Although the draft produced the most dramatic confrontations between Amish beliefs and a nation at war, the problems for the Amish began earlier, while the nation was still “at home.” The Amish feared a repeat of the events of 1917 and 1918, but just as the peace churches had learned from their experiences in World War I, so, it appears, had the other citizens of Indiana. At least in LaGrange County and at the state capital of Indianapolis, people were more aware of the pacifist traditions. Most appreciated that the Amish were not enemy aliens even though they spoke a variant of German; therefore, the citizenry at large made little effort to transform the religious beliefs of the peace churches. As a result, the government offered some compromise. Instead of drafting the Amish into the military, they offered them an acceptable alternative for service; instead of demanding participation in bond drives, they offered alternative bonds from the beginning of the war; and most surprisingly of all, they transformed Amish farmers into examples of productivity.1
As the war effort got under way, the government demanded greater efficiency in industry and farming. Soldiers had to be supplied and fed. One paradoxical consequence of those demands was that economic well-being went hand-in-hand with the dislocation of people. On the one hand, government spending injected massive amounts of money into the economy. The nation’s economy hiccupped only slightly, as it gulped this fresh sustenance en route to a financial boom. On the other, the initiation of the draft required that the federal government shift from finding jobs for men to finding men for jobs.2 Anyone not drafted was likely to fall prey to the lures of manufacturing sites, where the influx of workers created overnight boomtowns with inadequate housing and amenities. Likewise, women and racial minorities discovered that the rush to support the war broke down the barriers formerly barring their participation in the workforce. As a result, they too left the domestic domain in large numbers.3
The Amish were different. Largely unaffected by the pull toward manufacturing, the Old Order Amish remained on their farms. Because of their traditions, Amish families could easily have become the poster children of the “Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without” slogan of the war.4 Remaining on the farms, however, did not immunize them from the pressure of maintaining full agricultural production to feed the home front and the war-torn world.
In short, farming reasserted itself during the war years as a vital element of national security. “Essential farmers” were one of the few groups who received draft deferments.5 Even so, the Amish found themselves embroiled in disputes with draft boards who did not understand the labor-intensive nature of Amish farming and who refused to defer all farmers. Under pressure to increase production, farmers chafed at the idea that their hands were being drafted. All farmers wondered how crops could be planted, much less harvested, if there was no one to help.6 This particular concern was especially a problem for the Amish. Since they did not use gasoline-driven farm machinery, they had to rely upon farm laborers. In the past they had used their sons and grandsons, and sometimes they had even hired extra workers. Now there were none to hire, and many of their own sons were drafted. Some farmers hired women. Although wives had always worked when needed, their responsibility was primarily the home and children. It seems that the responsibilities of women remained largely the same, though there are no statistics showing how many women were hired as farmhands.7 The lack of farmhands became so severe in 1942 that the owner of the Shipshewana grain elevator approached the draft board. He warned that there would be a labor shortage on local farms if the board continued to draft as it had. As a result, the draft board changed its evaluation formula.8
In this atmosphere, the Amish of LaGrange County flourished. Paperwork and planning increased with the imposition of new governmental restrictions and guidelines as part of the effort to stimulate production.9 The farm became a business as never before, although the day-to-day management of the farm changed little for Amish farmers. Farming was still a way of life their parents and grandparents could understand. Letters to the Budget from Amish communities in northern Indiana emphasized the continued dominance of agricultural seasons on their lives; ancient rhythms still determined the planting and harvesting of crops. The weather was of more immediate concern than Adolf Hitler; droughts wreaked havoc, and early frosts damaged prospects for harvest. As one farmer noted, “The government is ruling most everything but they can’t do much about the weather.”10
Even though the government encouraged greater outputs, the Amish did not increase their yields significantly during the war years. This is surprising in light of the Amish’s frustration over restrictions on production imposed by New Deal regulations.11 Instead, the Amish adjusted to market demand by changing the balance of their production. For example, the harvest of mint, already on the wane, nearly disappeared by the end of the war.12 Farmers substantially decreased the acreage devoted to rye and increased wheat and corn plantings only slightly. Real acreage increases were in barley and sorghum, but they represented only a small overall increase in total farm acreage. The increased sorghum acreage probably reflected the need for feed. In fact, purchase of feed for livestock grew exponentially, from $198,311 in 1940 to $1,181,259 in 1945.13
The significant growth in agricultural commitment occurred in the raising of livestock and poultry. This venture represented a remarkable long-term commitment on the part of the farmers in the area, since investment in high-quality stock and facilities for milking cows or housing chickens was expensive. Moreover, the shift to livestock revealed a long-term hope for the future. Raising livestock is not like planting a different type of seed; because of the length of time it takes to get to market, husbandry is an investment in the future.
