Julia, page 4
Julia stared at him. He wanted her to go to Washington, DC?
“You’ve heard of the newly formed WAC and WAVES Civil Service programs for women?” he asked. “You should take the Civil Service exam.”
She blinked. Harrison was on to something.
“There’s a shortage, you know, in the government agencies, with all the men leaving,” Harrison continued with composure, although Julia’s insides had tied into knots.
The WAVES was the navy division—Women Accepted for Voluntary Emergency Services. And the WAC was the army equivalent—Women’s Army Corps. She’d apply for both while she was at it.
She just had to tell her family that she was moving to Washington, DC. Whether or not she was accepted in either the WAVES or the WAC, she was ready for a change.
Two weeks later, Julia arrived in Washington, DC. What she hadn’t expected was the immediate boost of energy and morale she got the moment she stepped off the train at Union Station. Summer had hit DC with full force, packed with heat and humidity, tangled traffic, and professionals clogging the sidewalks. It seemed that everyone who wasn’t eligible to enlist had congregated to this place.
She hurried off the platform, escaping the scent of oil smoke and bellows of steam.
“There you are,” Janie gushed the moment the two saw each other at the curbside of the train station. “You look . . . wonderful.”
“You’re being kind,” Julia said. “I look like I’ve spent a week on a train.”
“Which you have.” Janie grinned and pulled her in for an embrace, her familiar floral perfume scent enveloping Julia.
When Julia pulled away, Janie kept ahold of her arms. “Are you sure you won’t stay with me longer? I’m happy to have you.”
“Only the weekend,” Julia said in a breezy voice that covered the deep exhaustion in her bones. She couldn’t wait until she climbed into bed, any bed, tonight. “I’ve already arranged things with Brighton Hotel, the residence hotel on California Street.”
Janie wrinkled her nose. “Well, if you change your mind . . .”
Julia linked arms with her friend as the taxi driver loaded her bags into the trunk of his car. “I appreciate everything, but I need to do this on my own. Prove something to myself, I guess.”
On the taxi ride to Janie’s place, they chatted about their mutual friends who’d been shipped out to places such as Florida, Kansas, and Hawaii. The conversation only made the urgency stronger inside of Julia.
She spent a lovely weekend with Janie, catching up on everything and eating out at restaurants, which Julia insisted on paying for, and trying to get used to the dense humidity again.
Once she moved into the Brighton Hotel, she spent time sprucing up the mismatched furniture. The single window barely offered any view at all—unless she enjoyed looking out at the service alley and the brick wall of another building beyond.
Writing letters occupied some of her time, writing to her brother, her father, her sister, her sister-in-law, and a few of her friends. She didn’t have much hope of John writing her back. Who knew how the mail service worked in France. And she didn’t want to think of the other reason he might not be writing back.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d pinned her hopes on the WAVES until she finally received a letter in reply to her application: Denied.
The naval reserve had listed the reason as “automatic disqualification” with a check next to “physical disqualification.” Julia scanned through the document. The height requirement was that a woman couldn’t be under five feet. Nothing was said for being too tall. But Julia knew that was it. She’d even altered her height to six feet one inch, but apparently, that was too tall to join the WAVES?
So when her rejection came later from the WAC, she wasn’t surprised, although the disappointment weighed heavy.
In a phone call with Dort, her sister said, “Come back home. Pop misses you, even though he won’t admit it, and I miss you. There’s no reason for us all to be split up, especially with our brother over in France.”
“I’m going to find something here, regardless,” Julia said. “I might be too long for the WAVES or WAC, but there are typist and clerical jobs everywhere. I’m not too long to sit in a chair.”
The following day, Julia met up with Janie at a café. They sat at an outdoor table with a folder of résumés between them. The spring air was unusually cool, and they stayed bundled in their coats while traffic crawled past—a cacophony of chrome and honking as a backdrop to their conversation.
“You can move in with me while you decide your next steps,” Janie said, stirring the tea that she had ordered. “You don’t have to keep living in that drab hotel.”
Julia shrugged before starting in on her eggs benedict. She was ravenous this morning. “It’s fine. I’m learning to cook quite well on a burner. I just have to keep splashes off the wallpaper.”
Janie scoffed. “Well, the WAVES and the WAC have certainly lost out. Who would have thought you could be too tall to join up? There are more government jobs now than ever. It seems every time I turn around, a new war department has started up.”
“Any that might take a tall woman who once went to Smith and enjoys golf and tennis?” Julia might be teasing, but she was still smarting from her rejection. It felt so . . . un-American.
“Sure.” Janie sipped at her tea. “Let’s see, there’s the War Research Service, National Defense Research Committee, Office of Civilian Defense, Board of Economic Warfare, Alien Enemy Control Unit, National Defense Research committee—”
Julia cut her off with a laugh. “That’s quite the list.” She tapped the folder with her updated résumé. “I hope to make some headway today, then I’ll sit by the phone and wait for the interview offers to pour in.”
