Tag Archives: Frederic Mason Charboneau

1942: Uncle Fred’s new location and U.S. gas rationing

Sepia Saturday 737. Twenty-third in a series about 1942 letters from my dad’s brother Frederic Mason Charboneau while he was in the US Army during WWII.

Frederic Mason Charboneau c. 1942. Scan by Molly Charboneau

After landing in North Africa in Dec. 1942, the army unit of my dad’s brother Frederic Mason Charboneau was moved to a more permanent spot.

Mail from home began to arrive, and Uncle Fred wrote back about his new duty station — likely in Algeria, Morocco, or Tunisia, although such details were not allowed in soldiers’ correspondence.

A honey of a place

North Africa, December 20, 1942, Dear Mom: I wish I had studied my French more in school and also parlez-vous’d a little with Aline. It certainly would have come in handy now. That is the main language here with a little Spanish and Arab[ic] mixed in. We have several in the outfit that speak French so that we get along pretty good trading” with the locals. [Aline, the wife of Fred’s oldest brother Owen, was a French speaker from Quebec.]

Despite the language barrier, Uncle Fred was pleased with his new location, writing that it was the best since his deployment abroad.

“We have moved from where we were when we first came and where we are now is certainly a honey of a place and would like to stay here for the duration, but it won’t be our luck to have that,” Fred wrote. “Ever since we left the states, every place we come to has been worse than the last, but right now this place is I think even better than any place we were ever in. Of course, there isn’t much you can do, but outside of that it’s OK.”

Gas rationing back home

Then, responding to family news from his sister-in-law Doris [wife of his middle brother Hube], he added something about gas rationing that was news to me.

1942: The rush to the filling station on the eve of U.S. domestic gas rationing. Photo: automotivehistory.org

“I received a letter from Doris the other day, dated December 3rd, so some of the mail is coming through pretty good,” Fred wrote. “She said in her letter that they get up north once in a while and that Franny & Marion are up about every weekend. But I see where Roosevelt is thinking about calling in all of the A gas cards, so I don’t suppose they will be able to get up very often.” [our emphasis]

Getting “up north” refers to visiting Otter Lake, N.Y., in the Adirondacks where Fred’s parents (and my paternal grandparents) W. Ray and Mary (Owen) Charboneau ran the Otter Lake Hotel. “Franny & Marion” refers to Fred’s second oldest brother and his wife. But “calling in all of the A gas cards”? What was Fred talking about?

WWII windshield A-card. These cards indicated how much gas a driver could receive at the pump during U.S. gas rationing, which began in 1942. Image: ameshistory.org

Turns out that the WWII military mobilization had created a gasoline shortage. So, starting in May 1942 on the east coast and in December 1942 nationwide, the US Office of Price Administration (OPA) instituted a gasoline rationing program — complete with a variety of windshield stickers to identify how much gas one could get at the pump.

A-cards and tire maintenance

An A-card, the most common, was issued to the general public and allowed the driver four gallons of gas per week. Nor was gasoline the only thing in short supply — rubber for tires was also scarce, so car pooling and tire maintenance were likewise stressed.

Rubber for tires was also scarce during WWII, so car pooling and tire maintenance were stressed. Image: ameshistory.org

Hence Uncle Fred’s statement that his brothers and their families probably won’t “be able to get up very often” to visit their parents if their gas and tire usage was limited — or, worst case scenario, if their A-cards were pulled.

Then, as ever, Fred ended his letter with nostalgic thoughts of home:

“I am writing this letter by lamplight, and it reminds me of the time when our lights used to go out in a storm. Well, so long for now. Hoping to hear from you soon. Your loving son, Fred.”

Up next: The last of Uncle Fred’s 1942 letters. Please stop back! Meanwhile, please visit the other intrepid bloggers over at Sepia Saturday.

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