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SETTING THE RECORD STRAIGHT – WORLD WAR II’s TUSKEGEE AIRMEN

2012-02-06T21:44:00.000-07:00

The story of the U.S. Army Air Corps’ all-black combat flying unit known as “The Tuskegee Airmen” has been told and retold by Hollywood film and television producers – most recently in the motion picture called “Red Tails”. In almost every case, the emphasis – and much of the attendant story-line – has been on the racial aspects of their unique place in military and social history. That would be understandable but for the fact that it almost entirely overlooks the legacy which those dedicated flyers left for us and for which they deserve to be most remembered.

It would be difficult, if not impossible, to tell their story without beginning with that of a figure who in my mind – as a proud Air Force veteran myself – is a larger-than-life military hero. Benjamin Oliver Davis, Jr. (1912-2002), was born in Washington, D.C. to a military family. During the worst of the “Jim Crow” era, he managed to attend university, and graduate from the U.S. Military Academy at West Point in the top 15% of his class in 1936. During those four excruciating years, he ate and roomed by himself, and was completely shunned by his classmates with the approval of the staff, in the hope he would drop out. No one spoke to him unless absolutely required by duties for four lonely years. Cadet Davis persevered.

After receiving his commission, and serving in a number of assignments, he was sent to teach military history to students at Alabama’s Tuskegee Institute, a black campus and a socially “safe” assignment in the minds of military leaders not wishing to embarrass themselves with segregation-minded observers. At the time, with war raging and the battlefield calling, he assumed command of a training unit which would “experiment” with the controversial idea of black pilots. At that moment he became one of only two black field commanders in all the U.S. military: one himself, Major Benjamin O. Davis, Jr., the other Brigadier General Benjamin O. Davis, Sr. – his father!

The men selected to train at Tuskegee were educated, dedicated to the idea of proving their excellence, and crafted by Davis into one of the most highly-disciplined and self-confident flying units of WWII. They flew outdated Curtis P-40 fighters into combat without complaint and with considerable success. Eventually the original 99^th Pursuit Squadron were combined with the 100^th, 101^st and 102^nd Squadrons to become the 332^nd Fighter Group of the 15^th Air Force, with Colonel Benjamin O. Davis, Jr. commanding them. Flying out of Italy with newer and faster P-51 Mustangs, they were assigned to escort and protect – at all costs - B-24 Liberators and B-17 Fortresses on long missions deep into the heart of Nazi Germany, including one historic flight of 1600 miles to Berlin. They became famous to the bomber crews because of their disciplined commitment to defending the “heavies”, not gallivanting after enemy fighters to achieve individual victories. They were widely recognized because of the bright red paint of their spinners and tail assembly. The fact that these “Redtails” were flown by black pilots and kept flying by black ground staff was not widely known at the time.

On the ground, Davis’s firmly-disciplined men did not engage in conflicts with their white comrades-in-arms, cause problems in civilian communities, or above all act like “school kids” in the cockpit; they had too much self-respect to bring dishonor upon themselves or the commanding officer who had imbued them with the sense of pride which touched them for the rest of their lives.

In all, 996 proud Americans flew as Tuskegee Airmen in WWII, supported by 15,000 fellow crewmen on the ground. They flew more than 15,000 combat sorties and 200 escort missions, shooting down 111 German planes and destroying another 150 on the ground. In search-and-destroy missions, they wiped out hundreds of railroad trains, convoys and other ground targets, and sunk an enemy Destroyer at sea. On the final Berlin mission, they managed to shoot down three much superior Me-262 jet fighters; and in all of this, only 25 of the thousands of U.S. bombers they were sworn to protect were lost to enemy fighter action during the 332^nd’s entire tour of duty.

Sixty-six Tuskegee Airmen were killed in action, while 32 became prisoners of war. Between them they received 150 Distinguished Service Crosses, 744 Air Medals, 8 purple hearts and 14 Bronze Stars. More importantly, these dedicated Americans loved and honored their country, the cause they fought for, and each other. And that is the way I choose to remember them.

After 34 years of active duty service, Benjamin O. Davis, Jr .retired as a Lieutenant General, later becoming a four-star General (as had his father). He was largely responsible for making the U.S. Air Force the first of the Services to end segregation.

Members of the 332^nd Fighter Group (The “Red Tails”) attend a pre-mission briefing in Italy. Over the years, the surviving Tuskegee Airmen have remained close friends, holding regular reunions. They are in their 80s and 90s today. Another of their number, Daniel “Chappie” James retired as a 4-star General in 1975.

