"A full moon, thousands of stars...but no Margie"

By John Gilboe

"A full moon, thousands of stars...but no Margie" offers weekly accounts of love letters written by the author's parents during World War II. Readers will get a glimpse into the daily lives of those deployed and those left behind. The actual words of the letter writers tell the story, and the reader will experience first-hand the joys, fears, frustrations, monotony, hope, and love of a generation of young people cast into the extraordinary times of a world at war.

The narrative begins with the story of a close-knit neighborhood "gang" of friends not far from their high school years enjoying summer vacations from their jobs in Detroit, Michigan. The attack on Pearl Harbor changed their futures immediately, and "getting in" to the service became a necessity. The disparate reality of when and how military service was achieved and its impact on the families of the soldiers who spread across the globe changed the nature of their relationships. The "gang" of friends and their families would never be the same.

Military service opened new opportunities for these soldiers from Detroit to visit parts of their country and the world they probably never imagined they would see. The author's father, Joe, carries the bulk of the narrative, and he experienced a number of firsts in his lifetime as a result of his service. Joe learned to ride and care for horses in the cavalry. He visited states to which he had never been, and he met, trained, and lived with soldiers from across the United States. Joe traveled thousands of miles over the expanse of the Pacific Ocean to reach New Guinea, Australia, and the Philippine Islands. He flew in an aircraft for the first time.

Joe often expressed loneliness and frustration about missing his "one and only Margie," and he developed a growing disdain for the Army, particularly its officers, that he reported in the form of "gripes." He displayed a curious mixture of intolerance and empathy for the native people he encounted in the countries of the Pacific. Joe outwaited all of this through a religious reliance on the daily letters he wrote to "his girl" back in Detroit.

Margie proceeded on the same letter writing course, but her notes left out much of the loneliness and frustration she was truly feeling. She viewed her letters as "talks" to keep Joe up on all the latest news and gossip back home. She tried always to be upbeat and informative in order to diminish the vast distance between her and "her boy." Once in a while, Margie reported the times that she felt worried and anxious and the times she cried herself to sleep, but she mostly kept those feelings out of her letters.

In a world today with instantaneous communication possibilities, it is difficult to contemplate that a letter sent by Margie, with the mundane news of a particular day, wouldn't reach Joe for nearly two weeks. Even more difficult to fathom in this era of online ordering and delivery, is the reality that packages mailed from Detroit often took many months to arrive in the Philippines.

Without letters, Joe and Margie, along with millions of other service members and their family and friends back home could not have navigated emotionally the years they were apart. Their personal story is a tiny particle in the vital history of the United States during World War II, but hopefully, it will remain as a solid touchstone for the generations of descendants who will follow these two sweethearts from a closely-knit neighborhood in Detroit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098327767

Book preview

©2020 All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover image: Margie, 18, and Joe, 20, on Easter Sunday, April 5, 1942

Print ISBN: 978-1-09832-775-0

eBook ISBN: 978-1-09832-776-7

Dedicated to Lynda, my best friend, my spouse, and as the songs say, the one who always believed in me even when I did not believe in myself.

I wrote this journal for Kevin, Laura, Morgan, Alexandra, and Sloane. It belongs to them forever and to their kids and grandkids and generations to come.

