Law Office of Peele & Manning
Williamston, North Carolina
December 29, 1941
Red Underton, the postmaster of the rural
Jamesville post office and Walter’s on-the-job supervisor, was
doing 35 miles an hour in his Model A and was already halfway along
the ten-mile route to Williamston. The fifty-five-year-old
Underton, who long ago was saddled with the nickname “Red” not only
because of the color of his hair but to a lesser extent his face
and neck, was once a rural carrier like Walter and Skillet. He
became postmaster when the former postmaster, Poss Adams, died
fifteen years ago.
As postmaster, Red was one of the few Jamesville residents with a telephone in his home. Last night, Red got a call from Billy Bob Peele, a prominent Williamston lawyer just appointed chairman of the local draft board. Billy Bob had requested a meeting with the postmaster at 9 a.m. but did not give a reason. Red speculated that he would be asked to serve on the board as a representative from Jamesville. Given the chance, Red decided in advance that he would accept.
When Red arrived at the law offices of Peele and Martin, he was escorted into a large office with burgundy carpet and judges paneling overlooking the Roanoke River.
Billy Bob, an old-time southern lawyer who could reportedly “charm a bullfrog into a fryin’ pan,” slapped Red on the back with one hand and grabbed his arm with the other as if the two had been best friends for years.
“Come on in, Red. It’s good to see you, ol’ boy. Have a seat.”
“Good to see you, Billy Bob. We’re always happy to come to the big city,” joked Red. People from Jamesville always referred to both Williamston and Plymouth as “the big city,” though each sported a population of only about two thousand.
“How’d y’all get along with the fruitcake run this year?”
Billy Bob was asking about a Jamesville tradition whereby the post office delivered more than five hundred fruitcakes to all the local citizens during the week before Christmas. The fruitcakes were baked by an elderly widow who started the tradition twenty-five years ago as a way to spread good cheer when her husband died. Billy Bob Peele oozed so much charm, Red thought for a moment that the silver-haired lawyer actually cared about the fruitcake run.
“We did all right,” replied Red. “Had ‘em finished by about two o’clock Wednesday afternoon.”
“Heard Walter wasn’t involved this year, but I reckon that’s understandable under the circumstances.”
“Walter’s had it tough, Billy Bob. Billy Brewer was a good man. Now Walter feels responsible for his own family and Billy’s too. That’s six young’uns he’s gotta be a daddy to.”
“I’m afraid the war will affect lots of good men, Red. I guess you heard about the Japs bombing our air base in the Philippines last week?”
“I just read about it in the News and Observer,” Red said.
“And that Hitler and his Italian lackeys declared war on us just as soon as we declared war on the Japs!”
“I think it’s gonna be a long, drawn affair. Listen, if there’s any way I can be of assistance to the draft board, please let me know.”
“I’m glad you said that, Red. You know, we’ve been getting a lot of pressure from the Office of War Mobilization about excessive deferments.”
“I’m sure,” replied Red.
“With all these attacks and declarations of war, President Roosevelt wants full mobilization, but it seems like everybody and his brother are looking for some sort of deferment. This puts the board in a tough spot.”
“I don’t envy you, Billy Bob, but we sure appreciate what you’re doing.”
“Red, I hope you’ll still appreciate me when we get done this morning.”
“How’s that?” The Office of War Mobilization’s been getting on us about excessive occupational deferments in the public service areas.”
“The public service areas?”
“You know, the highway crews, hospital workers, school teachers, police department, even the post office.”
“The post office? Billy Bob, I’ve got two rural carriers. Walter covers the area south and east of Jamesville down to the Washington County line. Skillet covers west of town to Gardner’s Creek, halfway up here to Williamston. And me and Eva Gray—We’re too old to get drafted.”
“I know how you feel, Red, and it’s not just the Jamesville Post Office that we’re talking about here. Shucks, we’re looking at Robersonville, Oak City, and Williamston too. All those post offices are more overbloated than Jamesville.”
“Overbloated?” Red interrupted. “Billy Bob, like I said, we ain’t got but two carriers. That sure ain’t overbloated.”
“No offense meant, Red. It’s not just you,” the lawyer said. “We’ll be talkin’ to the postmasters in all those towns. We’ll also talk to the police chiefs, the sheriff, the hospital administrator, and the head of the highway department. But Red, the military needs more bodies, and we can’t justify one-hundred-percent deferments.”
“Billy Bob.” Red wasn’t comfortable with the direction of the conversation. “If you take away one of my carriers, whether it’s Walter or Skillet, the one who’s left will have to cover the entire area from the Washington County line just outside Plymouth to Gardner’s Creek, pert’ near all the way to Williamston. I know Jamesville’s only got five hundred folks, but that’s about three thousand people out in the country. And there ain’t no way one carrier can cover it all in a day.”
“Red, the board met yesterday afternoon, and word had already made it back here about how well you and Skillet worked together on the fruitcake run.”
