fellow fed you a line,’ she said, as only a twenty-year-old blonde wearing a fraternity pin could say to an older woman with no ring on her most important finger and thick eyeglasses. I couldn’t think fast enough to reply with equal condescension, and wound up leaving the building with a flush creeping up my neck.
I took refuge in Quigley’s Pharmacy at the soda fountain. I ordered a grilled-cheese sandwich and a Coke, which was exempted from sugar rationing because the government considered it indispensable to the war effort. Right now it was indispensable to me. The ice-cold, sweet surge of flavor braced me to mull over what I’d learned.
So Joe didn’t teach at George Washington. Why did I think he had? He said very little about himself, and he’d never mentioned his job directly. He talked about his students, read Czech books and wrote lectures, and I’d seen him grading papers. But, I realized, he’d never actually mentioned GWU. We all assumed he worked there, since our boarding house was so close to the university. Well, he must teach somewhere else. Perhaps Georgetown? But he’d let us all assume he taught at GWU. Which he might do if he needed cover? That had to be the answer. He must teach at one of the government or military language schools, and, like the rest of us working for the government, couldn’t talk about it. Of course that was the explanation.
I relaxed and finished my sandwich. It was energizing to be sitting in a soda shop on a college campus, where students talked about books and classes instead of stuck in an office going deaf from the din of clattering typewriters and mimeographs, when a successful day was marked by a tiny dent in a mountain of paperwork. I let myself feel sorry for myself for a few minutes, before I reminded myself that I was doing crucial war work.
The other girls and I joked sometimes, calling ourselves ‘secretaries of war’, but really, the most massive army in the world would be helpless without the information we gathered. Besides, it could be worse. I could still be living in Wilmington, gutting fish and frying up slimy fillets in my parents’ fish camp, putting in the same hours as my salaried brother, for room and board at my parents’ house and two dollars at the end of any week the till wasn’t empty, thankful for a roof over my head after my husband died.
When men began to leave their jobs to join the military, I got my chance to escape the fish camp. Oh, I didn’t think of it that way at first. I was doing my patriotic duty, taking the place of a man who’d become a soldier.
I was one of the first girls in Wilmington to get a defense job. Since I had a junior-college business degree I had my pick of positions. I ran the office at the Wilmington Shipbuilding Company, and as long as I live I’ll never forget my first paycheck. Ever. I went right out and cut my hair into a soft shoulder-length style and got harlequin-framed eyeglasses to replace my steel spectacles.
My standing rose within my family, too. I gave part of my salary to my mother for housekeeping expenses. And because of the importance of my job we got ‘A’ gasoline ration coupons.
I was very good at my job. Which meant not only running the office, but also keeping secrets. My company built ships for the navy. Any number of foreign governments wanted to know its business. But not one peep about my work escaped my lips. My mother didn’t even have my office phone number.
My boss was a simple man who tended to say the same things over and over, just in case you didn’t grasp his meaning the first few times. ‘Louise,’ he would say to me, ‘you ain’t like most women. You know how to keep your mouth shut.’ I could have reminded him that the last three employees we’d fired for talking too much had been men, but I knew how to keep my mouth shut about plenty that had nothing to do with military secrets.
My competence, and reticence, impressed a naval officer who visited
I took refuge in Quigley’s Pharmacy at the soda fountain. I ordered a grilled-cheese sandwich and a Coke, which was exempted from sugar rationing because the government considered it indispensable to the war effort. Right now it was indispensable to me. The ice-cold, sweet surge of flavor braced me to mull over what I’d learned.
So Joe didn’t teach at George Washington. Why did I think he had? He said very little about himself, and he’d never mentioned his job directly. He talked about his students, read Czech books and wrote lectures, and I’d seen him grading papers. But, I realized, he’d never actually mentioned GWU. We all assumed he worked there, since our boarding house was so close to the university. Well, he must teach somewhere else. Perhaps Georgetown? But he’d let us all assume he taught at GWU. Which he might do if he needed cover? That had to be the answer. He must teach at one of the government or military language schools, and, like the rest of us working for the government, couldn’t talk about it. Of course that was the explanation.
I relaxed and finished my sandwich. It was energizing to be sitting in a soda shop on a college campus, where students talked about books and classes instead of stuck in an office going deaf from the din of clattering typewriters and mimeographs, when a successful day was marked by a tiny dent in a mountain of paperwork. I let myself feel sorry for myself for a few minutes, before I reminded myself that I was doing crucial war work.
The other girls and I joked sometimes, calling ourselves ‘secretaries of war’, but really, the most massive army in the world would be helpless without the information we gathered. Besides, it could be worse. I could still be living in Wilmington, gutting fish and frying up slimy fillets in my parents’ fish camp, putting in the same hours as my salaried brother, for room and board at my parents’ house and two dollars at the end of any week the till wasn’t empty, thankful for a roof over my head after my husband died.
When men began to leave their jobs to join the military, I got my chance to escape the fish camp. Oh, I didn’t think of it that way at first. I was doing my patriotic duty, taking the place of a man who’d become a soldier.
I was one of the first girls in Wilmington to get a defense job. Since I had a junior-college business degree I had my pick of positions. I ran the office at the Wilmington Shipbuilding Company, and as long as I live I’ll never forget my first paycheck. Ever. I went right out and cut my hair into a soft shoulder-length style and got harlequin-framed eyeglasses to replace my steel spectacles.
My standing rose within my family, too. I gave part of my salary to my mother for housekeeping expenses. And because of the importance of my job we got ‘A’ gasoline ration coupons.
I was very good at my job. Which meant not only running the office, but also keeping secrets. My company built ships for the navy. Any number of foreign governments wanted to know its business. But not one peep about my work escaped my lips. My mother didn’t even have my office phone number.
My boss was a simple man who tended to say the same things over and over, just in case you didn’t grasp his meaning the first few times. ‘Louise,’ he would say to me, ‘you ain’t like most women. You know how to keep your mouth shut.’ I could have reminded him that the last three employees we’d fired for talking too much had been men, but I knew how to keep my mouth shut about plenty that had nothing to do with military secrets.
My competence, and reticence, impressed a naval officer who visited
Similar Books
