Michael was very proud of his wagon—especially after his father painted its wooden slats fire engine red—but when just plain grease was hard to come by and fruit pits in March were few, he changed his patriotic objective and collected wanted paper and string instead.
Although those employed in war work were exempt from rationing, by early spring of 1918, every household in Highland Park boasted one of the Food Administration’s signed pledge cards displayed in their front window. Still, not every day was dictated by a war so far away.
Johann’s older girls now attended school, left each morning with their father while Henrietta and her youngest kept house and when everything was done to Dutch perfection went visiting around the neighborhood, usually over to Jane’s. Gloria—now a two-and-a-half-year-old bundle of flaxen curls and irresistible charm, aided by eyes that a summer sky could envy—thought Michael was the nicest boy in the whole wide world and never missed an opportunity to tell him so!
At first the little girl’s cloying devotion had an adverse effect. Michael, very annoyed, tried to steer her in his brother’s direction hoping John’s usual sullenness would deter her from coming over all the time, but when one day John threw mud at her and Gloria, quite stunned stood there forlorn and cried, Michael feeling she needed protection went to her rescue, brushed the mud off her pretty pinafore dress—took her by the hand and whispering soothing words led Henrietta’s daughter into his mother’s kitchen for a nice apple to be eaten to the core. From then on Michael accepted Gloria as his unavoidable shadow—and both were happy. When Carl’s Rosie on her day off brought their twins—all the children played together, but the unassailable unit of Michael and his Gloria remained intact.
Announcing that his company would refuse all profit from the manufacture of articles needed to win the war, Henry Ford stopped civilian production and Highland Park’s assembly lines turned out Model T ambulances, Model T trucks, Liberty engines for use in flying machines, even experimented with the idea of using the Model T’s chassis as a possible base for a two-man armored tank. While Britain’s order for Fordson Tractors were rolling off the line in nearby Dearborn, Ford accepted a government contract to build a hundred submarine patrol vessels. Never before had ships been built indoors.
As a new colossus known as Building B began to take shape, its girders were adorned by banners reading an eagle a day keeps the kaiser away; another, warships while you wait. Ford’s vow that the first Eagle Boat would be launched in less than three months’ time, accompanied by his rallying cry “AMERICA WILL DELIVER!” blazed across the nation’s headlines.
War having arrested the influx of European immigrants, the migration of America’s “working poor” now accelerated to feed the enormous need for manpower of Ford’s mighty Rouge.
Now as the new plant with its accessible river began to demonstrate its astounding capabilities, the Ford men agreed that here, as when they had first come to know him in that secret room at the birth of the Model T, the Boss had triumphed—proving once again that the impossible could truly become possible. Though still in its developmental stages yet already acknowledged as possibly the greatest manufacturing empire in the world, the Rouge needed as many seasoned men as the Highland Park and the other Ford assembly plants could spare. Dearborn being closer to where they lived, Stan, Carl, and Zoltan transferred. John, having achieved what he had striven for when still a university student in Italy—now a respected engineer, went wherever he was needed. Be it bicycle, trolley, tram, when scouting the Rouge riverbanks, John was in his creative element—often remaining days in Dearborn when returning all the way back to Highland Park took up too much of his precious time. Ebbely and Fritz amazed at John’s endurance were forever urging him to finally acquire a sweetheart of his own.
On hearing this, Jane wondered who, then remembering their first meeting beneath the chestnut tree, laughed. Wouldn’t it be marvelous! If John did purchase his dream—she, Giovanna once village girl, would become the wife of a man who possessed a real live Lizzie. The sheer thought of it was so exhilarating, she nearby dropped a stitch of the army muffler she was knitting as one of her volunteer duties for the Red Cross.
Proud of her husband’s achievements, when left alone Jane functioned as if he were in residence. Sometimes at night it felt strange having their bed all to herself, but she did not delve into why. When one is used to something and it is changed of course one notices, is how she explained her sudden reluctance to find comfort in a space usually now so welcoming.
By February Mondays had heatless added to their patriotic abstinence, tin was no longer permitted in the manufacture of toys, nor caskets adorned with bronze, brass or copper, the lapels on men’s ready-made suits were narrowed to conserve wool needed for soldiers’ uniforms, penalties for hoarding sugar were strict; yet despite the country’s dedicated war effort—as no American unit had as yet seen battle—the actual consciousness of war remained what it had been, as the lending of help to others far away; a temporary emergency that would soon be ended once brave American boys were given the opportunity to make the world safe for democracy.
Avowing her Americanism, Mrs. Nussbaum left Hannah’s Chaperone Watchers to become a part-time Munitionette remanding her younger children into the capable hands of her eldest who was a spinster in the making and therefore trustworthy to a fault.
As more and more women took up positions vacated by men gone to war, their outward appearance changed. Hairstyles too cumbersome, complicated and time consuming vanished as a female’s once crowning glory was cut and bobbed exposing the slightly shocking nakedness of feminine necks. Having less hair to balance upon, hats lost their sweeping expanse, became smaller—their brims no wider than a sailor’s boater. No longer soliciting outrage, ankles emerged from behind their curtained sanctuary, became fully visible as skirts shortened for easier maneuvering in a man’s world. No long trains, no floating shawls, no overzealous adornment, even if left untouched within, a woman’s outward appearance announced capability, dependability, efficiency, determination, as trustworthy a person as any man.