loyalty among brothers. The common objective was worthy. (Ironically, aspects of pledging were not unlike military training imposed for many of the same reasons.)
By second semester, Charles had ended his days as a pledge. He passed the tests, made the grades and "crossed the burning sands," becoming an Alpha Man.
Charles knew Frances loved to dance and despite the strict rules laid down by Momma Nellie, she managed to stop by the Kappa Alpha Psi House to indulge this passion as often as possible. Unlike the Alphas, the Kappas were known for their open parties and Charles envied them for no other reason than her visits. At the Kappa House, Frances was a regular in the "enter at your own risk" room reserved for the most daring and accomplished jitterbugs. Not in her league on the dance floor, he watched, stepped in on slow dances and bided his time.
When the draft started in 1940, Charles received his draft card from Gary, Indiana. At the time, college students weren't being called.
"I always remember I had a bicycle at Dad's place in Gary and I don't remember the number...might have been something like 1709, but the license of my bicycle and the draft card number were exactly the same."
He was struck by the coincidence.
Charles, working hard as an engineering major, was also enrolled in ROTC and a member of Pershing Riffles, an elite drill team. Academic rigors coupled with social distractions to take their toll, and second semester Charles' grades began to suffer. At the same time his funds were dwindling. Summer employment was essential for him to have enough cash to return to school the following year. The answer to his financial woes lay in the steel mills of Gary, Indiana.
On July 19,1941, as 21 year old Charles toiled in the mills, thirteen young Negro men gathered on the campus of Tuskegee Institute, Alabama, to form the first class of black pilot trainees for the Army Air Corps.
In the mills of the Carnegie Illinois Steel Company, Charles pulled the graveyard shift on a construction crew. Along with other blacks who were fortunate enough to find employment in the steel industry, his assignments were the menial, back breaking tasks of running concrete for the furnaces or mopping
up the foundry buildings, but the pay was more than most other jobs and therefore a necessary means to the desired end.
Occasionally, after a long evening on the job, Charles mustered the energy to go into Chicago to enjoy night life the city offered. The early morning bus ride back and precious few hours of sleep before his next shift were deterrents to keep him from making it a regular habit. When he let his mind wonder, it consistently settled on a young woman enjoying less arduous summer days in Champaign, but his budget permitted no more than daydreams. So he applied himself to work and hoped his absence would not provide an unfair advantage to rivals for Frances' affection. Short term sacrifice for long term gain! It was a principle already ingrained in his philosophy.
The war in Europe would not be fended off by aspirations of higher education or thoughts of budding love. In response to increasing concern about events overseas, the draft was reaching into the sanctuary of the college classroom. In the beginning it was easy to resist the notion he would become involved, especially before finishing school. That was no longer the case.
Not long after returning to campus in 1941, Charles was between classes heading south from Wesley Foundation to the Chemistry Building. He spotted Frances walking toward Green Street. They spoke briefly as their paths crossed. After taking a few steps, Charles turned hoping to get another glimpse of her. To his delight, she had done the same and was looking back too. Their eyes met, she smiled and, in that brief exchange, doubt evaporated and the mystical die was cast.
Afterward, they spent time together at church and Frances consented when he asked to walk her home from classes. From then they were together whenever possible. Without a lot of money, “library dates” were frequent. Charles credited these with getting him back on track academically. He had changed his major to Life Sciences and was making the Dean's List. Nevertheless, it was a struggle to stay in school. Tuition and housing were a big expenses and after they were taken care of
he was lucky to have a nickel to buy an apple. To earn money for food, he bussed dishes at one of the fraternity houses and the Champaign Country Club.
By the end of the semester just about everyone knew of someone who had been drafted. Charles' father had served as a commissioned officer and chaplain with the infantry in France during World War I. He spoke enough about his experience to paint a vivid picture of life as a ground soldier in combat and it was grim. Yet what option did Charles have? If called upon, he knew he would have to slosh through muddy woods and fields and endure bitter cold while living in uncomfortable encampments and fighting from foxholes. The thought was more than a little unsettling. Though he began to wonder, he didn’t know what other choice he had.
On December 7, 1941 Charles was visiting his father and anticipating a quiet 22nd birthday. At 4:00 pm, while riding with members of the Coleridge Taylor Glee Club from Gary to a church in South Chicago for an evening vespers program, he heard numbing news coming across the radio.
"Today at 7:50 am, Pacific time, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor...."
The United States declared war against Japan. While the glee club went on with the show that night, the year ahead was suddenly filled with uncertainty and Charles knew that one way or another, we were going to be involved in war.
Back together on campus, he and Frances knew his call to service was just a matter of time. Each day was precious and tomorrow offered no promises, only the hope of being together. They started going steady. Day by day, life went on and Charles continued school and work. In the meantime, Lewis Sr., Lewis Jr. and Ruth, responding to the build up of armed forces, volunteered for the military service.
Early in 1942, as Charles contemplated his fate, news of a possible alternative began to circulate around campus. According to the grapevine, colored soldiers would be taught to fly at Chanute Field in Rantoul, Illinois, just north of Champaign. (As it turned out, non-flying support personnel in communications, engineering, armament and mechanics were being trained at Chanute Field and pilot training was at a remote training school near Tuskegee, Alabama. There, the wife of the President of the United States, Eleanor Roosevelt, had flown with a black pilot, Charles Alfred "Chief" Anderson of the Civilian Pilot Training Program. She was visiting Tuskegee Institute to look into research being done on infantile paralysis, her husband's illness. To the shock of her secret service agents, the flight with "Chief"was an impromptu decision she made. The highly publicized event helped counter skepticism about the ability of blacks to fly and changed lives and history. Mrs. Roosevelt subsequently was reported to have told her husband that if the country was going to train pilots for the coming war, some of them ought to be black.)
The rumored program was real. The War Department approved Army Air Corps plans for an all-black pursuit squadron and funds for training enlisted support personnel at the Air Corps Technical School at Chanute Field in January of 1941. Primary pilot training was awarded to Tuskegee Institute with more advanced instruction slated for Tuskegee Army Air Field to be constructed nearby. From its inception, there had been attempts to scuttle the program, but the war effort needed more pilots and despite racist attitudes, no more impediments to stall the trial program could be justified. The first all-black class (42C, following the Corps wide convention of naming the 3rd class in each training program in 1942) was in training and Tuskegee Army Air Field was preparing for more trainees. On March 6, 1942, five black men completed the program, four taking the oath of office and pinning on the wings that told the world they were pilots. The fifth graduate, Captain B. O. Davis Jr., commissioned at West Point in 1936, had at last accomplished his long cherished wish to become a pilot.
Closer to home there was tangible evidence of the program’s existence. Fifteen miles north of Champaign at Chanute Field, Colored non flying personnel were being trained to support the 99th Pursuit pilots in Tuskegee. Frances' nephews, Ernest and Cecil Jr., entered the Chanute program. True enough, a quiet recruiting campaign had been launched to find a select number of candidates to undergo the tough screening process. Those gaining admission entered the strenuous training designed to transform them into a combat unit in the Army Air Corp.