When Books Went to War (16 page)

 

The morning after a particularly trying night of heavy enemy mortar fire . . . I was walking along the road when I saw some of the dead being loaded gently into the backs of several trucks which had been drawn up to take their bodies to the division cemetery. I looked to see if I recognized any of the dead marines. There were half a dozen stretched out, some on their backs, and several face down. One of the latter was a young, fair-haired private who had only recently arrived as a replacement, full of exuberance at finally being a full-fledged marine on the battle front. As I looked down at him I saw something which I don't think I shall ever forget. Sticking from his back trouser pocket was a yellow pocket edition of a book he had evidently been reading in his spare moments. Only the title was visible—
Our Hearts Were Young and Gay
.

 

More than a year into the program, and having distributed nine monthly shipments of books among the armed forces, the council was eager to hear from more servicemen about how the ASEs were being received. Turning to
Stars and Stripes
, a newspaper by and for soldiers, it arranged for the publication of a small blurb under the headline “Mail Call,” asking for feedback and suggestions from the men themselves.
Was the council sending the right selection of titles? What books would the troops like to see in future editions? Were the ASEs holding up?

The servicemen were delighted to be asked for their opinion. Their regimented military lifestyle rarely involved being asked what they thought; they were usually told what to do and followed orders. The opportunity to have their voices heard made them feel a bit like civilians again. Bags of mail were delivered to the council with letters that lauded its efforts, requested specific titles, told daring tales of reading under fire, or bitterly complained about a certain book. Every letter was read, and most were answered.

Enthusiastic letters announced the ubiquitousness and popularity of ASEs among the troops. A Red Cross field director said that it was “not an uncommon sight to see men in long chow lines reading from one of the editions. They carry them to the movie theater to await the start of the picture; to read between duty paroles; to kill a few minutes before ‘lights out'; while waiting in the sick bay for treatment; or sweating it out in the barber shop.” A major in the South Pacific reported that an ASE was stuffed into every pocket. “Soldiers carry your books with them and read them in jeeps, on ducks, in alligators and weasels, as well as on LST's, on landing barges, and while waiting for coffee to boil between lulls at command posts,” he said. From the USS
Independence
, one man wrote that the ASEs were “so popular that one is . . . out of uniform if one isn't sticking out of the hip pocket!” Another serviceman weighed in from a hospital bed in England: “From the Airborne Infantry of the front lines to the chair-borne Finance Corps of the rear, you can find the boys reading as they never have before.”

Many letters hailed the ASEs as the best feature of military life. “Proof at last,” a second lieutenant declared, that “there are, come training and shipment overseas, despite the wife and girl you leave behind and the stridency of regimentation, advantages in the serviceman's life. I don't mean cigarettes [or] chocolate bars,” he said, “I mean the stirring edition of your pocket-books—the Armed Services Editions, which, through someone's high-mindedness, sense of humor, and also appreciation of
many
tastes, is simply (but imaginatively) superb.” Another serviceman wrote, “I do not know who you are or how your organization was ever started . . . however, I want to thank you for providing so many books in such a handy form for all of us in the service.” A lieutenant in India extended “damned sincere thanks” for the publication of “everything from Zane Grey to Plato.” From Italy, an American soldier remarked that sending books to the services was akin to making it “rain in the desert.” “There are many times when the only entertainment, relaxation, and mental stimulation is reading, so you can see how welcome the ‘Armed Services' books are,” he said.

Anyone who had made a long trip by sea knew what a difference a box of ASEs could make. One sailor who left California for Pearl Harbor wrote that the eight hundred men aboard his ship had “six long tiresome days at sea to look forward to,” but when the library produced a box of ASEs, the sailors “grabbed them up like children with a box of chocolates.” “They have made a lot of sailors happy and entertained during the many days of travel at sea,” he said. Another sailor wrote, “Since I have been in the service I have not seen any single thing more worthwhile (or comparable in any other respect) than the Armed Services Editions.”