Growth in farmed acreage in the county reflected the new dedication to agriculture. LaGrange County had always been an agricultural county, but in 1945 fully 96 percent of its land was dedicated to farming. Part of the reason for this upswing was the surge in profits. As one would expect, prices of goods increased during the war. Letters to the Budget began to report an increase in prices, noting that maple syrup was up to $1.75 a gallon without the container.14 According to the census report of 1945, the value of crops in LaGrange County had doubled in five years. This profit was real. For instance, the total acreage devoted to oats increased by 20 percent from 1940 to 1945, but the value of the crop increased by 177 percent. Likewise, winter wheat increased by only 2 percent in acreage, but the value of the crop increased by 184 percent. Livestock had similar increases. The total value of livestock and livestock products sold increased by 160 percent in 1945 alone.15
During the war years the farm bloc (members of Congress who organized to pass legislation supportive of farmers) pressed for parity. It asked for 110 percent of the price of goods in 1914, the last solid year for agriculture. Congress acquiesced to these demands in 1942. According to historians Walter W. Wilcox and Allan M. Winkler, farmers across the United States prospered, enjoying a tripling of farm income during the war years. It is not clear how much inflation ate away profits in rural areas, but all appear to agree that profit outran inflation. The Amish in Indiana participated in these good times.16
Just as prices of products increased, so did the value of the LaGrange farmland. Although the average size of the farm fell slightly from 122.6 acres in 1940 to 122.3 acres in 1945, the average value of the farms rose from $7,046 in 1940 (or $57.48 per acre) to $11,140 in 1945 (or $91.07 per acre). By no means did these numbers reflect an affluent lifestyle—farm work was still difficult—but the change did indicate a marked improvement in the farming community.
The Shipshewana community also received several families from Yoder, Kansas, who were displaced by the building of a new naval air base that incorporated more than 2,550 acres. Fourteen families were affected, including five Amish and three Mennonite.17 The Amish families settled on farms in the greater LaGrange area. A letter to the Budget from one of the families chronicled their move. As was typical, they reduced their belongings and livestock so that they could move more easily. Once they were finally settled, they had some difficulty getting machinery, since new implements were rationed and old ones were correspondingly expensive. They found farming in Indiana a bit different, but at least they arrived during flush times and had a chance to get established. This forced move served to intensify their sense of alienation.18
Although the ability of the Amish to produce and to change in response to market demands earned them respect in the farming communities of northern Indiana, the home front was not without its occasions for division. Hostility to conscientious objectors remained and posed a continuing threat to the Amish. For example, in the fall of 1942 the Brighton School in LaGrange Greenfield Township fired its agriculture teacher, Edward Gilbert, when it learned that he had registered as a conscientious objector. The LaGrange Standard reported laconically, “Citizens of the Brighton neighborhood protested Mr. Gilbert’s service and a wave of feeling was apparent.”19 Obviously, since Gilbert was a teacher, he was not Amish, but his dismissal shows the continued animosity toward conscientious objectors.
The LaGrange Standard may have inadvertently added to the tensions, although its intent was quite different. For example, early in the war, the paper printed the front-page headline, “Amish Family Is Furnishing Men for Uncle Sam’s Army.” The story reported that a Methodist son of an Amish family had died in combat.20 Likewise, it listed everyone called up by the Selective Service Board along with their eventual classification. As would be expected in an agricultural county, many men received exemptions for agricultural work; others were sent to CPS camps, after being classified as I-A-O or IV-E.21 For both military recruits and conscientious objectors, the paper included the dates of their departure and their destinations.22 The only difference came in that the local paper never included news from CPS camps, although it did print reports from military camps.23 The fact that conscientious objectors were mentioned at all is an enormous change from the practice of World War I; that they were observed positively is noteworthy. Yet listing the names reminded the county that a segment of their population wished to be treated differently.
The reports of furloughs granted from the CPS camps also had unfortunate consequences. They reminded everyone that those who served in CPS did not face the hardships of war. In response to the resentment generated by those reports, the Budget reminded its readers to be very careful in protecting goodwill and tolerance toward the camps. The paper reported that the camps were judicious in granting weekend leaves, limiting them to ten a year, and furloughs.24
Even though many Amish men remained at home to farm, they joined with other members of the community in supporting the men at the CPS camps. The government did not allocate any funds to support the camps, so conscientious objectors had to pay their own expenses. Therefore, local Amish churches provided cash and food for each of their men, to reduce the expense of camps.25 Mennonite women held canning parties and collected donations of food. Governmental regulations allocated additional sugar rations to the historic peace churches so that canning could be done for CPS camps as well as what was needed at home. Local stories acknowledge the fact that Amish women participated in the Mennonite collections of food. Although there is no verification of this information, it is logical to assume that it was the case.26
Old Photo of Amish Campsite. Photograph courtesy the South Bend Tribune.
