Jimmy's Stars

by Mary Ann Rodman

  “Mom, you aren’t getting a war job, are you?” she asked.

  “Hey, can I get one too?” asked Sal. “Connie Cavendish, in my class, got a war job. She works the four-to-midnight shift after school.”

  “I don’t care if Connie Cavendish shaves her head,” said Mom. “You’re not working an eight-hour shift in a war plant. Your job is going to school, young lady.”

  “But Connie Cavendish…” Sal went on.

  “…is not my daughter,” Mom finished. “And Ellie, I’m thinking about a war job.”

  “Swell!” said Toots. “I work graveyard, so maybe you could get days. Then there’ll always be someone here for the kiddos.”

  The “kiddos” exchanged disgusted glances.

  “We can take care of ourselves,” Sal grumbled.

  “What’s ‘graveyard’?” asked Ellie. It sounded spooky.

  “Night shift, eleven to seven,” said Toots. “I’m gonna be a night owl. Hooty-hoot!”

  “And that means you girls keep it down in the afternoon while your aunt sleeps,” said Mom. “No radio. No horseplay. No fighting. No visitors unless Toots is awake and downstairs.”

  “But Pop gets home before five,” Sal said.

  “Yes, well, that might be changing, too,” said Mom. “What with the war and the labour shortage, Pop might be working some evenings, too.”

  How swell, Ellie thought sourly. And you can bet your bottom dollar Sal is going to take her own sweet time coming home from school, so she won’t have to pitch in with the chores. That’s going to leave me and Toots alone in the house together.

  Ellie could only hope that Toots would sleep right up until the time she left for work. Ellie was so steamed about Mom even thinking about getting a job, she forgot that Jimmy hadn’t written.

  At least not yet.

  Wednesday. Still nothing from Jimmy.

  “He’s never going to write,” Ellie wailed.

  “Patience, Ellie,” Mom said. “He’ll write, you wait and see.”

  On Thursday, when Ellie came home for lunch, she saw that Mom had hung a blue-star service flag in the living room window. The flag made the house look unfamiliar, as if Pop had grown a moustache or Mom had dyed her hair blonde. Ellie could barely look at it. It was yet another reminder that Jimmy was gone.

  But on Friday, glorious Friday, there was a letter for Miss Eleanor McKelvey in Jimmy’s slanted, sloppy boy writing. And letters for Mom and Pop and Sal, as well.

  “Mom!” she screamed, tearing through the house. “Mail from Jimmy!”

  “Shhh,” Mom hissed, putting Ellie’s lunch on the table. “Toots is asleep.” Then she whispered, “Is there one for me, too? Now sit down and eat your lunch.”

  But Ellie was too happy for a peanut butter sandwich. She read the letter a dozen times before Mom shooed her out the door. All afternoon she patted her dress pocket, feeling the reassuring crinkle of the envelope. Whenever she peeked at the hall clock, the hands seemed stuck at two-fifteen. She couldn’t wait to share her letter with Stan after school. Then Miss Granberry caught Ellie looking out at the clock and closed the door. Now time really seemed to stand still.

  Finally three o’clock arrived. The girls stood in one line, the boys in the other, splitting in the hallway to go out their separate exits. Not for the first time did Ellie think, Why do we have to go out different doors? Why do we have a boys’ play yard and a girls’ play yard? Does Miss Deetch think we’ll catch each other’s cooties?

  Out in the main schoolyard, Ellie scouted around the boys’ side. She spotted Stan’s maroon plaid jacket by the bike racks and waved to him.

  “Race you to the park,” he called. “Usual place.”

  “No fair!” she screamed, dashing after him. “You got a head start.”

  “Tough toenails,” Stan hollered back.

  “Oh, so’s your old man,” Ellie shouted happily. Her saddle shoes crunched through the leaves, sending up a peppery smell that made her feel invincible. It was Friday. She had a letter from Jimmy. The world was A-okay with Ellie McKelvey.

  Vaulting over a hedge, she landed at their meeting place, the fieldstone picnic shelter. Stan, in his sheepskin flyer’s helmet and goggles, stood on the low wall, arms out, swaying in the wind.

  “Captain Midnight has the enemy in his sights. EEEYow!” he said, in his best imitation of a P-38 Lightning. He aimed his index fingers and fired. “Ack-ack-ack. Ker-POW! Ker-POW! Ker-POW!” He dipped his “wings” in a jerky spiral. “Another Jap Zero bites the dust!”