Contents

Introduction

Week: July 5 – July 11, 1942

Week: July 12 – July 18, 1942

Week: November 1 – November 7, 1942

Week: June 20 – June 26, 1943

Week: June 27 – July 3, 1943

Week: August 15 – August 21, 1943

Week: November 28, - December 4, 1943

Week: December 5, - December 11, 1943

Week: December 12, - December 18, 1943

Week: December 19, - December 25, 1943

Week: December 26, 1943 – January 1, 1944

Week: January 2, 1944 – January 8, 1944

Week: January 9, 1944 – January 15, 1944

Week: January 16, 1944 – January 22, 1944

Week: January 23, 1944 – January 29, 1944

Week: January 30, 1944 – February 5, 1944

Week: February 6, 1944 – February 12, 1944

Week: February 13, 1944 – February 19, 1944

Week: February 20, 1944 – February 26, 1944

Week: February 27, 1944 – March 4, 1944

Week: March 5, 1944 – March 11, 1944

Week: March 12, 1944 – March 18, 1944

Week: March 19, 1944 – March 25, 1944

Week: March 26, 1944 – April 1, 1944

Week: April 2, 1944 – April 8, 1944

Week: April 9, 1944 – April 15, 1944 & Week: April 16, 1944 – April 22, 1944

Week: April 23, 1944 – April 29, 1944

Week: April 30, 1944 – May 6, 1944

Week: May 7, 1944 – May 13, 1944

Week: May 14, 1944 – May 20, 1944

Week: May 21, 1944 – May 27, 1944

Week: May 28, 1944 – June 3, 1944

Week: June 4, 1944 – June 10, 1944

Week: June 11, 1944 – June 17, 1944

Week: June 18, 1944 – June 24, 1944

Week: July 16, 1944 – July 22, 1944

Week: July 23, 1944 – July 29, 1944

Week: July 30, 1944 – August 5, 1944

Week: August 6, 1944 – August 12, 1944

Week: August 13, 1944 – August 19, 1944

Week: August 20, 1944 – August 26, 1944

Week: August 27, 1944 – September 2, 1944

Week: September 3, 1944 – September 9, 1944

Week: September 10, 1944 – September 16, 1944

Week: September 17, 1944 – September 23, 1944

Week: September 24, 1944 – September 30, 1944

Week: October 1, 1944 – October 7, 1944

Week: October 8, 1944 – October 14, 1944

Week: October 15, 1944 – October 21, 1944

Week: October 22, 1944 – October 28, 1944

Week: October 29, 1944 – November 4, 1944

Week: November 5, 1944 – November 11, 1944

Week: November 12, 1944 – November 18, 1944

Week: November 19, 1944 – November 25, 1944

Week: November 26, 1944 – December 2, 1944

Week: December 3, 1944 – December 9, 1944

Week: December 10, 1944 – December 16, 1944

Week: December 17, 1944 – December 23, 1944

Week: December 24, 1944 – December 30, 1944

Week: December 31, 1944 – January 6, 1945

Week: January 7, 1945 – January 13, 1945

Week: January 14, 1945 – January 20, 1945

Week: January 21, 1945 – January 27, 1945

Week: January 28, 1945 – February 3, 1945

Week: February 4, 1945 – February 10, 1945

Week: February 11, 1945 – February 17, 1945

Week: February 18, 1945 – February 24, 1945

Week: February 25, 1945 – March 3, 1945

Week: March 4, 1945 – March 10, 1945

Week: March 11, 1945 – March 17, 1945

Week: March 18, 1945 – March 24, 1945

Week: March 25, 1945 – March 31, 1945

Week: April 1, 1945 – April 7, 1945

Week: April 8, 1945 – April 14, 1945

Week: April 15, 1945 – April 21, 1945

Week: April 22, 1945 – April 28, 1945

Week: April 29, 1945 – May 5, 1945

Week: May 13, 1945 – May 19, 1945

Week: May 20, 1945 – May 26, 1945

Week: May 27, 1945 – June 2, 1945

Week: June 3, 1945 – June 9, 1945

Week: June 10, 1945 – June 16, 1945

Week: June 17, 1945 – June 23, 1945

Week: June 24, 1945 – June 30, 1945

Week: July 1, 1945 – July 7, 1945

Week: July 8, 1945 – July 14, 1945

Week: July 15, 1945 – July 21, 1945

Week: July 22, 1945 – July 28, 1945

Week: July 29, 1945 – August 4, 1945

Week: August 5, 1945 – August 11, 1945

Week: August 12, 1945 – August 18, 1945

Week: August 19, 1945 – August 25, 1945

Week: August 26, 1945 – September 1, 1945

Week: September 2, 1945 – September 8, 1945

Week: September 9, 1945 – September 15, 1945

Week: September 16, 1945 – September 22, 1945

Week: September 23, 1945 – September 29, 1945

Week: September 30, 1945 – October 6, 1945

Week: October 7, 1945 – October 13, 1945

Week: October 14, 1945 – October 20, 1945

Week: October 21, 1945 – October 27, 1945

Week: October 28, 1945 – November 3, 1945

Week: November 4, 1945 – November 10, 1945

Week: November 11, 1945 – November 17, 1945

Week: November 18, 1945 – November 24, 1945

Week: November 25, 1945 – December 1, 1945

Week: December 2, 1945 – December 8, 1945

Week: December 9, 1945 – December 15, 1945

Week: December 16, 1945 – December 22, 1945

Week: December 23, 1945 – December 29, 1945

Week: December 30, 1945 – January 5, 1945

Afterward

Introduction

My dad dropped me off in front of the Southgate Public Library on Northline Road, and he waited in the truck while I went in to check out books. I had been there before with Mom and various combinations of my brothers and sisters, but I never visited by myself. I was probably seven or eight-years-old then. As I went through the front door, I felt both excited and nervous because I was able to explore all on my own, but I realized too, I was all on my own.

