Wac Quotes

-Don't advertise when you are down. When people believe that you are down, they press down; when they think you are up, they push up. - Don't worry that people talk about you, just hope that the talk is good. The time to worry is when no one mentions you at all, for it means that you have made no impression. - Don't tell a lie; you may have to tell a second, even a third, to protect the first one. Real trouble begins when you forget the order in which you told them. - Don't look back when you have made a decision. You cannot change the past, and looking back only impedes forward movement.

From: Bernadette Fox To: Manjula Kapoor Oh! Could you make dinner reservations for us on Thanksgiving? You can call up the Washington Athletic Club and get us something for 7 PM for three. You are able to place calls, aren’t you? Of course, what am I thinking? That’s all you people do now. I recognize it’s slightly odd to ask you to call from India to make a reservation for a place I can see out my window, but here’s the thing: there’s always this one guy who answers the phone, “Washington Athletic Club, how may I direct your call?” And he always says it in this friendly, flat… Canadian way. One of the main reasons I don’t like leaving the house is because I might find myself face-to-face with a Canadian. Seattle is crawling with them. You probably think, U.S./Canada, they’re interchangeable because they’re both filled with English-speaking, morbidly obese white people. Well, Manjula, you couldn’t be more mistaken. Americans are pushy, obnoxious, neurotic, crass—anything and everything—the full catastrophe as our friend Zorba might say. Canadians are none of that. The way you might fear a cow sitting down in the middle of the street during rush hour, that’s how I fear Canadians. To Canadians, everyone is equal. Joni Mitchell is interchangeable with a secretary at open-mic night. Frank Gehry is no greater than a hack pumping out McMansions on AutoCAD. John Candy is no funnier than Uncle Lou when he gets a couple of beers in him. No wonder the only Canadians anyone’s ever heard of are the ones who have gotten the hell out. Anyone with talent who stayed would be flattened under an avalanche of equality. The thing Canadians don’t understand is that some people are extraordinary and should be treated as such. Yes, I’m done. If the WAC can’t take us, which may be the case, because Thanksgiving is only two days away, you can find someplace else on the magical Internet. * I was wondering how we ended up at Daniel’s Broiler for Thanksgiving dinner. That morning, I slept late and came downstairs in my pajamas. I knew it was going to rain because on my way to the kitchen I passed a patchwork of plastic bags and towels. It was a system Mom had invented for when the house leaks.

Learning by watching and doing is what Judy did at home, so she could see that life in the WAC would not be that different from life at home in one important way: no one would teach Negro women what they needed to get ahead. The women would have to figure it out on their own.

One day June took some papers down to the army personnel office that was processing Louis’s classification. When she left, he had been exempted from the service, but she had been sworn in! She was very patriotic and just got carried away. As a WAC she studied electronics at Northwestern University and learned trigonometry and calculus and God knows what else. She had to do it by intensive tutoring, because she had no special aptitude for higher mathematics. But that’s the sort of person she was; no challenge was too big for her. If she didn’t know something, she’d burrow into library books and find out. June

probably the most enduring rumor about Los Alamos, no doubt prompted by Dorothy’s scavenging scarce baby clothes and cribs for new mothers on the Hill, was that it was a home for pregnant WACs.

is imperative that WAC scholars account for the complex ways in which all students learn to write across the curriculum

I would kill for a big wac right now…

Eventually, more than 150,000 women served as WACs during World War II, making them the first women other than nurses to join the U.S. Army.

The death toll had reached twenty-one. The survivors of the Gremlin Special were down to three: John McCollom, a stoic twenty-six-year-old first lieutenant from the Midwest who’d just lost his twin brother; Kenneth Decker, a tech sergeant from the Northwest with awful head wounds who’d just celebrated his thirty-fourth birthday; and Margaret Hastings, an adventure-seeking thirty-year-old WAC corporal from the Northeast who’d missed her date for an ocean swim on the New Guinea coast.

I had felt for some time that had the mores of the times been different, the Women's Army Corps would have been desegregated, if not fully integrated, even during the early days of World War II.

The plan was to create a Negro training regiment, parallel to the regular training regiment, in order to provide promotional opportunities for Negro officers. A meeting of all Negro officers stationed at the TC was called, and the plan was explained. The whole thing sounded very good -at least to the most junior officers. Lots of questions were asked, but the answers were not very satisfactory to a few of us. I remember that meeting very well for a number of reasons. I had been raised in the southern United States, and I knew that there was no such thing as separate but equal, so I objected to such an organization, pointing out that although it appeared to afford opportunity, there was an extremely low ceiling on where we could go. The top would be reserved for whites; I had seen it happen too many times. When I asked who the commanding officer of this regiment would be, I was informed that as ranking Negro officer I would have that assignment. My response was that I wanted no part of it and was informed that I had no choice. "I will not command such an outfit." "Would you disobey a direct order?" I was asked. "I want to make it as a WAC officer and not as a Negro WAC officer. I guess this is the end because I will not be the regimental commander." The meeting was over. Each and every officer, including the ones who had been closest to me and those for whom I had done the most, walked out of that assembly without a word to me. I was hurt that none understood that I was thinking of all our futures and that my position had not deprived them of any chances. I finally walked across the post to my office all alone-and I had learned one of life's greatest and hardest lessons: do not depend on the support of others for causes. Later my friends did express some agreement for my stand, explaining that the plan had seemed such a marvelous chance at the time. I have never forgotten.

