have the strong facial features of most colored people. In any event, he had a special way about him, a personality that was both confident and straightforward.
He returned a second time, and set a glass of orange juice on my tray. “Can I ask you a question, Lieutenant?”
I nodded.
“Did you come up from the ranks, sir?”
The question caught me off guard. “Yes, I guess you could say that…but how did you know?”
“That gold rifleman’s badge. You don’t see many officers wearing that. It’s impressive. Take a seat, sir, and I’ll holler out when your breakfast is ready…And, Lieutenant, the coffee pot is always on. It’s free, and you’re always welcome to it.”
I nodded my thanks, liking Petty Officer Malone right away.
After breakfast, I retuned to the office, where Maggie was pleased to announce that she had found me an apartment only a mile from the studio. The landlord had told her it was a one-bedroom with a southern exposure, and that it rented for only forty dollars a month. Of this amount, the Marines would pay twenty-five dollars a month. She typed out the directions and told me to take the rest of the day off and be back at nine the next morning. Thanking her I said goodbye. Then I grabbed my duffle bag, swung it over my shoulder, and began walking towards the address.
The walk was refreshing on such a warm sunny morning, with the streets crowded with people doing their business. Many who passed me tipped their hats and gave me a smile, and I felt proud to be wearing my country’s uniform. But also I felt guilty about being on this busy thoroughfare on such a bright, beautiful day while other Marines were fighting in distant lands. There had to be a way for me to join them.
When I met the landlord at the address, he showed me the furnished, second-story apartment. It was bigger, brighter and better than I had expected. The main room contained the living and dining areas, as well as a small kitchen. Off this room was an oversized bedroom with a bath. The apartment was even equipped with an electric refrigerator, stove and radio. After my living conditions of the past year, and then the barracks, these quarters were heaven. I signed the rental agreement and gave the landlord two months’ rent in advance.
After unpacking and a quick trip to the corner market for some light grocery shopping, I sat down at the kitchen table to write letters to Laura and Uncle Roy. My letter to Laura was full of positive news and hope for the future. I even speculated that we might be able to see each other, with my new station in Hollywood. But deep down I knew how hard it would be for her to get air transportation from Alaska without military priority, and then what about the baby? Still, it was a good dream.
My letter to Roy had a much different tone. He had used his influence with the Navy to intervene in my life. I knew that, in his heart, he had done what he felt was best, but what was best for him was not best for me, and I let him know it. I closed the letter with a simple statement: ‘It’s my life, so let me find my own way, whatever way that might be.’ Knowing Uncle Roy, I wasn’t sure the letter would do any good, but I had to try.
After posting the letters, I came back, turned on the radio and opened a beer. As I stretched out on the couch, soft music flooded the room. Shadows of twilight danced across the walls, making strange patterns, and they were the last thing I remembered as I drifted off to sleep.
Returning to the cottage at nine, the next morning, I found Maggie busy working in a small room off her office. Thanking her for her help, I told her eagerly about my apartment.
She seemed pleased to hear how much I liked my quarters, and she explained that the little room she was working on would be my new office. It was tiny, about eight feet across and ten feet deep, with one small window that looked out onto the parking lot. Someone had supplied a gray metal desk and filing cabinet, and those two objects filled most of the little room. In front of the desk, there was just enough room for a single chair.
Maggie had been busy cleaning and stocking the office with supplies. Standing there, looking at the little office, I was saddened. The last thing in the world I wanted was a desk and an office.
She seemed to pick up on my mood. With an inquiring look, she remarked, “I know it’s not much now, Dutch, but with some flowers and the desk lamp I have in the back, it’ll be okay.”
Smiling at her, I replied, “It’s just fine Maggie. You’ve done a splendid job. I just can’t see myself fighting this war from behind that damn gray flat top. Still, as the Colonel said, ‘Here I am and here I’ll stay.’
Maggie stared at me for a moment, then excused herself.
Sliding myself behind the desk, I ran my hands over its cool metal top, then opened and closed some of the drawers. Maggie soon reappeared with coffee and a beautiful colored-glass desk lamp. After fussing around for a few more minutes she sat down in the chair and commented, “Sometimes, Dutch, wars are fought with more than just guns and bullets. That’s what we do here. We fight for the hearts and souls of the American people, so they know just what young men like you are doing to win this war. It’s a big job worth doing right. I hope you’ll come to understand this.”
As she was speaking, I found myself thinking how beautiful and straightforward she was. Her words sounded genuine, as if they truly came from her heart as much as her head. My remarks about the war and the desk had disappointed her, and for this I apologized.
For the next two hours and three cups of coffee, Maggie and I got to know each other better. She answered many of my questions about Commander Knox, the OWI organization, and how our little Marine detachment fit in. When she talked about Colonel Ford, it was always with deep respect and admiration. He had been one of the true heroes of the first war, going to Europe as a Marine Second Lieutenant and returning two years later as a Major and Company Commander. After the war, he became one of the most powerful public relations people in Hollywood. To hear her tell it, he was individually responsible for the careers of such Hollywood film stars as Errol Flynn, Katharine Hepburn and Jimmy Stewart, to name just a few. He knew the town’s players and how to make those players work for our mission -- a mission, she emphasized, as important as guns and butter. Later in our conversation, she told me that the little white cottages that were the OWI offices had been used as bungalows by movie stars back in the days of silent films. Our building had, at one time, been the cottage used by Mary Pickford. Maggie’s office had been the parlor, the Colonel’s office had been her bedroom, and my little office had been the maids’ quarters. The bigger the star, the bigger the cottage, and we were lucky to have one of the biggest.
Maggie also gave me a tour of the kitchen, laundry facilities and large dressing room/bathroom behind the offices. In the late 1930’s, the studio constructed new cottages on the other side of the lot and had planned to demolish these to make way for another sound stage, but then the war broke out. Uncle Sam now leased the buildings for a dollar per year for the duration. The whole story brought a new perspective to my surroundings, and I found myself thinking, If only these walls could talk.
Time seemed to slip away, but then it always does when you’re enjoying good company. At one point, in mid-sentence, Maggie jumped to her feet, saying, “Gosh, Dutch, its eleven-thirty and you have to be at the Derby by noon.” She paused for a moment, looking at me, and then continued, “Do you have any idea what the Brown Derby is?”
Looking up at her, I smiled. “I’m guessing it’s a restaurant, since I’m meeting the Colonel there for lunch.”
“It’s more than just a restaurant, Dutch, It’s where the who’s who of this town meet and eat. You can’t be late.”