  Spying Ellie, he hopped off the wall. “What’s up, doc?” he greeted her, Bugs Bunny-style.

  “I’ve got a letter from Jimmy!”

  “Swell. What’s he say?” Stan shoved up his goggles. “Killed any Nazis yet?” He plunked himself on a picnic table.

  “Of course not, you goof.” Ellie sat next to him. “He’s in boot camp.” She shook out the letter and read.

  Monday, October 4th, 1943

  Fort Jackson, South Carolina

  Dear Movie Star,

  Remember I said I didn’t know where my next meal was coming from? I polished off Trudy’s lunch before we hit Altoona. Turns out, it wasn’t until we got to camp. We were so hungry we could’ve eaten bricks, and we just about did! The cooks were leaving for town when we pulled in, and they were not happy to see us. They slapped together the world’s thickest baloney sandwiches, slicing the bread and meat any which way. I could hardly get mine in my mouth, but I managed!

  I’m now a corpsman in the Army Medical Corps. That’s like being an orderly at a hospital, only with a snappier uniform. The important thing is, I don’t carry a gun. I’ll probably spend the war emptying bedpans and that’s A-okay with me!! The guys already call me Doc – but then they call all the corpsmen Doc! It beats “Hey, you!”

  Here is what I have learned so far:

  1. Don’t volunteer for anything. That’s how you wind up with the crummy jobs, like cleaning latrines (that’s Army talk for bathrooms).

  2. No matter what size you are, the uniforms don’t fit.

  3. There are two kinds of fellows here, Lana Turner guys and the ones who like Betty Grable.

  4. Anyone who says Army food is great is full of hooey. For breakfast, we have creamed chipped beef on toast. The guys call it something else, but I can’t tell you what because it’s dirty. They also have this runny white stuff that I thought was cream of wheat. The Southern boys call it grits. They say it’s made out of corn, but you could fool me!

  5. I have learned to be at the front of the chow line in the mess hall (mess is a good word for some of the food)! Lollygaggers get leftovers and that ain’t good!

  I have made a friend, a guy named Max Johnson. He’s an orphan, so he doesn’t have anybody to write him. I hear mail call is the high point of the day. Could you ask Toots to write him a letter?

  It’s almost time for evening chow, and you know what that means. Jimmy McKelvey to the front of the line!

  Your brother, Jimmy (aka Doc)

  “That’s it?” Stan sounded disappointed. “He hasn’t met Joe DiMaggio yet?”

  “That’s it. I don’t think DiMaggio is at Fort Jackson. He volunteered a long time before Jimmy.” Ellie refolded the letter. There was a whole second page, with a postscript, but that part was not for sharing.

  PS Have you ever noticed the North Star? They say that if you follow it, you will always find your way home. When you see it, know that wherever I am, I can see it too and am thinking about home and you. Say a little prayer for me, and I’ll say one for you. Deal?

  Ellie stared at the red and gold leaves at her feet. I’ll say a million prayers, God, if you keep Jimmy safe, she promised. And thank you for not making him a Marine. Amen.

  “Good thing your aunt moved in,” Stan said, interrupting her thoughts. “Kinda takes Jimmy’s place.”

  “She does not take Jimmy’s place,” Ellie snapped.

  “I mean she keeps you from missing Jimmy too much,” Stan backt
racked.

  “Nothing can keep me from missing Jimmy,” Ellie shouted. “Especially not Toots!”

  Stan threw up his hands. “Don’t get all squirrelly on me again.”

  “I am not squirrelly!”

  Stan’s jackrabbit mind had already hopped on. “Doesn’t she have a war job? Do you think she makes bombs?” He scooped up a handful of acorns and fired them at a chipmunk. “Ka-pow, ka-pow, bombs over Tokyo! Stan Kozelle, flying ace, wins the war!” The chipmunk scampered away, escaping the acorn bombs.

  “Beats me. It’s supposed to be a secret.” Ellie sighed. “And now Mom’s going to work there, too.”

  Stan’s jaw dropped. “Your mom’s gonna be Rosie the Riveter?”

  “Yeah. Maybe she’s gone squirrelly.” Ellie flicked acorns off the picnic table. “She starts next week. That means I can’t go anywhere until an adult comes home. Or wakes up.”

  “You get to be in charge of yourself? You lucky duck.” Stan’s voice dripped envy.

