The Darling Dahlias and the Eleven O'Clock Lady

“But they don’t work all the time,” Ophelia added. “The boys eat supper in the mess hall, over there.” She pointed. “After supper, they can go to the rec hall—that’s the building next to the mess hall. Or they can take classes in the education building. That’s the shop building, behind it. Or they can catch a ride into town for a movie, as long as they’re back by lights-out.”


On weekdays, the bugle call for lights-out came at ten p.m. Saturday mornings were reserved for camp cleanup and personal chores. On Saturday afternoons, there were organized sports, or trucks took the boys into town for a matinee movie and a stroll around the square, or dropped them off at the Roller Palace. On Saturday nights there was a dance, to which the townspeople were invited. Some of the enrollees had brought their clarinets and saxophones and trumpets and trombones, and formed a dance band, calling themselves the Briarwood Boogie Boys. Ophelia hadn’t been to any of the dances yet—Jed wasn’t much for dancing—so she hadn’t heard them. But everybody said that while the Boogie Boys weren’t quite Benny Goodman, they were really quite good. Ophelia wished she could get Jed to at least come and listen. It sounded like fun.

“Looks like they’re playing baseball,” Sarah said, pointing to a game that was underway on a diamond just behind the rec hall.

“It’s a tournament,” Ophelia replied. “It’s been going on all month, among six or seven of the camps in this part of the state.” One of the camp officers was in charge of organized sports—baseball, basketball, boxing, horseshoes, footraces, and even table tennis and pool, played in the rec hall. There was a drill team, too, and a flag team and regular calisthenics. When Ophelia interviewed Captain Campbell, he had mentioned that the sports and games weren’t just designed to keep the enrollees occupied and out of trouble. They were an important part of the plan to put more meat and muscle on the young men, many of whom had been underweight and malnourished when they arrived at the camp. For many, food hadn’t been easy to come by when they were living at home or hopping freight trains to get from here to there, in hopes of more opportunities.

Ophelia reached over and ruffled her daughter’s hair. “I wrote about the baseball tournament in my newspaper column last week. Bet you didn’t read it, did you?”

“I’m afraid not,” Sarah said, laughing ruefully. “But now that I know what it’s like out here, I’ll try to do better.” A deeply tanned young man in a khaki uniform with the sleeves rolled up walked past the car and turned to wave at Sarah with a wink and a broad grin. Sarah, blushing, waved back. “Golly,” she breathed. “He’s cute!”

Ophelia couldn’t help smiling. Last year, boys had been the object of Sarah’s scorn. Now, it was different. Sarah was definitely growing up. Ophelia put the car in gear, and they started down the hill, bearing right, toward the administration buildings. Through the open car windows, they heard the whack of a ball being solidly hit and a chorus of wild yells—the rebel yell—as the hitter rounded the bases. It sounded as if somebody had just scored a home run.

“Hey.” Sarah sat up straight. “Can I go watch the baseball game while you get your stuff?”

Ophelia shook her head firmly. “Not a good idea, dear. Some of these boys haven’t seen a girl in a while. You’d be mobbed.”

Sarah gave her a long-suffering look. “That’s the idea, Mom. Being mobbed by a few boys wouldn’t hurt a bit. I’ll bet it would be fun. Pretty please?”

“Not on your life,” Ophelia said. “You know what your father would say to that idea.” She turned right at the main camp signpost, followed the gravel road a quarter of the way around the parade ground, and parked behind the farthest administration building. “If you don’t want to come in with me, you can stay out here and read.” She turned off the ignition. “You did bring a book, didn’t you?” She really didn’t have to ask. Sarah was a bookworm. She always had a book with her.