I headed straight for the history section and my favorite subjects there – The American Civil War and World War II. Reality struck when I realized that I needed to fill out the library book checkout form! I wanted those books, and I willed my hand to put the stubby-dull library pencil to the form. I hoped I had the basic information needed to be allowed to leave with my picks. Apparently, I did, because I have a clear recollection that I got back into Dad’s truck with my books and a new sense of accomplishment.

The Civil War had ended less than a hundred years earlier, but for me, that time seemed a part of ancient history. The daguerreotypes and photographs I studied in books had an almost mythical quality. The images I found there - the places, artifacts, and people of the period grabbed and held me far more strongly than did the text. I could focus on the pages of a single picture book for hours and set in motion the subjects I found there.

I’d wonder: Who were these people? What were they thinking about during the several seconds it took the camera to capture their images? What had they been doing just before and just after they were captured forever on fragile pieces of glass? I tried to look beyond the images to make faded black, white, gray, and yellow-tinged two-dimensions resolve into full-color moving and audible three-dimensional people and places.

World War II books produced a similar experience, but these stories felt much closer. My father had served in the Army and specifically in the Pacific Theater from 1943-1946. Dad did not talk a great deal about the war years, though he did bring up the lessons of his military training at dinner from time to time in the form of a threat to reform the table manners of his children.

He would demonstrate for us. A fork would be brought up vertically from the dinner plate with a reasonable amount of food on it to a point six inches from his face where it seemed to remain motionless for an eternity. Then, the fork was brought horizontally to his mouth and returned on the same 90-degree angle path back to the plate. The demonstration was enough, and we all minded our manners so we didn’t starve to death!

Mom would talk about the war years infrequently as well, but she used her memories to remind us of the value of sacrifice and patience. Specifically, Mom talked about the anxiety and the loneliness she and Dad endured through the years of separation caused by the war. Her focus was on the length of time he was gone and not knowing where he was exactly except for what scant location information military censorship allowed.

Though those scenes occurred a long time ago, their existence is clear to me in vivid movie clips of memory. The first time I ever saw the letters exchanged between my parents during World War II was when Dad cleared out everything stored in the attic space on the second level of our home. Our entire house consisted of two bedrooms and one bath contained within 1287 sq. ft., and Dad was insulating the eves as part of finishing the attic into a third bedroom. It was more like a dormitory room, as at that point, there were seven Gilboe kids. We needed the room.

One of the items that came out of the eves was a large storage trunk; it was the one Dad took with him to the Pacific during his military service. I recall all kinds of cool things stored in that trunk. Inside it were riding boots and spurs, military clothing, including mittens with a single index finger on the right-hand glove used for firing a rifle, strange-looking currency from the Philippines and Australia that referenced Japan, and stacks and stacks of letters neatly tied with shoe laces and ribbons.

The Gilboe kids learned these were love letters our parents sent to each other during the war. I cannot recall if we were allowed to read them at the time, or if any of my older siblings did so. My best recollection is that I didn’t try to, perhaps because cursive writing would still have been a bit of a mystery. I would not have been interested in love letters of any kind anyway, much less those from my parents. Yuck!

For the next 50 years or so, I thought about those letters from time to time, but I didn’t see them again until after Mom passed away in 2016. We already lost Dad in 2004, so my brothers and sisters and I had come together to distribute Mom’s possessions according to her wishes. Sometime earlier, Mom had given the letter collection to my brother, Jim. I borrowed the letters from him to read and to scan each one and to make copies for my children, grandchildren, and for generations beyond.

