Rosetta “Frankie” May Johnson
World War II Veteran
My grandmother, born on
Frankie Johnson, 2005
*[I grew up] in
I have lots of ‘em [childhood
memories]. Mostly of my grandmother
‘cause I was with her a lot, and I loved her the same as my mother, just
exactly the same. I remember having
dreams that they had both died, and I didn’t know which way to go and I was
little, you know? I had dreams like
that.
[I went to] regular schools like you do here
(laughs). I always loved school because
I wasn’t home (laughs). I loved
school. [After high school] I went to
uh…what do you call it…uh, two years.
What do you call that? Well, they
didn’t call it community college. It was
junior college. I went to that junior
college [because] I was too young when I got out of high school [to join the
military]. We had to be twenty and I was
only seventeen, and I had to wait. But,
I wasn’t twenty, yet, [after junior college]; and so I did some other things
right in there. I, uh, took a blueprint
class…to make blueprints, and I joined the Civil Air Patrol. I did all of the ground work, but never was
up because I left before that--[went] into the [
[I joined the service because] it just seemed like
that was the only place to be. Oh, I was
so patriotic. And I was more patriotic
even than religious, and I was pretty religious. But, all the guys were in the army. I mean, everybody was in the army, or
someplace, you know, in the service. I had two [brothers] in the military. My brother closest to me joined the Marine
Corp when he was seventeen, lied about his age, and then he got out of that
after the war, and then he went back into the Air Force and stayed
forever.
[Other people] weren’t too crazy about [my decision
to join] (laughs). Back in
I applied for the Air Force, but at that time the air
force offered nothing but typing for women.
Oh, I was just upset. I said, “I
can’t do that,” you know, “sit there and type all through the war.” And so, they let me transfer over to the army
where there was all kinds of things to do.
I mean all kinds. I almost went
to finance, and then I didn’t. I went
to, uh, transportation. So I was in the
Transportation Corp all through [my duty].
I went to
Living
quarters in the Franklin House in Boston, MA
(Referring to picture) And that’s when we lived here
you know…this is in South Boston Bay.
Big, old long, looked like a truck, only it was a bus, huge long thing,
and they’d pick us up every day. We all
went to different jobs, you know, at the Port of Embarkation. And so I did
that, checking out. Make sure everything
was safe to use, all the vehicles. I
remember Christmas came then; and ‘course I wasn’t far from home then. When I was in Boston, they froze all leave,
you know, you couldn’t go; and here were all these sad people.
But anyway, so then we were getting transferred
to--well several people were--the Presidio in California. And so we went by train to go there. We went way down to Florida, and all over the
country picking up people. We were two
weeks getting out there on a train; and when we got to, oh, like Denver and all
those mid-states, when we’d be at a stop, here were all these ladies with
baskets. You’ve probably never seen
bushel baskets, but they’re baskets of fruit and sandwiches all made up
separate, you know. And they just made
you feel like you were wonderful (laughs).
[They] just gave those out to us, and it was really nice; and that
happened time and again. We ate on the
train; we must [have] eaten a lot in those days (laughs). And then we got there, and I went to Camp Stoneman in California, and there I was chief dispatcher at
the motor pool.
I think [my unit] was the thirty-fourth detachment,
but it was under the transportation division.
My rank was Corporal, but the job I did was Master Sergeant. See, ratings were frozen, same as leaves were
frozen, unless some really good excuse.
That job involved books, and charts, and everything, and the garage was
real, real important; but sounds dumb now.
Anyway, each one had to be in perfect working order; and they cited
it. When somebody came in asking for
transportation, you’d have to check on what you should give them for that
different use. Then you picked the
driver. See, you were sitting in this
[elevated office] with glass [between you and the drivers]; and we would pick a
driver, you know, preferably one that hadn’t been out yet. So, let’s see, [we] made out the trip ticket
and gave it to him, told him where to get the vehicle, and that’s how that
went. That was my job. We worked from six a.m. to six p.m.. I mean, I did;
but most of the girls in the barracks had more normal jobs, more normal
hours. Six days a week, twelve hours a
day for almost no money (chuckles); something like twenty-two dollars a
month. [But], because of my long hours,
which was nothing when I was twenty or twenty-one, nothing, I didn’t ever have
to be at inspection, you know, ‘cause they’re always
inspecting the barracks. Our locker
[had] to be perfect and everything, and you weren’t
allowed to have any civilian clothes at all.
