she was also overwhelmed with feelings of patriotism that were rapidly growing throughout the country. She remembers several of her male classmates were ready to leave right away to enlist. This, she said, her teachers discouraged, as there were only a few months before school was out for the summer, and all the young men who were seniors were encouraged to wait, which they did.

Being in a family full of girls, Alma told us how no one in her immediate family had to go to war. Her father, as well as many other farmers and their sons in Colton, were exempt because they were thought to be serving their country through raising food on their farms.

However, little did Alma know that her future husband would be her friend, a man who had enlisted in the United States Air Force and was preparing to serve his country as a dental technician in Panama. Paul Kirpes had been a classmate of Alma’s at Colton High. Alma told us how she wrote to her future husband every day that he was gone to war.

But, “I wrote to many boys,” Alma said with a grin. Alma was able to recall little of what her husband and others did during the war. She told how the letters she received from the soldiers had to be screened, so the young men were extremely cautious about what they wrote. She was often unaware of their location and the majority of the activities that they were participating in.

After high school ended in the spring, Alma stayed at home for a year to help her mother around the house and to help her dad by driving a truck in harvest. After that year, Alma began to consider her options for college. She decided to register at Washington State College (now Washington State University) and major in pharmacy. She explained that pharmacy usually was not a major for girls, but as the war had taken many of the young men, it was not an issue anymore.

Alma spent her first year at WSC in a fraternity house because all the dorms were filled with Army recruits who were finishing their final year of study before they left for the war.

“So, when I tell my kids that, they think, 'Wow, mom lived in a fraternity house,' ” she added with a chuckle.

Alma remembered the soldiers walking around campus in formation, not being able to communicate with anyone on their way to class. There were times when she was able to socialize with the soldiers during USO dances at the armory. After the soldiers had finished their studies, however, the dances ended, as there were very few males left attending the college. After the soldiers left, the women were able to move into the dorms again.

Again, as in the Depression, Alma herself was affected very little by the war. Her entire family was able to stay home, and, living so close, she was able to see them often. Alma did know others who were not as fortunate as she. She described to us the gold stars hung in the windows of homes where mothers had lost a son in the war. Alma said she remembered several gold stars in the Colton area. She told us also that she could only imagine how hard it must have been for those who lost sons, brothers, fathers, or husbands in the war.

Alma went to work at Corner Drug after graduating from college. She later worked at White Drug for a total of twenty-six years, but “I raised a family first,” she added. She went on, then, to proudly tell us about her four children and her husband, Paul Kirpes, who she married after college. Both Alma and her husband continued to farm after the war. Though cancer claimed Paul's life in 1978, she still holds the happy memories of the thirty-one years they had together. Alma remarried four years later to John Druffel.

Alma’s experiences lent a hand in helping us understand what World War II was like for many people. We would like to thank her for taking the time to share her experiences with us. We enjoyed listening to her stories and hope she is satisfied with the summary we have made about her life during the Depression and the War.

Both Alma Druffel and this next lady are on the Board of Directors of Council on Aging & Human Services. When I asked them to come in for an interview, neither blinked an eye. In fact, Win ended up on the front page of the Daily News along side Celia Fockler (next after Win), who was wearing her welder's mask. Win was holding up a model of an airplane and wearing a T-shirt her family had gotten for her. The shirt showed a giant picture of the Flying Fortress, an airplane she worked on during the war.

Winnifred Elwood

By Claire Kohler

I enter our English room for first period with feelings of trepidation and apprehension. Today we are supposed to interview someone who has survived the Depression and World War II, someone who had an active part, however big or small, in helping with the war. We have been assigned partners to interview, and we have discussed the correct way to interview someone without making them feel like a "bug under glass," with every aspect of their lives being poked and prodded and examined in minute detail. We have been advised to "learn about the person, not just study them," but the difference is completely beyond me. All I am aware of right now is the fact that I have to interview a seventy or eighty year old woman without any knowledge or experience of how to do it.

I enter the classroom and look around. There are about fifteen elderly people sitting in our seats, looking almost as nervous and apprehensive as we do, talking in subdued voices while they study us. In a few minutes, we are all paired off and told to go down to the cafeteria where the acoustics are better and there is more breathing space.

The lady I am going to interview is named Winnifred Elwood. She is short, with gray hair and big green eyes peering out from behind her glasses. I like her immediately, and this feeling of goodwill makes the interview infinitely easier. She speaks softly and shyly and stops to consider the question I¹ve asked her before answering. After we pick a table and get settled, I cautiously start with the basics, not sure how my questioning will be received. I am lucky, however, to be paired with a person who is easy to talk to and willing to tell me about herself without holding anything back. As we get to know each other, the questions flow more freely and it becomes more of a conversation than an interview.

Winnifred Elwood was born in Northport, Washington in 1919. She grew up in Creston, a little town about sixty miles west of Spokane, Washington, where she attended a K-12 schoolhouse. Win, as she prefers to be called, is the third of six kids; she has two older brothers, two younger brothers and a younger sister. She graduated in 1936 with the twenty others in her class, the biggest class on record to attend that schoolhouse. After graduating, she worked on farms and did odd jobs while she saved up the money to go to college, but as her brothers were drafted and sent off to fight in the war, she felt she had to contribute to the war effort, too. In the fall of ¹41, she started trade school for the army.

