Josephine Ogden Forrestal, whose husband, James Forrestal, would soon become secretary of the Navy, took things in hand, approaching the fashion house Mainbocher. There were discussions about minutiae like pockets, which Virginia Gildersleeve felt were essential for any working woman. But the designers felt pockets would spoil the lines of the suit. “Utility was sacrificed to looks,” Gildersleeve noted with some disgust in her memoir. “They certainly looked very attractive and no doubt won many recruits for the Navy; but I regretted those pockets. (A later model, I am glad to say, contained a good inside one!)”
But the end result was spectacular. The WAVES uniform consisted of a fitted navy blue wool jacket, with built-up shoulders and a slightly rounded collar; a flattering six-gored skirt; a white short-sleeved shirt; a tie; elegant dusty blue braid; a dashing little cloche hat with a detachable top that could be blue or white; and a square black pocketbook that strapped diagonally over the shoulders and had a white sleeve that could be fitted on it to go with dress whites. The women were issued raincoats and roomy hoods called havelocks. They were expected to wear gloves that were white or black. No pins, earrings, or jewelry could be worn; slips must not show; the hat must be worn without tilting it to one side; umbrellas were a nonmilitary item and could not be carried. They were expected to be in uniform at all times, except when wearing athletic clothing or being court-martialed. There also were dress whites, work smocks, and a summer seersucker shirtwaist dress.
All of this may sound silly and frivolous, but it wasn’t. The uniform conveyed to a skeptical public that the Navy, however stubborn and reluctant to have them, cared about its women and how they were perceived. A number of code breakers admitted that the Mainbocher uniform was one reason they enlisted; some felt it was the most flattering piece of clothing they ever owned. Others chose the Navy over the Army because they preferred the classic Navy blue over the drab khaki that was the fate of the WACs. The Army women even had to wear khaki bras and girdles, which the WAVES thought was hilarious. In true competitive-service fashion, Navy women felt superior in being able to wear their own underwear.
What the creation of the WAVES meant, for the women working as civilian code breakers in Washington, was that they now would be commissioned as officers in the U.S. Naval Reserve. They were given a choice—a few would remain civilians—but the majority accepted commissions. This meant that in the fall and winter of 1942, just as they were truly settling in, the women had to depart the D.C. headquarters for officer training camp, to absorb the rudiments of what it meant to be a naval officer, instruction that contained nothing of use to code breaking. The men at Main Navy were reluctant to let them go. JN-25 had gone dark again. The U-boat Enigma cipher was likewise unreadable. It was a grim time, Midway or no Midway. “The work the women are now doing is too important to the war effort to risk a period of absence and disorganization,” protested John Redman, head of OP-20-G. To appease the commander, the Navy agreed to stagger the women’s departure. Six were sent to officer training in October, another handful in November, and so on. And off they went—in many cases, to the same colleges they had graduated from.
A WAVES officer training school was established at Smith College in Massachusetts, and another at Mount Holyoke. In late 1942, Bea Norton, Fran Steen, Ann White, Margaret Gilman, Vi Moore, and the rest were sent north. The number of women on the Smith campus doubled overnight, prompting the president to conclude a national radio broadcast with a special address to his own students. Noting that a thousand male officers had reported for naval training at Dartmouth, Smith president Herbert Davis ventured that his students would prefer the units be reversed: women training at Dartmouth, men at Smith. “Hide your disappointment,” he urged his students, apparently thinking that in a time of global crisis, the only thing young women cared about was boyfriends. “And be as generous as you can to your rivals in the women’s reserve.”
The women didn’t have uniforms yet, and so they drilled in civilian clothes, wearing black Oxford shoes with one-and-a-half-inch heels. The heels presented a problem. When they were marching and had to back up, the women sometimes fell backward on their rears, particularly if conditions were wet or icy. During classroom time, they received standard naval instruction. They studied The Bluejackets’ Manual, memorizing the nuances of personnel and ranking; the fine print of Navy protocol; the names and acronyms (BUAER, BUSHIPS, BUPERS) of the many bureaus. They studied American history from the point of view of the U.S. Navy, absorbing what Admiral This or That had said about sea power. They learned the difference between stripes and chevrons and all the intricacies of lingo. A work shift was a “watch.” You were “welcomed aboard” when you joined your unit. The thing you walked on was a “deck,” not a floor, even if it was in a building. Personal possessions were “gear.” To assemble was to “muster.” A meal was a “mess.” If you were out sick you were “on the binnacle list.” The bathroom was, of course, “the head.”
Absorbing the material was doable, if not always relevant. The women learned the lines of a battleship, the functions of a destroyer, how many guns were on a cruiser. They were taught to recognize the silhouettes of enemy ships and airplanes, a skill they would never need. WAVES were not permitted overseas (except a few who were sent to Hawaii), though many joined with the hope of going abroad. Even so, they had to get the same vaccinations men did: shots for diphtheria, smallpox, typhoid, and tetanus, administered by means of a “daisy chain,” a system in which the women walked forward as they were jabbed with needles from both sides. The shots were frequent and potent. If you were about to faint, you were told to go outside.
The women were subject to naval discipline and committed to serve for the duration of the war plus six months. Wild parties and ten-day benders were a thing of the past, at least while in training. Reveille was at five thirty a.m. and lights were out by ten p.m. Drinking alcohol during the training period was forbidden. The women had to make up their beds smart, shipshape and seamanlike. That meant square corners and the blanket folded in half, then in thirds, then in half again, placed at the bottom of the bed. The cover had to be so tight a quarter would bounce on it. The woman on the top bunk was required to sleep with her head at the opposite end from the woman on the bottom. Shoes had to be lined up in the closet with toes facing out. At college, many of the women had maids to make up their beds and clean their rooms. College life now seemed like a distant memory.