The Liberators of Willow Run

by Marianne K. Martin

  Audrey stood with her crew and hundreds of workers and executives to watch their last contribution roll into the sunlight. It was a magnificent war machine, carrying the pride of Willow Run.

  “We did it, Jack,” Audrey said. “All of us. We did it.”

  Jack nodded. “Those are our planes that won this war. And Mr. Ford knows it. He’s takin’ his name off that Lib, wants the workers to sign her nose—us,” he said, adding a proud smile. “This is the best damn job I’ve ever had.”

  The best for so many. The only job for some. Audrey joined the cheering throng as the plane came to a stop. There was much to celebrate—the pride, the victory, her independence. Her own place in the world, she’d found that here. But maybe more importantly, the world had grown larger than her grief, and offered redemption. Yes, there was much to celebrate today. It was the tomorrows that had her worried.

  The rumors circulating for months had finally been confirmed, the Willow Run plant was being sold to Kaiser-Frazer for mass automobile production. Also confirmed was the fate of thousands of jobs.

  Ruth dished out the casserole she’d brought home from the restaurant and joined Audrey at the table.

  “Was anyone on your crew spared?” Ruth asked.

  “Jack and Bennie.”

  “Only the men.”

  Audrey took a sip of her coffee. “Uh, huh. But I wouldn’t want either of them to lose a job. Jack has a family to take care of, and Bennie, he doesn’t have a lot of options.”

  “Do you think they will keep any women?”

  “Maybe in clerical. Returning soldiers will have first option on the rest.”

  “Is Nona going to be okay?”

  “She’s the one who encouraged me to buy more government bonds. She knew it was only a matter of time for her, so she’s been putting money away. Nona wants to get into college, and if anyone can do it, she can.” She waited for Ruth to look up. “It’s June I worry about. Two kids and a husband MIA. If I were working, I’d help her.”

  “I know you would.”

  Audrey leaned back against her chair. “I’ve got no place to go tomorrow,” she said, as if the realization had just taken on its full weight. “I got no place to go, nothing to do.” No purpose, no mission, no way of making her own money. That it frightened her was unexpected. Independence had seeped into her cells, as much a part of her as the blood coursing through her veins. Or so it seemed. “I just realized something,” she said, worry evident in her tone. “The war was our protection, women like me. War, Ruth. The world full of fear and bombs and death. That world needed us. We were essential, so that made it alright—for them to hire us, for us to take advantage of the chance. A chance I never would have had if the world hadn’t exploded in war. There is something about that, that seems very wrong.”

  “We can’t choose our chances,” Ruth replied. “Just take hold of them when they’re there. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever see a chance like that again. What am I going to do now?”

  “What are we going to do?” Ruth asked. “For now, we have a place to live, we have a car, and we have my job. Waitressing will never make the money you were making, but it’s acceptable and I can’t imagine any soldier walking into The Bomber to take over my apron.”

  The corners of Audrey’s mouth lifted slightly. Ruth left her chair, circled behind Audrey, and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. She kissed the smooth, warm skin of Audrey’s neck. “I know you are worried,” Ruth said softly. “But we are going to be fine.”

  “I do know one thing. I do not have the patience you have working with the public. Martin would have my apron the first time I accidentally threw my hip into the back of a rude customer’s chair.”

  “So, you will get another job.” Ruth replied. “And as for doing something important? Oh, we have plenty to do.”

  Chapter 35

  FIRST ATOMIC BOMB DROPPED ON JAPAN;

  MISSILE IS EQUAL TO 20,000 TONS OF TNT;

  TRUMAN WARNS FOE OF ‘RAIN OF RUIN’

  The New York Times, Tuesday, August 7, 1945

  Japan had rejected the July 26th Big Three Ultimatum. So, carried in the belly of a special B-29, a uranium atomic bomb was dropped on the city of Hiroshima. The enemy was stunned, the destruction unprecedented. More deaths than any single bomb had ever caused, but still Japan rejected surrender. Three days after the first, a B-29 named Bockscar dropped another—a bigger, more powerful plutonium bomb, on the vital port of Nagasaki. Truman’s warning of a “rain of ruin” was no bluff.

