My two brothers served during World War II. Edward Ray Villines entered the Marine Corps when he was 17, having lied about his age. I was 5 years old. Two years later, Dean Villines joined the Air Force.
Ed was in the 1st Marine Division. He saw and experienced things a youngster should never have to see or endure. Dean was a bombardier in a B-24. His experience was totally different, but just as hazardous. My family and all our neighbors became their support system at home.
Making trips to the train station at midnight without headlights to serve coffee, donuts and sandwiches to the troops passing through on an equally dark railway car was routine. Going to the Red Cross office to roll bandages ... was commonplace. ... Watching the Western Union man in his freshly starched uniform bicycling down the street brought a chill to everyone — it was only bad news that came from those deliveries, and we all dreaded the day he might stop at our house.
It was rumored Ponca City was on Hitler’s “list” due to the oil refineries. Our windows were covered with quilts to keep out the dim lights allowed. Our news came mostly from a floor-model radio that sat in our dining room. We listened intently to all news reports. ... On some Saturdays we went to see a movie and watched the horrors of war shown in the World News briefs. ...
We worked in our Victory Garden growing everything we could. Rationing prevented us from having some items. We bought Victory Stamps and filled the books; we rolled what little tin foil we could find on an occasional stick of gum and saved it until we had a large enough ball to turn in at City Hall; and we shared our food stamps with neighbors who needed something more than we did. ... We were more fortunate than most.
We were in church every Sunday morning and evening and on Wednesday evenings, offering prayers for our brothers and those we knew and didn’t know.
Our clothes were made of feedsacks, including the underwear which had buttons at the waistband because elastic was not available.
We never felt we were sacrificing; rather, we were grateful we could do something to support our troops who were willing to give their lives for a cause.
Submitted by Joy Jeffus, 74, of Oklahoma City, on the oklahomawwii.org Web site