“You’ll find something in no time.” Janie picked up her fork and knife and proceeded to cut the waffle on her plate. “Keep me posted.”
If only it were that simple, Julia thought as she spent the next few hours visiting multiple places of business, standing in job lines, dropping off her résumé, filling out application forms, and chatting up the clerks and secretaries. It seemed that everyone she had short conversations with were seeking anything, anywhere, that might get their foot in the door.
When a job offer came a few days later, it was with the Office of War Information. The OWI had recently formed that summer and were tasked with sending out propaganda.
“What do you have to do?” Dort asked over the phone when Julia called to report in after her first day of work.
“I’m assigned to the Research Unit, behind the scenes.” Julia turned to the burner she cooked most of her meals on and stirred the potato soup she’d prepared. “I guess this division is a combination of the former Office of Facts and Figures and the Office of Government Reports. I have to go through newspapers and other documents and spot names of government officials, then record the mention on a three-by-five card.”
“Ow, that sounds tedious.”
“It is, but I’m pretty sure I only got the job because Nobel Cathcart is the assistant director.”
“You mean the Nobel who’s married to our cousin Harriet?”
“Yes, that’s the one, but I’m hoping this job can be a stepping stone to something better.”
“Didn’t you used to be in love with Nobel?”
Julia laughed and turned off the burner. The soup had started to boil, and she knew it would be only a couple of minutes before it began to burn at the bottom. “I did have a schoolgirl’s crush on the man but deferred to Harriet. She’s family, after all.”
“You and your crushes,” Dort said. “Either they’re in love with you, or you’re in love with them. And it’s never mutual.”
“In Nobel’s case, I’m glad of that,” Julia said. “I might not be the religious sort, but I do have morals.”
“I know, and I’m lucky to have you as a sister,” Dort said. “You’ve always been a compass for me in my life. Remember when you lectured me to get over myself and my height? To be proud of my long legs?”
“And I still believe that.” Julia stretched out her own legs. “Us McWilliams women need to love ourselves first.”
Talking to Dort always gave her a boost, and Julia spent the next few weeks keeping her head down at work, hyperfocusing on her job. She spent the evenings with groups of friends at cafés or bars as they discussed the parts of their jobs that weren’t top secret and debated the progress of the war. Most of them had brothers or husbands who were now overseas, in the thick of the conflict, and there was a general feeling of anxiety, knowing that bad news could arrive for any of them at any time.
Chapter 4
Washington, DC
December 1942
“The great majority of women who worked for America’s first organized and integrated intelligence agency, spent their war years behind desks and filing cases in Washington, invisible apron strings of an organization which touched every theater of the war. They were the ones at home who patiently filed secret reports, encoded and decoded messages, answered telephones, mailed checks and kept the records. But these were the necessary tasks without the faithful performance of which an organization of some 21,000 people, with civil and military personnel, could not be maintained. . . . Only a small percentage of the women ever went overseas, and a still smaller percentage was assigned to actual operations behind enemy lines.”
—Major General William J. Donovan,
Director of the OSS, Washington, DC
Julia had stuck out her job at the OWI as long as she could stand it. But being cooped up day after day, reading hundreds of documents, amounting to over ten thousand three-by-five cards, had taken its toll over the months. She wondered if what she was doing was the best use of her time—the best way to aid in the war effort. Newspapers had reported over the past month that two million Jews had been murdered. It was unfathomable to comprehend. She couldn’t listen to the radio at night, otherwise she couldn’t sleep. In the mornings, she was somehow able to bear it.
When she heard more and more about the Office of Strategic Services, she was eager to apply. The Office of the Coordinator of Information had been established the year before, in June 1941, when FDR asked William Donovan to form an intelligence-gathering agency. After Pearl Harbor, Donovan proposed that the COI become the Office of Strategic Services (OSS). This also switched the reporting chain from the White House to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Some of Julia’s friends were working for the different OSS divisions and had nothing but interesting things to say.
“The elite of the elite work there,” Janie had told Julia. “You know, intellects and academics. People who’ve attended prestigious schools, like you. Besides, it’s all cloak and dagger stuff—you’ll love it.”
“As long as they don’t check my college grades,” Julia had joked.
She’d been nervous in her interviews, then surprised and grateful when she’d been asked to report on December 14. She’d even bought a new leopard-fur coat to celebrate. So what if it made her tall frame attract more attention? She was celebrating no more three-by-five cards.
The morning finally came, and Julia walked in the brisk December weather, crossing the E Street complex to the OSS headquarters and heading up the stairs to enter the front doors. The building, with its stately moldings and polished hardwood floors, was impressive yet unassuming. When she was introduced to Alice Carson, Julia recognized her immediately as a girl from Smith who was a few years older and had graduated the year that Julia had started.
“First, fingerprinting,” Alice said as she led Julia into a room with war posters decorating the walls. One of the posters sported a large ear, stating that the enemy was always listening.
Julia did the fingerprinting, marveling at how she’d just become a number on the military roster.
