by Linda Ellen
Did you know that Clark Gable, the big Hollywood matinee idol, passed through these hallowed halls and beaches last year? From what I hear, he did great. Bigelow likes to rub that in—an older, Hollywood ‘softie’ (although I wouldn’t dare to call Gable that to his face) could make it, but some of us will wash out. Sometimes I hate that guy. Bigelow, not Gable, ha.
With a chuckle, Gary signed off that letter and started a third to Julie. For some reason, he wanted their correspondence to be equal, and with this one the score would be three to three. It’s funny how writing to her felt so…right. Already, it seemed as if they had known one another their whole lives. With a satisfied nod, he wrote again, Dear Julie…
The afternoon passed too quickly.
It was the most relaxing and enjoyable time he had spent since he boarded the bus in Louisville thirty days prior.
CHAPTER 11
Friday, March 21st
Louisville, KY
Julie stepped off the bus at Fifteenth and hurried the two blocks north to the factory. With one hand she held her coat tightly closed against the stiff breeze blowing in from the river, while clamping the other at the top of her head to keep her snood in place.
She’d never worn a snood before getting the job at Tucker. It was a bear to corral all of her hair inside the black, crocheted hairnet and as she was running a bit late owing to a slight traffic jam on Preston, she didn’t relish having to duck into the ladies’ room to wrestle with the aggravating headpiece if the wind should snatch it airborne. The thing was a pain, but it was required headgear for female employees in the plant, for safety reasons—something about which both Tucker men were adamant. Safety first; much like other pieces of clothing.
Glancing down at the dark slacks she was wearing, along with the sturdy black shoes, she grimaced. Sure not very ladylike, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Before moving to the city, the occasions in which she had worn slacks in public had been few and far between. Pants had been reserved for times when she’d mucked out the barn. But now after six weeks on the job, they seemed…natural and comfortable. Oh goodness, don’t let Mama hear you say that, Julie Anne. She’d worn dresses and skirts the first week at work, but had quickly switched to the clothing that the other girls at the plant had adopted. As fellow employee Doris Dempsey liked to say, “We’re not here to catch a man, but to do a man’s job, and that’s a whole lot easier wearing pants like they do.”
Casting a quick look at the sky above and noting the telltale signs that another storm was brewing, she wondered if good weather would ever come. It seemed like we’ve had bad weather every day since Gary left…first snow, then sleet, then rain, and now wind and thunderstorms… She didn’t realize that she had unconsciously begun to gauge everything by when Gary Tucker had left for officer training. Now, for the umpteenth time, she wondered how he was doing, and if the weather was any better in Florida.
Pausing for a car to go by, she then hurried across Lytle Street, the last intersection, noting the absence of the rush of cars and trucks that signaled shift change for the nearby factories. Concerned that she was later than she’d realized, she was trying to figure out a way to check her watch without letting go of her headpiece when she noticed Mr. Tucker coming from the opposite direction and about to enter the building. His head was down as he walked along, briefcase under one arm, hands shoved in his pockets, and he appeared to be deep in thought. Julie wondered if he was worrying about Gary. Or maybe even thinking about Mrs. Wheeler? That thought made Julie’s eyes twinkle.
As she neared, still watching Gary’s dad, now her boss, a particularly strong gust of wind pushed her sideways a few feet, causing her to squeal, “Whoa!”
A second later, the blast of air hit Mr. Tucker. As his hand reached toward the door handle, his fedora sailed right off his head and into the street. The old man immediately took off after it, yelling, “No! My hat!”
Julie’s eyes and mouth formed perfect O’s as everything seemed to speed up. What she saw, but he apparently didn’t, was a large truck carrying used tires, moving fast and only a few yards away from where the item had landed in the center of the street. Intent on rescuing his favorite hat, Mr. Tucker didn’t realize the conveyance was bearing down on him.
Her heart in her throat, Julie took off running toward him, pointing and shouting, “Mr. Tucker, look out! Behind you!”
