by Amy Stewart
Aggie to Constance and Fleurette (unsent)
August 31, 1918
Dear Constance and Fleurette,
Norma refuses to allow me to mail this letter, although she can’t stop me from writing it. It’s true that the censors wouldn’t allow a word of it to go through. Instead I’ve asked her to keep it and deliver it personally to you après la guerre, so that you’ll know something of the heroism and tragedy that occurred here.
A few weeks ago, Norma issued a pigeon, Mon Chou, to Private Forrest Pike, of Savannah, Georgia. He’d been sent to our hospital after having lost a finger, and suffered other minor wounds in battle. Because his injuries were not terribly serious, Private Pike won over the nurses with his good cheer and warm southern accent. He made friends easily and even befriended Norma.
Private Pike professed a love of birds, particularly canaries, and begged Norma for a pigeon that he could carry to the front. Although he said he wanted the bird for companionship and not to transmit messages, Mon Chou was nonetheless equipped with the standard military message tube and given a full measure of rations.
A few days ago, that bird returned to us, having nearly been shot out of the sky. The message, miraculously intact, told of U.S. artillery fire landing directly on its own troops, presumably mistaking them for Germans. It ended with this plea: “For Heaven’s sake stop it.”
Although Forrest didn’t sign the message, we now know that he did send it.
As Norma was unable to convince her commander of either the urgency or the legitimacy of the message, she took a horse from Fort de la Bonnelle, entirely against orders, and rode it three miles to town. The American hospital sits just at the southern entrance and is practically the first building one encounters. Norma abandoned her horse at the hospital door and ran inside, where she said this to the first orderly she saw: “I need a nurse for this pigeon, and I need to see Betty.”
Her fellow Signal Corps member Betty Sanger was usually stationed at the switchboard but had only just stepped away. Norma was quite exercised over her message and issued her demands at a louder than usual volume. She therefore attracted a crowd. Soon I heard the commotion and ran over myself.
The pigeon was tucked under her jacket and only barely alive. I took it from her and did what I could with antiseptic and bandages, but there’s not even such a thing as an aspirin for a pigeon and I don’t believe I was able to offer it much comfort at all. I’m sorry to say that the bird did not survive.
After a bit of a scramble, Betty was located. Unlike Norma’s commander, Betty found the message entirely convincing. She told Norma, “I don’t have to send it directly to the commanding officer at headquarters. I can send it to an operator in Chaumont who can simply report that she received it. Neither she nor I have to decide whether it’s credible. Our business is only to relay the messages that come in.”
Betty did exactly that: she relayed the message to another operator, and then—nothing. All we could do was wait.
Betty warned us that there might not be any response for some time. She was right. It was three days before we heard, via a friendly operator in Chaumont, what transpired.
We learned that Forrest Pike’s unit—over two hundred men—had wandered off-course and found themselves on the other side of enemy lines. They were entirely surrounded by German troops. They hunkered down in a little hollow, hoping to wait out the Germans and sneak back to safety, but soon our troops began firing on the Germans. They didn’t know about the Americans in their midst.
Forrest decided to launch his pigeon. I’m told it flew fast and high with both German and American gunfire in the air. The siege went on for some hours, until at last Mon Chou landed here. From the switchboard, the message was passed on to headquarters and then to the troops in the field. At last the barrage ceased. The men still had to undertake a dangerous escape along enemy lines, and we’re told that several didn’t survive. Among those killed was Forrest Pike, who insisted on being the last one out, only after the others had made it to safety.
Owing to the strength, bravery, and perseverance of Mon Chou, Private Pike, and Norma Kopp, 194 men survived.
Furthermore, the pigeon program has been revived. General Pershing took a personal interest in the success of Mon Chou’s mission. Pigeons will be shipped to the front every week now. The mayor issued a proclamation to the Signal Corps, commending it for its service, but Norma has thus far refused to take time away from her duties to accept it. Her commander insists that she go. He has in fact ordered her to do so. Norma’s stubbornness is very nearly a match for the authority of the United States Army, and I cannot guess which will prevail.