Many appreciated the council's eclectic selection of titles, for there was always a range of subject matters and genres in each month's delivery. A dubious infantryman, who had feared that the ASEs would be confined to rudimentary offerings such as Zane Grey westerns and Tarzan stories, wrote to the council that he was “gratifyingly pleased . . . that you have eschewed such monstrosities.” (The council ultimately published several of Grey's westerns and two Tarzan books). Another man said that the council's book selectors were “worthy of a medal” based on the conviction they exhibited in “the intellectual curiosity of the average soldier.”

When servicemen learned that the work of a favorite author had been printed in ASE format, they would do nearly anything to track down a copy. As the inside back cover of each ASE listed all of the titles published that month, the men could check for books they wanted to read and scavenge their unit to find them. “For days I've been hunting through our service club, bothering the Red Cross, scanning our library shelves and hunting unrelentlessly through the barracks—for what???? G-183! G-183! G-183!” one man exclaimed. “Yes G-183,” he said,
Low Man on a Totem Pole
by H. Allen Smith. Smith was a favorite author of this sergeant's, and he begged the council to send him a copy; he even offered to pay for one. A man stationed in England asked for copies of
The Robe
and
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn;
he had already searched high and low for them and harassed the Special Services Division, but no copies could be found. He added: “You have no idea how many hours of pleasure your books give us.”

 

When the council asked for book suggestions, it unleashed a storm of ideas from men anxious to find favorite authors and popular titles. People from all walks of life and with completely opposing tastes wrote to ask for more books. A sampling of these letters reveals that the council could do no wrong so long as it continued to include as many different types of books in each series as possible.

One man wrote that many soldiers “would like to get hold of
Anna Karenina
(literally),” in addition to Dumas novels, and Balzac. Yet he advised to “ease up on the historical novels,” and “it might not hurt to try a single classic a month.” A petition-like letter signed by an entire unit asked for two books: a dictionary, and
Tad Potter
by Asa Wilgus.
Tad Potter
told the story of a young man forced to choose between living on his family's New England farm or moving to a big city with the woman he loved. A librarian at a station hospital in the Ryukyu Islands seconded the request for
Tad Potter
. That book “requires little ‘sales talk,'” the librarian said. “To interest a GI reader you have only to turn to the first page about a boy coming home in the Spring.” From another hospital, a request came in for more plays—Shakespeare, George Bernard Shaw, and Broadway comedies. One man's fondness for classics could be another man's nightmare. “There is just one bit of criticism that I have to offer,” one sergeant said after complimenting the bulk of the council's work. “I believe that the majority of the fellows prefer fiction, especially of the modern type,” he said. Another man wrote that his only complaint was that there were not enough sports books. “My personal preference is for history and biography, but I know from observation that no one of your selections goes neglected or unappreciated,” an engineer wrote.

Many servicemen were interested in reading about the nations involved in the war. One corporal wrote from the Pacific, where he had been stationed for some time, to say he was appalled by how little Americans knew about the history of that part of the world. He asked the council to help them out and print books on the culture and history of the Far East. From New Caledonia, a private first class wrote that, although the council had printed histories of Britain and North Africa, he was disappointed that it did not publish works on France, Russia, China, and India. In addition to requesting histories of these nations, he urged the council to print books on the “recent history and people of the Axis” to build “soldier and sailor understanding of our foreign policy and what it should be.”

Enthusiasm for the council's books and special requests for certain titles spilled into letters the men wrote to their loved ones. Many praised the council's work to such a degree that anxious mothers, wives, sisters, and girlfriends wrote to the council to see if they could purchase ASEs for a special occasion or to supplement their next care package. The wife of an American POW in Germany asked the council to send her a book that complied with all of the restrictions Germany placed on books. A Navy nurse wrote the council, telling of how enthusiastically the ASEs were received by her patients. However, her brother, who was in the Army, had complained in a letter that he did not have enough reading material, and she wanted the council to send books to him. A caring sister wrote to the council about her brother, who had told her all about the miniature books that were making the rounds where he was stationed. There were three titles that he was eager to read, but could not find, and he begged his sister to help. “He says that I couldn't send him a nicer gift than those three little books,” she said.