  Just over a week later, with the anticipation of yet another bomb needed, Jack met Audrey at The Bomber where she had claimed a table for them in Ruth’s section.

  “How’s the training going?” she asked as he eased into the chair across from her.

  There was none of the usual urgency in his movements, no no-nonsense tone in his voice. “Ah, they act like I’ve never even seen the working end of a screwdriver. I could work any part of their assembly in my sleep. And so could you.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll never get that chance again.”

  Jack slowly shook his head. “I know our boys need jobs when they come home, but it doesn’t seem right to throw out an already trained work force.”

  “I wish the powers that be felt the same way,” she replied. “I know there are a lot of women who are happy not to have to work now, but there are a lot of us who want and need to work, too.”

  “If it was up to me—”

  But Martin burst from behind the counter. “It’s over!” he shouted. “It’s finally over! Japan has surrendered! NBC just announced it.”

  The restaurant erupted into shouts and cheers. Many stood, grabbing each other in celebratory embraces, and Audrey, too, stood and welcomed Jack’s strong embrace.

  “There it is,” he said, before releasing her. “What we worked all those hours for.”

  Ruth squeezed between people and tables and made her way into Audrey’s arms, and then Jack’s. “It is really over, isn’t it?” she said, her eyes wide, her face illuminated with excitement. “Things are going to be so much better, I just know it.”

  Over? In the larger sense, yes, it was over. Life on the home front would be better in many ways. Remote pockets of enemy resistance in places like China, Guadalcanal, Peleliu, and parts of the Philippines would require continued military effort, and troops would be needed for the occupation, but today marked victory.

  The trickle of returning soldiers would soon become a flow, the production of war machines and materials would drop to an all-time low, and society would be looking forward to returning to life as they knew it before the war.

  It seemed the night should be a big night of celebration, and it did start out that way. It began with Jack and Lucy and the crew—everyone except June. The end of the war for her did not bring the joy that it brought the others. She had no husband coming home to celebrate, and still no word of either hope or closure. They would have to celebrate without her. A few drinks had turned to a bit of dancing, then morphed into a quieter night at Nona’s.

  Mrs. Bailey was attending a prayer celebration at the church, and Nona had begged off to spend the evening with Audrey and Ruth. Adding a few more drinks to the beers of earlier in the evening was all that Audrey needed to let emotion have full rein.

  “It’s not all good news, you know.” She held her drink with both hands, leaned forward from her chair to rest her arms on her knees. “Not for us.” She looked from Ruth to Nona sitting across from her on the davenport. “What are we going to do now?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t worry so much,” Ruth replied. “We’re going to be all right.”

  “How can you be so optimistic?” Audrey’s frown lines deepened. “We’ve proven what we can do. We can do any job a man can do, as well as a man can do it—sometimes even better. But it’s not going to matter, not anymore.”

  “Why are you so sure of that?” Ruth asked. “Just because you
don’t have the plant job doesn’t mean there won’t be something else.”

  “Then you haven’t heard the same talk that I have. You’ve heard it, haven’t you, Nona?”

  “All my life.” Her tone lacked the angry edge of Audrey’s. “ ‘That’s not your place’, ‘Who do you think you are?’, ‘You’re just a Negro, you need to know your place.’ And if it wasn’t for my parents, I would have believed it.”

  “Not believing those limitations yourself is one thing, but if enough of the world believes them then you’re trying to live in an echo chamber.”

  Ruth met Audrey’s eyes. “You’re admitting defeat before you’ve fully entered the war.” Then Nona’s eyes. “Are you surrendering, too, Nona?”

  “Those limitations are just substitutions for the shackles we’ve already shed,” Nona replied. “How could I justify negating the tenacity of Mary Terrell or the courage of Harriet Tubman? I have far fewer obstacles than they faced and look what they accomplished.” She shook her head. “No, no surrender here. I’m stronger than I look, smarter than most will give me credit for, and I have a plan.”

