The Ice Vanities

 

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1939

Arms twined around skaters on each side, Helen balanced nervously in the shadows. In V-shape formation, costumed in tall Hussar caps, and military jackets resplendent with gold brocade, the line stood expectantly in the dark. She shivered from a combination of excitement and the frigid draft wafting from the ice. Her ears thudded, inundated by the echoing din from the impatient audience. Much louder than a theater, she absently noted.

Positioned at the apex of the two wings stood Czech Olympian, Vera Hruba—one of three women headliners in the new production. When the last measures of an orchestral stringed overture faded to a close, the house lights darkened, and the arena fell silent for an expectant moment. With a commanding flourish, the opening bars of a military march surged to all corners of the house. Spotlights swept over the glittering skate-line, as Helen pushed off her left foot, in sync with the tempo. Following two more beats, Hruba burst from the crux of the V, and raced the circumference of the rink, spotlights holding tight to her revolutions. The audience roared in appreciation with waves of echoing applause. Helen’s first ice show had begun.

If rehearsals were any gauge, she already felt great confidence in the show’s success. The dance line often lingered along the rail, chatting, stretching—waiting for the director to call them onto the ice. “That’s ViVi-Anne Hulton, she’s Swedish,” Clara Wilkins leaned in whispering, both studying the soloist on the ice. “She’s been skating since she was ten,” Clara nodded, as Hulton executed a perfectly timed waltz jump. “Boy, that little Swedish meatball knows her footwork.” The girls standing nearby murmured in awed agreement.

Chestnut-haired Lois Dworshak sprinted past the attentive chorus line. Helen automatically glanced again at her well-informed friend and Clara didn’t disappoint. “She, Lois there, is a bit of a prodigy. She skated a little as a kid in Minnesota but, actually hasn’t skated professionally all that long. She’s good too, huh?”

“Jeepers, you can say that again,” Helen muttered.

“But, the real story in this cast is Vera Hruba.” This time, May Judels, head line-skater, spoke up from the other side of Eileen. Listening eyes shifted toward May. “Vera met Hitler, just like Sonja Henie did, at the Olympics in Berlin. She finished her freestyle routine, and came in pretty high, I think. Vera didn’t medal or anything, but still skated a pretty good program.

“So what happened?” asked another girl, Margo.

“Hitler says to her, ‘How would you like to skate for the swastika?’ And Vera, (she doesn’t much like Germans), told him she’d rather skate on a swastika!” Heads turned in unison, watching as Hruba completed a flying camel. “So,” May sighed, “to make a long story longer, Vera and her mother left Prague in ’37 as refugees, the Hun’s marched in, and Hitler made a public statement that Vera shouldn’t wear Czech costumes or skate to Czech folk songs. He said Czechoslovakia was gone, never rise again. Vera then responded, publicly rejecting the Fuehrer’s comments, saying she’d always be a Czech, and that Hitler could, in so many words, go fly a kite.”

“Their own little war . . . now that’s guts,” Helen’s eyes returned to center ice. “Makes Henie even more of an apple polisher.”

“A swastika polisher,” Margo corrected, as the director motioned the giggling chorus to center ice.

Gail Chumbley is the author of River of January, also available on Kindle. The second volume, The Figure Eight is due out in September 2016

Relive Rio

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Preview: ROJ;The Figure Eight

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Feeling Alone

New York

1943-44

“Put that thing down, Helen. You’re not listening!” Eileen reached over, and snatched the pencil from her hand. “Let’s go to the show.”

“Hmm? What? A movie? Well, I don’t know. I need to finish this . . . “

“How many letters have you written this week? Honestly, Helen, you can take some time to go to see a film.”

Helen leaned back and stretched; glancing around toward her mother who was busy feeding the baby wiggling in her highchair. “What do you think, B?”

“Go. Go. We’re fine here. I’ll finish this, give her a bath and put her down.”

She turned back to her sister. “Okay, Eileen. What did you have in mind? What’s playing at Loew’s?”

Eileen smiled satisfied, spreading out a newspaper over Helen’s stationary. “Let’s see . . . Journey into Fear? I suppose not. Oh, here, Sahara. Your pal Bogart stars in that one.”

“Aren’t they both war pictures? I don’t know. I need to think about something else, actually anything else, but the war.”

Song of Bernadette? Jennifer Jones pulls off a couple of slick miracles. That one ring your chimes?”

“Aren’t there any musicals or comedies? I really could use a giggle or two.” Eileen sighed and hunkered down on her elbows, and the sisters scanned the theater section, side by side.

“Here—it’s your lucky day—we have two selections. Girl Crazy with Mickey Rooney, and Star Spangled Rhythm, starring Crosby, Hope, and Betty Hutton.” The older sister turned her face to Helen.

