No Longer a Team

by Lily D.

I wish it could stay like this forever. This thought rolled through my mind as I danced and twirled down the empty street singing Bing Crosby’s “Don’t Fence Me In.” I loved this song with all my heart, as one could tell as I belted it down the road. For some reason it made every bone in my body want to sway.

An advertisement recruiting female workers

“Margaret?” A tall woman with blonde curls stood ten feet in front of me. I laughed as my face turned red as a tomato, hoping she had not seen the little dance I had just performed. “Edna” slid out of my mouth like the words to my favorite song. Memories from my first days at the shipyard came swarming back.

My mind spun back two years. I stumbled up the creaky steps into the shipyard for the first time. Looking inside, I told myself that I should turn back and go home. I remembered that I wanted to plant the flowers in the yard before it got too hot. I was utterly afraid, and walking through the door of that factory was the last thing I wanted to do right now. I’m not going in. I’m not going in. Turn around and go home, Margaret. But despite what my terrified brain was telling me to do, my legs had a different idea as I strode through the entrance. Taking a look around, I smoothed my overalls. A woman with straight blonde hair that was pulled back with a bandana approached me.

“Hello, my name is Edna Johnson. Can I help you?” the woman said with a big smile. Her hands were covered in black, and she maintained a big cut in her wrist. I stumbled, “Um, yes, my name is Margaret Scott and I was looking for a place to sign up to work?”

“Well, shorty, you came to the right place because I am in charge of taking up patriotic women who are able to serve our country!” She had started the sentence quietly, but as she went on, her voice got louder and louder until a few people turned around and looked. “Follow me,” she said as we winded together through a complicated mess of a factory. She guided me through the simple process and sent me off to cut wood for benches on the ship.

“Um, sounds great,” I replied. Margaret, act normal and stop saying um. I stopped myself from smoothing my overalls, which was a good start. There were no seats at the work table. I started feeling bad for my back the second I realized work was to be done standing.

“Ask me if you need help,” and with that she disappeared into the crowd.

“Come on, I can’t wait around all day,” a voice said from behind. I flipped around and stared into this man’s face. I was too stunned to say anything, so I began measuring the wood. He shrugged his shoulders and with that, we began working. But the image suddenly became blurry.

I snapped back to reality. “Edna, how are you? Where have you been?” I realized that I had been staring at the ground for at least a minute.

“Are you all right?” she asked. Oh god.

“Yes, great actually. I just blanked out there for a second.” I replied to her confused face with a laugh.

“I've been doing okay.” She paused. “Pther than getting laid off at my factory last week,” she continued, with a blank expression on her face.

“Oh no, really? Why?” I stumbled. “Was it just you or everyone?” I asked curiously. I was not trying to be nosey, it’s just I wanted to know. I take that back, I needed to know.

“Don’t know why, but all the women were told they were being laid off,” she smiled crookedly. “I just showed up to work and there was this big sign on the door saying that they did not need us any longer.”

I took that moment to realize that she was not wearing her overalls anymore but wearing a blue dress with a belt around her waist. She had really been let go.

“I’m so sorry, Edna, I would love to chat more but I must be on my way,” I smiled sincerely and gave her a hug.

“It’s fine. I knew men were coming back soon, but I did not realize they were letting us off so soon.” She spoke with such a tone that I could not tell if she was honestly happy or sad. “Bye, Margaret,” she continued as she walked down the street.

“Bye, Edna,” I replied as I shuffled in the opposite direction.

The early may sun sat on my shoulders. It was one of those mornings when it was warm but there was a cool breeze from the water that sometimes made you shiver. I walked up the same steps as I always did every day. For some reason today they seemed sad as they slumped into the ground. We had not been building any new ships lately. In fact, I was just fixing them up, and unfortunately I had been assigned to paint the sides of the ship. A job I had been not looking forward to. What terrified me the most about this task was hanging in air when there was the cement floor right below me. I swallowed my fear and joined the other women around the ship.

*****

I sat down on the chair of my kitchen table as I wiped the sweat off my forehead. My overalls were ripped, and I had a cut in my leg, but for some strange reason I was overjoyed. I could not help noticing this patriotic and empowering feeling that surrounded me. I walked out on my roof so I could see a glimpse of the San Diego Harbour and realized that I loved working and I knew that it was going to take more than just a sign on a door to kick me out.