The trade school where Win went for three months was located in Eugene, Oregon. She learned about planes and how to repair them, and in 1942 she was sent to Spokane Army Air Depot at Galena, which is now Spokane International Airport, to repair bomber planes with a group of other girls and a few young boys who were too young to enroll in the army. There were many different levels of repair for the planes; all were highly specialized and required very exacting knowledge of the plane. Win worked at Galena for two-and-a-half to three years installing superchargers. Turbo-Superchargers are heavy, circular pieces of machinery that blow air into the cylinders of the engine. To install the supercharger regulators, the women had to slide into the wing of the plane on their stomachs and screw the piece into position. It was hard, greasy, dirty work, yet when I ask if she had fun I get an emphatic "Yes!"

As she is remembering these years, Win¹s eyes are turned inward, and I can tell she is more focused on her memories than on me. The day shift and the night shift were alternated every month. As she recalls the hard times on graveyard shift she gazes at me seriously with her big green eyes and then she suddenly smiles up at me shyly as she remembers the parties and fun times she had. Win was a part of the United Service Organization, or USO, a social club that provided the G.I.s somewhere to go for recreation. She attended dances, potlucks, and skating parties, and she went to the hospital to socialize with the soldiers there.

In 1944, after she was done repairing planes, Win attended Eastern where she took a junior college prep course. She admits she was really interested in Botany, but in the 1940¹s there were only a few areas in which women could major, and Botany was not one of the options at Eastern, so she chose Education instead. In 1946, she transferred to WSC in Pullman where she was able to get a degree in Botany. She met Lewis Elwood in German class at WSU, and they got married in 1947.

Today Win lives in Albion with Lewis. They have five children and six grandchildren, ranging in age from junior high school to twenty-two years old. She still loves the great outdoors and plants, but since she suffers from an illness called Guillain-Barre syndrome she hasn¹t been as active as she would like. Guillain-Barre syndrome, as I understood from Win¹s description, attacks the coating on the nerves so signals from the brain can¹t be transmitted to the muscles. Guillain-Barre left Win almost completely paralyzed and she was in the hospital for about three months. But she has regained an amazing amount of mobility and balance, and although she uses a cane to get around, she doesn¹t lean heavily on it. She likes to quilt, too, suggesting no small amount of patience.

I am extremely impressed by this little lady sitting in front of me. When I asked her what she felt about war today, she replies, "I don¹t think we [the whole world] are trying hard enough to find a prevention." She does not relish the fact that she helped to kill millions of innocent people, and she almost feels guilty for having so much fun during the war. She has shown me that history, a subject I have never particularly enjoyed, can be interesting and fun.

Thank you, Win.

CELIA FOCKLER

By Daron Deonier

At first, I was very apprehensive about the assignment that had been looming over my head for the past three weeks. Ever since the very day it was announced that we would be interviewing people who had lived during World War II, I had been questioning my abilities. I had not questioned my abilities as a writer; more in question were my abilities to communicate with a stranger, with whom I had nothing in common. The thought of interviewing a complete stranger about her life, especially someone who lived such a different life than I, was more than a little bit frightening. I walked into my English class on a warm Monday morning and felt strangely intimidated; for there sat a large group of elderly citizens that we would soon be interviewing. But my intimidation soon turned to elation as I was introduced to Celia Fockler, my assigned interviewee. Her bright smile quickly quieted my fears and put me at ease. Well, enough about me, it is time for you to hear about a woman who has an amazing life story and an even more amazing personality.

Celia Fockler, affectionately referred to as Sissy by her friends, was born in 1922, the middle child of her family. Her two brothers died at a terribly early age, one passing on when he was three days old, the other dying upon being born. Celia and her sister were stars in their hometown of Rainer, Oregon. They sang on the radio for a furniture store's commercial. Celia was an active young lady who enjoyed swimming, biking, dancing, and the outdoors. She competed on the school track team, running relays and competing in high jump. Celia’s athleticism was not limited to track; she also played basketball. She grew up with a very caring family, which included a strict father. He was a very loving man but kept a close eye on his daughters. When dating became an issue, her father was known to come looking for his daughters if they were not home on time. The two sisters had a signal with their father for inviting dates inside: if he lowered the newspaper, that meant yes; if he kept the paper up, then the boy didn’t have a chance.

When the war came to fruition, Celia decided to help the war effort by moving to the Oregon coast to be a ship welder.

At this time in her life, Celia was twenty-one years old, earning a dollar twenty-five an hour, working seven days a week. Her daily attire included a heavy helmet, metal-toed boots, and leather clothing, which were all required welding attire. Knowing nothing about welding, having no previous training, Celia faced a big challenge. She started the first three weeks of her welding career on the morning shift, as a worker on the tack crew, welding the sides of ships. After those short three weeks, she was moved up to work on the regular welding crew.