In the motion of bending down to retrieve the errant object, the older man heard her words over the noise of the wind, stopped in his tracks and glanced to his left. Flinging his left hand up in reflex, he turned away from the impact as a metal brace bar holding the truck’s wooden side rails in place bashed against his knuckles. The truck’s tire missed rolling over his foot by a hair’s breadth before he lost his balance and fell backward.
Sure Gary’s dad had been struck by the huge vehicle, Julie screamed out in fright at the terrible scene and hurriedly shinnied between two parked cars and into the street as a loud screech sounded from the truck. The driver had urgently slammed on the brakes and the big transport vehicle shuddered to a stop. He threw it in gear and jumped out, sprinting around to see if the pedestrian was hurt.
As Julie reached her boss, who was now trying to sit up on the pavement, she noticed straightaway that he was cradling his hand. He seemed a bit dazed.
Words poured out of Julie as she knelt down next to him. “Oh Mr. Tucker! Are you all right? Oh my goodness, that was close!” The driver of the truck arrived seconds later and knelt at his other side.
“I’m sorry mister, I didn’t see ya…my lunchbox fell off the seat and I bent over to get it…dang fool stupid thing for me to do…if the little gal here hadn’t yelled like that…are you okay?” the man blustered, reaching out to help Gareth, Sr., to his feet.
Getting his legs under him, Gareth absently rubbed his already bruising hand as he looked around for his missing hat. “Yes. My hand hurts like the dickens, but I think I’m fine. No damage done, far as I can tell.”
“You sure Mister?” the truck driver queried, obviously relieved and anxious to be on his way.
“Yes, yes. My fault. Wasn’t paying attention.”
Satisfied, the younger man gave a nod as he and Julie helped Mr. Tucker back over to the sidewalk. Then, apparently confident that the young lady would take care of the man, the driver jogged back around and climbed up into the truck and drove away.
Julie glanced after it, musing that the man must be in a hurry, or possibly afraid that Mr. Tucker would call the police, as she was sure the truck had been going way too fast. As it turned the corner, she belatedly realized she probably should have gotten its license number. She shrugged, thinking, Too late now. Then, she looked over and saw her boss’s once stylish hat now a crushed version of its former self. Leaving Mr. Tucker for a moment, she hurried over and picked it up, returning quickly and placing it in his hands.
He examined the mangled, dirt encrusted mess that only seconds before had been his most cherished fedora and shook his head with a chuckle. “Thank you, young lady, for your quick thinking. Foolish old man that I am, I was intent on catching this and wasn’t watching the traffic. My thoughts were elsewhere.”
She brushed at the street dust, leaves, and dirt on his coat. “Oh Mr. Tucker, I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time. You could have been killed! Mama always says nothing happens by chance. This makes being late to work worth it,” she added with a sincere smile.
“Ahh, well then,” he presently replied, eyes twinkling. “Let me walk you to the time clock and make sure you don’t miss any pay,” he graciously declared, taking her by the elbow and escorting her inside. She found her card and punched in, and he signed a quick note on it for the accountant to figure her pay from the start of shift.
“Thank you, Mr. Tucker,” Julie acknowledged, about to turn and make her way to her locker when she noticed he was absently rubbing his hand. “You’re sure you’re all right? Your hand’s not broken, is it?”
Just then, Mabel Pierce, the bespectacled middle-aged secretary he had inherited from his son, walked up with a man that Julie had seen around the plant when Gary was still there. The other workers had said he was a representative from the Department of Defense by the name of Lee Kane.
“Mr. Tucker…” Mabel began, but the man interrupted, “Sorry Tucker, I know our meeting was scheduled for nine, but I’ve had something come up. Could we get our business done now?” He paused as his eyes lit on the sorry looking object in the factory owner’s hand, followed quickly by his disheveled appearance.
“Egads man, what goes on?”