The task of reading and scanning every page of hundreds of communications from 1942-1946, including envelopes, clippings, artifacts, newspapers that accompanied the letters, and numerous cards and letters in the collection from other family members and friends of Joseph Robert Gilboe and Marjorie Katherine O’Rourke, Joe and Marge, seemed like an impossible task. In fact, to catalog the individual pieces of correspondence, I had to come up with a naming and numbering system to organize the material in a chronological way that identified writers, recipients, dates, and locations. The name I assigned to the entire project was a simple one that I could use in my cataloging. I called it WMLL – What Madness Looks Like.

The project tools were simple. I used a $69.00 printer/scanner, a magnifying glass, index cards, and a legal pad. I read and scanned the letters, cards, photographs, newspaper clippings, and other miscellaneous artifacts sent to and from Joe during 1942-1945 among relatives, friends, acquaintances, and in one case, Mynna Granat, the secretary of the celebrity, Irving Berlin!

Next, I placed the letters Joe and Marge, or Margie, as he often called her, shared in chronological order beginning in 1942. The letters were already divided into those written by Margie to Joe and vice versa, so I scanned them separately for each year. I made copies of photos that I either found in the letters or in our family’s collection of photographs of people and places mentioned in the letters.

Finally, I copied a small collection of an eight-page military newspaper Joe sent home with his letters. He included editions of the Daily Pacifican while he was stationed in the Philippines and after the war with Japan was over in August of 1945. These newspapers were of particular interest to Joe because they often reported on the progress of demobilization and troop discharge based upon service points. Due to the size of the paper, I could not easily scan it, so I just made copies of them. The originals are in remarkably good shape for having been folded up, placed in an envelope, and shipped across the Pacific Ocean and a good stretch of the U.S. on their way to Detroit, Michigan.

The collection, mostly individual pages of letters, resulted in a little over 4000 files. My cheap little scanner was a champ and survived the project with only a broken lid hinge when the scanning was completed. A bit of duct tape fixed it up, and the hero of WMLL was ready for its next tour of duty. Unfortunately, one very disappointing revelation about WMLL presented itself.

Joe and Margie were amazing in their ability to write to one another almost daily throughout the entire time Dad was in the service. Missed writing days were confined to periods of time Dad was aboard ship or plane traveling among several camps and locations, when he was on training exercises, or if other duties in the field prevented him from doing so. Mom had very few lapses, and they were due primarily to responsibilities she had at home in supervising younger siblings in addition to working full time.

However, from May 24, 1944, to December 14, 1945, there were no letters in the collection from Margie to Joe except for a few holiday cards sent by her to him during that time. It is obvious that those letters existed, and they probably numbering in the hundreds. It’s clear that Margie was writing to Joe during that period because he referenced her letters and provided answers to questions she posed. Sadly, they appear to be gone forever. What is encouraging though is that all of Dad’s letters seem to have survived the decades. What follows then are weekly summations of their correspondence with reflections of my own on what they wrote. I hoped to capture not only their special relationship but their communications within the context of the times.

Mom was a night owl, and consequently, her letters were often written late at night or during the early morning hours of the next day. She generally did not start writing until around 11 pm or later and after all the other tasks of her day were completed. Margie’s letters were usually six to eight pages long, but she often wrote a dozen pages effortlessly in beautiful cursive. She wrote to have a little talk with her boy about life at 4810 Vermont Avenue in Detroit where she and her family lived. She also kept Joe up to date on the latest news and gossip in the neighborhood. Many of their young adult male friends and relatives had left to serve in various branches of the military, and Mom acted as a kind of clearing house and command center for information about their network.

Margie would describe on again, off again, relationships among couples in their tightly knit group of friends due to the separations caused by the war. She would write about her own visits to Ottawa, Ontario, where her grandmother and her uncles owned a 500-acre farm that had been in the family for generations. There were at least a couple of local fellows there who were interested in Margie. She would tell Joe about it, and he would tease her about taking them up on their offers to date her. Joe would refer to one of those guys, not by name, but by the number 850, since that fella owned that many acres of farmland.

Mom was the eldest of six children in the O’Rourke family, so she often had babysitting duty. At times, when her mom, Mary O’Rourke, visited the farm or otherwise went out of town, Margie took on the bulk of the domestic responsibilities in the Vermont Avenue home. She had a beautiful voice and sang in church for weddings, held a full time job at Bohn Aluminum and Brass Corporation where she reconciled the company’s books, visited relatives and friends often, including Joe’s family where she picked up extra butter, sugar, and other food items rationed during the war, went roller skating, although less so than when Joe was gone, and wrote letters – hundreds of them.

