In mid-March, I was coming to grips with the arrival of the COVID-19 virus in Pennsylvania; the Governor had ordered a state-wide lockdown for an unknown period. A feeling of uncertainly struck me, and I didn’t like it one bit. It made me feel stressed. Funny: I am rarely bothered by stress; I usually thrive on it. I decided to create this website to cope with the uncertainty. I had thought about doing so for months. I was dithering because I would have to relearn vastly upgraded software. Plus, it would take time away from my family history project, which continues to grow apace. A few days later, I found a letter my mother wrote to her parents and older brother Jack in Little Rock. It was dated four days after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. She and my dad lived in Kansas City, Missouri, at the first U.S. Army depot he had managed. Some months later, he was “discovered” by the brass in Washington, whom he impressed with his ideas about logistics. They subsequently ordered him to Texas, then Utah, to restructure depots that would supply soldiers and airmen in the Pacific. Ultimately, they sent him to Japan to become General Douglas MacArthur’s Quartermaster during the U.S. Occupation.

Talk about The Unknown. My mom’s letter said she hoped to stay in Kansas City for the duration of the war. Because of how WWII changed the trajectory of my father’s career, a year later, they would make the first of over 40 moves around the U.S., Japan, Okinawa, and Europe. She could never have imagined how differently her life would unfold on that Thursday in 1941. The letter revealed that my mother’s vantage point toward the future — three days on from President Roosevelt’s Declaration of War — was decidedly domestic. She was pregnant at the time, and she wrote of her concern about budgeting for baby clothes and furniture for the baby, due in March 1942. Reading this was heartbreaking because I knew the future that she could not: The baby, James David Kendall, was stillborn. I suspect the reason was an incompatible RH factor between my mother and the baby, about which medical science, then, knew little or nothing. I was born a year later in April with a compatible factor RH negative factor. In December 1941, she was oblivious to the sadness and joys to come when she wrote the following to her folks:

“I have waited to write you since the fateful news Sunday, as I thought maybe I might hear something of interest, but I’m sure you know as much about it as we do here. Work at the Depot has gone on just as usual — the men are still working office hours, but of course that probably won’t last long.

“My mind is made up — I’m not going to worry about it, since all the worrying I do wouldn’t help the situation any. Bruce is very calm about the whole thing, although he doesn’t discuss his thoughts on the subject. I somehow feel sure that Bruce will be left here at least for the next few months. I only hope he will stay here for the duration of the war. I could really get to love Kansas City if I thought we’d be allowed to stay here. I guess you are a little upset about the draft age limit being raised, for of course that would include Jack. When I think of how many millions of families this thing will affect, I just get downright mad. I’d like to go fight those dang Japanese and Germans myself for upsetting the lives of so many people. Enough of this talk though.”

She went on to discuss her plans for Christmas presents (sewing ties for the men and making “string rugs” with my father’s help).

The timing of my finding this letter was remarkable. It’s a striking glimpse into the lives of regular people at a time of personal and national stress. It was a time when they were only just beginning to see the light at the end of the Great Depression tunnel.

As we contemplate the uncertainty of the 2020 COVID-19 Pandemic, all might benefit from recognizing what the world faced in 1941. Much of the globe was already at war with a murderous totalitarian enemy. On Sunday, December 7, they awoke to war news that would alter the lives of tens of millions of men women and children. When my mother wrote to her parents on December 11, 1941, her future was nothing but uncertainty. I’m adding this precious letter to my family history because it’s a great reminder of how brilliantly our parents and grandparents faced an uncertain future. They just got on with it. And so shall we.