By T. C. Langford
Summer 1944
My father, Gerald (Gerry) L. Matthews, was hired at the age of fifteen, along with other students, to work the summer off-school months for the Preway Company of Wisconsin Rapids, WI. Initially he was a gate monitor but, upon reaching his sixteenth birthday that July, he was given additional labors, such as wheel barrowing loads of concrete over narrow boardwalks, and was assigned to the shipping department to help load railroad boxcars with pallets of cartons containing field stoves for use by the armed services. [These portable kitchens could be set up anywhere and, when stacked within their frameworks, allowed for several to be used at once.]
Shipments went out from Preway’s own set of tracks at the end of a downtown line; boxcars would be backed up to be loaded and then pulled out after loading. Gerry’s gate monitoring post was located adjacent to a set of these tracks, and he worked several weeks preparing the boxcars to carry their shipments to numerous (but unknown to my father) destinations. He was required to line the interior walls of the boxcars, about halfway up, with rolls of kraft paper which were stapled in place. Because of this particular job, he came up with his own unique and novel way to help the (WWII) war effort at that time.
There would be lapses of time when the parked railcars sat empty waiting for the pallets to arrive and all that blank paper they were lined with inspired Gerry. During one of those slack times, my father came up with the idea of creating a surprise for the men on the receiving end, an incentive to speed up the unloading process and make their job more enjoyable. He put his artistic talents to work and, with a black marker, drew on the stapled kraft paper life-size “pinup”-style (all in good taste—clothed!) female figures in various poses; he tried to make them all different!
As the pallets of field stoves arrived, he had to number, stamp, and load the boxes, stacking them several cartons deep on both ends of the boxcar, up to the mid-section/doors on either side; the drawings were thus, of course, completely hidden from view. The center section was left open for the doorways on opposite sides and framed out with wood to keep the boxes in place during transport; then the doors would be sealed up. The secreted artworks would not be seen again until the boxcars were emptied.
When the fully loaded boxcars arrived at their destinations, the beauties “concealed” could not be “revealed” until those on the other end started their job of unloading. Obviously, for those who would have to unload, a persuasive incitement was provided—as the upper stacks of boxes were removed and the guys began to see the very tops of the images, they, of course, would hurry to finish moving the pallets out and quickly empty the entire boxcar so they could behold all the gals!
Only people at the stops where the boxcars were unloaded would ever see these pinups [the field stoves having been unloaded and sent on their way to various WWII sites] . But what happened to the PIX? Were they left in place for the next loaders/unloaders or were they taken down? Could any of them possibly still be in existence, kept as memorabilia by anyone? The artist himself never kept any of them, nor took any photos during his job, and was able to do only a few boxcars during his summer sting (truly “limited editions”!). Does anyone recall hearing someone talk about them, possibly from those who saw them during, or participated in, the unloadings?
We are curious to find out if anyone, at the railroad’s destinations (unknown to us) where these shipments of Midwest field stoves were sent, remembers these anonymous “boxcar beauties”—my Dad’s little bit to help the war effort?!
In addition to heat, the round black oven also contained two fireboxes—one for baking in the middle of the oven and one for cooking on the stovetop. The family members would slide a handle into a notch on one of the round covers on the top of the stove in order to lift off the covers to fuel the fire. Once the covers were replaced, one could cook on the entire surface of the stovetop. shipments of Midwest field stoves were sent, remembers these anonymous “boxcar beauties”—my Dad’s little bit to help the war effort?!
During Gerald Matthews’ Preway employment, at lunch break one day, he took some red and blue indelible pencils and drew a “pinup girl” with Hawaiian grass skirt, lea, and flower in her hair—but not on paper! He drew it on the muscle of the wide area of his lower arm. When he would make a fist and wiggle the muscle, the girl would dance! The next thing he knew, guys were lining up during lunch to have him draw on their arms, too!
The indelible pencils were rather brightly colored but, after a couple days and washings, the picture would begin to fade and look like read tattoos, eventually disappearing. (My father has no idea how many fellows he drew these “temp-tattoos” on—dozens?)
To test the waters of the military, Gerry joined the National Guard and went to summer camp where he was a radio operator and plotter, directing coordinates for air/artillery canon. He later went on to enlist in the Air Force (in ’48), serving during the Korean conflict. His talents led him to a career as a professional commercial artist and self-taught architectural designer, and his works can be seen in various places throughout the United States and overseas.
My father has always been interested in art—he started drawing while still in his high chair! Now retired, Gerry Matthews (formerly of Wisconsin, New York, Illinois, and California) currently lives in Apopka, Florida. The author is the eldest of his four (4) daughters and resides in Longwood, Florida.
© Copyright 2003
T. C. Langford
Published U.S. Legacies June, 2003
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