“Come with me to meet your boss. You’ll be working directly under Wild Bill as his research assistant,” Alice said in a hushed tone as they left the fingerprinting room.
“Wild Bill?”
Alice grinned. “You know, Bill Donovan. That’s what we all call him—behind his back of course.”
Julia wondered what sort of man she was about to meet. “What’s so wild about him?”
“I’m not exactly sure, although he’s a highly decorated World War I veteran,” Alice continued as they passed a room with several typists clacking away. “He was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, the Silver Star, and the Distinguished Service Medal, and rumor has it that he was injured multiple times. But I think his nickname comes from being stubborn and holding his own against people like the president of the United States.”
“So, he’s a Democrat?”
“Republican,” Alice said. “Is that a problem?”
“Of course not.”
“Donovan doesn’t care about political affiliation.” Alice kept her voice lowered. “He’s even hired a few communists.” This surprised Julia, but she didn’t have time to digest the information because Alice continued, “I guess FDR was impressed with Donovan’s prediction about the British withstanding the Nazi blitz and has now charged him with developing an organization equivalent to the Brits.”
Julia remembered her father’s ranting about how FDR could be so lackadaisical and staying out of the war when the Brits were getting pummeled.
Alice stopped in front of a closed door, numbered 122, but with no other markings. Before Julia could ask any more questions, Alice knocked.
“Come in,” the answer was immediate and self-assured.
Alice opened the door, but instead of entering the office, she motioned for Julia to step in.
Julia walked into the office that smelled of old coffee and came face-to-face with William Donovan. He rose from his chair on the other side of his large mahogany desk stacked with files. He didn’t look wild at all. In fact, Julia thought he looked unassuming, almost dumpy. His shirt was rumpled, and it looked like he might have a coffee stain on the cuff of his sleeve. If anything stood out about him, it was his piercing blue eyes.
He reached out his hand, and Julia gave it a firm shake as Alice slipped out of the office.
“Miss McWilliams?” Donovan said. “Welcome to the OSS.”
That was all the formality she received because he held up a finger while he leafed through a file, seeming to read it at superspeed. Then he looked up at her again. “Tell me about yourself.”
She began, halting at first, not sure how much was too much. When she told him about graduating from Smith College, he said, “You’re looking to help in the war effort, but you aren’t doing it to earn money, correct?”
This was a strange question, but she answered, “Correct. I have my own money.”
Donovan nodded. “Excellent. It’s my philosophy that those from wealthy families aren’t bribable. I’m sure you’ve heard rumors that I hire only the elite and wealthy, and while that has some merit, I want you to understand why.”
Julia folded her hands together, curious at this line of conversation.
“Like you, they’re educated, they’ve experienced more of the world, often overseas. They aren’t intimidated to try something new. They have some brass, if you will. A few dollars or even a few more won’t persuade them to break a trust. Besides, surrounding myself with academics and people who are smarter than me has never led me astray.”
Julia had to set at least one thing straight. “I’m about as far from an academic as you can get, Mr. Donovan, but I can play a mean golf game or school you in tennis.”
Donovan cracked his first smile. “This is a job where you’ll learn that we have to cross many lines in order to infiltrate our enemies’ boundaries. Espionage, organizing resistance groups, cryptography, forging documents, and initiating propaganda are only some of the tasks your sister spies have been engaging in. Because of that, I need someone completely trustworthy, and I’ve no doubt you fit the bill.”
Julia felt like she’d grown another few inches, which would be a feat in and of itself.
“Now, I need to head out for a while,” he said, picking up the file he’d scanned and tucking it into his briefcase. “Alice will show you around.” He tapped a piece of paper on the desk. “Go over this financial statement and then determine the budget for ordering more office supplies.”
“Yes, sir,” Julia said, because what else could she say? He was clearly on his way out of the office.
He paused again, his blue eyes locked on hers. “I can trust you, yes?”
“Yes, sir,” she echoed.
Then he walked out, and over the next weeks and months, Julia saw Donovan rarely. In fact, their conversations consisted of Julia parroting, “Yes, sir,” or, “No, sir,” most of the time. It seemed that each day, Julia was given more and more responsibility until she was personally overseeing eight people and indirectly supervising the office of forty people.
She thrived on the work. Not only did she handle sensitive information, which meant that she’d set up files on the information she received, then route the files to the right contact. She also hired people, oversaw financing and office purchases, and ensured office security. When a particular assignment came into her jurisdiction, she was told to investigate what could be done.
Since the OSS was entrenched in all main European cities and across Southeast Asia, by the end of 1942, reports were coming in at all hours from the various agents. It was no small task for Julia and her team to cross-reference and file the details on supply routes, arsenals, munitions storage, and industrial plants. Each word of each message had to be sorted and filed, then routed to the correlating office for further identification. One never knew when the smallest detail might be what led to a battle triumph or a life saved. The reports came through encoded cable messages or dusty pouches containing even dustier reports. Julia spent hours identifying code names, flagging critical words or phrases, analyzing photographs, searching for contacts, and labeling charts and maps.