“I had a bit of a run-in with a rubber-drive truck, I’m afraid,” Mr. Tucker chuckled good-naturedly. “If it weren’t for the quick actions of this young lady here,” he indicated Julie, still standing near the time clock, “I believe all of me would resemble my favorite fedora. Thank you again, Miss Banks.” He smiled his gratitude toward Julie as he reached out to shake the man’s hand.
As the two men turned to walk toward the stairwell, Julie heard Kane ask, “So, Tucker, how’s that boy of yours doing? He still in bomber school?”
Gareth, Sr., turned a proud smile toward the man. “Yes he is. He’s doing fine, still in his basic training. I received a telegram from him last Sunday and he’s sailing through just like I knew he would. He’s going to make a fine air corps pilot. Why just the other…” his voice cut off as the doors to the stairs closed, leaving Julie to ponder what she’d heard.
Gary had telegraphed his dad…on Sunday, but she’d written him three letters and he hadn’t answered her nary a word. For a moment, she wondered if he had received her letters and if he truly intended to write back.
Then suddenly, mortification washed over her and she felt her face grow hot as if she’d opened an oven door, at the thought that she had written and mailed three letters to a man before he’d even written her once. What had she been thinking? Goodness, he’ll think I’m khaki wacky before I even see him in khaki, she upbraided herself, although the thought did make her smile, just a bit.
But then, tightening the belt on her work trousers, she pressed her lips together in determination and marched to her locker to stash her purse and coat.
Well, I’ll not be writing him again if he doesn’t respond back. I’ll just chalk that up to experience. Remember that, Julie Anne. Just because a man hugs you during a few minutes of an emotional farewell and asks you to write doesn’t necessarily mean he’s serious. He probably couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Briefly peering into the small mirror attached to the inside of the locker door to make sure her snood was still on straight, she scurried on into the main area of the plant. Passing now familiar co-workers, both male and female, she nodded good morning.
Reaching her station, she rolled up the sleeves of her light blue, cotton button up blouse.
“Well, it’s about time you showed up,” groused black-haired, green-eyed, pinup-pretty Veronica Able, who maintained the spot across from Julie at the packing station. “The line started twenty-five minutes ago,” she whined in that tone of voice that grated on Julie’s nerves.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Julie apologized as she settled in to her job.
“You’re sorry. I broke a nail reaching over there trying to do your work and mine, and I’ve got a date tonight,” the other girl griped.
Julie refrained from answering. She just jumped in, catching up on her work and thinking she’d like to tell Veronica a thing or two—like she should be glad she’s got a guy to date. Or that the guy she wants to date is here and not miles away training…and soon to be even farther away…like in the skies over Europe.
“Here you go,” smiled the girl wearing a thin hairnet that barely controlled her wild red curls as she handed Julie a cup of vegetable soup to go with the ham on rye she had picked out in the plant’s lunch line.
“Thanks, Sue Ann,” Julie smiled at the cafeteria worker in the crisp, white skirt and blouse and wondered how those girls kept their uniforms so pristine serving food for hours, as she glanced down at her own dust-covered clothing.
“You’re welcome, Julie. Nice going, by the way,” the girl added with a twinkle in her eye. Before Julie could ask what she meant, the girl had turned her attention to the next person in line as everyone shuffled along sliding trays on the shiny metal tubing.
With a small shrug, Julie ambled on, answering another café worker’s query by pointing to a piece of strawberry pie and then a glass of iced tea to round out her lunch. Gathering her tray, she turned, looking for a table with an open spot at which to enjoy her thirty-minute lunch. Each floor of the three-story building had about one hundred workers and the production line on each floor shut down for a half hour while the workers ate in shifts.
“Over here, Julie,” called Gayle Patterson, a co-worker and neighbor whom Julie smiled at as she headed over. Setting her tray on the square table, she pulled out the one empty wooden bistro chair and took a seat.
Before she could even so much as pick up her utensils, the floor boss, Terry Carroll, walked by carrying his own tray.
“Way to go, hero,” he directed at Julie as he squeezed past, holding his tray up over her head.
Julie’s eyes widened and she jerked her gaze to his retreating back as the three girls at the table giggled.