Smithsonian Archives

FROM WORK BRITCHES TO HIGH FASHION - ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF BLUE JEANS

2012-02-06T21:23:00.001-07:00

Seeking a fabric which would stand up to a rough and salty working environment, 16^th century sailors and seamen came to favor a thick cotton material from India. Dyed blue from indigo, the low-cost cloth originally came from a place near Bombay with the name of Dongarii. Men of the sea thus called their long-lasting work pants dungarees, a term which stuck, and is still with us today. Many of those sailors had home ports in Spain and Italy, so not to be outdone, competitive cloth manufacturers near Genoa came up with a similar fabric called bleu de Gênes or “Genoa blue”. From there to “Blue Jeans” was not much of a stretch, and soon working men of every class on at least two continents were wearing both dungarees and blue jeans. Yet to be added was another trade name. And that would be “Levi s”

When gold was discovered in California in the second half of the 19^th century, a Bavarian-Jewish immigrant named Levi Strauss arrived in San Francisco in search of his own kind of “gold”. Following the lead of his New York family, he began supplying the hordes of newly-arrived miners with the dry goods they needed to carry on their pursuit, including work pants, often constructed from the same canvas material used in tents. Miners sometimes complained that the rough material chafed their legs as they worked, and tore too easily where seams met and pockets connected. One of Levi’s customers – a tailor named Jacob Davis - had an answer to the latter problem in the form of copper rivets he installed at these points of stress, along with double stitching on pockets and seams, becoming a partner with Strauss in making their reinforced “waist overalls” in a process earning U.S. Patent No.139,121.

The response to the chafing challenge was found with the introduction of a new and softer material shipped from the French port of Nîmes. For want of a more formal trade name, the fabric was known as “serge de Nîmes”, a moniker which would stick, even when manufactured somewhere else. And so, along with “dungaree” from India, “blue jeans” from Italy and the genius of two immigrants from Germany and Russia, the word “denim” from the French de Nîmes would join the very American lexicon of the times.

In 1885 a pair of Levi Strauss jeans, stitched by hand in the living rooms of women in their homes employed by the frugal partners, could be purchased for $1.50, and were popular almost entirely among working class laborers. By the beginning of the 21^st century, those Levi “Jeans” would be selling for as much as $200 among the fashion-conscious, with a “second-hand” market pushing even those prices upward. Today Levi Strauss & Co .is the world’s largest brand-name apparel manufacturer with 38,000 employees in 49 countries around the world. In a typical year approximately 20 million tons of indigo will be produced just for the purpose of putting the blue in “blue jeans”.

As far back as 1792, the term “overall” in early America described a protective, bib-and- brace garment favored by farmers and workers, often worn over the top of other clothing. During WW II, trousers made from denim became popular with women involved in war work, first in England and then the U.S., and a major clothing gender boundary had been crossed. This building sign is a surviving historic landmark in rural Utah.

Al Cooper photo

Double seam stitching and copper rivets became the patented hallmark of jeans made by the San Francisco entrepreneurs Levi Strauss and Jacob Davis more than a century ago.

“SECRET” SOLDIERS OF THE CIVIL WAR

2012-01-24T20:42:00.001-07:00

Private Albert D.J. Cashier of the 95^th Illinois Infantry was captured by Confederate defenders during the Siege of Vicksburg in May of 1863. An aggressive and hard-fighting soldier, Cashier managed to escape by physically overpowering the guards, seizing a weapon and outrunning a squad in hot pursuit. Cashier went on to fight in at least a dozen battles and skirmishes with the 95th throughout the Red River campaign and into the heart of Louisiana. Private Cashier was with the Army of the Cumberland when after six days of bombardment it broke through Confederate defenses in one of the conflict’s great drives toward Richmond and victory. Known throughout the regiment for bravery and fearlessness in combat, Cashier overcame all odds to finish the war without wound or injury. But “Albert” carried a secret thru all that campaigning. Private Cashier’s real name was Jennie Hodgers, a female immigrant from Ireland who had decided that in her new land, men had a better future than women.