Either way, she’s earned the respect of her commanders, and proven what her pigeons can do in battle. That means everything to her.
Tendrement—
Aggie
Fleurette
Camp Sherman, Ohio
Constance to Fleurette
September 1, 1918
F—
As you seem to be in the same place for a few days, I’m forwarding you a batch of Norma’s letters. By the way, I’ve started shipping some of your creams and lotions and powders over to France—not for Norma, who’s never put anything fancier than hoof salve on her hands—but for Aggie, who tells us so much and appreciates any little gift. I hope you don’t mind, and if you do, you can always come home and put a stop to it.
C.
Fleurette to Constance
September 3, 1918
C—
I would mind, if it were anyone but Aggie. The poor girl needs it more than I do. I suppose it’s part of a nurse’s duty to bestow a little red kiss on those soldiers’ cheeks. They expect it here, too, of course, even though they’re so far away from the front. They might only be departing for the latrine and they put on a sad face, like they might never see a pretty girl again.
Don’t worry, though—the soldiers don’t bother May Ward’s Dresden Dolls. They aren’t allowed to. These camps are zealously patrolled by matrons, who are determined to keep us apart. Aren’t you glad you didn’t end up as one of them for the duration of the war?
I keep trying to guess at the so-called difficulties Norma’s having with her pigeon program, but what could it possibly be? No pigeon has ever dared to disobey Norma. It must be her commanders who aren’t following instructions.
Off to Camp Sherman tomorrow. I’ll send an address when I have it.
F.
Fleurette to Helen
September 4, 1918
Dearest Helen,
Let me tell you, it’s quite something to travel with a parrot. It’s just my luck that Mrs. Ward detests birds of all kinds. According to Bernice, who has toured with her the longest, she thinks them dirty, diseased, and parasite-ridden—which is starting to describe the girls in her chorus, if we can’t have one night in a real city to take hot baths and do our laundry properly.
The point is that I’m obliged to hide Laura not just from the ladies at the Hostess House, but from May as well.
When we left this morning, I couldn’t put her large bird-cage out with our luggage to be loaded onto the train, because Mrs. Ward would quite naturally want to know why I was hauling a cage around. I was instead obliged to pack it inside my trunk, which is, fortunately, enormous, but nonetheless it just barely fit. I had to fill the inside of the cage with my clothes. (That isn’t quite the mess you might think it is: I keep Laura’s cage scrupulously clean. I know that much from living with Norma and her pigeons all these years.)
I then carried Laura on board the train in her much smaller traveling cage, which George very thoughtfully provided for this purpose. She was tucked under a scarf, and since Mrs. Ward always sits apart from us, even when there’s no first-class car, I had some hope that she wouldn’t be spotted.
But wouldn’t you know it—there wasn’t another seat to be had anywhere else on the train. The boys had very generously given us several rows to ourselves and crowded into another car so we might
have a moment’s peace. After wandering the train in search of superior quarters, Mrs. Ward finally abandoned hope, and returned to settle down a few rows ahead of the rest of us.
In a lull in the conversation, as the train rocked to and fro on its way to Ohio, I lifted up the scarf to take a peek at Laura, and she whistled at me.
She didn’t just whistle a note—she whistled the chorus to “Over There”! Just those two lines:
Over there, over there,
Send the word, send the word over there
It was a little fast—she doesn’t keep time, this one—but it was perfectly in pitch. Mrs. Ward turned right around and looked back at us.
“Which one of you can whistle?” she called. (She was, as I said, a few rows ahead, and we were not alone in the car—there were some other weary-looking civilians, and a couple of rows of soldiers in the very back.)
All eyes turned on us at once. Bless those chorus girls, they kept my secret! Every one of them turned to look around as well, as if they, too, wanted to know who had whistled so nicely. Eventually we all looked back at May Ward and shrugged.