The job was not only extremely physically challenging, it also tested her inner strength. Women in her work place were faced with a great challenge: proving they could do a man’s job. The women welders were under constant supervision and scrutiny; a supervisor was always close behind. Celia had to work twice as hard to prove herself.

"Sissy" was the name monogrammed on her leather work jacket, which she wore proudly. Knowing that she was being a contributing member of society was fulfilling to her. Celia also found her job to be exciting; it was an outdoor job where she met and learned a lot about people. She formed many close, enduring friendships during her years at the Oregon shipyard. Being the young, dynamic woman she was, Celia had her share of fun. Working the morning shift at the shipyard allowed her to have a great nightlife. Celia went dancing nightly with her friends. During the war nearly everything was rationed: food, gas, coffee, and most importantly, shoes. A self-proclaimed shoe-a-holic, Celia traded her liquor rations for dancing shoes.

Upon the completion of the war, Celia’s life became very different. She had met her future husband, Stewart Fockler, at an Oregon shipyard. Before meeting Stewart, Celia was forced to take a lengthy ferry to get to her workplace. Stewart had a car and worked at the same shipyard that she did. He offered to give her rides to work, so I guess you could say it was love at first drive. Stewart was a native of Pullman and moved back to Pullman in 1947 with Celia in tow. When Celia moved to Pullman, she was less than impressed. The hills were rolling and barren, there was no ocean, and there were no trees or mountains in sight.

Celia soon found her calling in Pullman. She began working for the university as a cook for the football team. Celia continued to feed the Cougs for the next twenty years. She has seen many Rose Bowls and still remains a Cougar fan.

It was on her husband Stewart’s very ship that the treaty of Tokyo Bay was signed. Sadly, Stewart died in 1994 due to lung cancer, likely caused by welding fumes.

Celia feels that her generation was forced to grow up rather quickly and at a young age learned to survive day by day. This lifestyle has contributed to her life philosophy.

"You should look to the future and live each day for its worth."

Celia definitely practices what she preaches. At seventy-nine years of age, Celia stills goes rafting with her family, she has parasailed numerous times, and she has gone ballooning. With all these adventures you’d think that she’d be out of ideas, but she has not yet fulfilled her aspiration to jump out of an airplane.

This next story illustrates how the war invaded the private lives and plans of both men and women, even those still in school. Sylvia's story includes a look at college life during the war.

SYLVIA GLADHILL

Sylvia Helper Gladhill was born in Henry, Illinois in 1926 on November 7, the same date the Soviet Union chose to yearly celebrate the October Revolution with parades and festivities. One of her earliest vivid memories is about three years later when her father came home from town, white faced, to tell the family there had been a "Panic on Wall Street" and people were jumping out of windows. President Roosevelt later changed that expression to "Stock Market Crash" in his on-going attempt to still the fears of the nation. The Helpers and their five children stayed on the farm and lived through the ensuing Great Depression with relatively few problems.

When Sylvia was about fifteen, she and her family went to church one December Sunday in 1941. They had not listened to the radio that morning, but after dinner while her parents rested Sylvia decided to dust mop their front room. She turned the radio on low while she worked and then heard the news. Her thought about the Japanese attack was, "This means war. I can't imagine just letting them do that!"

That evening her family attended a Marshall County concert of choral and band music. Her mother sat next to a mother of six sons who was understandably very worried. As it turned out all six came home, after many years of waiting and concern. Sylvia's younger brothers were too young to go to war. In that respect the war didn't impact her at all as her father was a forty-five year old farmer with five children.

What did impact her family was sugar rationing. Her mom, cooking for a family of seven, learned to be very inventive. Canned goods were rationed too, although there generally was a feeling among farm people that it wasn't necessary since most folks grew and canned their own. Shoe rationing did cause a problem with five children with growing feet. None of the children were able to have gym shoes. They had just one pair so there was "none of this business of letting them air out," according to Sylvia.

Clothing was a constant challenge too. Sylvia's mom had trouble finding yard goods due to price controls and scarcity of available goods. Yardage manufacturers were allowed to charge more for table cloths than they were for yardage suitable for making clothes. So they made less clothing yardage and more table cloths. People then had to buy the more expensive table cloths to make garments. Gas rationing was a little easier on the Helpers since they got a bigger ration in order to operate their gas-run farm equipment.

Sylvia graduated from high school in 1943 at the age of sixteen. Things that were different due to the war included her country school not being able to publish a year book and not having class plays. Students were encouraged to take math which was helpful for navigation. And they were told they could cut two weeks off the school year so the boys could put in more time at work on the farm or enlist early.

Sylvia started college at the University of Illinois the first week of October in 1943, two weeks later than usual because of the war. Dropping two weeks from the school year affected her history class which skipped the chapter on the barbarian invasion of western Europe. "I never have had as good a grasp on that subject as I would like to have had," Sylvia still laments.

When the President of the University addressed her Freshman Class in 1943, he said, "Good Morning young ladies and you few gentlemen at the back."

