Looking Back

Call me capricious, stubborn or extremely willful. World War II had played havoc with my teenage years. I was determined to go to my senior prom. My dreams evolved around the event. While in my deepest sleep, I saw myself at elaborate balls, dancing the night away jitterbugged, uninhibitedly with a masked sailor in a white summer uniform. We were encircled by my classmates who were in awe of our dancing. In my fantasies, I hoarded old wedding gowns and pieced them together into an elaborate evening gown. I would not part with the fabric even when our government put out a call for silk fabric. There was a shortage of material for parachutes. My creation was not going to be turned over to the war board. It really belonged in a museum collection.

As I look back, I realize that I am writing my own personal tale of War and Peace. Many renowned authors have also written about this monumental topic. There is the ubiquitous scene of upper class people, dressed in elaborate clothes, dancing the night away, while wounded men fight gallantly on a muddy battlefield. My humble story deserves recognition in this category of writing. I want you to see it through the eyes of a teenage girl.

Senior prom! Those two words symbolized magic for me. There was no way I was going to miss the culminating event of four years in high school. My mother was taken aback when I announced that I was going to the prom, and we had better set aside a date for shopping. There were so many things that I needed: a gown, silver shoes and matching bag, clip on earrings and if possible, stockings. Wartime had created many shortages. I told mom that her pearls were O.K., so I wouldn’t bother looking for a necklace. My pragmatic mother stood there looking bewildered and remarked, “You are the most stubborn member of this family!” My two siblings were known for their tempers. She pointed out that I needed an escort, and there was a shortage of men since so many were drafted. Many boys in my class had received wartime diplomas after attending the first semester of their senior year. Didn’t I notice that my class had been dominated by girls at the end of my first semester?

True, the war in Europe had just ended and battle gray troopships were heading across the ocean bringing the men home, or to the war in the South Pacific. Only the army command and the president knew when they were scheduled to arrive. My mother caved in, and we made plans to go to the Fifth Avenue department stores the following Saturday. My mom’s final words: “No strapless dress and no spike heels.”

And so we went shopping. I felt like Cinderella preparing for the ball. If only I had a fairy godmother, we wouldn’t have had to drag through so many stores. We returned to the first store after I had conceded that their collection was the best. I cajoled my mother into letting me buy a white satin gown with a bow tied over one shoulder and the other one was left bare. It turned out that six other girls in my class chose the same dress. We still were coping with shortages and dressy shoes were not readily available. We did find a pair of cardboard soles. After much searching, we realized that stockings were out of the question. We had a skimpy lunch at the store with a few choices. Food was still being rationed.

Who would the unknown escort be? I corresponded with ten servicemen. A few of my friends had older brothers. None of my cousins were available, but all of those troopships were racing home, and some lucky guy would arrive in time to escort the princess to the ball! I am sure that the thought of a prom sustained our fighting men during fierce battles. I remember being awoken early the sound newsboys shouting: “Extree. Extree, read all about it.” D-Day had started. We shouted those words, over and over again as we went on our long trek to school. None of us could begin to even imagine the horrors of the day. It was just a daring adventure in our minds. Americans were not fully attuned to all of the dangers. We wanted the battle to be over with quickly, so the men could come home for the prom, and many of my peers expected D-Day to be the last day of the war.