We all prayed that the war would be over before Christopher-John was drafted. But by the end of 1943, we knew that was wishful thinking and that Christopher-John would most likely be called up. The war had escalated as Axis forces continued to maintain their grip over Europe and in the Pacific. The Army was no longer being as selective about its draftees. They needed every man they could get. We steeled ourselves for Christopher-John’s eighteenth birthday. Christopher-John turned eighteen in late 1943 and graduated high school. As required, he was registered for the draft within thirty days of his birthday. He had not yet been called. We figured we had another year before we had to start worrying about Little Man. That turned out not to be the case. Little Man was drafted before Christopher-John.
There had been a mistake on the birth certificate.
At the time Clayton Chester received his draft notice, he was a first-year student at Jackson College, one of the state’s colleges for Negroes. He was enrolled in the college rather than high school because of the grade he had skipped and his test scores being so high. All of us in the family had always known that Little Man was smart, but his college testing proved it. Maybe too much so. He was sixteen when he graduated from high school and enrolled at the college, but without our knowing it, his government birth certificate identified him as seventeen. It was that birth certificate that caused all the trouble. Clayton Chester, though born in 1927, was listed on the birth certificate as being born in 1926.
Most Negro babies born in Mississippi were delivered in the homes of their parents by midwives. There were no hospitals, no nurses, no doctors standing by for deliveries. Babies were born, their names recorded in the family Bible and information about their births filled out by midwives who sent it to the county seat for filing. Everybody I knew had been delivered and their births recorded that way. The birth certificates, all handwritten, stayed in the government offices. Very few people ever saw their birth certificates unless something came up and they needed them; then they went to the county to get a copy. But few people had need of a certificate and certainly Man did not, until the notice came from the Army. Then he needed it. Problem was, the information on the birth certificate was wrong. Clayton Chester Logan was listed as one year older than he was.
He was only seventeen.
There were other seventeen-year-olds in the Army. They had volunteered. Seventeen-year-old boys could volunteer with their parents’ permission, but Little Man had no desire to serve voluntarily in the Army, and none of the rest of the family wanted that either. Throughout our lives we had existed under the dominance of white people, had been required to be subservient to them, with no equal rights, and we had no desire to go fight more white people overseas for the white people oppressing us here. There would never be volunteering on our part.
Mama and Papa went to the draft board to try to straighten out the matter of the birth certificate. But there was no time to straighten it out. Once the draft notice was received there was little time for appeal. January 1926 birth certificates had been pulled and despite the fact that Clayton Chester had not even registered as eligible for the draft, the Army chose to believe the date on the birth certificate. The Army wanted Little Man and that was that. According to one of his professors, Clayton Chester’s high test scores and his college enrollment made him prime to be a leader within the Negro ranks of the Army. He could even rise to the rank of sergeant; he could not, however, rise higher. Officer positions over Negro troops were for whites only. Still, the Army was looking for young men like Clayton Chester. So, in the end, there was nothing any of us could do about it.
Little Man had to go into the Army.
For Stacey, it was a particularly heavy burden of guilt that he did not have to go to the war. If Stacey could have gone in Little Man’s place, he would have done so. He felt the same about Christopher-John, for we all knew that soon Christopher-John would be called up too.
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Stacey and Little Man did not come back before I went to bed. I had eaten some of Big Ma’s good cooking and then, hardly able to keep my eyes open, I fell asleep. The next morning at breakfast I asked Man, “You feeling any better?”
He shrugged. “What do you think? Least I’m home for now, and that’s what matters.” Then he smiled wide and turned his attention to Big Ma. “Big Ma, would you please pass me some of that fine ham we cured last fall, some of that hot sausage we made too? It’s going to be a good long while before I taste the likes of them again!”
Little Man did not have to report back to Fort Hood. He was on what was called a “delay en route” leave and was headed to Camp Benning in Georgia, from which he would be deployed overseas. The day before he was to leave, the boys and I went to the Negro photography studio on Farish Street in Jackson to have our picture taken. I was long-legged, honey-toned in skin color, and the vibrant green suit that I wore, with its fitted bodice and A-line skirt cut off right below my knees, complemented me well. My hair was naturally long and thick, crinkly in texture, but for the photographs, I had straightened it. Mama had always objected to my straightening my hair, but Dee had shown me how. With my hair cascading several inches below my shoulders, my green suit and matching dark green high heels cut out at the toe and heel, I was looking good. The boys were looking good too. They were all handsome, my brothers. Stacey and Christopher-John had Papa’s height, but the same coloring as Mama and me. Clayton Chester had pecan-colored skin like Papa, but not his height. His wavy hair reflected our Choctaw heritage and so did the coloring of his skin. Little Man was not in uniform. All of my brothers were dressed in their finest Sunday suits.
It was a memorable day.
We stood arm in arm and had several photographs taken. In one we were joking and laughing. In another, we were somber, reflecting on what was to come. The photographs were bittersweet moments frozen in time, for after today, we did not know if we would ever be together again. A week later, Christopher-John received his draft notice and without delay, he too was inducted into the Army.
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Basic training for Negro soldiers was reported to be anywhere from three to ten weeks. Mostly, they were trained to be in service details that kept the soldiers, mainly white soldiers fighting at the front, stocked with supplies. Negro soldiers did the grunt work. But whatever the duties of Negro soldiers, they would still be in harm’s way. Christopher-John was shipped overseas in late April. Little Man was already there. With both of them gone, we tried to adjust to life without them, tried to adjust to the daily fear of what they faced over in Europe and North Africa. Each day we read all the war news printed in the newspaper, and each evening we gathered around the radio to hear the latest word about the war. When I woke each morning my first thoughts were of my brothers. Some mornings when I woke I knew something was wrong, but I had to ask myself what. Then I would remember, and feel that tightening knot of fear in my gut. The boys were not here; they were off fighting in that war, only God and the Army knew exactly where. They could be dead for all I knew.