University enrollment had dropped from twelve thousand to about eight thousand students. The ratio between men and women had gone from four-men-to-one-woman to four-women-to-one-man. The men on campus were almost entirely engineers in Navy officer training programs. They had a Diesel School where the men learned about engines and a Signal School where they studied radio. There were also Army men who were studying language and history so they could man the occupation forces that would be needed after the war. There was a clear understanding that once the Nazis were removed from German urban infrastructures they would need to be replaced quickly in order to begin rebuilding Germany and France. However, late in 1943 those Army students were yanked out and put into the Infantry as replacements. While they were on campus those military men were housed at the ice rink, which was not iced over during the duration. Later vets were housed there while attending classes on the G.I. Bill of Rights. Sylvia recalls sitting in the Natural History Library studying in the late afternoon and seeing Navy men marching by on their way to dinner while singing "cleaned up" military marching songs.

Most of the girls Sylvia knew dated military men. Her friend Vivian had dated a young man who had gotten quite serious about her. She was well educated and the boy was from the hills of Tennessee, yet they had been attracted to one another. When he went overseas they continued corresponding and he had asked Vivian to marry him when he returned. Then his letters stopped coming. Some time later the Dean of Women got a hand-written letter from the boy's mother saying her son had been drowned when his troop ship was sunk by a German submarine. He had told his family about Vivian and so his mother had made the effort to locate her and let her know what had happened. The Dean told their housemother, who gently broke the news to Vivian. It was then, when she saw her friend's sorrow, that the reality of war came close to home for Sylvia.

Sylvia lived in a cooperative house in which the girls had assigned duties. Sylvia's job was buying their food. Since sugar, meat, and canned goods were rationed each girl had to bring her ration books to school. By May of 1945 sugar was one of the few food items still rationed. Some girls' sugar stamps had all been used while others had not. So the fair way to divide the remaining stamps at the end of the school year, it seemed, was to cash in all the stamps for sugar and divide the sugar evenly among the girls. Sylvia did that, carefully dividing the sugar into twenty little paper sacks. The very next day sugar rationing ended!

Sylvia was still in college in 1945 when the Japanese surrendered. She lived in a house next to a gas station at the time and clearly recalls hearing the "Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting!" of the gas pumps all day long, as people filled their gas tanks for the first time in almost five years.

This next lady serves as Chairman of the Board of Directors of Council on Aging & Human Services. I have attended the Board's meetings for well over a year now and have yet to see one fail to be run with military precision. Alberta Hill and I reorganized Kate's paper in order to add some detail she and Alberta did not discuss. Here is the composite version.

ALBERTA HILL

By Kate Hutchinson

Alberta Hill was born in Payette, Idaho in 1918 and grew up in Emmett. She graduated from the University of Idaho in 1939, then taught Vocational Home Economics at both Hailey and Preston High Schools. Her teaching in family and consumer sciences was interrupted by world events that followed Pearl Harbor. Hill had been teaching High School since the fall of 1939, continuing through June of 1943. "We anticipated after all the men teachers had been called to service, eventually women would be needed too. I didn't want to quit until the end of the school term in June and also wanted to be assured there was someone to take my place before I enlisted."

And enlist she did, along with three hundred and thirty-eight thousand other women who served in World War II. She joined the Womens Army Auxiliary Corps (WAAC), which changed later in 1943 to WAC or Women's Army Corp. The women in the WAAC had the choice of being discharged if they didn't want to be in the WAC. Hill stayed in.

She had Basic Training at Fort Des Moines, Iowa. "The WAAC sent anyone with Home Economics in their resume, at either High School or College level, to Cooks and Bakers School for four weeks. After that I was sent to a Baker's Specialist Course. There was some talk of my enrolling in Officer Candidate School, but the Army had recruited too many people to Officer Training," Alberta explained.

Hill had taught for four years and she sat in Cooks and Bakers classes with two Home Economics graduates from Oregon State College, one who had taught nine years and the other a Dietitian major; a WSC (WSU) graduate who had taught three years; and several other Home Economics majors. Their Cooks and Bakers classes were taught by a woman whose emphasis had been in Clothing and Textiles and the Baker Specialist teacher had demonstrated food equipment in department stores.

Hill's training completed, she was assigned as a Baker in a WAC company mess hall at Fort Benning, Georgia, baking for about one hundred women. "We were often understaffed, due to poor leadership. So in addition to my Baker job which ran from four am until noon, I regularly had to serve as first or second Cook on the noon to noon shift. I therefore worked an average of about twelve hours a day, seven days a week, for thirteen months." Bakers and Cooks dealt with coal burning ranges and ovens. They had to start their own fires and clean out the ashes, besides wrestling around twenty-gallon stock pots.

But Alberta Hill did get relief from that grueling schedule. Unbeknownst to her, two women in her company who worked for Chaplains reported to their bosses about her long days and one of them got her transferred to clerical work, scheduled from eight to five. She was assigned to the First Student Training Regiment of the Infantry School, doing S2 (Intelligence) and PR (Public Relations) clerical work. The school was engaged in setting up and teaching classes for both officers and enlisted men on such subjects as transportation, electronics, and cryptography.