  Ruth directed her words at Audrey. “You’re right, we have proven a lot of things—to ourselves and to others. We’ve made a difference and we can continue to make a difference.”

  “I really believe,” Nona said, “that anything is possible if we are willing to take the risks and if we can brave the bumps and bruises. Think about how you got the right to vote.”

  Audrey sat back in her chair. Her shoulders relaxed, her expression softened. “I know you’re right, both of you. Neither of you let anger keep you from moving on.” She nodded her resolve. “I have to learn to do that.”

  Chapter 36

  Although a state of war still exists, it is at this time possible to declare, and I find it to be in the public interest to declare, that hostilities have terminated. Now, therefore, I, Harry S. Truman, President of the United States of America, do hereby proclaim the cessation of hostilities of World War II, effective twelve o’clock noon, December 31, 1945.

  Doubt had made its way past confidence, slipped by expectation. It had taken nearly a year, but doubt had won its place in Audrey’s life. It boasted after months of Audrey attempting to be a secretary, enduring a skirt and hose and condescending comments, unable to tame Remington keys that had a mind of their own. And it gloated now every morning as she cinched the wide belt tightly around the waist of the floral-printed tea dress, the required attire behind the J.L. Hudson jewelry counter.

  Every time a job opportunity that she felt better suited for was filled by a man instead, Audrey lost hope that there would ever be another. And this job did nothing to change that.

  She stared into the bathroom mirror at the reflection she refused to own. She smoothed the rouge over her cheeks and blotted her lipstick on a square of toilet paper. “You know,” she said to Ruth peering over her shoulder and pinning up her hair, “if I added some white face paint around my eyes and mouth, I could join the circus.”

  “Don’t say that, honey.” Ruth slid her arms around Audrey’s waist and kissed the tender skin below her ear. “You’re beautiful, with or without makeup, in factory coveralls or a tea dress.”

  “You are sweet,” she said with a grateful smile, “and biased. And I just hate that being acceptable means that I can’t be me.” Except here in Ruth’s arms, in Ruth’s love—the one place on this earth where stripped naked to the bones of her soul didn’t make her vulnerable, didn’t put her at risk. She covered Ruth’s arms with her own and turned her head to accept kisses to her cheek. “Without you,” Audrey said, closing her eyes and letting love wrap her safely and making everything worth the charade, “I would have to run off to the circus.”

  “If it ever gets that bad, honey,” Ruth whispered against Audrey’s ear, “you’ll be taking me with you.”

  It wasn’t the drive to Detroit that bothered Audrey. Looking beyond the limited job opportunities in Ypsilanti was a given. Compared to a job that had become a personal mission, though, selling jewelry seemed less than essential. And the wage, at a third of what she had made at Willow Run, was insulting. Insulting to her, to any woman, making her own way in the world. Disposable jobs and non-living wages sent a strong message—go back home or get married. Neither of which Audrey had any intention of doing.

  But it was becoming more difficult by the day to keep the positives front and center in her thoughts. Temptation increased to say what for her own dignity needed to be said, and to demand the respect not only for herself but for the women she worked with.

  Audrey placed her purse on the shelf of her locker in the break room and greeted her coworker. “Morning, Alice. Ready for another fun day in the Hudson glitz department?”

  “Well, I am,” she replied, missing the sarcasm altogether. “We have a new necklace and earring ensemble in today, silver and mother-of-pearl.” She preened in the mirror on her locker door, repositioned a bobby pin, and reapplied ruby-red lipstick. “Remember,” she added, “you can set aside a set and put it on account.” She shut the locker door and smiled. “One of our Hudson perks.”

  Not a hint of sarcasm in Alice’s voice. A little spending cash, the newest jewelry, a company payment plan, all perks Audrey understood that someone like Alice would appreciate. And that was okay—her husband was older and committed to his business, no time for a family yet. Alice was bored, and a tad unappreciated. Enough so that she was far more tolerant of the job and their department manager, Raymond Roth, than Audrey was.