Everything was military.
Everywhere you went you had to wear that [uniform]; and see now, they
don’t. They can wear what they want to
when they come home for a time, or on leave, or something.
[Our dress codes] were powerful; just military,
period; and nothing else. Had to wear it
all the time. [A woman’s uniform] looked
just like a man’s only littler. It was
brown--brown skirt, and brown shoes, nice hose, nice underwear. That’s all, [except a] hat, of course. And also, your hair couldn’t touch your
collar. If you were doing some kind of
work, you could wear your fatigue pants and army shirt. They’re called fatigues, these long green
pants and they have a big pocket right here [on your thigh]. And then we had a dress. It was a light, off-white, tan kind of wool
dress; but just elegant thing. [We wore
that] for dress things.
Frankie, seated, posing with a few
friends
[When we weren’t working], you could do anything on
Sunday. We’d go to the PX. We played baseball. Out in California you had long evenings, and
you could play baseball. We had teams
and all that stuff. I forgot all about
that. Glad you asked. [Also], might have gone to a movie; but they
usually had movies there at the barracks, at home, that we could go to. You probably could [go on dates], but what
would you do? Go to the show? Yeah, I did.
I did, ‘cause I was dating my husband. He wasn’t my husband then, but he liked to go
to football games; and there were lots of them.
He liked the football, and he just loved shrimp. And so we would go to the football game; and
then on the way back to the camp, we had to stop and go and eat the
shrimp.
[Where we lived, in the barracks], you came up [the
front] steps and in the door, and [the restrooms and showers were to the
right]. Then, [past the restrooms was]
the person in charge and then all down here were bunk beds you know, probably
forty of them, one on top of the other which would make it eighty
(chuckles). I might tell you, one night
I had to do CQ duty. That’s charge of
quarters, and that’s for if somebody’s confined to barracks as a punishment for
something, or any sort of thing like that.
You had to check on them every hour, and make sure they weren’t doing
anything wrong. See, I would have heard
them go by, but I always checked on them when I was on CQ. I thought, what fun; and so I’d just keep a
writing thing of what was going on, you know.
I said, “Well, so-and-so’s still in her bed. She’s fine”--stuff like that (chuckles). I did that all night after working twelve
hours a day; but see, it didn’t hurt you when you were young. You could stay up and stay up. But I did that; and I was--oh--and then all
the files were in that office. And so it
was getting pretty boring, you know, and so I thought, “I’ll just go through
the files.” So, I found all the IQ’s,
and I looked at ‘em and mine was the highest one
there. I could hardly control myself;
but I never said anything ‘cause they’d probably kill me for looking at ‘em. And that [IQ
scores] went for the Captain that’s over the whole unit, and didn’t even live
in that barracks. She lived in a
different place. And so I was pretty
thrilled about that. See, they tried to
get me to go OCS, Officer’s Candidate School, when I got out of basic; and I
thought, “No”; because in basic training you had this captain and this
lieutenant, and that’s all they can associate with. See, there’s
hundreds of us “nothings”--non-commissioned officers. So, I didn’t want to do it because you can’t
associate with the others. I thought,
“Well, imagine there’s just two people that you can associate with,” and that
scared me to death. I thought, “God,
it’d be just my luck to get in with some awful person,” and so I refused. Then another time, I can’t remember when that
was, they started in again wanting me to go to Officer’s Candidate School; and
I knew then that I didn’t have to ‘cause I got out of it before. I refused to go, and so that’s why I didn’t
do that. But I didn’t think that was
important, and now it seems like it’s really important. I wish I had done that
just so I could say, “Well, I was an officer,” you know? But, I was too young--too young to care at
all.