When she first reported as the Major's secretary in S2, there were three people working there, besides her. A day or two later the Major asked her to stay after hours. She feared she had been found wanting.

"Have you been busy?" he asked.

"No," was her honest reply.

"How many people do you think we need out there?"

"One," again her honest reply.

The next day when she reported for work, she was the only one doing so.

Her work included mail checks for security clearance and later on she interviewed returning POWs. The PR portion of her assignment had to do with outgoing information from the Regiment.

"It was an interesting office. We had officers coming in for training who were of equal or higher rank than those who were acting as company COs," she said. Because of the rank of persons in those companies, discipline was handled at the regimental level, another responsibility of the office in which she worked.

While she worked hard, Alberta Hill of WAC Detachment #2 recalls some good and fun experiences. And yet, the first Christmas she was at Fort Benning was the "most miserable" Christmas she ever had in her life. Most of the women in her detachment were working at the Headquarters Office of the Infantry School as replacements for men who had been Regular Army in clerical roles. Those clerks had been called to front line duty and some resented the women who were taking their jobs. One WAC often could replace three male stenos, causing no small degree of hard feelings in the office. "The men treated them awful. Morale was down also because of miserable company officers. And then on Christmas it rained ice. I remember having to chip ice off of the garbage cans on Christmas day in Georgia," said Alberta, shaking her head at that vivid memory.

Her second Christmas there, however, was one of the best she ever had. The situation had settled down for the women in her Company. There were new officers, the women had gotten acquainted, and they found ways to make Christmas a happy time. Both Protestants and Catholics attended Christmas eve services. Some of the women set up two foot-lockers to serve as beverage bars for Christmas cheer. On Christmas eve they got on a post bus and took gifts to women in other WAC detachments. "The Jewish women on base volunteered for Christmas KP," Alberta smiled, remembering that kind deed.

Asked about recollections of funny things, Alberta told the story of an officer who decided the WACs were "not very military" since Privates, Staff Sergeants, whatever rank all were good friends and sat together in the mess hall. Well, that was deemed improper. So the officer had signs put up to separate the women by rank. A KP crew decided to "support" the officer by also segregating the #10 garbage cans by rank. They elaborately decorated one for high ranking officers, then more sparsely decorated ones on down the line, finally having NO can for privates, just a sign reading: "Privates: Dig a Hole and Bury Your Garbage." So ended that official attempt to segregate the WACs in the mess hall.

Alberta Hill found great value in her military service. When she enlisted she became a part of a group of people from a wide variety of social, economic, cultural, religious, racial, and moral backgrounds. "I found I was not just looking at other people, but I was one of a diverse group."

Fun for Hill, besides sitting on her bunk and learning to knit along with most of her squad room, also included opportunities to travel while on furlough. She saw Washington, DC, New York City, Atlanta, and St. Augustine.

She also got acquainted with Columbus, Georgia, the city nearest Fort Benning. "I was horrified at the black housing situation," she said of her first observation of racial discrimination as it was some sixty years ago. That discrimination carried through into the opportunity to purchase goods on base or in town. "I noticed it ran like this: white male officers, white women officers, white civilians, white enlisted, black military, and finally black civilians."

Alberta Hill's military career came to a close after V-J Day ended the war in August of 1945. She was transferred to California by train where she was discharged in Marysville in February 1946. She returned to Idaho where she decided to take advantage of the G.I. Bill for graduate study.

She spent the summers of '46, '47, and '48 at the Square G Ranch in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. She cooked, then was a maid, then the third summer ran the restaurant. From then until she went to the College of Education at WSU in 1969, she pursued doctorate studies and taught at various colleges and universities across the country, as well as working for the U.S. Office of Education. In 1974 she was named Dean of the College of Home Economics where she served full-time until 1983. In the next two years she continued on a part-time basis, participating in WSU programs, including one in Indonesia. She remains active in church work and continues to participate in professional organizations including the International Federation of Home Economics.

This next lady did her part in the war effort by working through the Red Cross to provide things people in war-torn countries needed, including our military men and women.

Gladys Martin

By Albert Ding and Willie Morrison

Experiences during World War II were very significant and life changing for the people who fought and gave their lives for our country. Too often in the past, we did not give enough credit to those people who stayed behind during the war times and kept our country running. Gladys Martin was one of the many Americans who lived through the tough times and even managed to raise a family during the Depression. When Gladys came to our school for the interview the atmosphere was rather uncomfortable as we were crowded into a corner of our classroom However, with Gladys' smile, along with her open and friendly personality, we were quickly assured that we had nothing to worry about. Thanks to Gladys' friendly personality, we were able to get a clear view of the hardships and the environment during the war times.

Gladys Martin was born in the year of 1912. Life on the farm near the city of Pullman was relatively simple. During her education, Gladys attended country grade schools and Gladish High School in Pullman, along with her other siblings. When Gladys was sixteen, her mother passed away leaving her to take care of her siblings until her dad remarried two years later. Already Gladys was becoming a very strong leader who would remain a leader throughout her entire life.