Jennie was not alone. I have personally researched and verified at least 240 similar Civil War stories and agree with the experts in believing that as many as 1000 “secret” female warriors served on both sides during that titanic struggle. Martha Parks Lindley (AKA James Smith) served with the 6^th U.S. Cavalry where her skill with horses as well as with sword and carbine saw her promoted to Sergeant twice. And then there was Lieutenant Harry T. Buford, a southern officer who raised a Company of fighting militia and led them into battle. The self-proclaimed “Lieutenant’s” real name was Loretta Janeta Valazquez and her hunger for action took her to several battlefields, where she was once wounded and twice injured, still managing to disguise her gender despite medical treatment (a scenario which brought most female disguises to light). After two years of field service she became an undercover spy for the Confederate government, making a real name for herself in espionage history.

Sarah Edmunds serving with the 2^nd Michigan Infantry as Private Franklin Thompson, shouldered a musket, carried the mail (very dangerous duty), and tended the wounded through many engagements, including the costly battle of Fredericksburg, about which Edmunds carried searing memories for the rest of her very active life. (She wrote a book when it was all over.) Another “secret” soldier at Fredericksburg somehow managed to delay the birth of a child – surprising General Ambrose Burnside to say the least – until the battle was over.

It is known that at least five female soldiers fought at Gettysburg, including two Confederates who died in Pickett’s Charge, and a third who was shot, captured and had a leg amputated in a Northern hospital.

One of the most fascinating of all these stories is that of Marie Lewis of the 8^th New York Cavalry, a black woman who had escaped slavery, and passed herself off as a white male through 18 months of military service fighting for the cause of abolition, actually being selected to serve on a special honor guard presenting captured Confederate flags to the War Department in Washington.

Once “discovered”, female soldiers were often kept in their chosen regiment to nurse the wounded or otherwise serve in a support role. Most were promptly discharged and sent home where they were apt to be treated with disrespect by disapproving civilians.

In a particularly violent war and in an era in which men were expected to do the fighting, why would so many women wish to endure the everyday hardships of camp life and the welter of combat in such numbers? For many, the reasons were not that different than their male counterparts: patriotism, devotion to a cause, and the attraction of bonuses and regular pay. Some were trying to escape either an unhappy and unfulfilling home life or the oppressive social restrictions of the times. By far, most female soldiers enlisted to be with and support husbands, brothers, fathers or sweethearts, and many did so openly and with the knowledge of their commanders – especially in the South. One Confederate General said “they fight like demons; I wish I could recruit a hundred more.”

Confederate Lieutenant Harry Buford on the left and Loretta Janeta Velazquez on the right were one-and-the-same. Wealthy enough to afford false facial hair and body-molding wire bracing, this southern lady managed to show up on battlefields in the east and in the west, in addition to engaging in espionage. It is believed she may have been involved in the planning of an early Lincoln assassination prior to the Ford theatre event. She remains a controversial historical figure to the present day.
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P.S. Ironically, Al Cooper, a descendant of abolitionist/Union forbears, was honored by then Governor Zell Miller of Georgia with an appointment as “Lieutenant Colonel” in the Georgia State Militia for interstate cooperation during the Olympic Games.

WHEN THE NICKEL WAS KING - DINING IN DEPRESSION-ERA AMERICA

2012-01-24T20:19:00.000-07:00

As a very young lad, I was invited (read required) to accompany my dowager aunt on her weekly shopping pilgrimages to New York City, riding the No. 86 bus across the George Washington bridge, then enduring the noisy subway ride into the “downtown” area. As a “New Jersey country-kid” I did not look forward to these events; I was always uncomfortable when on the other side of the Hudson River, and bored stiff by long hours spent in such department stores as R.H. Macy’s, Gimbals, Altman’s and McCreary’s. My Aunt Molly was a product of a once well-to-do family living in Depression times, and her well-intentioned frugality was a source of extended-family humor. Verging on parsimony, her shopping strategy seemed to require frequent questioning of product pricing with vendors of all kinds; to my embarrassment and even horror. If there was one thing I actually enjoyed in these big-city ventures though, it was “lunch time”.

Growing up in first the depression era and then the World War II rationing years, “eating out” was both an infrequent and penurious experience. I remember visiting a “real” restaurant only once in all those years and not fondly,(the tuxedo-clad host – to my red-faced embarrassment - required me to put on a child’s generic necktie, which he was good enough to provide from a back room!).