Possibly even more important to the men serving at the CPS camps was the support they received through communications from other Amish. The Amish community kept track of the conditions at CPS camps nationwide through the Budget, which ran a weekly column called “CPS News.”27 CPS men often communicated with each other through letters and, as they had during World War I, received letters from Amish people they did not know.28 Churches near CPS sites sent families and ministers to visit the Amish and support them in every way possible. Families were gently prodded to come to the camps by this homely image: “We would hardly put a bunch of cattle out and not at times go and look after them.” For camps in very rural areas, some sort of accommodation needed to be made for visitors. In some camps there was a small furnished house available.29 Reports vary about the frequency of visitors, but it is certain that for the men closest to LaGrange County, visitation was more frequent.30
Bishops made trips to the camps as well, particularly Eli J. Bontrager and Ira Nissley. The Mennonite Central Committee offered to pay for Bontrager’s expenses and time, which were considerable. According to his own calculations, Bontrager traveled over sixteen hundred miles in thirty-five states. He took money for travel expenses, which he used frugally, and refused payment for his time.31 Bontrager took his role as visiting bishop very seriously. He counseled the men about remaining true to their faith; reminded them of the importance of plain clothing; encouraged camp administrators to allow for worship in German; and kept communication open between the camps, local communities, and LaGrange. Bontrager was particularly concerned about communion. Some of the men were not in good standing with the local churches, but after making a public confession, they were allowed to participate. Bontrager published an account of his travels in the Budget, particularly taking the time to alert the wider community about his decision to offer communion.32 In the absence of a central body to direct church policy, Bontrager’s visits were extremely important in maintaining the traditional Amish reliance on community. Those visits served as reminders of the need to remain part of the community while the men were forced to live apart, with none of the usual connections to their faith.
Along with their special obligations to the CPS camps, the Amish faced the same financial pressures as their neighbors in LaGrange County: increased taxation and drives to support bond sales and the Red Cross. The various “drives” were highly regarded, as they provided direct support for the war. As a result, the Amish faced a dilemma. Had Congress chosen to support this most expensive of all wars through taxation, the Amish would have had no difficulty. After all, Jesus commanded his disciples to “render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s.”33 Once money was out of their hands, they had no control over where it went, even if it went to supporting the war effort. Other methods of subsidizing the hostilities were more problematic for the Amish. Even rationing posed a problem. Many of the rationed products were of little importance to the Amish, including machinery and gasoline. Others, such as meat, were supplied from their own farms. Sugar created a special problem, primarily because of the design on the ration coupons. In an effort to remind everyone of the necessity of rationing, the government printed sugar rationing books with airplane bombers on them. The Amish feared that there was a direct connection.34
The bond drives created a distinct dilemma for the Amish. For Congress, bonds represented one of several ways to finance the war, in addition to taxes, price fixing, and rationing.35 Ultimately, taxation provided about 40 percent of the money required to finance the war, with the rest coming from bonds. Since bonds provided such a sizable portion of the financing for the war, the government’s support for bond drives was extraordinary. The United States government assigned each state a quota, which was subdivided by county, then by towns and townships. With the pressure to purchase diffused throughout the country, communities tended to stir themselves to a fever pitch to support each drive.36 To keep the public aware of the war effort, posters, movie clips, newspapers, and radio advertisements maintained a constant barrage of information and symbolic reminders.37 Towns across the Midwest put up displays to show the amount of money raised locally and how many airplanes, bombs, or battleships that money would buy. This direct link between the purchase of bonds and the purchase of armaments placed the Amish in an untenable position.38 They refused to participate in local bond drives, and, as a consequence, LaGrange County faced difficulty meeting its quota for the duration of the war.39 Newbury Township, in particular, fell short.40 But just as in World War I, there was a compromise. The Mennonites created a Civilian Bond Committee, which selected bond offerings from the Treasury Department that were “not specifically for war purposes.” These were issued through the Provident Trust Company of Philadelphia. These alternative bond offerings varied in interest, type, and specifics. They tended to be expensive—one group, for instance, sold only in $100 allotments—yet they did sell, which relieved state and national pressure on the community. The LaGrange Standard never reported this compromise.41