Life still remained relatively basic until she was nineteen and met a young man named Herbert Martin. Shortly after meeting the two were happily married in the year of 1931. In 1938, Gladys' first child was born. in very tough times. A few years later in 1943, her second child was born. Not long after her marriage to Herbert, the country had slipped into the age known as the Depression. Our young generation cannot even begin to imagine what life was like during the Depression. However, Gladys provided a glimpse of life during those difficult years. Gladys recalls moments when a mere $35 was the only thing between her family and starvation. She remembers that at one point she almost lost the $35, and looking back now she smiles, but the stress during that time was unimaginable. Gladys also clearly remembers the times during the war when she had to shop in thrift stores for some basic necessities and how all United States citizens were forced to use rationing stamps. Each person was given a book of stamps with a stamp for all the basic necessities that the country was short on. Stamp books were given to each person in a family regardless of age, making these books very valuable. Regardless of wealth, all people still received only as many supplies as their stamp book would allow.

Gladys admits that life during World War II did not affect her
family as badly as some other families, in part because the number of stamp books that their family received every month was more than enough to provide for her family. Gladys remembers instances where she gave away valuable stamps to friends that were not as well off, simply because she had more than enough for her whole family.

In addition to using rationing stamps, Gladys was lucky enough to be able to obtain fruits and vegetables from the garden at her father's farm. Her father was very helpful during the war times, and Gladys is still very thankful for all the aid she received from him. Gladys was able to preserve fruits from her father's farm by canning, and that was helpful for the difficult months ahead. Since the war began, obtaining essential items such as sugar was only possible through the stamps. At one time, Gladys remembers running out of stamps for sugar, making it impossible to can fruit. Unable to wait the remainder of the month, Gladys traded some shoe stamps to her sister-in-law for sugar stamps. She recalls that it was common practice for friends during the war to trade stamps to each other depending on what was needed.

When asked the question of how well people were informed during the war, Gladys explains there were only a few television sets around during the period of the war and most people ended up relying on the radio for news. Several years earlier, during the Depression, no one had a television, and radios were the only source of information. Thus, it was very hard to receive information until several weeks after it occurred. Apparently the country as a whole was very uninformed of the war effort and what was occurring in other parts of the world. For instance, the entire United States was not even aware of the wartime atrocities committed by Adolf Hitler until several years after the war.

Regardless of how uninformed the people of the United States were of the war efforts, families still heard about the deaths of loved ones through letters. Deaths of soldiers was the only news about the war that really traveled quickly. Gladys knew of two boys who were killed during the war. One of the boys lived in Pullman, and the other boy lived in Albion. Gladys expressed a great amount of sadness for those who had died.

People throughout the nation performed small tasks to aid the war effort in Europe. Gladys was one of the people who aided the war effort by supplying considerable amounts of sweaters and rolled bandages. During the evenings she would sit in the living room and wrap bandages using only a knitting needle and old torn up sheets. Once she had finished rolling her bandages, Gladys would deliver them to the Red Cross. Gladys was well aware of the Red Cross having a neutral status during the war; however, she never thought twice about the items being delivered to Germans instead of the Allies, she simply wanted to help those in need. According to Gladys, most people who aided the war effort by sending supplies through the Red Cross shared her view that anyone should be helped no matter what side they were on. Along with rolling bandages for the Red Cross, Gladys also knitted sleeveless sweaters for American soldiers, so they could stay warm during the cold nights of the war.

Gladys Martin was no soldier, no weapons specialist, and no wartime commander, but she was a hero. She fought through hard times and came out of the Depression with a healthy family and a good home, not to mention helping others in need. In the future, we will all pass on and be forgotten, but please do not forget her name. Gladys Martin was a hero to be remembered, and we can all learn something from this excellent example of a hardworking, dedicated individual.

When news came over the radio that the war was over, Gladys made a big pan of fudge for her family because she knew she could finally get all the sugar she wanted.

The Dorothy Matson story was written by a student from Colfax High School wanting to earn some community service hours for a Leadership class. Rachel did the very first interview and deserves full marks for stepping up to the plate and taking the first swing. Actually, she got a double on that one swing. Dorothy also told her about her brother who passed away shortly before TRIBUTE was published. We include his story in memory of Dale Sevier, another Whitman County soldier gone to rest.

DOROTHY MATSON

By Rachel Morgan

As I walked through the rain and up the steps to Dorothy Matson's house, I wasn't quite sure what to expect. All I knew was that I was there to listen to her stories about World War II and compile them into writing. Her dog Nelson greeted me and then I met Dorothy. As I took a step back into the past, little did I realize just how much I would learn.

Dorothy Matson was born in Pullman in 1920. Pioneering, her parents came to the Pullman area early in their lives. She says her dad came "riding a horse and carrying his double barrel shotgun." The "honest to by gosh barn" that she grew up in stood where her garage stands today. She attended Pullman High School and went to beautician school in Spokane. She used the skills she learned for a few years after she graduated until she joined the WAVES.

