Life preservers are something we take for granted. We know they are important for boating and swimming, and we’ve all sat through airplane evacuation preparations, so we know that a life preserver will be there if we need it.

These safety devices became well-known during World War II when they made the difference between life and death for thousands of sailors and airmen.

During that era, they acquired the name “Mae West jackets.” When a person puts one on and inflates it, he or she look like a buxom woman. In the 1940s, this reminded men of Mae West.

Here’s how the life preserver came to be.

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Sporting Good Store Owner Developed Idea

When these life preservers were first designed, the inventor never imagined they would become such an important part of our lives. Peter Markus (1875-1973) was trying to create a life vest to save boaters and fly fishermen who bought supplies at his sporting goods store.

Markus lived in Minnesota and ran a healthy business selling supplies to boaters and fishermen. Weekend visitors and full-time residents stopped by the store for equipment. Markus always urged them to buy and wear a life vest. He read the local headlines. He knew how many people drowned when they got knocked overboard on a boat or swept along by a strong current when fly fishing.

But he understood the resistance. He was a fisherman himself. At that time, the buoyancy of safety vests came from cork filling. The cork vests would help keep a person afloat, but they were bulky and awkward to wear.

Markus knew that if a fisherman was casting a line, the cork vest was very likely to be in in his way. He agreed. These vests were bothersome.

How To Make a Better Vest

Markus began experimenting with how to create a life vest that would be more comfortable to wear. Using a man’s vest as his basic pattern, he worked with different types of material that could be inflated. He finally selected a rubberized cloth, styling the vest with air pockets in the front. The vest itself slipped over a person’s head and straps wrapped around the wearer to keep the vest securely in place.

When it was deflated it weighed under two pounds and was comfortable to wear. 

Markus knew he needed a way for the user to inflate the vest quickly. He came up with a system that used two small cartridges of fluid carbon dioxide. Each was connected to a cord on either side of the vest. When the wearer needed to inflate the vest, he or she pulled the cords. This triggered the fluid and caused carbon dioxide gas to fill up the vest’s air pockets.

Markus developed his invention in the 1920s and received a patent on it in 1928. In 1930 and 1931, he patented additional minor changes to the vest.

Manufacturing the Vest

As a store owner, Peter Markus had no interest in running a factory to create these vests. Instead, he contacted a rubber company with which he did business to see if they would make the vests. He showed them what he had in mind. They agreed to a partnership. They would manufacture the life preservers, and Markus would be paid royalties for the design of the preserver and for marketing the vests at sporting goods conventions.

Markus began traveling the country to visit trade shows. He rented booths so that he could demonstrate the life vest to convention attendees, most of whom were sportsmen themselves. They understood the value of what Markus created and sales were good.

In the 1930s, a Navy captain saw Peter Markus demonstrating the life vest. For the captain, this was a “light bulb” moment. He realized the value the preserver could have for the military. 

Markus was invited to come to Washington to demonstrate the life preserver.

Military Recognizes the Value

Like the sportsmen whom Markus knew, the military primarily used life vests filled with cork or balsa wood. The military and the fishermen were in agreement—those vests were bulky and hard to wear.

When the military purchasing agents saw Markus demonstrate his inflatable vest, they were delighted. They asked for only one change—that of color. The military pointed out that if an airman or a sailor went into the water, a bright orange color would make them easier for rescuers to see. After that adjustment, the government was ready to buy.

The vests soon made headlines.  In 1935, the dirigible, the USS Macon, went down in the Pacific. There were one hundred crewmen on board. An astonishing 98 of the craft’s crew were saved because they were wearing vests. The two who died were also wearing vests but they became entangled in the crash debris and there was no way to free the men in time. 

Shortly after the newspaper articles, Markus began receiving letters from appreciative airmen.

Congress Rules on “Excess Profits”

During the war, Congress passed an “Excess Profits” tax on company earnings from sales made to the military during wartime.