At the time, the Amish community changed its stance regarding the Red Cross. At the beginning of the first Red Cross fund drive, the Amish announced that they would meet 25 percent of the county’s quota.42 In spite of continued concern expressed about fulfilling the commitment, it appears that both the Amish and the county always succeeded. This success is significant. Of equal significance is the fact that the LaGrange Standard actually reported the Amish involvement and went so far as to praise them for being leaders in contributions.43 It should be noted, however, that this new participation did not really change Amish attitudes. Participation came from church units, not individuals. Individuals could not, and would not, contribute to the war, but they did directly support relief efforts. Although the Amish continued to draw their boundary lines strictly, it is not clear why they changed their view on what the Red Cross represented.44
Likewise, governments at all levels changed their position toward the Amish. The state and national governments no longer saw them as a threat to national security. In Indiana, the LaGrange County branch of the State Defense Council did nothing that matched its activities during the prior war. The governor organized the council much as had been done during World War I: A civilian defense director headed the state council, which in turn was to coordinate the county councils. By the end of World War II a full roster of staff positions existed for the LaGrange County Civilian Defense Council and the Citizens Defense Corps, but correspondence in the state archives indicates that the county was slow to respond.45 The county had to be pressed to get air wardens and blackout captains trained and in place. The first blackout drill did not work well, though later ones did. Apparently, in LaGrange, an invading army seemed to be a remote possibility.
There were no letters in the Civilian Defense Council files at the State Archives concerning the Amish of LaGrange County or their patriotism.46 Both sides had apparently learned from the experiences of the last war. They still viewed each other warily, but with more understanding. This is not to say that there were not some difficulties, but a consistent, patterned behavior of mistrust and abuse is not evident in any of the remaining records. In fact, although each of the men applying for IV-E status was to be evaluated by federal agents, and one man reportedly was told he was to be investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the FBI claims to have no record of investigating either individual Amish conscientious objectors or the Amish community as a whole during World War II.47
The story of the Amish in LaGrange County during World War II is very different from that of World War I. Similar to everyone else, families were distraught about sending their sons away and struggled to pay their high taxes, purchase bonds, participate in Red Cross drives, and support their men in service. Yet the Amish farms thrived. One non-Amish CPS man complained that while they had difficulties, “everyone back home has prospered.”48
It is important to note the reason for their success. Certainly the economic environment was sensational for farming, and the Amish made the most of it, but no matter how encouraging the economic arena, if there had been more difficulties with their neighbors, the Amish would not have managed nearly so well. Their neighbors perceived them to be less rigid and more willing to participate in the difficulties and hardships of the times. Furthermore, the Amish made few demands on the rationing system, and their frugality contributed to the efforts of food production in the county.
Although their neighbors saw them as more flexible, the Amish viewed themselves as unchanged. Just as in the first war, the Amish registered for the draft and asked for status as conscientious objectors. In both wars they were willing to serve away from the military; only in World War II were they able to do so. During the second war, alternative bonds were available from the start, so the great difficulties of the first war did not occur. Admittedly, support for the Red Cross was a change, but it appears to have to do with a modification in perception as to the actions of the Red Cross, rather than a change in the fundamental attitudes of the Amish. In addition, the frugal nature of the Amish community was simply the tradition of their social structure; it was who they were rather than a new persona for the course of the war. In other words, the Amish did not change their boundary formation or their limits of accepted behavior for this war. On the home front they remained consistent.
