Part 1

Notes on the early days. Now that we are struggling to put our county back together, itÕs good to remember what happened.

This is how it began, in June 1943, in case you have forgotten.

Kriegsmarine submarine U-231 surfaced off the New Jersey coast early on the morning of June 23, 1943. Crewmen scrambled out while water was still cascading from the tower, unfolded the stubby wings on the Fiesler FZG-76, attached the bottle-shaped boosters and cranked the launcher up to ready position. Before they were done, a half-mile to the south, U-boat 254 broke the calm surface, and its crew was soon busy at the same oft-practiced procedures. Radio silence was maintained but at 8:45 AM Eastern War Time the hatches were closed and the V-1Õs launched after a series of blinker light messages were exchanged by the submarine commanders. The launching rockets fell into the ocean, the platforms folded back onto the deck and the flying bombs climbed to about 3,000 feet, the engines sputtering steadily, and the so-called ÒvengeanceÓ weapons proceeded toward their targets at nearly 400 mph as the U-boats went under the waves and descended to the ocean floor on the Continental shelf.

At 9:03 AM in a flash of unimaginable brightness, the worldÕs first atomic bomb exploded over Manhattan at an altitude of 1,000 feet incinerating an area about a half-mile in diameter and wreaking heavy destruction throughout New York City and along the Jersey coast. It has been estimated that 150,000 people died in the explosion and three times that number within a week. Both the Empire State and Chrysler buildings were left empty shells while Wall Street and the theater district were nothing but piles of ash and twisted girders. Three major bridges were torn apart and the Holland Tunnel collapsed.

At 9:07 the engine of the second buzz bomb cut out over Philadelphia and the machine dove toward the earth in a tight spiral. The bomb exploded over the center of the city at just under a thousand feet, vaporized most of the historic buildings and set fires that burned for several days. Deaths within a week had reached the quarter-million mark as the center of the city was left a blackened pile of wreckage.

Word of these two events reached President Roosevelt in Washington, D.C. within minutes from New Jersey and Connecticut stations. Then came a short message from the German high command demanding immediate surrender. Stunned, FDR summoned his cabinet as panic spread through the capital.

At the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay U-167 had to wait for a tanker to pass and so was a few minutes late reaching its station and clamping the green-painted V-1Õs wings in place and making it ready to launch. When an hour had passed and the American government seemed to be ignoring the demand to surrender, the signal was given by naval radio and the vehicle was launched in a swirl of smoke. The third atomic bomb exploded high above the Potomac River at 10:12 AM destroying the Capitol building and the Library of Congress, toppling the Washington Monument and setting fire to the White House and most of the downtown area of the capital city. The President, most of the members of Congress and the Cabinet were killed outright or died within days. Casualties were estimated in excess of 120,000. Fires spread outward into the suburbs.

Vice President Wallace from his home in Iowa announced the surrender of all American forces in both Europe and the Pacific at 12 noon Eastern time. He then shot himself to death. (Francis Perkins, Secretary of Labor, became the President automatically but was not sworn in until much later.)

The British, threatened with the destruction of London, surrendered by nightfall and, for all practical purposes, World War II was over. Fighting continued on some Pacific islands and in China, Burma and New Guinea for some time and very few Allied prisoners ever emerged from those areas. Except for the Jews among them, the British and American prisoners in Europe became slave laborers. Most of those captured in the Pacific simply vanished. Some of the British Empire nations refused to surrender and by weekÕs end New Zealand, Australia and Canada had vowed to fight on. South Africa surrendered and India declared it independence and neutrality.

Japanese battleships and troop carriers which had been waiting just below the horizon, steamed immediately toward their West Coast targets. The naval instillations at Seattle, San Francisco and San Diego were shelled and occupied by nightfall and the rape of California began. Before it was done nearly 50,000 women had been defiled by the occupying army and an estimated 20,000 were laboring as sex slaves in the armyÕs comfort houses by monthÕs end.

. . . . .

Howard Jacobson was standing at his blackboard writing down the names of Civil War battles as the members of his history class called them out. He had just asked, ÒWhich Manassas?Ó when the flying bomb seven miles away detonated high over Washington, D.C. He saw the flash of light from the corner of his eye and then noticed his shadow on the blackboard. He turned in time to see the huge fireball expand, realized at once that something extraordinary had exploded and yelled, ÒGet down! Get on the floor, Ó as he dove behind his desk.

