“Try to remember…and if you can remember, then follow, follow…”
Those lyrics from Fantasticks, an off-Broadway musical, were written by a fellow West Texas college friend in Austin. Tom Jones from Coleman and I were in high school when World War II ended. Today’s pandemic restrictions remind of those WWII days.
In August 1945, I was 17 years old. If the war continued, I would be required to sign for the military draft in October. But I already planned to try and enlist in the Navy. My older cousin Charles Elam in Knox had fudged his age and joined the Navy when he was 17. His aunts Maudie and Mary worked in a munitions plant. All my family were on wartime footing.
I remembered working part time on the Abilene Reporter-News sports desk. Many high school students were filling peacetime jobs. I remember the C ration gasoline sticker on my old car. Never forgot the ‘Extra’ that published when Germany surrendered.
I will never forget that 1945 August night when the Associated Press wire machine began ringing. “Flash. Second atomic bomb dropped on Japan.” I watched as the night editor stopped the presses to ‘remake’ for the morning edition. Then Japan surrendered.
After I graduated from the university and returned to the newspaper, I remember interviews with two Iwo Jima battle survivors. And stories from a decorated pilot who told how she ferried warplanes from the factories.
Those recollections come back as I finish writing and editing a 1945 historical fiction I entitle Main Street President ©. If today you are a 17-year-old would-be-author, this old journalism teacher advises—wish I could assign—you to write down your experiences during this pandemic. Of course, many tribulations don’t require a written recording. Some, I’m sure, you will not forget.