The World War II experience was a defining point in the lives of the Amish in LaGrange County, as with others of their generation. For the families at home, the surge in the farming economy allowed the community to flourish. More importantly, the CPS experience defined the lives of many of the men who became the church leaders during the next decades. They took their expanded world vision back to their home churches, a perspective that was of particular importance as they wrestled with the difficulties and realities of living in a violent world.49
The Mennonite men interviewed from the LaGrange area reported that the church became outward looking as a result of the CPS experience. During the war and immediately afterward, Mennonite church leaders began to question what was biblical versus cultural, which resulted in an easing of the church’s clothing restrictions.50 More significantly, they also began to be aware of the needs of the larger community. CPS men volunteered for relief work in war-torn Europe after the war. Their wartime work also spurred the church to make a long-term commitment to mental health. Under the auspices of the church, Mennonite mental hospitals grew from the ashes of war.51
In contrast, these Mennonites worried about the impact of the CPS experience on the Amish. They thought that exposure to a larger world had led many away. The Amish men, however, disagree. They acknowledged that some men left the community, but the majority stayed. They believed that the ones who endured the CPS experience were much stronger for it, and many returning from service became church leaders—deacons, ministers, and bishops.52
The greatest difference between the Mennonites and Amish was that the Amish constantly referred to family. The subject ran like a litany throughout the conversations. When examining the degeneration of modern life, even among themselves, some speculated that the cause was prosperity; others thought discipline. They all agreed, however, that evil moved progressively through home, through the church, and then through the nation.53 Home was the foundation, the beginning. One man went so far as to suggest that the absence of support from home or community was the most significant reason why some men left CPS camps to join the military.54 Another spoke of his own restlessness during his CPS days and explained it as rootlessness: “Home is the anchor.”55 Another put it more simply; he returned home early from CPS because of illness and remarked, “Home is a good place to be.”56 For as much as the Amish men gained during their experience, home and community remained central to their culture. This recognition of the need for contact with and support from home was a special concern of the men, to the extent that many eschewed tempting assignments elsewhere. One man explained that later developments in the Selective Service allowed people to be placed in potentially worthwhile assignments, but the assignments did not provide community support; he and others expressed concern that without this support there might be a falling away.57
As individuals, the Mennonites felt that the CPS experience defined both church policy and individual conviction as well. One of the most intriguing comments on this point came from a man who said that it probably would have been better if IV-E status had been more difficult to obtain. He explained that many Mennonites and Amish applied for that status, because it was what their church taught and their parents expected, but they did so without internal conviction. For some, though, simply declaring IV-E status was itself a pivotal event.58
The experiences of men in CPS camps marked the culmination of the struggle for alternative service initiated by the historic peace churches. Their fight was to secure a change from the harsh treatment of conscientious objectors during World War I, and for the members of those churches, the camps worked remarkably well.59 And, even though there were exceptions, the camps also appear to have worked well for the members of other churches.60
A few studies of the historic peace churches reach a different conclusion. Perry Bush sees a germination of discontent with the cozy arrangement between government and church leaders that eventually grew into the refusal of American Mennonites to register for the draft in 1969. He acknowledges the fact that Mennonite conscientious objectors, with whom he includes Amish, “engaged in no walkouts, work slowdowns, strikes, or acts of non-cooperation to protest the nature of CPS as a Selective Service program.”61
The most puzzling comes from Cynthia Eller’s Conscientious Objectors and the Second World War. At the end of the book Eller attempts to show why the conscientious objectors of World War II opposed war, but she spends more time on philosophy than theology. Her oral history sample reflects a methodology that encouraged the politically active, not the devout, to respond.62 Furthermore, her statement that World War II and Hitler caused no challenge to the pacifism of conscientious objectors is not supported in the record.63 Nor is her comment that the Amish and Mennonites had pro-German tendencies.64
Most of the men were well aware of the philosophical problems posed by Hitler and his aggression in Europe. The times were dark, but many chose to be and to remain conscientious objectors not because of allegiance to Germany or political questions about the origins of the war. Instead they firmly believed that it was what God wanted of them; it was what the Bible taught. During an interview with a group of men, one man allowed the conversation to progress for only about a half an hour before remarking, “You haven’t asked why we did it, why we were conscientious objectors.” In explanation, one man quickly reeled off a list of biblical references to back his position. Another quoted the passages at length. This ability to quote scripture verbatim in English was startling, since the man was Amish and worshiped in German. They believed that although the Old Testament taught “an eye for an eye,” Jesus had brought a better way, when he commanded “turn the other cheek” and rebuked Peter, who cut off the ear of the High Priest’s servant, by saying, “He who lives by the sword shall die by the sword.”65
The fact that so many Anabaptists before World War II spoke and worshiped in German seems to have confused Eller. Just because a group speaks German does not mean that they are loyal to Germany, as the people in Austria painfully learned during the war. Neither were the traditions of the Anabaptists German. In fact, their practice of teaching nonviolence precipitated their decision to emigrate to the United States; they opposed conscription in the numerous European countries in which they were living. One man stated that the traditions and history of their community confirmed what they knew to be biblically true.66
To a generation jaded by Watergate and the legacy of distrust from Vietnam, the most surprising comment of all, within both oral histories and writings, is the profound thanks these men offer the government. They are grateful that the government granted them an alternative to military service. One wrote, “I am thankful to a gracious Government for the privilege granted to serve with a clear conscience.”67 After talking with these men and reading their reports, it is not surprising that their final comment is always “to God be the glory.” These are people who take their beliefs seriously. They are willing to withstand censure, mistrust, misunderstanding, and ridicule for something they believe the Bible teaches. Their faith is not donned as finery for a Sunday morning. It is their daily wear and a creed for life.