  Alice was busy examining the new ensemble and placing the display set in the glass case while Audrey began counting out the starting cash in the register drawer. But before she could finish she felt a hand on her waist and the brush of his body against her that always followed. Every muscle in her body tightened automatically. She clenched the muscles of her jaw to keep from saying what she so badly wanted to say.

  Mr. Roth leaned forward over Audrey’s shoulder, both hands now on her waist. “You need to smile more, Audrey. I want those sales numbers up today.” He reached forward and lifted her hand. “I’ll finish the count while you go back to the break room and put a fresh coat of polish on those nails.”

  Audrey turned to squeeze from the press of his body and he placed his hand over her buttock before she could get clear. Anger quickly shot past discomfort. Normally she made it to the end of the day, tolerating his liberties, suppressing the anger until she could dissipate it on the drive home. But this day had just begun.

  She took as long as she dared, even after the polish dried, and then spent the rest of the morning strategically trying to keep a comfortable distance from Mr. Roth. The most effective strategy was to keep Alice physically between them, but that made her feel horrible each time Alice had to endure the wandering hands.

  The bathroom had become Audrey’s refuge for the first fifteen minutes of their lunch break. By that time the break room was full with everyone eating, talking, filling spaces. She could slip in, eat her sandwich, and allow the room to empty naturally. Today Alice took the last few minutes to go to her locker and Audrey took the opportunity to start the needed conversation.

  “How do you keep your composure, Alice? I swear if he puts his hands on me one more time today I’m afraid I will be nowhere near polite.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, Audrey. Why would you fret over that? You’re just upset over nothing.”

  “It doesn’t bother you?”

  “Oh, goodness no. A little attention’s good for a woman’s soul.” Alice closed her locker, offered a wink and a smile, and sashayed from the room.

  Is that what it was supposed to be, attention for a woman’s soul? Maybe for Alice, maybe for some others, but nothing about this attention, his attention, felt right to Audrey. It should be her choice, shouldn’t it, when and if it was okay? Or, was it her difference, her love for women that tainted it, made what was acceptable to others not acceptable to her? Alice would think it strange then, rejecting
something so natural, so welcomed by normal women.

  Audrey glanced at the two women who worked the men’s jewelry counter as she crossed behind them to the women’s counter. She’d watched them more closely over the past few days, wondering—what they thought, how they felt. Was it appreciation she had seen when his hands wandered and she saw nothing that had invited it, encouraged it? When they said nothing, was their silence permission? No words needed to accept the expected? Was that what she had seen?

  No, she was sure of what she had seen—subtle flinches, averted eyes, and that quick little avoidance step she knew so well. Liberties unchallenged but not welcomed. She knew so little about these women, why they wanted to work, or needed to work. But regardless of why, they were here and she doubted that it was for “attention for their souls.”

  They were tolerating, as she was, saying nothing that might jeopardize their job, their independence. Need outweighing compromise. So, silence. All of them, for whatever their reasons. The only question left was for how long.

  Chapter 37

  April 1946

  There was a change to the town these days. The air was clear of the smell of jet fuel, and strangely mute in the absence of the sound of planes, flying day and night. The sweet smell of summer honeysuckle floated free of the blanket of fuel fumes. Evidence of a pig roast in the park carried to the middle of town, along with children’s laughter and excitement no longer drowned out by the drone of bomber engines. But The Bomber restaurant had changed very little—a few empty tables when before it had been filled to capacity, and menu items that had earlier been rationed, but little else. The walls were still covered with photos of Liberators, along with those of the plant, the crews, and the pilots who had proudly flown them. There was just one addition. Ruth’s drawing of FDR, head tilted pensively, hung prominently on the wall behind the cash register.

  It was home, this place, as much as her apartment, as much as her job had been. Audrey settled at a table next to the wall to wait. Good news brightened the smile she sent Ruth, waiting the last of her tables to finish her shift. And home, where her heart settled, was in the soul and the heart of the woman returning her smile.