In support of the government, Markus cancelled his patent rights for war time and the future. From that date forward, the vests were available to the government royalty-free. According to the inventor’s son, Alvin A. Markus, his father “was happy his ingenuity helped save lives.”

Mae West Name Chosen By Military Men

Because the front air pockets filled quite completely, the wearer then had the look of a buxom woman. The World War II men who wore these began to call them the Mae West.

Though the vests were quite reliable, military men with idle time sometimes caused the devices to fail. Author Laura Hillenbrand explains what sometimes happened in Unbroken, the story of Pacific airman Louis Zamperini (1917-2013) during World War II. Zamperini told her that valuable as the vests were, the men sometimes tampered with them. If they removed the carbon dioxide cartridges, they could carbonate their drinks.

 Any soldier will say that wars are terrifying—and boring. Clearly, this is one of the things they did during the boring parts, unfortunately.

Still Saving Lives

Today the military still uses a form of this life vest, and the life preserver provided for commercial airline travelers is based on this “Mae West” model.

Like all inventions, other people come along and make improvements, but thus far, the Mae West life preserver remains very similar to the one Peter Markus thought of a century ago.

During World War II, a wife wrote a desperate plea to a man in the military whom she barely knew. She needed information about her husband, and my father and her husband were both serving in the same unit in the Second Infantry in France. It was December 1944, and their unit was in the thick of the battles near Belgium.

I am in possession of her letter because she wrote to my father, a sergeant in the unit.

The letter begins:

“I don’t know if you will remember me, but my husband has written to me so many times about you. I am very sorry to hear that you have been wounded, and you have my best wishes for a speedy recovery.

“The reason I am writing to you is that I received a telegram stating that P.F.C. Ernest Moore was missing in action in Belgium since December 17^th. My last letter from him was dated December 5th, and at that time, you were still in Germany. Can you tell me when you last saw my husband, and under what conditions and anything else that might help us find whether he is a prisoner or dead? I know this is a lot to ask, but I have no one else to find out from.

…Please let me know when you possibly can. Thanks a million.”

Letters of My Father

I have inherited my father’s papers, and as I sort through what to keep for the family, I’m reading everything. This letter caught my attention because of her question that was worded so calmly, but could only have been covering a feeling of total desperation. Where was Ernest Moore?  

Imagine her situation…a telegram…frightening war headlines…someone you love unaccounted for…  And no good way to learn more.

I know Mrs. Moore is just one person in an uncountable number of family members throughout many wars who have been informed their loved one is missing in action. But her personal plea made me feel deeply for her and want to find out what happened.

Battle of the Bulge

By the time of her letter in January, the world knew that from mid-December on the Allies were fighting a fierce series of battles, now known as the Battle of the Bulge. My father was wounded in it, and something clearly happened to Ernest Moore.

When my father received her letter in mid-January, he was in a veteran’s hospital in California recovering from serious injuries.

But Bret Kelly was the type of man who would have done anything he could to answer Mrs. Moore’s letter. I don’t have the reply he sent her, but fortunately, he saved her response. She writes:

“Thanks again for what information you were able to give me. I received your letter Monday, and yesterday I received one from Ernie, written on the 17^th of January. He is a prisoner in Germany. But I thank God that he is alive. He says they are being treated well and that he is fine.” 

What Happened Then?

I wouldn’t have felt comfortable sharing this information if I hadn’t been able to find out a little more. Thanks to the wonders of online searching, I was able to find that Ernest Moore did come home to his wife in Colorado. He lived to age 76, dying in 1989. He was buried at Fort Logan National Cemetery in Denver, Colorado.

 His wife lived until 1994. She was 72 when she died. 

Deep Gratitude

Thank you to Ernest Moore and soldiers like him for their service to our country. I’m glad Ernest Moore came home. As we know, so many don’t.

I also send deep empathy to all the families who were (and continue to be) left to wonder and worry about their loved ones.

My Dad…

As for my father, he, too, was eventually well enough to return home. Again, a letter gives me a piece of incomplete puzzle.