Dad’s letters described and critiqued 1940s music and movies in their contemporary light, as he was a fan of both forms of entertainment. He also wrote at length on his opinions of military service, and it’s clear that his view changed radically over the course of the war years. Dad described in detail the ordinary time spent in camp and the monotony and boredom that characterized the daily existence of the average Joe soldier.

He was a keen observer of the day-to-day details of people and activities in the places he found himself. Joe did not drink, smoke, gamble, or go out on the town to while away the time in the places he was stationed like a lot of soldiers did. He worked at various assigned duties, went to live music performances, watched movies when they were available, cut and hammered coins into rings and bracelets to give away as presents, played cards and ball, read books, newspapers, and magazines, traded or sold his rations of cigarettes and beer, and wrote hundreds of letters too.

Joe was more connected to political and Army news than to any other type he read in the newspaper or heard on the radio and through the rumor mill. Many of his observations, especially after the war ended, had to do with his views on the pace of troop withdrawal from the Pacific Theater and how it was being handled and reported by military brass. Like a lot of folks, and in the context of the views and events of the time, Joe shared strong opinions about culture, ethnicity, and race, with and about military service members and those he encountered through the places he was stationed in the Pacific.

While his direct references to those views did not overpower the narrative of his letters, they are there and obvious from time to time. So too were other and opposite points of view found in the letters-to-the-editor Mail Bag section of the Daily Pacifican that he sent home towards the end of his time in the service. These calls from military personnel for justice and an end to bigotry and racism often provided a stark counterpoint to commonly accepted views of the times.

When Dad was finishing the attic, and the existence of the letters he and Mom exchanged became known, I, like most kids, was anxious to help him with the remodeling work. I was not old enough to use all the interesting saws and other tools he employed. Dad told me that I could follow behind him while he varnished the raw pine wall boards and pick out the brush bristles that stuck to the wood. The job wasn’t as fun as pretending the drill motor reminded me of the six-shooters the stars on Johnny Yuma or Gunsmoke had, but I took it seriously, nonetheless.

I used a somewhat similar approach to the story here. My hope was to present the collection of letters in their unvarnished form without removing but a few of the unattractive bristles. Inappropriate and offensive names connected to race did not appear in this effort, and they were replaced with -----. From time to time, I commented on letter content with an observation or question based upon what I knew additionally about my parents, our relatives, family friends, and the people and events of the era.

One day, when I was in my late teens, Mom and I had a mildly heated discussion about the military draft and the American involvement in Vietnam. Her view was related to a patriotic stance about the draft and the need to do one’s duty for the country. I countered with the vast differences between the war in Vietnam and Dad’s involvement in the Pacific Theater during World War II.

Then I made a mistake. I told Mom that she never had to worry about being drafted or having to live at the risk of being killed in some jungle halfway around the world. She agreed, but she also said that she did have to wonder each day, for years, if she would ever see someone she loved come home from such a place. Adolescent insensitivity allowed me to be dismissive of that response then, but subsequent reflections over the years and certainly my recent interaction with Joe and Margie through their letters of 1942-1946 evaporated my hubris and impatience.

Their story became a common one of youth and love in a comfortable family neighborhood in Detroit, Michigan, abruptly interrupted by threatening and dangerous worldwide events foreign and out of the control of the participants. It is a record of the devotion and longing they had for one another, the incredible perseverance that saw them through all of it, what they experienced along the way, and the obligation I have to family to pass it on.

Week: July 5 – July 11, 1942

Location: Three Rivers, MI / Detroit, MI

From: Joe &The Boys / Margie

To: Margie / Joe

Quote: I am missing you greatly.

Joe’s first note in the Joe/Margie collection

On July 7, 1942, barely six months after the United States entered World War II following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, Joe and his friends sent the following post card from Three Rivers, MI. They had rented a cottage for a kind of Boys summer vacation. These postcards and other letters to Margie represent the earliest communications in the collection.