While most often our “city” lunch consisted of a toasted club sandwich served at the fountain counter of a F.W. Woolworth store, my interest always perked up when told that we might eat at a Horn & Hardart “Automat”, one of which could be found in each of several downtown locations. To a New Jersey kid, the Automat, with its long wall of enticing views of pies, cakes and fancy deserts was a dose of visual magic. All you had to do was insert nickels in the appropriate slot and voila, the glass door opened and you could claim the object of your choice to carry back to your table. No waitress. No complicated menu. No printed receipt. No tips. Main entrees usually featured such simple and satisfying comfort foods as macaroni-and-cheese, baked beans, chicken pot pie, creamed spinach (not my first choice as I recall), and cole slaw. With a minimum of prudence, a hungry adult could have a filling meal for less than one dollar (my scrupulously nickel-conscious aunt usually managed to feed us both by “sharing”). All a patron needed was a handful of nickels, purchased if needed, from the cashier conveniently located just inside the front door. Of course what the diners never got to see was the small army of cooks and servers hidden behind the magic windows, preparing and instantly replacing each food item as its’ attractively-labeled serving niche was emptied from the customer side.

The genius behind the whole idea was the partnership of Joseph Horn from Philadelphia and Frank Hardart of New Orleans, pioneers in the whole concept of cafeteria dining and production-line food preparation. During the heyday of the Philadelphia and New York City operations, more than 500,000 Automat patrons were being served each day.

In its’ prime time, the lowly nickel could buy a ride on a bus or subway, a phone call, a 12 ounce bottle of Pepsi or Nehi, a cup of coffee, a double-feature movie ticket, or . . . a pretty-darn good piece of cherry pie at a Horn & Hardart Automat.

Surrounded by art-deco chrome and gilding, a Horn & Hardart vending wall featured individually cooled or heated compartments accessed by nickels inserted in coin slots.

COLD WEATHER COOKIN’ PART I

2012-01-24T20:00:00.000-07:00

As winter settles in around us, a new imperative seeps into the kitchens of thoughtful cooks and family-keepers. It’s time to consider the time-honored claim of soups as the ultimate cold weather comfort food, not just as a side-dish as too many Americans think of it, but as the very heart of a great dining experience. To kick off an occasional column on this subject in the months to come, here is a detailed celebration of one of my personal favorites.

WINTER SAVOY CABBAGE SOUP

1 small head of dark green Savoy cabbage

1 medium onion, chopped fine

½ lb. smoked turkey sausage, de-skinned & cut in rings

32 oz. chicken stock

½ cup red wine

1 can cooked Cannellini beans

2 cups cooked pasta (small pieces)

2-3 cloves of garlic, crushed

1 Tbsp olive oil

2 pats of butter

Salt & pepper

“pinch” of herbes de provence (optional)

1 Tbsp Balsamic vinegar for pot at serving time (optional)

Objective: An exciting combination of tastes and flavors, mouth-feel and aroma; a tenderness of cabbage without an over-cooked chewiness, (al dente); a good balance between solids and broth, with beans and pasta still intact.

In an enamel Dutch oven (or sauté pan) over medium heat, pan-fry sausage pieces in small amount of olive oil, adding crushed garlic as cooking begins, while stirring. As meat begins to brown slightly, drizzle in the half cup (or less) of red wine (Chianti works well), and slowly deglaze the pan with all its fond, setting aside for use later.

While the Dutch oven is still on the burner, begin to sauté the chopped onion, adding no more oil than the minimum. Meanwhile, quarter the cabbage, remove the stem pieces, and cut into thin shreds with a sharp chef’s knife. Cut into short lengths.

When onions are translucent – but not browned at all – set aside with the sausage mixture to be added in later. Melt two pats of butter in the still-hot pan and pan-sear the shredded cabbage, turning and mixing with a wooden spoon. This process is a key element of preparing Savoy: the idea is to slowly tenderize the cabbage, without actually “cooking” it through. We wish to preserve its natural dark green color while releasing flavor.

While all this is going on, have enough water coming to a boil in a small pot to pre-cook some broken-up pasta noodles, to be set aside to drain until the final moments of soup-making. (This way, the pasta will not absorb needed moisture from the finished soup.)

As the cabbage progresses, add back the meat/onion/garlic mixture which was set aside earlier. Begin adding chicken (or vegetable) stock, a cup or two at a time. I like to preheat the broth in the microwave in order to preserve valuable cooking temperature in the main pot.

Slowly add in the cannellini beans while gauging the tenderness of the cabbage. It will probably require 20-30 minutes of slow cooking to reach that stage. When almost done, add in the pre-cooked pasta and keep the pot warm for serving. Salt and pepper carefully.