Among his letters was one from one of the soldiers fighting alongside him the day he was injured. The fellow was writing to tell my dad what happened to the rest of the unit after he left. There was not much good news.

And as my father was loaded onto an ambulance bound for a hospital in Paris, he left his pistol and his glasses with his friend and fellow soldier. Leaving his pistol makes total sense. He wasn’t going to need it in a hospital. 

But his glasses?  Was this a lack of hope on his part? Or was it signaling that he would see his friend again and reclaim his glasses?

Either way, my heart hurts at the thought of that moment.

World War II: A Closed Subject for Many Men

Like so many who fought in World War II, my father would never talk of his war service. We have a letter about the Silver Star he was awarded, but he specifically asked that the medal be put away and not discussed: “So many men were part of what I did….”

So I have these letters….and unanswerable questions…and much love for the many, many young men who go off to fight for our country.

Like others, I wish countries made better choices on how to settle differences. As we look at what is happening in Ukraine, this is more important than ever.

To read other stories of World War II, read about Dorie Miller or the Mae West Life Jacket that saved many.

Dorie Miller was a mess attendant on the battleship USS West Virginia when the Japanese launched a massive surprise attack on Pearl Harbor in Hawaii on Sunday, December 7, 1941.

Miller was a former high school football champion who performed heroically on that terror-filled morning when the United States found itself under attack. As a kitchen worker, Miller had no training on any of the machine guns, but as the USS West Virginia took explosions from below and machine gun fire from the planes above, Dorie Miller saw that some of the shipboard guns were unattended. He began firing at the incoming enemy.

In the chaos of the attack, the number planes brought down by Dorie Miller is uncertain. Some say it was one; others say it was as many as three or four.

The West Virginia was slowly sinking, and the officers called for the men to abandon ship. Of the 1541 men on board during the attack, 130 died and 52 were wounded.

Though Dorie Miller had gone above and beyond his duty to defend his  ship and his country, it was months before anyone knew his story.

Dorie Miller’s Early Life

Dorie Miller (1919-1943) was the third of four boys born to tenant farmers, Connery and Henrietta Miller. The story goes that Henrietta hoped that her third child would be a daughter, and so the name Doris was selected. (He was called Dorie most of his life.)

Dorie and his brothers attended a segregated high school in Waco. Dorie was tall and strong, and he soon became the high school football team’s star fullback. Those must have been good years, but Dorie soon saw that his parents needed more income, so he dropped out of high school to help the family.

When war in Europe started in 1939, the United States did not intend to be directly involved, but the administration knew that preparation for what was to come was key. The Navy and the Army were recruiting. Dorie Miller heeded the call and went to Dallas to sign up at the Naval recruitment office.

Segregated Navy

The Navy accepted men of all backgrounds, but the only option for Black sailors was in the steward department (service division, generally kitchen work.) The Supreme Court case, Plessy v. Ferguson in 1898, laid the groundwork for what became known as the Jim Crow laws. When President Woodrow Wilson took office, he insisted on strict segregation in the federal government.

But to Dorie Miller it was an opportunity. Miller learned to cook from his mother, so he was at ease in a kitchen. By enlisting, he would see more of the world and earn money to send home to the family.

Miller was sent to Norfolk, Virginia, for 8 weeks of training where he learned all aspects of being a mess attendant.

His first shipboard assignment was on an ammunition ship, but he was quickly sent on to the USS West Virginia in the Pacific Ocean. In 1940, the ship was assigned to Pearl Harbor for its base.

Pearl Harbor was a great port for the larger ships in the U.S. Navy. Battleships and aircraft carriers were often in port where they could be serviced and deployed. In the autumn of 1941, three aircraft carriers were based there along with seven battleships, all lined up along what was known as Battleship Row. An 8^th battleship was in drydock being repaired.

Unaware at Pearl Harbor

There were tensions around the Pacific Ocean, but mainly between Japan and China. As an island, Japan had been trying for decades to expand its political and military influence in order to have access to raw materials, food, and labor. The United States was tangentially involved because the U.S. had a treaty with the Chinese that permitted American commerce to pursue interests along the Yangtze River.