The shock wave took more than a minute to reach Bethesda rattling the windows in their metal frames as the fire alarm went off. Jacobson grabbed his grade book and followed the lines of students down the steps and out into the schoolÕs wide playground. He rapidly took attendance, noted that two boys had vanished which was not unusual, and waited, watching the roiling column of dirty smoke over the city. It was still rising.

He was good at waiting. He had waited for his draft call and then was found unacceptable because of the condition of his right eye. He had waited for the right girl, but never found one although he had tried several. He had waited for a chance to coach or become a school administrator but never got the opportunity. He had tried to enlist in the Navy and was waiting for the call that never came. Now he waited as most of the kids had turned to look to the south where a huge, thick column of gray and black was climbing over the city, its growing top tumbling like a thundercloud.

In a few minutes the principal and his assistant were walking along the lines crying, ÒDismissed. Go home. Leave. The buses are on the way. Go home, go home.Ó

Jacobson went back into the building and up to his room, gathered his work and hurried out to his car. When he saw that many students were still milling around, he waited and stayed with them, trying to answer questions and calm frightened kids until the yellow school buses pulled into the driveway. The monstrous cloud above the city still stood although the top seemed to be blowing away toward the distant Bay.

Then he drove quickly to his apartment and turned on the radio. He had trouble finding a station, but finally tuned in one from Pittsburgh and discovered that New York City and Philadelphia had been bombed. He fixed himself some lunch and was eating a bologna sandwich when KDKA announced that President Roosevelt was dead and that Vice President Wallace had announced American surrender to the Axis. World War Two, so the announcer said, was over.

ÒShit, Ó Jacobson said aloud. ÒNow what?Ó

He finished his lunch, rinsed out his glass and walked to the nearby market. It was full of people, all pushing at each other and grabbing for things. The cash registers were open and unmanned. He walked down to the dispensary and found that there was a line snaking halfway down the block to buy booze. At every gas station cars were backed up at the pumps. Jacobson went into a dark tavern called the Cozy Inn, sat at a table in the corner near the small front window and ordered a draft. He drank his beer and watched people hurrying by with the arms filled with groceries. A steady steam of men were coming into the bar and buying dozens of bottles of beer to take home.

Jacobson drained his glass and walked home, having decided what to do. He assumed that school was finished for the year since there was only a week or so left; he had been reviewing for the final when the bomb exploded. He and his brothers shared a cabin in the hills of Fredrick County, out near the Potomac, so he decided to go there and wait, as far away from the city as he could easily get. He got all the money he had been putting away for a new car from its hiding place, almost two hundred dollars, packed a small bag with work clothes and took his shotgun and box of shells from the closet.

His `39 Ford coupe had half a tank of fuel so he drove past the lines at the gas stations and headed out the old three-lane road toward Frederick. His car did not have a radio, but he had his battery-powered portable and turned it on now and then, reminding himself to buy some batteries when he had a chance. There was not much to hear except the repeated news that the U.S. had surrendered and that New York, Philadelphia and Washington had all suffered great damage and loss of life.

He reached the town of Frederick in about an hour in light traffic and pulled into the first Gulf station he came to. He got his ration book out, tore out the current stamp and handed it to the elderly man who came out to pump gas. The man threw it away and asked, ÒFill `er up?Ó

With his tank full, for the first time in a couple of years, and his oil checked, Jacobson headed toward Harpers Ferry, taking smaller roads and then graveled trails up into the woods. He unlocked the cabin, got the well turned on, swept out the place and made a list of what he would need for an indefinite stay. Leaving the windows and doors wide open, he headed for the crossroads store.

It was almost empty and the storekeeper was sitting out on the small porch with a shotgun across his knees. ÒWhatÕcha want?Ó he asked after spitting a brown stream off to the side.