Don’t be tempted to “water down” the finished product; always prefer to use some more stock to do so.

With its beautifully crinkled leaves and proud history, Savoy is the mildest and most kitchen-friendly of the cabbage family. A quintessential Italian favorite, it is known there as Cavolo Verza. Here it is pictured with two other mid-winter cooking “stars”.

A marriage of cabbage, smoked sausage, white beans and pasta, a cold weather soup such as this one offers both multiple levels of flavor and savings for the provident shopper.

WHISTLE STOPS, DONUTS AND THE SPIRIT OF AMERICA

2012-01-04T20:59:00.000-07:00

For young Americans of the World War II generation, the road to war usually began with a ride on a train. Sooner or later, whether heading to a training facility, or later when undertaking that thoughtful, uncertain journey to embarkation points on the east and west coasts and eventually the battle fields of Europe, the Islands of the Pacific, or the sea routes between, a steam-belching locomotive and a string of bare-bone passenger cars would become a never-to-be-forgotten interlude.

For the most part, these passengers would be made up of boys who had never even been away from home before, probably in their late teens and only recently acquainted with a shaving brush and razor. Almost every experience ahead of them would be a “first”, including the sense of loneliness and disconnect they would feel, even in the presence of surrounding companions in uniforms that didn’t fit too well and, who probably felt the same way. It was culture-shock times ten.

Less than two weeks after Pearl Harbor, the citizens of North Platte Nebraska got word that some of their own boys in Company D of the Nebraska National Guard would be coming through town on the tracks of the Union Pacific which ran right through downtown, on the south side of Front Street. Residents decided to meet the train and hand their sons refreshments and good wishes. The gathering was large, but it turned out to be a mistake: the passengers were Company D, but from the Kansas National Guard. The following day 26-year-old Rae Wilson a local store clerk wrote a letter to the editor of The Daily Bulletin suggesting that this effort had been so satisfying for both the givers and receivers that it shouldn’t end. “I say get back of our sons and other mothers’ sons 100 percent. Let’s do something and do it in a hurry! We can help this way when we can’t help any other way.”

That was the beginning of the “North Platte Canteen” where volunteers would meet every such train, with donuts, fruit, coffee, treats and warm “best wishes” for the boys in uniform coming through their remote corner of Nebraska prairie country. To begin with, it was two or three trains a day, but that soon increased to an average of 23, carrying from 3,000 to 5,000 troops each day. (By war’s end, it would reach 8,000 per day, with the canteen manned and supplied from 5:00 am in the morning to the last train of the night.)

In those days the population of North Platte numbered only 12,000, but somehow they managed – with some volunteers from other nearby communities – to operate their canteen throughout the war years serving more than six million servicemen on passing trains. And they did this without any official outside funding, unless you count the five dollar bill President Franklin Roosevelt sent them to show his support.

Among the thousands of side stories which could be told to illustrate the sheer logistics behind what was accomplished by this handful of dedicated Americans, consider the matter of coffee cups alone. This was in an era before paper plates and plastic cups. The train stops were limited to ten minutes, so the cups of hot coffee and cocoa were carried aboard by the departing G.I.s. The empty cups were dropped off at the next “whistle stop” to be returned to North Platte on a following train. No cup was ever lost from the vital circulating inventory!

If I had to explain to a visitor from abroad how it was that the United States was victorious in WW II to stand as a land of exceptionalism in so many ways, I would point to the Spirit of America which lived in every community of that era, and which was evidenced by the unmitigated patriotism of the people of North Platte. Theirs’ is – as one writer put it – “a love story between a country and its sons”.

Whether peeling hard-boiled eggs by the thousand, making up baskets of fruit, plying trays of hand-made sandwiches, or acting as “platform greeters”, mothers and daughters (with the behind-the-scene help of a lot of husbands and Dads) from 120 communities made sure that no troop train ever went “unmet” during their “whistle stop” in North Platte, Nebraska in the 1940s.

Photo Courtesy of Union Pacific

Al Cooper who writes the “Home Country” column crossed the continent by rail himself six times on wartime assignments in 1950-51, and has a special fondness for the porters on those trains who went out of their way for boys in uniform. (An article perhaps for another day.)

NOTE: For a heart-warming and in-depth look at North Platte’s “love story”, read Bob Greene’s “Once Upon a Town”