I awoke to the sounds of a bird. Oh gosh. The sun shone bright into my eyes as I looked around and realized that I was lying on the platform of my roof. Thanking God I did not die. I ran inside to get ready. I scurried downstairs and pulled on my fresh pair of overalls and my dirty boots, whipped my hair into a bandana and ran out the house. Sprinting down the road, I almost got hit by a car.

“Watch it!” a man yelled through the window.

“Sorry sir,” I replied, and was so focused on getting to work that I could not see clearly.

The shipyard was in panic; people were running everywhere. My belly growled from not eating breakfast, and it took all of my might to get a hold of someone and find out what had happened. I looked down at the local paper thrown and torn on the floor to check the date. May 8th, 1945, it stated on the cover.

“Excuse me?” I asked my friend Mary. “What is going on here?” I almost screamed so she could hear me.

“Haven’t you heard? Germany surrendered!” she squealed with delight.

“What?! Really?” I screamed back. I was ready to ask her another question but she had already disappeared into the crowd. I was so happy and relieved the war was over for our country. It had been such a terrible thing for our men, and we had lost so many of our soldiers, and the world was so weary of war.

It was hard to collect my thoughts over the loud noise. I was completely overjoyed, but there was this lingering sadness inside of me that I could not describe. I told myself not to be sad, that this was a joyful moment. I was both relieved and sad... sad because I knew that my life would go back to what it was before. But not really. The world had changed, our country had changed, and I had changed. There was something about being part of a team, about being part of something bigger than myself, and I really liked working.   

*****

July rolled around the corner and I thanked God every day that I still had my job. I noticed things had gone downhill in the factory. I discussed this with my friend Betty during the Fourth of July parade.

“Didn’t you notice that we are not building ships anymore?” I asked her. I wanted to find someone who shared my thoughts on this matter.

“Yes,” she replied. “But I don’t really pay much attention. I just want to get the job done.”  

“Don’t you want to work at the shipyard?” I spat out. “Don’t you love working?”

“Honestly, Margaret, I don’t work because I want to. I work because I think it is the right thing to do. I can’t wait till the men come home. I’m just so tired,” she told me in a low voice. Well, that just killed me. How could she not love working? How could she not get that we too were important and doing important work?

“Okay,” I stumbled back. “I have to go.” I could not believe she had just said that. I stumbled away and bought a Coke.

I walked out to my mailbox. The late July sun was killing me. Literally. I opened the box to receive a letter. I was too curious to wait until I got inside, so opening it in my front yard was the only option. “Mrs. Margaret Scott” was written in fancy calligraphy on the front. I tore open the envelope with all my might and read the letter in a heartbeat. I screamed with delight. My husband was coming home! I was overdrawn with excitement. I shuffled out of my lawn and to the shipyard before I missed my shift. There was a crowd of women at the entrance. That’s odd, I thought to myself as I pushed my way through the mob. On the door was a sign that stated that there would be a meeting later in the day to discuss the future of the shipyard. I went limp like a wet rag. Something in me knew that it all was about to change.   

That afternoon the head of the unit sat down with about fifteen of our crew and stated that he had some news for us. Since the war had ended and many of the men were returning home from the front, the work at the shipyard would decrease and many of the soldiers would need to get back to work. He smiled and stated that we had been great patriots in helping save our country, but now we could go home and be there for our families.

Tears swelled my eyes. I wanted to scream, but for some reason I couldn’t. I could not breathe as I panted in every direction. This is not happening. What about those women who had lost their husbands and who needed to work? What about all the good work we had done? Did we not deserve to stay on in our positions if we wanted to?

But I said none of those things. We all politely smiled, said that it had been a privilege to work there and that we were so grateful the war was over and our soldiers were returning home. I felt so conflicted. How much I wanted to see my husband and how much I wanted him to be proud of me. Proud of all his service to the country, proud of our work at the shipyard and grateful we were safe now. But I was sad to no longer have a team, a community, and to know that my life would again be at home. I stepped into the bright sunshine, gave everyone a big smile, and started to walk the long road home and to a new life my husband and I would build.