Standard Oil and other companies had ships that traveled upriver, always accompanied by U.S. gunboats to protect against pirates. In 1937, one of the U.S. gunboats was bombed by the Japanese, but it was December 1937, and nothing else happened. The U.S. decided to let it go.

The United States continued to provide aid to China in China’s effort to ward off the Japanese attacks, but the American government had little reason to worry about Pearl Harbor. Military strategists felt that if the Japanese went beyond the areas where they were fighting in the summer of 1941, the most likely target would be the Philippines.

That first weekend in December of 1941 was business as usual in Honolulu. Many of the sailors had weekend passes, from which they usually returned late Saturday night or Sunday. Four of the eight battleship commanders were also on weekend leave.

That Morning

Dorie Miller was up early to help with breakfast preparations. He had some spare time so he was gathering laundry from the officers’ quarters—a task for which he could earn a little extra money.

Just before 8 a.m., there was a powerful explosion. A torpedo hit the USS West Virginia.

It soon became clear that the entire harbor was under attack. Unbeknownst to the United States, the Japanese had moved aircraft carriers within a couple of hundred miles of Hawaii. On that fateful morning, they were in the process of launching 353 planes. Most flew low to attack the ships in port, but some of the fighter planes continued inland to attack the airfields where US planes were parked.

The Japanese calculated that if they could take out aircraft carriers and the battleships that were routinely based at Pearl Harbor, they might bring an end to the U.S. aid to China. They would also be able to dominate the Pacific Ocean.

That was their intent that morning.

What Happened That Sunday

Though officially Black sailors activities were restricted to service responsibilities, most captains realized that in the heat of battle, every man needed to help.

Captain Mervyn Bennion of the West Virginia was no different. Mess attendants like Dorie Miller were assigned to battle stations where they were responsible for managing the ammunition and handing it off to the sailors firing the guns at each station.

When the alarm sounded and Miller arrived at his assigned station, he found it in flames. Within a moment, he was tapped by an officer to come with him to the ship’s bridge. The captain was hurt by flying debris from one of the other nearby battleships. Miller was among the larger men on the ship—he had won the heavyweight boxing championship staged during the men’s free time. Officers knew he was strong enough to help carry the injured captain to a more secure place.

Miller helped move the captain. The officer who brought him up maneuvered into position so that he could begin firing one of the two machine guns on the bridge. He indicated that Miller should do the same. The Japanese planes were dive-bombing the men on deck.

Miller Took Action

Miller was never trained on the use of a machine gun but he hunted with his father as a young boy and had watched many sailors use the guns. He instinctively knew how to fire the 50-caliber Browning machine gun.

In the chaos of the attack, reports varied, but Miller brought down one—and perhaps as many as four Japanese planes.  He fired until he ran out of ammunition. By then the men were being ordered to abandon ship. The West Virginia had been severely damaged and was slowly sinking to the harbor bottom. (Later it was revealed that 7 torpedoes, two bombs, and overwhelming machine gun fire were responsible for the downing of the West Virginia. Of the 1541 men on board during the attack, 130 were killed and 52 wounded.

Ultimately, no battleship in Pearl Harbor escaped untouched. Seven of the eight battleships sank or were badly damaged. The USS Arizona, berthed on one side of the West Virginia, exploded and sank quickly. Eleven hundred crew members died. The Oklahoma, just in front of the West Virginia, capsized and trapped many.

That day Japan destroyed 188 planes and damaged 150 more. Almost 2400 Americans were killed, including Mervyn Bennion, captain of the West Virginia who did not recover from his wounds.

On December 8, the United States declared war on Japan.

Story Slow to Come Out

The few reporters stationed in Honolulu scrambled to cover the attack, but details were slow to emerge. Rumors preceded actual fact on many of the issues.

A few weeks after the bombing, a reporter learned that a sailor on the nearby USS Tennessee, berthed next to the West Virginia during the attack, noted that a “Negro messman” had behaved heroically.