“I like Bing Crosby.”

“Then kiss your baby and grab your purse. In that order,” Eileen smiled, delighted that she convinced her sister to get out of the apartment.

They dashed into the movie house just as the overhead lights dimmed and the red satin curtains opened. A white light flickered and beamed from above the balcony, and the audience applauded. Distinct images filled the screen and the auditorium resounded in rich sound—a Disney cartoon flashed on the screen, “The Three Little Pigs.” Helen had to chuckle when a hand reached from the house of bricks, offering the huffing wolf a bottle of Listerine.

Quickly following, another clip opened in a solemn choral arrangement of Silent Night. Actress Bette Davis, seated before a Christmas tree, presented her children with war bonds as gifts. She kindly reminded them of the American fighting men, sacrificing their lives overseas while the family enjoyed the holiday in safety. Turning directly to the camera, Miss Davis encouraged those in the tiers to buy bonds as a way to win the war. Helen silently vowed to make a purchase in the morning.

United Newsreels boldly lettered the width of the screen, featuring a talon-bearing eagle, and a forceful marching tune. Hungry for actual footage of battlefronts, patrons waited eagerly for news updates. When the subtitle, War News from the Pacific projected, Helen nearly bolted from her seat, Eileen quickly grasping her sister’s arm—a gentle gesture telling her to stay. Reluctantly she viewed thick disarrayed hammocks of destroyed island palms, battle cruisers spinning turret guns toward exotic beaches, and endless rows of stretchers loading onto hospital ships. She felt slightly nauseous. Only her sister’s hand, and a reluctance to make a scene kept Helen seated. Finally, in what felt like forever an upbeat melody commenced and Star Spangled Rhythm splashed before her eyes. Relieved she literally exhaled her pent up anxiety.

“Holy mackerel sis! I thought I would have to tackle you to keep you in your seat.” The two girls hurried through the wet and chilly evening. “You know Chum is just fine, honey. We would be notified right away if anything had happened to him.”

“I’m awfully sorry Tommy. And I do appreciate you taking me out. But I need to get away from the war, not a firsthand eyeful of the Pacific front.” She frowned for a moment, then managed a grateful smile. “I did like the picture, though. Hope and Crosby were a good choice.”

“Good. Stop worrying. You’ll go gray.” The two continued down the sidewalk silently emitting small clouds of breath. Eileen spoke again, “You know we’ve had similar conversations before. Just like this. Walking home from somewhere.”

“I guess we have. But in those days you quizzed me about boys, passing flirtations. I’m honestly concerned about Chum . . . he is my husband. We have a baby.”

“Oh, I understand that, Helen. And I like Chum, too. Unlike Mother, I think you found yourself a good man. But do you ever wonder about the others? About Grant Garrett or Elie? I mean what they’re doing now.”

“Oh, well, yes. Sometimes. I think Grant is his third marriage, and still in Hollywood. He’s done some film work for Paramount, you know, adding jokes to dialog.” She smiled, remembering. “I don’t recall the movie but you could tell the jokes were Grant’s. Something like, ‘did you shoot the victim through anger—no, I shot him through the heart.’” She chuckled. “I think Grant is doing well, for Grant. As for Elie? I simply don’t know what became of him, and that bothers me. The last I heard he lived in Japan, and now the Japanese are fighting us. He might be back in Belgium, but the Germans have taken over. And considering how Hitler feels about Jews—yellow stars, camps, poor Elie has it coming at him either place.”

“Oh Helen. You’re right! That hadn’t occurred to me. Either place, he is in a mighty dangerous situation. Gosh, I hope he makes it through the war . . . if this war ever ends.”

“I worry, too. And I feel pretty guilty about how things ended with him. Not that I think lousing things up with Elie put him in danger. But we ended on bad terms, I had met Chum, and we were engaged. Still I hope he and his family are safe.”

 

 

Gail Chumbley is the author of River of January, and sequel, River of January; The Figure Eight..

Lucky Thirteen

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In River of January and the sequel, The Figure Eight, (in progress) Mont Chumbley repeatedly insists the number 13 is lucky for him. In that spirit “Chum” left the US Navy on June 13, 1933, his 24th birthday, to pursue a career in civilian aviation. Today would be the pilot’s 107th birthday. For more of his fascinating story read River of January, available in hard copy and on Kindle.

Strike Up the Band-a few more hours!

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River of January‘s Free Kindle Weekend!

Enjoy a read on the house compliments of Kindle. Available from Saturday morning through Monday night.

When you’re done tell a friend, and say something nice on Amazon Reviews!

Gail Chumbley is the author of the memoir, River of January. Also available on Kindle.