In just a few days, her life was changed forever. With three other women, Dorothy headed east on a train that would take them from Spokane to New York to boot camp in the Bronx. She told the story of her friend Nellie walking through the train saying, "We are crossing the Mississippi River" to let them know where they were.

When they arrived at the Bronx, they were issued clothing, but Dorothy said they were able to keep their own civilian underwear, for which I'm sure they were very grateful. "We learned to drill," Dorothy stated. She quoted one person as saying, "We were drilled into a mud puddle and then he gave us hell."

Her drill instructors were very strict she remembers, and she got into trouble once for talking in line. Her punishment? To clean the dust bunnies off the floor of one of the lady officers. "There were dust bunnies everywhere," she remembers.

Dorothy was stationed in Washington D.C. in the WAVES, which was the women's division of the Navy. She says D.C. was "an interesting town."

Dorothy went into the service soon after the war started and served until it was over. A piece of information that I found interesting was the fact that diesel engines weren't allowed in the city of Washington D.C. because it would stain the marble of the buildings. So she said they rode in vehicles or busses that weren't powered by diesel, or they walked. While in D.C., they slept in barracks. There were four to a cubicle, but she said they had the "nicest bunks with the latest movies." They were given a clean sheet and pillow case every week, but they had to do their personal laundry by hand. Dorothy even claims that the food was good.

Even though Dorothy went to beautician school after High School, she didn't use those skills in the service. She went into communications, which she described as "very primitive." The girls were called electricians and their work was very secretive. They couldn't talk about what they were doing for close to two years.

So what were they in charge of? Dorothy says they just did what they were told. They made spools of information for secret communication purposes. She said the enemy would have had to have a spool to transcribe what the message was from ship to shore and shore to shore. So the enemy didn't know where the allies were because of their secret code, but Dorothy and her people could figure out where the enemy was because they had a cryptologist decode the enemy's codes. She said they sent the spools "especially to England." Dorothy talked a lot about a woman named Miss Dillion who was in charge of getting these spools ready to send off to allied countries.

What an exciting position to be in! I can't imagine what it must have felt like to be a part of sending vital information about decoding to other countries and to not even have a full grasp on what you were even actually doing! They had three shifts working every day and Dorothy said that they didn't leave their post until they were relieved by the next shift or they'd get in trouble. She said they could talk more freely about what they were doing when their commander explained how everything worked. Dorothy noted that once they started using tapes instead of spools, their work went much faster. They then could tape ship to shore and shore to ship.

They had to learn how to solder for their work and a man by the name of Eddy taught them how. He was very dedicated to his work and when he died Dorothy thought, seeing him in his casket, that he should have been holding his soldering iron in his hands instead of his rosary beads.

I was interested to know what they did for fun on the time they had off. Dorothy said they often went to the small town of Friendship. When they first got to D.C., she exclaimed, "We was poor." Back then their favorite hang out was the "Pepsi Cola Place" as she called it. There, they made records, bought a hamburger for twenty-five cents, and got a Pepsi free.

One time, her friend Mary and she got off work at midnight and they decided they were just going to go downtown. They ended up meeting up with a sailor and a soldier and walked around D.C. all night. Dorothy said in the morning they all went to breakfast, put the boys on the bus, went back to the barracks, and never saw them again, but that was typical during wartime. A fun time they had she says, and she'll probably never forget that night.

Dorothy and her bunkmates spent a lot of time together and always got along great. They went to restaurants and the Smithsonian Institute. Once they even went to a Burlesque show. She talked a lot about the seasons and the weather. Springtime was "beautiful, just absolutely beautiful" with all the cherry blossoms and dogwood trees in bloom. Everywhere they went they saw the sights and smells of a "glorious" spring. In the winter, the streets and roads would get slick, sometimes with a skiff of snow over them. Dorothy said it was cold a lot of the time.

She told the story of when she and a friend were walking along and all the sudden, two Marines who were drunk that were walking in front of them just rolled off the slick sidewalk and down the bank. She said it was pretty funny. Some other boys came along and retrieved them, but I can just see them laughing at the guys. What a sight!

Dorothy was able to stand across the street from the White House during President Roosevelt's funeral. That was as close as you could get to the President's home during the war. She said she liked the president and his wife and naturally felt sad when he died. She thought they were "splendid people," and Dorothy believed he did the best he could while he was the President. When asked how she dealt with it, she responded, "You just took it in your stride. You went on."

Trying to do something fun every weekend was part of the routine in Dorothy's life at the time. Once they visited George Washington's home and they even went to a Notre Dame football game. She recalled it being a fun experience. The group of six of them found the stadium to be very crowded, but once they found some seats, they rooted for Notre Dame all the way!