The sailor who reported this was from a separate ship, so he didn’t know Dorie’s name. And of course, many of the men in the Pearl Harbor attack were reassigned so there was no easy way to track the story.

But Black editors noted the mention. When the editor of The Pittsburgh Courier, one of the country’s most widely circulated black newspapers, heard that a Negro messman might have been a hero, he pounced on it. He assigned a reporter to get to the bottom of the story. There were no funds for reporters to travel that far during wartime, but the reporter followed the leads he had within the Navy. Even after many written requests went unanswered, the reporter continued to write: “Who was the Black messman on the West Virginia?”

If the Black press had not stayed on top of this story, Dorie Miller’s heroism might never have been shared with the public.

Pushing for the Story

Soon all the Black press took up the cause. The pressure on the Navy press department became overwhelming. Finally, the Navy named Dorie Miller as the hero.

Had this information not been picked up by the Black media, Dorie Miller probably would never have been identified. He had no idea anyone was looking for him.

The Navy was in no rush to make a big deal of this story. Navy Secretary Frank Knox was a firm believer in the necessity of segregation. If Blacks only worked as stewards, it was possible to house and feed the men separately.

But if Blacks began to be assigned to other roles, how would the Navy maintain segregation on a ship?

After The Pittsburgh Courier broke the story, public pressure grew more intense. The NAACP, the National Negro Council, and many Black newspapers urged for Miller to be honored in some way.

Hoping to end the public outcry, Secretary Knox wrote a letter of commendation to Miller and arranged for him to be promoted to mess attendant first class. As far as Knox was concerned, his duty to Dorie Miller was done.

President Concerned

But President Franklin Roosevelt received many complaints about racism in the Navy. The president knew something more needed to be done. He ordered that Miller should be given the second-highest medal given to men in combat, the Navy Cross (second only to the Medal of Honor).

On May 27, 1942, Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, commander of the Pacific Fleet, took part in a ceremony on the USS Enterprise. Two thousand sailors were in attendance and numerous awards were given out, including the Navy Cross to Dorie Miller. He was the first Black recipient to receive the Navy Cross medal.

Pressure Continued

With more pressure being placed on him, Secretary Knox announced that an expanded section of the U.S. Naval Station in Great Lakes, Illinois, would offer additional training for Black recruits.

But this changed little. Segregation was deeply ingrained in the Navy. Even under the best of circumstances, the societal restrictions that were in place would not have altered substantially. And wartime meant that hierarchical changes like that were at a standstill.

Finally, when the Navy experienced a shortage of sailors as the Korean War neared, they opened up more positions to people of color.

Dorie Miller’s Next Assignment

After the USS West Virginia, Dorie Miller became Cook Third Class on the USS Indianapolis.

As momentum around Miller’s heroism built, the Navy decided to bring him home for public appearances. (This was common for men who had good war stories to tell. See Harlem Hellfighter: Henry Johnson.)  The purpose was twofold—to raise money for war bonds and to increase recruitment. Miller was well-spoken and represented the Navy well.

His experience was also documented for a biography being put together by the Naval History and Heritage Command. He was asked about the moment when he stepped in to fire a machine gun on which he had never been trained: “It wasn’t hard. I just pulled the trigger and she worked fine. I had watched the others with these guns. I guess I fired her for about 15 minutes. I think I got one of those Jap planes. They were diving pretty close to us,” Miller related.

After the U.S. Tour

In the spring of 1943, Dorie Miller was called back from the United States to serve on a new escort carrier the USS Liscome Bay. The ship was operating in the Pacific near the Gilbert Islands.

At 5:10 a.m. on November 24, 1943, the ship was hit by a single torpedo fired from a Japanese submarine.  The torpedo detonated the bomb magazine on the carrier; the bombs exploded, and the ship sank within minutes.

Miller was initially listed as missing along with many other men whose fate was unknown. A year later, November 1944, his status was changed to “presumed dead.”  Only 272 men survived the attack.

