Then and Now

I was 6 when Pearl Harbor was bombed. I would like to say I remember the hardships of the great conflict or the stories of the battles that the newspapers printed daily, and be able to tell you precisely what it was like living during the war years. But that would be a fabrication. I was kid, and a difficult one, self absorbed and reclusive. I can tell you what I remember but you will quickly realize it is only what related to me and a few of the people I cared about.

Dad signed up for the draft, and my two cousins, Denny and Willie, left shortly thereafter. Their brother, Charlie, received a Medical deferment due to a heart disorder. The first casualty in the neighborhood was a young man, Edward L., who lived on 57th Street and had planned on being a Paulist priest until the war began. Eventually his younger brother took his place in the priesthood, and left not many years after ordination. You can never fulfill another’s dream, but we all learn that, don’t we.

No longer did young men cluster on the corner wearing ice cream suits and watching the girls walk by. Occasionally, one would return for a brief furlough and be greeted outside St. Paul’s on a Sunday morning, but rarely were there groups of young men or women on the streets. Father Farley organized a Serviceman’s Canteen in the Hecker Club on 60th Street where dances were held every Friday night. Once a month the dance was formal, and the young women in the neighborhood wore their prettiest long dresses, and I joined Aunt Meg watching at the window as they walked up the Street to cheer up the boys away from home. There were several romances that sprang from these dances, but to the best of my knowledge, only one ended in marriage.

Dad’s job ended as the Auto Industry faded down to a nonexistence. He took a job in a munitions factory in New Jersey commuting daily. He left before I awoke and returned shortly after I went to bed. He worked 7 days a week, and we rarely saw him. Once again, I don’t know if money was an issue. Rather I believe patriotism and the fact that his nephews were making a contribution motivated my Father. However, it was during the war years that Mom returned to work, so perhaps family finances were involved.

The Delaney family was not visibly affected. The four brothers maintained steady employment throughout the war years, and they had no younger relatives threatened by the draft. Ration books had been distributed for meat, and Mom explained to Beth and I that our Uncles needed the meat more than we did so she traded our food coupons in exchange for their shoe rations. I knew we didn’t buy shoes as often as food, but I was becoming slightly wiser and kept quiet for once in my life. Besides I liked chicken which was not rationed, and we began to have more fish, which I hated. Fried Mackerel has a unique smell and taste, and I disliked that meal intensely. Many nights we had thick tubes of macaroni with melted butter, no cheese. I loved this dish and so did Beth, and we didn’t use any of our food stamps.

Our one prevalent fear seemed to be that Manhattan would be the target of a bombing attack. The local tabloids fed this fear with rumors and warnings. Dad volunteered to be the Street Air Raid Captain and managed to take time off from work to conscientiously attend meetings and patrol the Street several times a month. There were several air raid drills, unexpected and unannounced. The one I remember most vividly was the night a light was spotted from the Street. The Captain and his deputies ran down the block, found the house in question, 450, and invaded the apartment; ours. I was cowering in my bed with a small flashlight I had hidden for such an occasion. I had no intention of being caught in an air raid without a light to guide me out of the bombed building.

I didn’t see my Dad’s anger more than twice in my life. This was one occasion. And I have never forgotten his displeasure, or the fact that he refused to hear my explanation. In retrospect, it was probably the most embarrassing moment of his life.

My Grandfather willingly stood in line to purchase silk stockings for my Mother and Aunt Meg. If you were walking anywhere in the City and saw a long Queue outside a shop, you knew immediately there was a supply of some item that was hard to come by, and if you were wise, you instantly joined the end of the line. The windows that were like picture frames on the tenements became adorned with blue stars,and sadly enough during those years several were changed to gold in memory of fallen warriors. Each Sunday another name would be added to those neighborhood boys who were Missing In Action or wounded, and prayers would be said for them at each Mass.

I believe it was during these years that Mom began making a meat loaf. I am certain that it helped make a small amount of ground beef go further, and made a welcome break in the weekly menu of chicken, more chicken and some fish. I will say I never heard Dad complain about her family, or the fact that they had all our food stamps.

And while I am aware that good meat loaf falls into the gourmet category for some, to be honest, I have never made a meat loaf worth eating, I wonder why, or possibly, I really don’t want to know.