“Well, one of you should learn,” she said, a little harshly, as if she’d only just recalled this particular shortcoming of ours. “I’d put it in the act.”
I had by then draped the scarf back over Laura’s cage. Fortunately, she stayed quiet the rest of the trip.
I had an easier time smuggling her into the Hostess House. Mrs. Ward had made arrangements in advance for her own hotel, and disembarked one stop ahead, in the little town outside of camp. When we arrived at our own accommodation, there were so many people turning up at once—not just us, but an entire girls’ choir, come from Chicago—that I snuck right in with my bird tucked under my arm.
And she is my bird already, Helen! I’ve grown so attached to her. It’s quite a feeling to have an exquisite little creature who is all your own, who goes everywhere with you and depends upon you for its very life. I suppose I don’t have to tell you about that, when you have all those lovely little brothers to look after, but when I grew up, I was always the pet! Now I have a pet of my very own, someone to devote myself to—
And she’s quite devoted to me! When I lift the blanket from her cage in the morning, she hops right up to the door, eager to step out onto my finger and look me over and run a strand of my hair through her beak. (It’s really quite tender, the way she does it. You’ll see.) She takes treats out of my hand with such satisfaction that I’m afraid I spoil her. Charlotte warns me that she’ll grow quite fat if I keep sneaking crackers to her, but I can’t help it—it’s so delightful when she sees me coming with anything at all. She bobs her head up and down joyfully, and stretches her wings out with anticipation.
Earlier tonight, the girls’ choir started up in the great-room, and with that racket for cover, I tried teaching Laura to whistle another song. She cocks her head to the side and listens with such interest—you can just tell that she possesses an exceptional musical gift.
She was able to eke out just a line of “The Bird on Nellie’s Hat.” Oh, it’s the funniest line ever sung, coming from her! Charlotte and I couldn’t get enough of it. By the end of the evening we had her taking my cue perfectly, so that when I sing,
Well, he don’t know Nellie like I do
She answers right away with her whistle:
Said the saucy little bird on Nellie’s hat.
Charlotte just loved it! She said, “I have to admit that she’s marvelous!” and put her face down next to Laura’s as if to give her a kiss. “I wonder what else she can do?”
At that very moment, Laura straightened herself up to her full height, took hold of Charlotte’s bright red hairpin with her beak, and pulled it out! Charlotte’s hair tumbled all around her shoulders, and the two of us were laughing so hard we could barely breathe. Laura quite graciously allowed Charlotte to have her hairpin back, and we now know to keep a close eye on little glistening, brightly colored objects in her presence.
I’m so sorry to give you news of nothing but my bird. I’m like one of those women who prattles on about her babies and forgets that no one is interested in other people’s children. I suppose other people’s birds are equally dull.
The mail-room was closed when we arrived, but I hope to find a letter from you waiting for me in the morning. My next letter, I promise, will be much less feathery.
Yours always—
Fleurette
Fleurette to Helen
September 5, 1918
Dear Helen,
Forgive the scrawl—I’ve only a minute to write this. Was out walking last night with Laura on my shoulder, still in costume. A soldier stopped to look at the bird—not at me! Nonetheless one of those committee ladies grabbed me and hauled me off—thinking the worst because of my dress and face-paint—I could not convince her that I stayed at Hostess House as a guest of the camp.
Am now in girls’ detention. Charlotte has come to rescue Laura but can’t rescue me. I’ll give her this note to mail & she will wire Constance for help.