  “Oh yeah? This lucky duck gets to do all the cooking and washing and ironing.”

  “Doesn’t Sal have to pitch in?”

  “Nope. At least not as much as me. She doesn’t get home from school until late afternoon.”

  “Yeah, but—” War whoops drowned out the rest. A second later, Victoria crashed through the underbrush, followed by half the sixth grade. The boy half.

  “Oh, swell,” muttered Ellie.

  “Scram,” Victoria ordered when she got within screaming distance.

  “Oh yeah? Says who?” Stan demanded.

  “The Marines, that’s who,” snarled Victoria. In her arms she cradled the largest collection of toy guns that Ellie had seen in years. A tommy gun, BB guns, an air rifle with a missing trigger, and a holster with six-shooters slung around her hips.

  The rest of the gang carried makeshift weapons of cardboard, broom handles, or just plain sticks. Jellyneck lugged a dummy drill rifle that he had found who knows where.

  “Where’d you get the heavy artillery?” Stan sounded impressed.

  “Yeah,” Ellie chimed in. “I thought everybody gave their metal toys to the scrap drive. Hey, Victoria, weren’t you in charge of that? How come you still have the guns?”

  “Not that it’s any of your beeswax, but they belong to my brothers. I can’t give away their stuff without asking them.” Victoria jutted her chin in a way that reminded Ellie of Hitler’s pal Mussolini, the Italian dictator.

  “But you can play with them without asking?” Ellie fired back.

  Victoria threw down her weapons, fists clenched.

  “Now you’ve done it,” Stan whispered to Ellie.

  “Are we playing war or not?” Ralph Stankavitch asked. “I gotta be home by dark.”

  “Keep your shirt on. Okay, you, you, and you, you, you.” Victoria picked off boys with a wave of her hand. “We’re the Marines. The rest of yunzes are Japs.”

  “How come I’m always a Jap?” Jellyneck asked.

  “Because I said so!” said Victoria. “Of course, I can take my guns and go home.”

  “Oh, all right,” Jellyneck grumbled.

  “Can we play?” Stan asked, eyeing the arsenal.

  “Sure. Here.” Victoria tossed him a BB gun. “You’re on my side.”

  “What about Ellie?” Stan jerked his thumb in her direction.

  “Yeah,” Victoria drawled. “She can play. She can be a nurse. A Jap nurse.”

  A Jap nurse! “No, thanks.” Ellie stood and brushed off her skirt.

  “Suit yourself.” Victoria shrugged. “Okay, Japs, yunzes go over in the woods. Marines, this shelter is our outpost on Guadalcanal. The Japs are going to try to take it.”

  “But yunz got all the guns,” Ralph whined.

  “I could go home,” Victoria reminded him.

  “I am going home,” Ellie snapped. “C’mon, Stan.”

  She had gone only a few steps when she realized she was walking by herself. Stan was happily firing his empty BB gun at enemy squirrels.

  “Stan!” Ellie hollered. “You coming?”

  “Nah,” he shouted back. “See you later.”

  Ellie stomped off through the woods without a backward glance. Just goes to show you can’t always tell who is the enemy, she thought – sometimes it’s your own best friend.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ellie waited for Stan to apologize. And waited. They joined the rest of the sixth grade at the Liberty matinee on Saturday, saw each other at Sunday school, and still Stan said nothing.

  So, first thing Monday, Ellie ignored him. She skipped their usual before-school marbles game. With Mom starting her job, Ellie brought her lunch to school. She ate her sandwich alone, pretending to read a Nancy Drew book. Thanks to Mom’s new regime, she scurried straight home at three. Stan didn’t notice. He was too busy with Victoria and her sixth-grade Marines.

  “What gives?” he asked, finally snaring Ellie before school Wednesday. “You haven’t talked to me all week.”

  “If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you,” she snapped.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong!” Stan hollered.

  “Figure it out!” Ellie shouted, and stomped off.

  It was a long, lonely week. The house was so quiet that when Ellie opened the front door, she could hear Toots snoring upstairs. By Friday, Ellie couldn’t remember exactly why she wanted Stan to apologize.

  Saturday morning, Ellie sat cross-legged on her bed, writing a letter to Jimmy.

  “Peanut,” Sal yelled from downstairs, “get down here and help with the wash!”

  “In a minute,” Ellie yelled back.