Waves

 

 

Preaching in 1630, Massachusetts Bay Governor John Winthrop, declared the new Puritan settlement a godly utopia, “A City on a Hill.” Since that time Winthrop’s assurance of purpose and perfection has shaped the narrative that is American history. For over two centuries the United States pushed forward striving to make real those founding aspirations. Many Americans, either in groups or as individuals have fought the good fight to extend liberty for all: the most notable example being the abolition of slavery. Yet the path toward realizing the dream of heaven on earth has been many times interrupted with progress’s nemesis—armed warfare.

As Revolutionary War zeal subsided in the late 1700’s, a series of remote camp meetings sparked a movement called the Second Great Awakening. (Yes there was a First) The popularity of these rousing evangelical revivals lit an impassioned fire that called Americans, mostly Northerners to eradicate sin in the shiny new republic. Determined reformers such as Charles Grandison Finney, Frederick Douglass, and Elizabeth Cady Stanton labored tirelessly to rid America of her shortcomings; drunkenness, degrading of women, punitive treatment of the mentally ill, racial inequality . . . in order for the country live up to its charge as a “called nation.”

Despite the diversity of causes and legions of faithful supporters, slavery alone came to dwarf all other movements and to ultimately divide the country. Early instances of violence in the effort to end slavery offered a taste of the violence to come in the Civil War; Abolitionist-editor, Elijah Lovejoy was shot dead in the doorway of his newspaper office, while another anti-slavery editor, William Lloyd Garrison found himself tarred and feathered repeatedly by those who hated his militancy. Zealot John Brown hacked to death five pro-slavers in an episode known as “Bleeding Kansas.” In these instances, “the writing on the wall” had truly been composed in blood.

When hostilities began in April, 1861 the energy of a nation fixated on the course of each battle, fear and resolve ebbing and flowing with each outcome. The shape of America’s future waited in the balance. Finally, after four ghastly years of bloody fighting, Southern hopes of an agrarian, slave-ocracy died, and as President Lincoln so eloquently phrased it, America found “a new birth of freedom.”

Left unaddressed were those other reforms, forgotten in the war. The mentally ill remained behind bars, incarcerated alongside dangerous criminals. Women were legally considered wards of their husbands, with no more standing than dependent children. Countless young children toiled endlessly in textile mills and coal mines, exploited by owners, deprived of any chance for an education. And the legions of former slaves faced a new form of slavery, Jim Crow and sharecropping.

Reform again gathered momentum in the late 19th Century. Aiming once more for that ‘city’ aspiration, the Progressive movement took shape, carried on by a new generation of the faithful, imbued with a sense of social justice to confront the many wrongs left unaddressed from an earlier time, and new issues related to urban growth. Notables from this post bellum movement include; Jane Addams, one of the founders of American Social Work, writer Upton Sinclair and his shocking expose’ The Jungle a condemnation of the meat industry, and John Dewey who normalized public education with coherent curriculum’s and compulsory school attendance. Dewey believed, as had the founders of America, that the nation relied upon and deserved an educated electorate to safeguard the promise of America into the future.

This movement found a great deal of success in improving the country and the lives of its citizens. Building safety reform came on the heels of the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire in 1911. The Jungle brought about the establishment of the Food and Drug Administration, while political reforms included the secret ballot, limiting “Bossism,” and other forms of political corruption.

Then, in 1914 Europe went to war. By 1916 Progressive President, Woodrow Wilson committed America to join in, asking for a declaration against Germany, sending American soldiers into the trenches. And once again, when the guns silenced progressive reforms disappeared as if they had not existed. On the imaginary road to “Normalcy,” the wealthy and powerful misused the country as a personal piggy bank, plundering and cheating with no legal check.

After a decade long litany of economic abuses tanked the Stock Market in 1929, the nation once again turned toward progress, this time on an unparalleled scale. The advent of Franklin Roosevelt and his wife, Eleanor, to the White House marked a revitalization of reshaping America to benefit all Americans. The New Deal remembered for its alphabet agencies, aimed to recover the devastated economy and ward off future abuses that had nearly destroyed the well being of the Republic.

America’s entrance into World War Two bucked the pattern of a reactionary pushback. FDR remained at the helm, until Harry Truman took the reins of government, continuing the tradition of affirming change. GOP President Dwight David Eisenhower kept a moderate hand on the tiller, particularly in the realm of Civil Rights, enforcing the Brown V. Board of Education decision to desegregate public schools.

But with JFK’s murder, the wheels once again came off social progress. As much as LBJ tried to give America all he could; The Civil Rights Act of 1964, The Voting Rights Act of 1965, the Highways Beautification Act, Head Start, Medicaid, and many more pieces of his Great Society legislation, Vietnam eroded all the good.