“Don’t look so shocked, honey. The whole plant’s buzzin’ with how you saved Mr. Tucker’s life this morning,” Gayle informed in between bites of her sandwich.
“Yeah, tell us all about it,” urged Vonda Cooper, a buxom blonde that worked at the quality check station.
“You might even get a raise,” mused Nancy Perry as she shoved a bit of her unruly strawberry blonde hair back under her snood.
Julie met each girl’s eyes, feeling a bit flabbergasted that she had apparently been the topic of conversation in the plant that morning, but hadn’t had a clue.
“It wasn’t that much…no more than anyone else would have done,” she began, dipping her spoon into her soup and taking a sip. “I was coming down the street and saw Mr. Tucker about to enter the building. A fierce gust of wind blew his hat off his head and he went in pursuit of it. He didn’t see the truck coming. I did. I yelled. He stopped and turned. End of story.”
The girls then launched into different scenarios of what could and probably would have happened if Julie hadn’t been in the right place at the right time, each one glad that their boss had not been injured or killed. He was a fair-minded employer, admired by each of his workers—nearly as much as his son had been, but for different reasons.
“Who knows, he might reward you with an arranged marriage between you and that gorgeous son of his,” Vonda offered, eyebrows wiggling.
“Vonda! Gareth, Jr., used to be our boss, remember,” Gayle cautioned, albeit with pressed lips that were trying to hide a smile.
“Yeah, so?” the blonde shot back with a wink.
“And after all, the few weeks he was here after you started, Junior seemed to be noticing you,” Nancy pointed out before shoving a big bite of pie into her mouth. Speaking around the sweet treat, she added, “Talk ’bout a’ elig’ble bach’lor,” she swallowed, tacking on with a mischievous grin, “He is one fine looking man and rich to boot. I sure wouldn’t kick him outta bed for eatin’ crackers, no sir.”
The other girls cackled, but Julie wisely didn’t add her two cents nor let the girls in on the fact that she had danced with the object of their admiration—in his hotel room no less—and had even walked down the aisle with him, twice! Wouldn’t that be grist for the rumor mill! She was so very glad that he’d had the foresight to be careful in that regard, as there were some on the payroll who would take perverse pleasure in giving her a hard time if they knew. For that same reason, she hadn’t mentioned her adopted brother Gene being Gary’s i
dentical brother. It was just too long of a story, and it wasn’t really her tale to tell anyway.
Finally, Gayle blessedly changed the subject. “So, honey. You looking forward to your first Saturday night dance at the club?”
Julie gave a nod as she chewed a bite of her sandwich, thinking about what she was going to wear, and so glad that her new friend Gayle had fixed it so that she hadn’t been subjected to a one on one interview with the USO’s infamous Miss Warren. In the past six months, the club had lost quite a few of their junior hostesses due to so many of the girls meeting the soldiers of their dreams and getting married and leaving the organization. She was scrambling for replacements, as the flow of servicemen visiting the USO during the week and especially on weekends was constantly increasing.
Julie hoped becoming a junior hostess at the club would take away the gloom of the weekends. Part of her loneliness, she knew, stemmed from the fact that she hadn’t gone home for a visit since she moved to town. She missed her parents and her brothers and sister. For now, she determinedly pushed away the face and memory of the other person she was pining for…
Swallowing her last bite of sandwich, she smiled at Gayle. “I’ll be there with bells on.”
Gayle waggled her eyebrows and glanced at the other two girls before sending Julie a wink. “Better wear a bit more than that, or Warden Warren won’t let you in the door—no matter how many G.I.’s beg to differ.”
The four girls howled with laughter just as the bell rang the five-minute warning—always reminding Julie of school. She looked down at her nearly full cup of soup and untouched pie.
“Yipes! As Mama would say, I spend too much time flapping my lips and not enough using my teeth!” She laughed again as she scooped up her remaining lunch and gobbled as much as she could of it as she made her way to the large garbage cans near the door.