  “What?” Sal screamed. “I can’t hear you.”

  Across the hall, a door banged open. “Hey you two, knock it off!” A pyjamaed Toots stood in the hall, hands on hips, hair on end.

  “Sorry,” Ellie said.

  “Oops,” called Sal from the stairs. “I forgot you work Friday nights.”

  “You bet I do,” Toots growled, her voice gravelly with sleep. “And I like to sleep L-A-T-E on Saturdays! Got that?” She slammed her door so hard, pictures danced on the wall.

  Tiptoeing, Ellie and Sal met on the stairs to continue.

  “I’m writing Jimmy,” Ellie said to her red-faced and sweaty sister. Even Sal could look crummy sometimes, she thought with a touch of surprise. “Where’s Mom?”

  “At Corsiglia’s, food shopping. She told me to finish the wash, and you’re supposed to help.” Sal swiped at her damp forehead.

  “I’ll only be a minute with the letter,” Ellie pleaded.

  “See that you are,” Sal said in her bossiest big-sister voice. “I want to go to the matinee. If we don’t get the wash done, I won’t be able to go.”

  Ellie had forgotten about the movies. “Can I go with you?” she asked quickly.

  “Why? Aren’t you going with that motley bunch you run around with?”

  “Oh, them,” Ellie flipped a careless hand. “They’re so immature. I don’t go around with them any more. So can I go with you?”

  “Heck, no. And if you aren’t in the basement in five minutes, I’ll drag you down by your braids.”

  “All right, all right.”

  Back in her room, Ellie flopped on her bed to reread the letter one last time.

  Saturday, October 16th, 1943

  Dear Jimmy,

  How are you? Have you operated on anybody yet? Maybe you will save somebody’s life.

  Things are all screwy here with Mom working. The wash doesn’t get done on Friday and we do it on Saturday. Me and Sal take turns making supper. Mom gets home too late, and Toots is a terrible cook. She’s so bad she burns water! Sal isn’t so good either. She’s always trying out terrible things from home ec class, like tomato Jell-O (she calls it aspic) and prune whip. I make salmon pea wiggle because it’s easy, but you already know that’s pretty terrible, too.

  Pop gets home later and later these days. A couple more of the postmen at his post office got dr
afted, so they’re doubling up on mail routes.

  We take baths at night now, because Toots hogs the bathroom when she gets home from work. She can’t get over our indoor plumbing. You never saw anybody so excited over flushing the you-know-what!

  I miss you and look for our star every morning and evening, first and last thing.

  Love, Ellie xoxoxo

  PS I am making you a surprise for Christmas. You’re still coming home, aren’t you?

  She folded the letter into the addressed envelope, and hurried downstairs to put it in the mailbox. She walked out the front door…and smack into Stan.

  “Are you a mind-reader?” he asked. “I didn’t even ring the doorbell.”

  “So what are you doing here?” Ellie didn’t mean for it to sound as nasty as it did.

  “What’s eating you?” Stan raised his eyebrows. “I came to see if you wanted to go to the eleven o’clock show and stay for the matinee.”

  A week’s worth of loneliness lifted from Ellie’s heart. Maybe Sal would let her off laundry duty. “Well, gee,” she began. “I don’t know if—”

  “Hurry up,” shouted a familiar voice. “All the good seats are gonna be gone.” On the sidewalk, Victoria jogged in place, waving her arms to stay warm. Behind her, the rest of the crew entertained themselves by shoving each other off the kerb and pitching rocks at the trolley rails.

  “C’mon,” Stan urged Ellie. “Victoria doesn’t like to wait.”

  Ellie felt the blood rise in her neck. “Isn’t that too bad.”

  “What yunz doin’ up there?” someone hollered. “Smoochin’?”

  That did it!

  “Even if I could, I wouldn’t go to the show with you in a million years,” Ellie snapped. “I hope you and Victoria are very happy together.” She slammed the door so hard, the doorbell jingled.

  Upstairs, a door crashed open. “All right!” shouted Toots. “Who slammed that door?”

  “Ellie, get your heinie down here,” Sal screamed from the basement.

  “Sorry, Toots. Coming, Sal.” Ellie slunk off to the cellar. Life was just so unfair!

  Right after lunch, Sal’s chums arrived to take her to the movies. Ellie could hear them giggling and squealing in the living room. “What a bunch of birdbrains,” she mumbled as she cleared the lunch table.