That endless nightmare of a stalemate in Southeast Asia worked at cross purposes for bettering society. The daily body count, student protests, war atrocities, such as the My Lai massacre, or the shock of the TET Offensive in 1968 sapped America’s desire to do anything but find a way out of the jungle.

Promoting the general welfare came nearly to a complete halt by 1980. The advent of the Reagan Revolution, and subsequent downsizing of the federal government left the vulnerable largely on their own. School lunch programs were cut, the mentally ill let out on the streets of America, while the armament industry threw the nation into deep deficits.

On this Memorial weekend it might be good to consider the potential of America when at peace. Trapped today in an endless cycle of war, this nation struggles to find her soul, to embrace together the light of our national promise. Two military presidents, our first, General George Washington and our thirty fourth, General Dwight D. Eisenhower pleaded with America in their farewell remarks to avoid war as the worst use of our best abilities. Both men, forged in the adversity of difficult wars, recognized the wasteful distraction and deadly allure of war. Washington cautioned against “entangling alliances, and Eisenhower “the military-industrial complex.”

Ultimately, those who know war grasps what is truly lost. Every weapon produced in a munitions factory most certainly casts a wrench into the wheels of human progress. Winthrop meant his reference from the book of Matthew to inspire an example to the world. Forcing Americanism by the barrel of a gun is born to failure, achieving nothing lasting but resentment abroad, and stagnating injustice at home.

Gail Chumbley is the author of the memoir, River of January, also available on Kindle.

A First Class Pilot

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This letter, one of hundreds of documents used in River of January, marks Chum’s first discharge from the Navy in 1933. This letter speaks highly of the young man who five months later would prevail in the “Darkness Derby,” continental air race.

Gail Chumbley is the author of the memoir, River of January. Available on Amazon and Kindle.

River of January, Boise Library Edition

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Thursday, May 12th River of January meets the Boise Public Library.

Join Gail for a lively, multimedia look at the archive that became the memoir,

River of January

The program begins at 7pm in the third floor’s Marion Bingham Room.

“This history could be lost” had she not known the story. Janet Juroch~The Idaho World

Excalibur

Roget

My secret weapon.

Gail Chumbley is the author of River of January, a memoir. Also available on Kindle

Justice as a Force

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President Andrew Jackson has stopped spinning in his grave. Finally. He hated paper money with all the fiber in his being, and now thankfully for him, no longer tacitly endorses its use. Jackson was a sound money man and believed gold the only genuine medium of exchange . . . weigh-able, bite-able gold; good ole “cash on the barrel-head.” In fact, the President believed so passionately in the principle of gold bullion that he banned any use of paper money for any transaction whatsoever. This same policy, in the end, torpedoed the US economy and triggered the Panic of 1837.

That financial disaster held on for over five chilly years.

But the day has arrived, America has finally heard Jackson’s cries of anguish from the great beyond, and removed his likeness from that raggedy heresy of ersatz value. Still, one has to wonder. What would General Jackson make of runaway slave, Harriet Tubman taking his place on legal tender?

Ms. Tubman, as a woman, and as a slave, lived invisibly in Jackson’s world. The only notice a planter like Jackson would have made was Tubman’s incorrigible practice of stealing another master’s property. For a man of deep passions, of violent loves and hates, her offense would have pissed this president off, and sent him into a dangerous rage. In his world of master and slave, her offenses allowed no mercy, no reprieve.

As for Tubman? She understood a truth that Jackson could never, ever have comprehended—that justice was a force that bore no designation to color, gender, or appraised value. A mighty truth reigned far above the limited aspirations of General Andrew Jackson, killer of banks, Natives, and the hopes of the hundreds he held in bondage.

Tubman’s idea of honorable behavior had nothing to do with white men firing pistols on dueling grounds, and that white social conventions which condemned her to servitude were wholesome and noble. The human condition, as Tubman understood the meaning, held a deeper significance, an importance that required a profounder appreciation. The world of plantations, race hatred, whip wielding overseers, and economic injustice held no real sway, and certainly possessed no honor.

Jackson’s opinions truly hued in only black and white, and that outlook wasn’t limited to skin color. Abstract ideas like ‘humanity’ didn’t resonate in his mind, too ethereal for a man who loved gold coins. Banks were bad, women were ornaments, Indians were fair game, and blacks were slaves. That simple. Of course at the same time, this limited world view gave a figure with Tubman’s vision the edge. If a man of Jackson’s time and station caught a glimpse inside the real thoughts of his “family” members living over in the slave quarters, his mind would have been blown.

So it is with some satisfaction that Harriet Tubman replaces Andrew Jackson on the twenty-dollar bill. But not only because she’s a woman, nor only because she’s black. The star she followed may have literally sparkled in the northern sky, but every footstep she trod signified progress on the road to realizing the immeasurable value in us all.

Gail Chumbley is the author of the memoir River of January