I asked her where she was when the war was over. She said in D.C., and they heard about it over the radio. So they all went into town, laid newspapers out on the curb, sat down and watched people get sloppy. I was quite amused at that term but I didn't know what she was talking about. She said it meant people unbuttoned and took off their uniform jackets, untucked their shirts, and threw their hats in the air. In other words, they were allowed to look sloppy. I can picture hundreds of people having a big party enjoying the end of war on the streets of D.C. What a time of celebration - to get sloppy!

Dorothy, who was a Second Class Petty Officer when she retired from the Navy, is also very proud of her brother, Dale Henry Sevier. Dale was an automobile mechanic for many years when he came home from the war. He served in North Africa and was at the landing at Normandy. Dale was a tank mechanic. He kept the tanks' motors running and also kept them moving off of the barges when they landed. He went clear through the war without a scratch in spite of being shot at while landing tanks.

Dorothy said she'd never forget something he once told her. "If you've fixed one motor, you can fix them all no matter what the size."

She also told me her favorite story of his. When he was in Europe he had a Czechoslovakian girlfriend. The men on the base often put on dances for the G.I.s and the girls in the area, and Dale was charged with providing transportation for the young ladies. One evening when he was getting ready to leave to pick up the girls, he discovered the only available jeep and truck were both in use. There was nothing to do but to transport the girls to the dance on a tank. Can you just picture a whole bunch of girls trying to find a place to sit somewhere on that tank? It must have been quite a sight.

Dorothy laughed as she told me what an officer later told her brother. "Sevier," he said, "I don't care, but the Captain said not to get out on the highway with a tank anymore."

Dale Sevier was awarded the Bronze Star. The Citation he received with the medal reads, "For meritorious service in connection with military operations against an armed enemy from 18 November 1942 to 1 May 1945, in North Africa, Sicily, England, France, Belgium, Holland, and Germany. The technical skill, ingenuity, and alacrity with which Staff Sergeant Sevier discharged his responsibilities as Motor Mechanic and Motor Sergeant, despite hazardous combat conditions and lack of repair parts, contributed materially to the efficiency of his organization throughout the North African and Sicilian Campaigns, during planning and training periods, and in operations on the continent of Europe. His unswerving devotion to duty exemplifies the finest traditions of the service. Entered military service from Pullman, Washington."

I was privileged to see his Bronze Star up close along with his dog tag and other medals. As I looked at those pieces, thoughts ran through my head. So many people sacrificed so much during World War II and now I take my freedom for granted too often. How truly grateful I am for the men and women that served our country.

As my time with Dorothy came to a close, I asked if she had any advice for young women going into the service. "It's an experience," she said. "It depends whether you want to go to college or join the service."

Dorothy still happily resides in Pullman with her dog Nelson. As I look back on the stories of Dorothy's life, I am grateful that I was able to be a part of hearing about her life. There's so much of the war that is forgotten and yet there's so much that we need to remember. I am thankful for people like Dorothy who are willing to serve their country and share their stories with others. I hope these stories are never lost and I am so grateful for being a part of this writing project. Thank you Dorothy for the things you have learned and shared with the rest of us. May your story and your brother's never be forgotten!

Here is some insight into the life of the occupation forces after the war ended, how teachers were drawn into the national effort to re-establish Germany, and a good look at how to ride a camel.

ESTHER PETERSON

By Kathryn Kastrinos

Many people reflect on battlefields and fighting when they hear of World War II, but while interviewing Esther Peterson I got a glimpse of a whole other story. Esther Peterson is a woman with many stories, many stories that unlock her background and her motives.

Esther was an ordinary elementary school teacher until she got the letter of her life. In this letter, she was informed that she was being recruited to teach at a military base in Germany shortly after World War II ended in Europe. Feeling honored, she accepted the chance and went to Germany to teach Occupation Force officers' children.

Esther grew up in the serene state of Kansas with the dream of teaching. She got her first teaching job at a rural elementary school, teaching second to eighth graders. After a few years in front of the same class in the same room she was ready for something new. While wondering what she wanted to do, she received that letter recruiting her to teach at the military base. Being only twenty-nine years old, she was very eager for the chance and gladly accepted the offer. She immediately was sent a one-way boat ticket to Heidelberg, Germany. In Heidelberg, she would be teaching at the Heidelberg Military Base in front of a third grade class.

After a few weeks of packing and getting ready, she arrived in New York City. Awaiting her arrival was the magnificent USS Henry Gibbins, a U.S. Navy troop ship. Since it was August the weather was beautiful throughout the trip and it was a sight she will always remember.

Upon arriving in Heidelberg, she was shown where she would be living for the next year. Her new home was called a "billet" and was fairly small, but suitable. Actually it was the Alt Heidelberg Hotel. After becoming more comfortable with her new setting she went over to the school where she would teach for a full year. It was located in an old hospital building over five stories tall. She was shown to her classroom and immediately wore a smile across her face.

There were two third-grade teachers and they each had thirty-nine students. After six weeks, another teacher was hired and for the rest of the school year they each had only twenty-six students. Some of the children had never been to school before since they had lived all of their lives on military bases.

At this point I was curious if Esther felt any awkwardness, being on a military base. She said, "Heidelberg wasn't as severely affected as many other