[The best part of being in the military was that] I
felt really good about doing something important, worthwhile and all that
stuff. I felt really good about it; and
then all the people that I worked with and around me respected me, and kind of
looked up to me. And that, you know,
that thrills you to death. Oh, when I
was in Boston, I don’t know if it was Fourth of July or Memorial Day or what it
was, but we were the first row in this giant parade across Boston. You know when you’re doing that, you don’t
feel it. It’s not like you’re gonna get tired, you just don’t. And you know that band’s so loud in front of ya. I was really
thrilled that I got picked for the first van-guard you know.
[The downside of being in the military, though, was]
always being away from home. That’s kind
of sad. I’d write once in a while
(laughs), and [my family] wrote all the time.
But, there was a girl there that was worse than me, and her parents
called and asked them to see what was wrong with her and to write home; and
they came and did that. They came and
told her to get a piece of paper, and sat there while she wrote a letter to her
family. I [only went home] once because
my brother got back from overseas, and so they let me have ten days. I went, and that’s when we bought a car together
because I had gotten rid of my car.
Then, when I left, why…the car was his, I guess.
Frankie in uniform
[One story that sticks with me is when I was] giving
this kid a trip ticket to go to San Francisco, which is like sixty miles from
the camp, ‘cause every day several trucks had to go and take the laundry into
San Francisco. Anyway, he didn’t want to
go; but I had to make him. I mean, several
times I had to make him go. He really
didn’t want to. So, he did, and took the
truck; and it was a rainy day. He said
he didn’t feel well; but anyway, I said, “Well it’s gotta
go.” So he’s in Oakland, which is
halfway. The roads were wet, and he had
a wreck; and this lady died -- hit her car, they came together -- slid or
something. And he just was beside
himself. He was just sick about it. So they finally told him that the lady
driving the car had had a heart attack which had caused the accident. Then he got better. A lot of people can’t handle, you know. [Another time], I gave this kid the car and
trip ticket to go do something; and he’s going up the main drag of Camp Stoneman and everybody’s saluting that car because it has
the four star general plates on it. And
so, I had a jeep right there by the door that was mine, and I took out and went
to hunt him down. In doing that, the
military police was on the other road parallel and clocking my speed. See that’s the only way you could do it then;
and he gave me a ticket. So, I took it
to the major--‘cause I was so scared--took it to him and he said, “I’ll take
care of it.” Come to find out, he got
that military police confined to barracks for two weeks for speeding in the
hospital zone. That was fifteen miles an
hour. He was doing that clocking me; and
see, he was speeding.
Oh, I was so thrilled. That’s one
of the highlights I guess.
[I was in the service for] two years. That’s a long spread in those days
(laughs). When you signed up, you agreed
to be there till the end of the war plus six months. You know, you couldn’t just stop ‘cause the
war ended. [But], I was anxious to
leave; and then, everybody was. So
stupid, because if I had just stayed on a few weeks, which wouldn’t have killed
me--I wasn’t that crazy about going home, but my grandmother had died and so I
was less anxious to get home--I would have gotten my rank that I had been doing
all this time as a Corporal’s pay and upped my salary. But I thought everything was over. Everybody was anxious to leave and that was
it. You just forgot it.
[The military provided me with] a clear cut idea of
right and wrong, and what you should do, what you shouldn’t do; and a lot of
things about the Constitution that you really had to know. Just generalized good training. Well, it’s hard to know [how it changed me,
but] I always did think that the rough, rough exercises we went through every
day [have] served me pretty well. My
mother taught me to put things back like they were (laughs), but the military
[would have done it]. Like you see some
sloppy human, like a boy. Get him in the
military, and he’ll come out a lot better, a lot better. Best thing that can happen to young people.
[After I got out], I got married and had
children. I married Rex Tomlin in
1946. [We met] in the army in
California, and he died in 1959. Then, I
married Melvin Johnson in 1965. I met [him] because he was friends of friends
of mine that I played golf with. They
kept telling me about him, and him about me. His wife had died; and of course, I was a
widow, too. We each had two children, and I thought that’s not too bad a deal because I
wouldn’t certainly marry someone with no children and expect the man to, you
know, [take on raising children without children of his own]. It would be kind of hard or vice versa. So, we finally got together, but it was a
long time. (laughs)
He [passed away] in 1985.
*Text within [ ] was not directly stated by the
interviewee.
This oral history was researched and prepared by
Megan Plank on December 18, 2005.