1944

In May of 1943, America began a program of rationing as a part of the war effort. Sugar buying cards were coupons distributed at local schools, and the amount of sugar that could be redeemed depended upon family size. On the heels of sugar rationing came red stamp rationing of meats, butter, fat and oils, and, with some exceptions, cheese. This program was based on points given and consumed. Canned, bottled and frozen fruits and vegetables along with juices, dry beans, soups, baby food and catsup were garnered with blue stamps. Each family was issued a War Ration Book with the purpose of giving each family its fair share of goods. Rationing locales were posted in public view in various places in each city. In 1943, eighty million boxes of macaroni and cheese were sold in the United States, providing an inexpensive substitute for meat and dairy. Two boxes required only one ration coupon. Oleo replaced butter and cottage cheese became a popular meat substitute with sales of five hundred million pounds in 1944.

Florene strode past a large government poster with a picture of men and women in uniform looking out at her as she picked up her rationing coupons at the local high school gym. Do with less so they'll have enough! the poster admonished. The government waved the flag at Florene coming and going, for at the exit another poster challenged Americans on the home front to Be patriotic! Sign your country's pledge to save the food!  This was a thing Florene was happy to do, but it meant that helping her friend, Rita, plan a going-away party for her husband, Bud, would utilize all of her creative abilities. There was just so much one could do with macaroni and cheese!

North Africa was Bud's destination. Though the war had been won by the Allies on that front in May of 1943, there was still Allied presence there. It was January of 1944, and Eisenhower had just been made the supreme commander of the Allied Expeditionary Forces in December of 1943. In October of '43, Italy had declared war on Germany. Daily the news was filled with word of bombings and the progress of Allied operations. At the moment, it seemed that Bud would be heading out of harm's way; but, the war changed daily and Rita, like so many young wives, was not as confident as her husband that "everything was going to be okay."

As Florene and Rita pooled their rations for the party, there was just enough sugar and flour for a cake, if they did not ice it. Rita's mom had canned tomatoes in the summer, so there was the beginings of sauce for pasta. And, of course, there were boxes of macaroni and cheese. Fruit juice mixed with water became the punch. On her side, when persuading friends to share rations for Bud's party, was the fact that Rita's husband was going off to war. Great sympathy for the couple paid off in crackers and cheese for appetizers and two bottles of cheap red wine for toasting.

Not long after Florene arrived at her friend's house the morning of the send-off, the kitchen was filled with the aroma of browning onions and garlic on the stove and a fluffy white sheet cake in the oven. Flitting back and forth from kitchen to living room, Florene was in her element as she created both food and ambiance. Rita, who was not a cook when she actually had the correct ingredients, was ecstatic to be cleaning up the place while her friend worked her magic for the guests.

The busyness of party preparations and the challenge of making festive foods was a welcome diversion for the young woman. Though it had been well over a year since her divorce, Florene was often flooded with a visceral washing of guilt and self-deprecation. Questions surfaced daily, greeting her now as old friends with bad news. Answers were not so clearly present; they hid themselves in the chambers of her shame, not to be believed if they declared themselves because Florene had assumed her own responses to the questions about her worth. Believing she did not deserve better than she had received kept the truth covertly waiting in the wings for an opportunity to declare, with certain veracity, her value.

Dan had come along a few months before, in 1943. Tall, lanky and affable, he was a young man in his late twenties. Not the flashy debonair slick-tongued type Mac had been, Dan was a good Catholic boy with an easy smile and a good-natured, sardonic sense of humor. Their dates consisted of bicycle rides in the park and casual meals at local diners. The two shared a great deal in common, but Florene was reticent to allow herself to fall in love with him because of his Catholic upbringing. Small town Baptists were taught to be cautious of Catholics; Catholics had to marry in the church. Could Dan become a Baptist? Florene could not become a Catholic. Their faiths were important to each of them, deeply rooted and seemingly non-negotiable. Yet, the young man loved the beautiful divorcee - wanted to marry her.

Uncle Sam made a short-term choice for the young couple when Dan received his draft notice. Florene promised to talk about their relationship when the soldier returned; he promised to write faithfully. The dark, overcast day Dan came to Florene's office to say good-bye left her once again lonely and confused. A piece of her heart, without her specific consent, drove off in the old Ford with him. "Keep Dan safe, Lord," she breathed and returned to her typing.

The bustling whirlwind that was Florene in Rita's kitchen betrayed any languishing thoughts of a lover in war and a marriage done in. Could anyone be more enamored with multi-tasking? Chopping, stirring, tasting, slicing, mixing, sweeping, wiping, washing, decorating, arranging, rearranging - all in seeming double-time. If the party was to be a reflection of Florene, then it would be perfect! That she could control!

Ding, dong. Four o'clock had not sneaked up on Florene. Everything was in place and the aromas from the kitchen greeted the guests on the sidewalk as they came up to the door. Ding, dong. There was a young soldier at the door who would change her life forever.

Jim Strickling was of average height, prematurely balding, and substantially overweight. Behind his wire-rimmed glasses sparkled dark brown eyes, and immediately evident were his quick wit and boyish charm. Florene was so involved in the festivities that she barely noticed him; he, however, spotted her as he came through Bud's door. Jim was an Army medic and was being shipped out with Bud. He and several other mutual buddies had been invited to this farewell evening. The young medic loved a good meal and a good party. He could not believe what Florene had done with mac and cheese and some home canned tomatoes! Best damned casserole he had ever eaten! Heavenly sheet cake with some kind of pudding filling melted in his mouth; he was in love with Rita's friend by the time they all lifted their glasses, gave the farewell toast, and clinked crystal on crystal round the room. Florene only took one delicate sip for Baptists did not drink. Jim found even that endearing.