ÒWhat do you have left?Ó

ÒBrown sugar, white flour, corn syrup I think. Go on in and fetch what you want. GivÕme a five.Ó

Jacobson dug out his wallet and gave the man a five-dollar bill. Inside the shelves were almost bare and a cat prowled about, looking for a place to rest. He bagged up about ten pounds of flour and five pounds of dark sugar with what was left in the bottom of the white sugar barrel on top. He found a cardboard box, added the last can of tomatoes, found a can of corn on the top shelf, took two of the last four cans of Spam, a box of raisins and a jar of mustard. He looked around, picked up a can of Flit bug spray and a broom from the rack by the counter. He walked out front, showed the proprietor what he had and the man nodded and said, ÒGood luckÓ and spat again.

Jacobson drove south toward the battlefield at Antietam, stopping at each country store he passed and finding almost the same situation at each. He bought what he could, taking all the canned goods he could find and buying a big hard sausage and what was left of a fat bologna and some more flour. He also purchased some D batteries that fit both his radio and his flashlight and got some kerosene and two-dozen eggs.

In Sharpsburg where he bought two cases of Iron City beer, he also got a five-gallon can at a hardware store and filled it with gasoline and then finally found some bread at a small bakery and bought five assorted loaves. When he noticed the sun was going down, he headed back to his cabin and got there by dark. He had spent almost a hundred dollars, just about his monthly take-home pay.

On June 4 Mexico announced that would take possession of Texas, Arizona and New Mexico, evidently in payment for allowing the Germans to use their territory for staging troop movements and for establishing submarine pens on both coasts and a large airfield near the border. That was the first news of the morning and a shock to Howard, and, he assumed, a lot of other people.

The second story was that new government with its headquarters in what had been the Pentagon, now called the Swastika Building, announced that all whites in Mississippi and Alabama had ten days to pack up and leave their homes and at the same time ordered all Negroes to report for transport to the new black, unnamed nation to be established in what had been those two states.

Howard Peterson listened to the news in disbelief. Because he was a student of history, he might not have been surprised if the Germans decided to send the blacks to Africa just as Lincoln had once planned, but to the deep South. He almost laughed. Impossible. It was asking for trouble. As for Mexico taking Texas, he was glad he was in Maryland. A lot of people were going to die.

He took stock of his supplies and was sorry to see that he had forgotten both potatoes and carrots in his shopping. He found some apples in the small root cellar. He spent the morning plowing and raking the kitchen garden and after lunch sowed several rows of leafy greens and vegetables. The fruit trees his brother had planted looked to be in good shape, and the gasoline powered pump sounded healthy.

After lunch he heard the announcement that all state governments had been disbanded and that all schools and churches were closed. Now there were two stations on the air and only two. Both broadcast the same information over and over. While he washed up and cooked himself some supper of Span and eggs, he heard that the Mexican army had shelled Houston with poison gas and that riots had broken out in Dallas, Fort Worth and Austin. There was no news from Mississippi or Alabama.

The next morning Howard learned that what had been the United States was now five military districts, a decision that reminded him of the reconstruction South, and that Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania and both Virginias were to be governed from the former Pentagon. He planted peas and beans and put up poles and a trellis for them. That evening he heard that poison gas bombs had been dropped on Tucson and Albuquerque and that the Canadian government had abandoned Ottawa and declared Toronto an open city. Quebec was evidently now part of Vichy France.

On Saturday afternoon the new government of the Mid-Atlantic Region announced that all churches were closed until further notice. Already rumors of what was happening to the Jews were spreading. Blacks were again told to report for transportation southward.

On Sunday, the teacher drove into Frederick and found two farmersÕ markets in operation and a minor league baseball game advertised for the afternoon. Things looked remarkably normal except that the grocery stores and churches were closed. He bought a bushel of potatoes and a peck of carrots and another of pears and then paid a high price for a smoked ham and a slab of bacon. He had two beers with his lunch and then drove to the ballpark, sat in the shade and enjoyed the game. Life, he decided, went on. He did not see any Negroes.

On Monday morning a third radio station was on the air but only for about an hour. It broadcast the news that Canada, Australia and some other countries were continuing the fight and urged Americans to come and join to defeat the Nazis. The occupation stations broadcast the news that Mexican armyÕs mechanized units had entered Fort Worth and Dallas and that the Japanese had divided the west coat into two administrative regions and occupied all the ports, both American and Canadian.