The Boys consisted of friends Doug Bohrer, Norb Joyce, Dick Koss, Eddie Allen, Don Baugman, Jack and Frank Van Dusen, Ken Frahm, and others who knew each other from the Detroit neighborhoods where they grew up and the schools they attended. Joe and the Boys sent individual post cards to Margie from Three Rivers, and some of the checked items on the Busy Person’s Correspondence Card seem rather odd details to supply to a girl back home, especially if one identified her as his girlfriend: I Have Seen Lots of Good-looking Girls, and I’m Looking Over The Sand Witches.

I Have Seen … Lots of good-looking girls

A note to Margie from The Boys

Sand Witches

Three Rivers, MI is located roughly equidistant from Kalamazoo, MI and South Bend, IN at the confluence of the St. Joseph, Portage, and Rocky rivers. Joe and his buddies rented a cottage on Fisher Lake, as Joe described it. Provisions brought along for the trip included a case of Wheaties, and pies baked by Joe’s mom, Rose Gilboe. Swimming, fishing, boating, playing baseball, sun tanning, taking photographs, and roller skating were favorite activities during these vacations from Detroit.

Joe described new skates he bought for the trip as really HEP TO THE STEP, and the cottage experience in general as UTOPIA. Not all was going well for Doug, because he missed his girl back home, Mary Jane Corey. It appears that Joe and his friends took turns teasing Doug about not receiving any mail from Mary Jane. Norb began singing, Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree (pause) with anyone else but Douglas; Mary Jane, and later he played the record, How Come You Do Me Like You Do Do. Joe closed his note to Margie with, Well I guess I’ll cut all this line and get back to razzin’ my boy, and he followed it with a quick trip to town in time to make the afternoon post.

Margie’s first note in the Joe/Margie collection

Margie was sorry she missed Joe before he left on his trip to Three Rivers. She, Marge Foley, and some other girls had gone on a trip to Put-in-Bay, on Lake Erie near Port Clinton, OH, and they didn’t return in time for her to say goodbye. Margie also doubted the sincerity of Joe and the Boys and their devotion to attending early morning Mass at 6:30 am as reported in his note. Tell me another one, she wrote.

Week: July 12 – July 18, 1942

Location: Detroit, MI / Three Rivers, MI

From: Margie/Joe

To: Joe/Margie

Quote: At the present I am a lady of leisure.

Margie was layed off from her job at Bohn Aluminum and Brass Corporation on Friday, July 10, 1942, for a couple of weeks or so. Marge and Mary Jane, who worked in a different department at the same company, kept their positions. The time off allowed Margie to make trips to the dentist to have two teeth pulled and one tooth filled. Although she fretted over the anticipated experiences for the entire day before the first appointment, she commented that, It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

Margie stayed up late, until 3:30 am, helping Mother get Jim’s clothes ready for Canada. He left at 7 o’clock this morning, so we have gotten rid of one of the wild kids. She also bought a new bathing suit so she and Marge could go swimming some night this week.

Joe didn’t think it was a bad thing that Margie was out of work for a while. He thought it would be a good chance for her to catch up on sleep. He also noted that, I would like to see a certain sharpie in a sharp slick bathing suit. I’ll bet it’s tough to beat. Margie’s reply let Joe know she would christen that ‘sharp suit’ as you call it, Wednesday evening. She also reported that she had a pretty good time at the USO dance on the previous Sunday, but it ended early because the Boys had to be back on their posts by midnight. I never listened to so many woes in my life.

Week: November 1 – November 7, 1942

Location: Detroit, MI

From: Local Board No. 26/Westinghouse Company

To: Joe/U.S. Army Air Corps

Quote: I have found him very willing to learn and easy to instruct.

Joe received a release from the local draft board to apply to the Aviation Cadet Examining Board No. 4 in Detroit. He obtained complementary letters of reference from his employer, Westinghouse Electric and Manufacturing Company, as part of that application. Ultimately, he was not inducted into the Army Air Corps after failing a vision test. He wasn’t able to distinguish certain hues of color, and his color blindness prevented his admittance to the Aviation Cadet program.

Joe’s Local Board No. 26 release to apply to the Aviation Cadet Examining Board No. 4

...willing to learn and easy to instruct.

A letter from the Selective Service for Jos. Robert Gilbie

The day after Christmas in 1942, Joe received a Selective Service System Order To Report For Induction from Local Board No. 26 in Detroit. The order was dated on Christmas Eve, 1942, and it required Joe to report to the second floor of the Book Cadillac Square Building at 8:00 am on January 4, 1943. He might have made an argument that Selective Service had the wrong guy since they were looking for someone named Gilbie. However, all indications in subsequent letters indicate that Joe, like a lot of American men and women of the era, was anxious to serve in the military.

