better than to think the wife of the president of the United States is gonna come see them. Somebody’s always startin’ some kind of rumor around here. These army folks gossip worse than Sister Dials!
Every Saturday, we got inspection, and every week, some new brass comes in on the train. We got folks from D.C. tryin’ to look at the Women’s Army, and everybody, coloreds and whites, got to march, drill, and post the colors for ’em. Some of them generals stare at us like they’ve never seen colored girls before. Some of them don’t look at us at all. Sometimes they got whole families at the reviewing stand—old generals and their wives, grandkids, the works—and the USO, the United Service Organization, which brings recreation for troop morale, gives dinner dances for the brass. They get up to some big doings, too, and there ain’t nothing like doing KP for a fancy dinner.It takes hours. We got to chop vegetables, peel eggs, and make ninety-nine platters of this and that. (Only the fancy dinners get real eggs—we got powdered ones for our breakfast most of the time.) Somebody got a song about it, too:
Over sinks, over pails
With the sergeant on our tails
All the KPs are scrubbing away
.
Shining pots, shining pans
,
Cleaning out the garbage cans
All the KPs are scrubbing away
.
We end up with greasy skillets, pots, and pans that look worse than Young’s on a Saturday night. The army don’t waste a thing, either, so we got to be draining grease, cutting up fat, and chopping up those vegetables mighty fine. We’ll be on our feet all day with it, a full eight
hours
, and after all that, we don’t want to do nothing but fall and fall down out when we get some “rest and recreation” time.
Saturday afternoon, just after we get off, Lieutenant Hundley come by, her face lookin’ hard. She holler out, like we doing drill, “Peaches Carter!”
“Ma’am!” Peaches says. Peach has been workin’ in one of the offices ’cause she went to commercial high school and took up shorthand typing. She says she doesn’t want to be no army grunt, but Lieutenant Hundley has always got another job for her.
“Carter, front and center,” she say. “We had a request for you.”
“A request, ma’am?” Peaches put her hands on her hips.Our company just got showered, and Peach is in her WAC-issue maroon bathrobe, getting ready to paint her toenails. “I’m off duty, ma’am.”
“I am aware of that, Carter,” Lieutenant says, and she act like her face got frozen. Peaches straighten up fast. “Yes, ma’am,” she say. Hundley does not play around when she’s got that look.
“Captain Jennings is in need of a sitter for General Craig’s twins tonight. Their regular housekeeper is ill. He knows your work and considers you conscientious and feels you would like to earn the pocket money.”
Peaches looks like her jaw just broke. Her mouth hangs open, and every girl in our company looks like she’s just been slapped. Now we know why Hundley looks like she’s about to spit. Nobody in their right mind is gonna ask any of the white girls to watch after some general’s babies after eight hours on their feet, but they’re after the colored girls all the time to fetch and carry and “help out.”
“Get a load of that,” Annie Brown mutters under her breath. I shake my head. Peaches works hard in that kitchen, harder than anybody, and since she doesn’t like to cook nohow, she’s got to try twice as hard. She says Cook hollered at her all day and she about cut her fingers off, with all the chopping she did. She’s tired like we all are.
Peaches lets out her breath like a popped tire. She looks like someone kicked her in the stomach. Her shoulders slump, and she puts down her polish and picks up her shoes.
“I’ll go, Lieutenant Hundley,” I say. I can’t stand Peaches’s broken-down look.
Peaches cuts her eyes at me, and I ignore her. “Peaches hurt herself doing KP I’ll go see to those
Every Saturday, we got inspection, and every week, some new brass comes in on the train. We got folks from D.C. tryin’ to look at the Women’s Army, and everybody, coloreds and whites, got to march, drill, and post the colors for ’em. Some of them generals stare at us like they’ve never seen colored girls before. Some of them don’t look at us at all. Sometimes they got whole families at the reviewing stand—old generals and their wives, grandkids, the works—and the USO, the United Service Organization, which brings recreation for troop morale, gives dinner dances for the brass. They get up to some big doings, too, and there ain’t nothing like doing KP for a fancy dinner.It takes hours. We got to chop vegetables, peel eggs, and make ninety-nine platters of this and that. (Only the fancy dinners get real eggs—we got powdered ones for our breakfast most of the time.) Somebody got a song about it, too:
Over sinks, over pails
With the sergeant on our tails
All the KPs are scrubbing away
.
Shining pots, shining pans
,
Cleaning out the garbage cans
All the KPs are scrubbing away
.
We end up with greasy skillets, pots, and pans that look worse than Young’s on a Saturday night. The army don’t waste a thing, either, so we got to be draining grease, cutting up fat, and chopping up those vegetables mighty fine. We’ll be on our feet all day with it, a full eight
hours
, and after all that, we don’t want to do nothing but fall and fall down out when we get some “rest and recreation” time.
Saturday afternoon, just after we get off, Lieutenant Hundley come by, her face lookin’ hard. She holler out, like we doing drill, “Peaches Carter!”
“Ma’am!” Peaches says. Peach has been workin’ in one of the offices ’cause she went to commercial high school and took up shorthand typing. She says she doesn’t want to be no army grunt, but Lieutenant Hundley has always got another job for her.
“Carter, front and center,” she say. “We had a request for you.”
“A request, ma’am?” Peaches put her hands on her hips.Our company just got showered, and Peach is in her WAC-issue maroon bathrobe, getting ready to paint her toenails. “I’m off duty, ma’am.”
“I am aware of that, Carter,” Lieutenant says, and she act like her face got frozen. Peaches straighten up fast. “Yes, ma’am,” she say. Hundley does not play around when she’s got that look.
“Captain Jennings is in need of a sitter for General Craig’s twins tonight. Their regular housekeeper is ill. He knows your work and considers you conscientious and feels you would like to earn the pocket money.”
Peaches looks like her jaw just broke. Her mouth hangs open, and every girl in our company looks like she’s just been slapped. Now we know why Hundley looks like she’s about to spit. Nobody in their right mind is gonna ask any of the white girls to watch after some general’s babies after eight hours on their feet, but they’re after the colored girls all the time to fetch and carry and “help out.”
“Get a load of that,” Annie Brown mutters under her breath. I shake my head. Peaches works hard in that kitchen, harder than anybody, and since she doesn’t like to cook nohow, she’s got to try twice as hard. She says Cook hollered at her all day and she about cut her fingers off, with all the chopping she did. She’s tired like we all are.
Peaches lets out her breath like a popped tire. She looks like someone kicked her in the stomach. Her shoulders slump, and she puts down her polish and picks up her shoes.
“I’ll go, Lieutenant Hundley,” I say. I can’t stand Peaches’s broken-down look.
Peaches cuts her eyes at me, and I ignore her. “Peaches hurt herself doing KP I’ll go see to those
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