“First of all, the fruitcake run is just in Jamesville proper and a few farms outside town,” the postmaster said. “It ain’t the whole area ‘tween Williamston and Plymouth. And second . . . wait a minute. You tellin’ me the board expects me at my age to go back on a rural delivery route and serve as postmaster?”
“With your experience, you do know the job better than anybody in the whole county. Look Red, here’s the point,” Billy Bob Peele leaned forward and looked Red straight in the eye. “The board won’t tell you how to run your post office or get the mail out. You’re the senior postmaster in this county, and I know you’ve forgotten more about mail delivery than the draft board will ever know.”
Billy Bob’s flattery softened Red’s resistance somewhat as the lawyer came to his point.
“What the board needs from you, Red, is a recommendation.”
“What kind of a recommendation, Billy Bob?”
“Assuming—and I mean just assuming—we had to lift the deferment status of Walter or Skillet, what would you recommend? And Red, before you say anything, I want you to know that the board has authorized me to tell you that your recommendation—based upon your recognized expertise in the area—will be the final word.”
“When you say assuming, Billy Bob, do you mean the board definitely will lift the deferment status of one of my carriers, or do you mean it might lift the deferment status?”
“Nothin’s decided yet, Red. I’m just interviewing all the postmasters to bring a report back to the board. That’s why we need your recommendation.”
“That’s a tough call, Billy Bob. Both are good men. On the one hand, Skillet has two years’ seniority over Walter. And you know in government service, seniority is usually the ultimate factor. On the other hand, Walter’s situation is unique, just losing his brother and all at Pearl Harbor. Like I say, he’s got two families to tend to who need him here. ‘Course Skillet’s got a wife and two young’uns too, and they need him at home. And the United States Mail needs ‘em both.
“You want my recommendation? Here it is. Based on my expertise, I think you should go first to the larger post offices at Williamston and Robersonville. They’ve got carriers to spare. We ain’t got none. So, there. There’s my recommendation, Billy Bob.”
“Thank you, Red. I’ll take your recommendation back to the board. We sure appreciate your time.”
Red had driven to Williamston expecting to be appointed to the draft board. Driving back to Jamesville, he was unsure what had happened. Was Billy Bob simply seeking information, or was the board planning to draft one of his carriers?
Should he say anything to Walter and Skillet? Wouldn’t they want to be prepared if their deferment status was about to be lifted? Yet the prospect of going to war was the last thing they needed to hear right now, especially Walter and his family. Besides, Red had recommended that both were essential personnel, and in the end, Billy Bob seemed to accept the recommendation. Silence was the best policy, Red decided. No point in raising worries over nothing.
New Year’s Eve, 1941
Walter Brewer Home
Jamesville, North Carolina
Walter Brewer awoke to the sound of sizzling bacon and the smell of fresh coffee brewing from the kitchen. He rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. Five o’clock. Time to get up.
He couldn’t remember a time when he was more ready to see a New Year’s Eve, which meant that in just a few short hours he could say good-bye to 1941, a horrible year he’d just as soon forget.
After finishing his bacon, eggs, and cheese grits, Walter kissed Jessie and headed for the post office. He arrived at six-thirty. As usual, he was the first at work. Walter liked it that way. In the quiet hour alone, he had more time to think.
He started sorting mail for the morning run. In the first bunch was a familiar envelope from Williamston—the same type of envelope he had delivered to Sammy Chesson, to his brother Billy, and to many other Martin County farm boys. The addressee in this case, however, was Walter Lawrence Brewer of Jamesville.
This isn’t happening.
Standing alone and half-stunned on the cold concrete floor in the back of the Jamesville Post Office, he ripped open the package.
Local Board No. 1
December 30, 1941
Martin County
001
County Court House
Williamston, North Carolina
ORDER TO REPORT FOR INDUCTION
The President of the United States
To Walter Lawrence Brewer
Order No 1004
GREETING
You are hereby notified that you have now been selected for training and service in the ARMY. You will, therefore, report to the local board named above at the Courthouse, Williamston, North Carolina at 10:30 a.m. on the 14th day of January 1942.
Signed: Billy Bob Peele, member or clerk of local board.
D.S.S. Form 150
U.S. GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE.
“Three weeks!” He banged his fist on the mail sorting table.
“Three weeks after the Navy buries my brother, the Army pulls me from my family!”
“How much do they expect from one family? This is a bunch of bull!”
His angry voice reverberated in every corner of the empty building.
“Here’s what I think of your draft notice, Billy Bob!”
He kicked the mailbag, sending hundreds of letters in every direction across the concrete floor.
“I did all I could, Walter. I recommended against this. I’m sorry.”
Red Underton was standing in the doorway, apparently having walked in at the end of the tantrum. “This ain’t over, Walter,” Red said. “The post office will try and get you deferred. The war can wait. Right now, you need to be here with your family.”