Joe was classified 4F based upon his physical examination, as it revealed that he had a hernia. That classification ended his immediate ability to enter the service. He needed to have surgery to correct the problem, and later in the year he would do so. Joe returned to work at Westinghouse and continued to correspond with Margie by letter when either or both were not at home in Detroit. Margie would sometimes travel to Ottawa, Canada to visit family members on her Mother’s side at the Timmins farm. Joe and members of the Boys club would travel to Port Austin, MI to spend vacation time during the summer much as they did the previous year in Three Rivers.

Notice of Classification…4F

Week: June 20 – June 26, 1943

Location: Ottawa, Canada/Detroit, MI

From: Margie/Joe

To: Joe/Margie

Quote: He still thinks there’s no one like himself.

Margie’s letter to Joe after a long train ride to Ottawa

Domestic travel in 1943 often meant a ride on a train. Security, especially during wartime, was a priority, but customs practices then were quite different from those in place today. Margie and Marie, Margie’s younger sister, arrived by train in Ottawa late on a Saturday night. Their bags had not been checked by customs in Detroit, so they needed to be checked upon arrival in Ottawa. No customs agent was available when the train arrived in Ottawa, so the bags could not be released to passengers until the next day. Margie had to go to the Timmins farm without her bags that night and attend church the following morning wearing the same clothes she wore on the train from Detroit. The next day, a Timmins family friend happened to be in Ottawa, so he picked the up the bags after they had been checked by customs. That process might raise some eyebrows these days in an airport immigration checkpoint!

Margie noted that Alphonse, a Timmins neighbor who also owned a farm, came for a visit upon her arrival. Alphonse was a young guy who seemed to have an interest in Margie, but feelings were not mutual if her letter to Joe is any indication of it. Say you wouldn’t guess who was here today. He was here from 2:30 yesterday afternoon until 12:30. He still thinks there’s no one like himself. No change just the same old jerk. Poor Alphonse, at least he should have received some points for persistence.

Joe responded to the Alphonse story with a bit of teasing. He said that Margie shouldn’t begrudge Alphonse her companionship and encouraged her to give him the breaks like another guy…principally because it seems that he is the man of the hour. Joe and Margie always liked to razz one another.

On June 24, 1943, Margie noted, That’s quite a riot you’re having over there. She was referring to the civil unrest that struck Detroit during June 20 -22, 1943, that involved the deaths of dozens of people, mostly African Americans and injuries to hundreds of others. Although Detroit was a largely segregated city, racial tensions had risen because of the influx of hundreds of thousands of workers drawn to Detroit to contribute to the war effort.

Racial segregation, prejudice, and bigotry were sad, destructive, and regrettable facts of life in Detroit in 1943, and of course, throughout the entire world then at war. Racial epithets found in Joe’s letter in response to Margie’s observation of the Detroit riots and in later letters that used negative language connected to race have been eliminated. The removal was deliberate and intended not for the protection of those who used the offensive language, but to reflect a sensitivity to the ongoing problems connected to racial prejudice and bigotry that still and sadly remain with us more than seventy-five-years later.

Joe wrote, My dear lend an ear and listen. In Detroit commencing Sunday night June 20, 43 the worst race riot in the history of Michigan took place. He went on to describe how a sailor was walking with a girl at the entrance to the Belle Isle Bridge when another man made a remark to the sailor’s girl, and a fist fight ensued. That altercation prompted a wider fight among African Americans and white folks that spread to large parts of the city.

He added, It got so bad that the police were more or less powerless and it necessitated calling troops from Camp Custer to patrol the streets in Army tanks with mounted machine guns and rifle clad soldiers. Incidentally, these boys mean business. Belle Isle on the Detroit River was closed as were beer gardens and other places that sold liquor. A curfew was set in place from 10:00 pm until 6:00 am while rioting was underway. Joe lamented, And all during the fight I’m home washing walls and listening to police calls. You should of heard them Monday night those cops were really on the run. It’s about time they did some work. Even cops got shot too. Joe wrote that he would rather be out on the street fighting instead