The United States was a different world in 1940. Journalist Cabell Phillips offered an overview:
The population was 131.6 million in 1940, up a scant seven percent over 1930. . . . The GNP was 97.1 billion, with federal government expenses running at just under 10% of that amount at 9.1 billion. About 7.5 million people paid federal taxes, with the tax rate at 4.09%. Only 48,000 taxpayers were in the upper bracket of incomes between $25–$100,000. And there were 52 people who declared an income over $1 million. The average factory wage was 66 cents an hour and take home pay was 25.20 a week. Urban families had an annual income of $1,463 and only 2.3% of these families had an income over $5,000 a year.7
Along with a house, Leo also owned a LaSalle automobile, which he allowed Carl to drive—a pretty good deal for any seventeen-year-old boy.
One Sunday Carl took the LaSalle downtown. It was around 3 p.m., and he was headed home after having a bite at a lunch counter. As he braked for a traffic light, his uncle Bill happened to pull up alongside him, then started waving, trying to get his attention.
Uncle Bill rolled down his window, motioning for Carl to do the same.
Uncle Bill was almost shouting: “Is your radio on? Turn to the news. Pearl Harbor’s been bombed.”
Carl did not fully understand.
“The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor,” Uncle Bill said. “That’s ours.”
On 25th Street, Dorothy and Leo also heard the news.
Dorothy, classical pianist that she was, always had Leo tune into the weekly 3 p.m. broadcast of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra on the CBS network. There was one large RCA radio set downstairs, and it wasn’t a bad way to pass a Sunday afternoon while reading the paper and catching up on small talk. That day Arthur Rubinstein was to perform Brahms’s Second Piano Concerto. But as Rubinstein was about to begin, CBS announcer John Charles Daly broke the news of the attack on Pearl Harbor.
Said Daly: “The Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, by air, President Roosevelt has just announced. The attack also was made on all military and naval activities on the principal island of Oahu.”
After Daly reported for thirty-three minutes, Rubinstein conducted a spontaneous rendition of the “Star-Spangled Banner.”8
Leo and Dorothy knew America was at war. Carl knew that somehow he would be part of it. He just did not know how downright dark and deadly it would be.
At Lehman High School on Monday morning, the mood was electric. Students were assembled in the auditorium to hear President Roosevelt’s address to Congress. America was going to war, and all the boys wanted to be part of the action.1
Carl was a little bit chagrined because he wouldn’t be turning eighteen until April, over four months away, and everyone believed the war would be over by then. Carl was disappointed he would not get a chance to fight.
Time seemed to slow down after the initial rush of excitement. Carl still had high school to finish. For the moment, Carl’s contribution to the war effort was limited to a small poem in the school paper.
“Answer to Goebbels”
Then have
You seen our men
As they walk home from work
Each clean and dirty, weak and strong?
You will.
The immediate optimism after Pearl Harbor faded with a string of Allied defeats and setbacks. With the fall of Hong Kong in December 1941, the fall of Singapore in February 1942, and the Japanese sweep across the Philippines, historian Paul Fussell noted that early 1942 was “close to the nadir for the Allies.” Time magazine declared the week of February 23 the “worst week of the year.” US radio stations were forbidden from using the transition phrase “and now for some good news.” That week President Roosevelt used the perseverance of Washington at Valley Forge as a theme for his Fireside Chat radio address.2
Carl joined the discussion when he entered the essay contest sponsored by the Canton Repository. On the same day as Time’s pronouncement, Carl won second prize in the City Division for his essay, “Right or Wrong,” urging Americans to buck up:
We have been told again and again that this will not be an easy war and that we must expect many defeats before final victory, just as we have been asked to have faith in the capacity of our leaders, our factories and soldiers, and our allies.3
Hometown Canton adjusted to wartime. The Hoover plant was producing hand grenades instead of vacuum cleaners.4 Diebold was making armored cars and airplane and anti-aircraft parts. Republic Steel manufactured armor plating, ordnance, and bombs. Hercules Motors churned out engines. And Timken—whose gun barrels and bearings were vital for the war effort—went from eight thousand employees at the beginning of the war to eighteen thousand by the end.5
These industries made Canton part of the war effort, but Timken Bearings was the talk of the town. The fact that most of America’s ball bearings were made in Canton meant the Nazis knew it as well. Everyone knew this meant Canton was number 11 on the list of German targets in the United States. Or maybe it was number 17. Anyways, it was up there.6
In April, Carl turned eighteen and registered for the draft. Lehman also adjusted to the war. Civics and history classes had radios for the latest war news. Defense stamps were sold every Thursday. Knitting clubs were organized.
But the seriousness of the war did not stop small-town eccentricities. The most quirky Lehman tradition for senior year was in the math department. The math teacher made a pact with the seniors at the beginning of every school year. If they could cover the entire year’s requirements in the first semester, the teacher would then use the time allotted for math class during the second semester to read Victor Hugo’s entire novel Les Misérables to his students. Carl’s class, like the preceding classes, accepted the challenge. It wasn’t so bad listening to and discussing the great novel as winter turned to spring.
The senior class gift was an ambulance, a converted 1940 Packard donated to the City of Canton, with funds raised through a scrap metal drive. The ambulance was presented at the June 5 graduation. The commencement speaker’s theme was the need for people of all races and backgrounds to work together.7
That fall it was off to join elder brother Fred at the University of Miami, just north of Cincinnati. Leo had not gone to college and was not too keen on Carl attending, but he agreed to send Carl under two conditions: that the college be in Ohio and that Carl major in business. So Miami it was, notably the Ohio college farthest from Canton.
As a freshman in the fall of 1942, it was difficult for Carl to take school too seriously. He was expecting to be called up at any moment, and he joined the army reserve program on campus, the Enlisted Reserve Corps (ERC).8
When Carl discussed the ERC with his mom and dad, they didn’t quite get it. They asked, “Can’t you just wait until you are called up?” Dorothy and Leo wanted Carl to stay out as long as he could. The draft was there and everyone was going to be grabbed sooner or later. There’s no point in going in any sooner. Take your time, they said. Those words of caution might have been just what prompted Carl to join. For as soon as he arrived at Miami, he hitchhiked to Columbus to sign up for the ERC at Fort Hayes.9
Albeit a reservist and still a student, Carl had officially signed up with the army. Throughout his life, Carl could recite his army serial number with a bit of pride: 15140578. It started with a one, which meant he was a volunteer. The draftees’ serial numbers all started with a three.
When the school year began, everything was near perfect. Carl was cheerful and proud of his accomplishments. It was good to be in college and nice to be on his own, though Carl did get homesick.