Bud cranked the radio up loud after dinner as the warmth of the red wine relaxed the guests. Jimmy Dorsey's band was playing Besame Mucho, when a strong baritone voice rang out from the midst of the group. Jim, still firmly grasping the stem of his wine glass, was singing along with the radio as if he were old Bing himself. It was then that Florene's attention was drawn to him; he was having so much fun, and watching him began to exhilarate her. Soon his buddies joined in and all of them crooned Swingin' on a Star. Neighbors down the block could no doubt hear the party singing Don't Fence Me In and Is You Is Or Is You Ain't. But when the first notes of the G.I. Jive came blaring from the radio, Florene was completely taken aback. Jim approached her and took her hand, pulling her to the middle of the living room floor to jive with him. The brashness of it unsettled her, and she was not quite certain she should be enjoying the moment as much as she was. The soldier was not a bad dancer for his size; and, again, the young woman wondered at his joyous abandon.

Immediately following the last peppy strains of the jive came the nightly news from the front. All levity gave way to the urgency of the broadcast. Huddling around the radio, the party listened soberly to the crackly, high-pitched voice wafting words of war into their ears. The Royal Air Force had dropped twenty-three hundred tons of bombs on Berlin. The Army 36th Infantry Division had suffered heavy losses in Italy as they attempted to cross Rapido Riverbut. Operaton Shingle had begun as the 45th Infantry landed at Anzio, Italy; already American losses were high as the troops fought aggressively against German artillery and troop attacks. For some, the news narrowed down to just one loved one fighting for his life in Italy. Did he make it? Would he come home? For everyone, there was the question of "How much longer?"

The pendulum had swung at the farewell party so that by the time the Jimmy Dorsey Band had cranked back up on the radio again, the party-goers were deep in conversation about the war and were barely cognizant of the saxophones and clarinets. Florene made coffee and Jim wandered back into the kitchen to find her.

"Need some help?" he queried.

"No, I'm fine," her nervous response.

Paying no attention to her answer, Jim looked around the kitchen and found the coffee cups. As he arranged them on the drainboard, he began asking Florene about herself. "So, you're a friend of Rita's?"

"Yes. We met at work."

"She's a nice gal. Bud is a lucky man," Jim said, eyes dancing.

Florene was a little flustered by the comment - made her heart race - something flirty about the way he said that. As the coffee percolated up into the glass top of the pot on the stove, Florene busied herself with rinsing the dirty dishes to buffer her conversation with this soldier.

"Tell me about yourself." Jim sat down at the kitchen dinette and spread his ample upper body over the little table, folding his hands in front of him. "Where are you from?"

"You would have never heard of it," she replied shyly. "Maypearl."

"May who?" She was right.

"It's a little town not that far from here. I grew up on a farm there. I left to go to college, then came to Fort Worth for work. My sisters live here." Florene dried her hands and ventured to a chair at the dinette. "And you?"

"Ashland, Ohio."

"A Yankee," Florene thought, but did not say it. Didn't really trust Yankees.

"I was drafted. Met Bud in boot camp, and here I am about to see North Africa. Who would have thought I would travel the world?"

His use of the word travel did not escape Florene who picked up on the irony. "Too bad it isn't a vacation. Would be fun to have the U.S. government paying your way!"

Bud interrupted the repartee by bursting into the kitchen to ask where "that coffee" was. Florene poured and Jim carried the aromatic cups of fresh brew to the waiting guests. The sweet, creamy brown of the coffee and its warmth as it flowed into them made the crowd mellow and less inclined toward war talk. There was some conversation about rationing and a woman spoke of her interest in volunteering with that effort. Rita was all excited about planting a victory garden while Bud was away. If she planted in early spring and then again in the summer, she would have fresh vegetables to eat, share, and can. Victory gardens had just begun to catch on as a grassroots movement to help with the rationing program, and it had captured Rita's attention. It would keep her busy, especially on the long weekends without her husband.

Florene sauntered back to the kitchen at some point during this time to heed the call of the dirty dishes that sat in two piles near the sink- rinsed and unrinsed. If she did not start the clean up now, she would be there all night. Jim stayed with the rest of the party, thinking Florene would return momentarily. When, after a good twenty minutes she did not reappear, he went to find her in the kitchen, arms deep in warm, sudsy water. A long dark curl of hair had escaped one of the combs Florene had so carefully placed just behind her temples on either side of her head. Every few minutes she would wipe it from her face with the back of her right arm, then continue scrubbing. Jim found this charming - wanted to touch her hair and remove the comb.

"Here, let me help you with those dishes." He took up a dishcloth and caught the rhythm of her washing so that as soon as she was ready with a rinsed dish, he was there swiping it with a dry towel. Conversation came more easily as they tasked together in Rita's kitchen. Florene had two sisters and a brother - she, the youngest. Jim had two sisters and two brothers - he, the youngest. Jim had just turned twenty-four; Florene was thirty. Jim was not Catholic; but, he was really not a church person. Somehow that was a bit better than being Catholic - he could become Baptist. The comparisons between Jim and Dan that Florene found herself making seemed almost unfaithful to Dan; and, she was not quite certain why she was attracted to this Yankee with the dish towel over his shoulder.

Before the last glass sparkled clean and bright on Rita's counter, the guests began arriving in the kitchen, coats in hand, to thank Florene for the great food and the fun party. Jim Strickling was the last guest to leave. He took Florene's delicate, dewy hand and asked to see her again before he shipped out. She agreed, reluctantly, to meeting him downtown on Monday after work. With that promise in his pocket, Jim buttoned up his heavy coat and walked out the door and down the sidewalk, leaving Florene at once perplexed and intrigued.