Don’t want to worry you but I knew you’d start to wonder if I didn’t write—
I will be fine—the other girls here have it much worse—
Not at my best but kisses to you—
Fleurette
Telegram from Fleurette to Constance
September 5, 1918
AM LOCKED IN GIRLS DETENTION AT CAMP SHERMAN OHIO I AM ABSOLUTELY NOT AT FAULT BEHAVIOR ABOVE REPROACH JAILER IS MRS WINTERS PLEASE USE YOUR CONSIDERABLE POWERS TO SECURE MY RELEASE
Constance to Maude Miner
September 5, 1918
Dear Miss Miner,
I thank you for taking my distressed telephone call in the middle of what sounded like important business. Per your instructions, I waited by the telephone all afternoon. I did receive a call from Mrs. Winters only moments ago. As you asked for a thorough record of what transpired, I took notes as we spoke.
mrs. winters (after the usual greetings): It was highly irregular to have a call from Washington about any particular girl.
miss kopp: Fleurette is known personally to Miss Miner. I served as matron of a National Service School camp last year, under Miss Miner’s leadership. She’s thoroughly acquainted with the character of all three Kopp sisters.
mrs. winters: Character doesn’t come into it. This girl was out after hours, in provocative dress and face-paint, with an exotic bird on her shoulder.
miss kopp: I beg your pardon, did you say she carried a bird?
mrs. winters: She was obviously trying to attract attention, and had already solicited the company of a young man.
miss kopp (trying vainly to contain my outrage at the implication behind the word “solicited”): Mrs. Winters, have you been able to confirm that Fleurette is a member of the traveling troupe known as May Ward and Her Eight Dresden Dolls, and that she is an invited guest of the camp, residing at the YWCA’s Hostess House?
mrs. winters: Yes, and I believe the rest of the Dolls were inside where they belonged, and appropriately dressed.
miss kopp: And were you able to confirm that Fleurette was merely wearing her stage-costume, and was perhaps on her way home from the evening’s performance? I assume the bird was a theatrical prop. (Miss Miner: I don’t know precisely the hour of Fleurette’s transgression, or if she was in fact just leaving the theater. I was merely grasping at what I hoped was the truth.)
mrs. winters: The circumstances don’t excuse it. The effect on our young men is the same. She’d already lured one and would’ve left on the arms of a dozen if I hadn’t intervened.
(Miss Miner, how does one even take the arms of a dozen men? I leave this to Mrs. Winters’ active imagination.)
miss kopp: I know how difficult it is to judge each girl’s motives. I worked as jail matron in Hackensack myself. There were good girls, caught in difficult circumstances, whom I could help. There were others beyond saving.
mrs. winters: It’s a fool’s errand to even try to t
ell them apart. Nothing matters more than keeping our boys in fighting form. Mothers are willing to sacrifice their sons, if necessary. But they will not give up—
miss kopp (here I interjected): They will not give up their sons’ honor, or their immortal souls. We’ve all read the same letters from mothers in the papers, Mrs. Winters. But Fleurette is not after anyone’s immortal soul. She was only leaving her place of employment, wearing what is to her a professional uniform. May Ward is welcome at the camps because she offers wholesome entertainment. She wouldn’t be allowed if she wasn’t above reproach in every way. And I myself am a former deputy sheriff, now serving my country at the War Department. I can absolutely vouch for Fleurette’s good conduct.
mrs. winters: You could better vouch for her if you kept her at home. What of Fleurette’s mother and her father?
miss kopp: We three sisters have only each other, and an older brother. Fleurette is twenty years of age, and perfectly capable of traveling in the company of her employer.
mrs. winters (by now, Miss Miner, she was simply running out of steam): As I’ve said, it’s highly irregular for our committee to have outside interference. Miss Miner might be our chairwoman, but she sits behind a desk in Washington. She can’t rule on every individual girl’s case. Why, I’ve had hundreds of girls through my detention house since our committee began. Does Miss Miner wish to hear each girl’s special circumstance?
miss kopp (seeing the futility of continuing in this line): If you can see clear to releasing Fleurette so that she may be on her way with her troupe, I’m sure she won’t give you another minute’s trouble. I will come and collect her myself if necessary, although that would require that I explain the circumstances to my superior, Mr. Bielaski, who runs the Bureau of Investigation.