One Negro WAC officer had been beaten while waiting for a train in a segregated waiting room in the railroad station in a small town. The reason for the beating was anger that a "nigger" could be a captain and expect white people to salute her. I was fortunate never to be touched, but I did encounter much resentment and bias.

When Negro women were involved, the situation became slightly more tense. The problems could be summarized as follows: The presence of women in the Army was resented by many because, traditionally, the military was male. The resentment was doubled by the service of Negro women because the laws, customs, and mores of the World War II era denigrated and discriminated against Negroes. Negro males had been systematically degraded and mistreated in the civilian world, and the presence of successfully performing Negro women on the scene increased their resentment. The efforts of the women to be supportive of the men was mistaken for competition and patronage. We lived with these attitudes with dignity. I knew that it was my duty to look out for and protect every member of the 6888th, and I did just that, often assuming the role of the "bad guy" in their eyes. I worked long hours and participated in every activity where my presence could serve the cause. I survived in a state of pleasant belligerency. I had no chip on my shoulder; I kept it slightly below the shoulder.

Since the day I had been sworn into the WAAC, every moment had been a challenge. The problems of racial harmony, black acceptance, and opportunity were still unsolved, but these were problems I could still work to help solve as a civilian. Besides, I was beginning to feel that the racial situation was worse in civilian life. Civilians in the United States had not shared the nonracial commonality of danger, fear, and patriotism.

On the morning of the twelfth day, as we were approaching New York harbor, most of the passengers rushed to get a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty. The Lady meant different things to different people: leaving the violence of war behind, seeing loved ones, renewing old friendships, love of country, victory, patriotism, even a return to bigotry. But for a few minutes most of us were joined in tilting a small ship, without discord, in order to see a statue that meant we were home.

there is no pleasure in achievement if it is not shared.

At the beginning of my last year in elementary school the class was tested and, based on our academic records and scores on these tests, about twelve of us were promoted, to be sent to the freshman year of high school a year early. I never made it. I stopped by home on my way to Booker T. Washington High School to share the good news with my parents. I expected praise, but they would have none of it. I was already two years ahead, having begun my schooling in the second grade. They feared that I would miss too much by skipping a grade at this point and sent me back to elementary school. I was hurt and embarrassed until I found out that only two sets of parents had permitted the promotion. Of these two advanced students, one graduated with the rest of us and the other finished high school a year later.

As we grew older there came a gradual awareness of a black social order and a white social order, each interdependent but separate and unequal. Each side knew the rules even though the white order, having made the rules, included members who changed the rules at will. In general, children in their early years were protected by their parents from the harshness of the system.

And teach I did, in my hometown, in the same segregated system where I had been a student. Several of us who had been in high school together were back, now college graduates, teaching in a system where our white counterparts were high school graduates. Negroes had to be twice as qualified as whites for equivalent jobs.

I, a Negro, had my picture on the front page of a white daily without having done anything criminal, a most unusual situation that added to the community's support of my actions.

The first officer candidate class was the guinea pig for the WAAC, and lots of adjustments had to be made on both sides, by the trainees and the trainers. We were subjected to hundreds of changes during that first six weeks. We were the people upon whom the rules and policies were tried out, changed and tried, and in many cases changed back to the first position. We were the people, as Colonel Hobby said, and said so well, beginning the tradition for women in the service. There were many unpleasant moments and disillusioning experiences, and there were the pleasant and hopeful ones.

Whatever of glamour that was brought by any of the women was promptly and completely eliminated with the donning of the uniform. We were very proud of ourselves and the uniforms we had been issued.

The Sun Is My Undoing (a novel about the evils of slave trading),

patriotism and discrimination reached an "accommodation": there were jobs for all, but some were "white" jobs and some were "colored" jobs.

We have tried to teach you right from wrong. Just do right.

In the society of the forties, great effort was exerted to prohibit the appearance of Negroes in any activity that even smacked of the unusual, of being honorable, and especially of being first. Even in the battle areas Negroes were denied the opportunity to fight for their country and were kept in the dirty and most unmilitary positions as the unsung support personnel.

The only event that seemed of significance was that the air-conditioning broke down before we arrived in Toledo and, when we finally did arrive there, we were moved to another Pullman car.

I am reasonably certain that I helped some people quite a bit and some others not at all. The real lessons learned during this period were for me.

Colonel Faith apologized for the fact that we were segregated. He assured us that it was not his idea, that he had hoped that it would not be so, but that he was just following Army policy. I felt then, and a year later had an opportunity to express that feeling to the colonel, that his apology was made to ease his own feeling of guilt about not being in a position to see that the WAAC be integrated.

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