In response to most letters requesting ASEs, the council offered to inform the Special Services Division that books were needed in a particular theater or unit. Although council employees wanted to fulfill requests for certain ASEs, they were contractually obligated to give the Army and Navy
all
the ASEs that were manufactured. The council even refused a request from the United States Treasury Department for five hundred sets of ASEs to send to Australia under a lend-lease arrangement.

Yet the council did break the rules on occasion. A Dutchman who was quartering American soldiers in his home in Holland wrote to the council about an American officer who had been living with him for several weeks. This officer's love of reading was undeniable—he carried a huge collection of ASEs, but he lacked his favorite book,
Tarzan of the Apes
. “Next month he will have his birthday and I should like to give it to him for that occasion,” the officer's Dutch host wrote. The only problem was that he could not buy an English edition of the book in Holland. Although he knew it was not the council's “habit to send books to civilians,” he asked that it make this one exception.

Another overseas request came from a soldier in the Australian Forces, who happened upon the ASE of
Lou Gehrig
when on a joint mission with an American unit. “Being an ardent baseballer myself,” he said, the discovery of this “marvelous book thrilled me beyond expression.” Although he managed to glance through the book before American troops moved out, he was desperate to read the entire thing. “I realize your own servicemen have all claims,” he said, but he pleaded with the council to “spare a copy for me, for which I would be extremely grateful.”

Although appeals like these were routinely rejected by the council, some exceptions were made: a copy of
Tarzan
was mailed to Holland, and the Australian soldier received a package containing several baseball books.

 

When word spread that a certain book was exceptionally good, waiting lists were created to keep track of which soldier was the next to have the privilege of reading it. Those who could not wait their turn bribed their way to the front of the line (with packs of cigarettes, money, or candy bars). The council received a slew of letters asking for more copies of titles that the men were desperate to read.

While requests for classics, sports tales, modern fiction, and history books did not cause a ripple of concern, some suggestions sparked dissension within the council. One such request came from a serviceman serving off the Gold Coast in West Africa. This soldier said that books such as
Forever Amber, Strange Fruit
, and
The Three Musketeers
(Tiffany Thayer's version) were what the men really wanted. “The books that are most read are the books that have at least an essence of—to put it bluntly—sex and a lot of it,” he said. While his unit was lucky enough to have secured copies of
Forever Amber
and
Strange Fruit
(most likely because someone asked a relative to send them), both books were overused, with
Forever Amber
commanding a waiting list of at least thirty men, and
Strange Fruit
having one almost as long. Clearly, they needed more copies, preferably in the council's conveniently sized ASE format. Many men echoed these title requests. From the Aleutian Islands it was reported that the “fellas have a fever to read the novel
Forever Amber
by Kathleen Winsor.” “If you've ever seen books that were completely worn out by reading,” another man said, “it was the copies of
Forever Amber
.”

Requests for titles such as these created some agitation among the council's readers. First of all,
Strange Fruit
and
Forever Amber
were considered so indecent that the city of Boston had banned them. (For one captain, this was a selling point. “We're all looking forward to . . .
Forever Amber
, since it seems to have stirred up some excitement back home,” he said. “We get curious about all books that are banned in Boston—and who wouldn't?”) But, by the same token, Lillian Smith's
Strange Fruit
was a bestseller on the home front; even Eleanor Roosevelt had praised it for its moving treatment of sensitive social issues. It told the story of an interracial couple whose affair resulted in pregnancy. The couple could not marry because it was prohibited by law, the father of the child is murdered, and an innocent man is lynched for the murder. Far from being pure smut,
Strange Fruit
presented issues about inequality and the hypocrisy of living under a democratic form of government that did not extend the same rights to each of its citizens. It also happened to include racy descriptions of seduction, including exposed body parts and the tearing off of clothing. While
Forever Amber
was also a best-selling book, it told the bawdy story of how a young woman, Amber, climbed the social ladder of English society by sleeping with rich and powerful men and/or marrying them. Amber became the favorite mistress of Charles II, but all the while she lusted for another man. Eleanor Roosevelt never praised that one.