Many Championed Miller For Medal of Honor

There have been continuing efforts by different Miller champions within and outside Congress to posthumously award Dorie Miller the Medal of Honor. Many point out that those who received the Medal of Honor were simply doing their jobs. In Miller’s case, he went above and beyond what was expected of him in order to serve his country.

Other Black military—originally passed over because of discrimination—have now been honored, Henry Johnson among them. Many think it is still Dorie Miller’s time.

Thus far, Dorie Miller has not been given a Medal of Honor, but he has been recognized in many other ways. There is a Dorie Miller Park in Hawaii, and many schools and buildings throughout the U.S. have been named in his memory.  There is also a building at the Great Lakes Naval Station (Illinois) named in his honor.  

He was also one of four Naval heroes featured on U.S. postal stamps in 2010.

In 2019, a monument was completed in his memory in his hometown of Waco, Texas.

Ships Named for Miller

For a sailor’s family, there must be particular joy in having a ship named for your loved one. In 1973, Dorie’s mother christened a destroyer escort named for him. And on Martin Luther King Day, 2020, the Navy chose Dorie Miller as the man to honor with a $12.5 billion aircraft carrier. It is the first aircraft carrier named for a Black sailor.

For another story of an African-American hero during World War II, read about Charles David, Jr., who served in the Coast Guard.

And to read a story about World War I soldier whose family overcame all the resistance to honoring him properly, read about World War I veteran, Henry Johnson, a proud member of the Harlem Hellfighters.

Chester Nez, a Navajo, was recruited by the Marines in 1942. He was one of 29 Navajos who were brought into the military for the express purpose of creating an unbreakable code. The Japanese masterfully deciphered most codes the U.S. tried, so the Navajo Code Talkers were essential to America’s eventual victory.

Chester Nez, a Navajo, was recruited by the Marines in 1942. He was one of 29 Navajos who were brought into the military for the express purpose of creating an unbreakable code. The Japanese masterfully deciphered most codes the U.S. tried, so the Navajo Code Talkers were essential to America’s eventual victory.

The Navajo Code Talkers fought throughout the South Pacific, providing communications throughout the fiercest fighting.

At the end of World War II, the military classified all the work of the Code Talkers. The code had not yet been broken, and Americans felt it might be needed again.

Just over 400 Navajos served in this valuable role, but most never received acclaim for their work as it was not declassified until 1968. Since it was released in the late 1960s when anti-government fervor was at its height, little attention was paid to the news story.

In the late 1970s and ‘80s, the men finally began receiving due recognition. Many of the Code Talkers did not live to enjoy the praise the men received for their job well done. 

Chester Nez (1921-2014) was among the fortunate. He was part of the original 29 Navajos who created the code, and he lived to be recognized for what he did for his country. His story is well-told in Code Talker: The First and Only Memoir by One of the Original Navajo Code Talkers of WWII, co-authored with Judith Schiess Avila.

Nez Childhood

Chester Nez was born in Chichiltah, New Mexico. He grew up on the Navajo reservation in an area known as the Checkerboard. His mother died when he was very young. He and his siblings lived with their grandparents and helped on their farm where they raised goats and sheep.

The Bureau of Indian Affairs felt the best way to assimilate Native Americans was to remove the children from their family homes and put them in boarding schools. Chester (who received this name only upon entering boarding school) and his older brother and sister, Dora, attended schools in New Mexico and Arizona. The students were instructed not to talk in their native language. If they were caught doing so, they were beaten or their mouths were washed out with bitter soap.

The Nez children relished the summer breaks when they could finally go home and be with their loved ones.

Marine Recruiter

Nez attended high school in Tuba City, Arizona. It was 1942, and a U.S. Marine recruiter arrived at the high school with a specific goal in mind. The Marines wanted to sign up young men who were fluent in English and Navajo. Nez’s family still spoke their native language at home, so Chester Nez was an excellent candidate.

The Navajo people believe strongly in defending one’s country, so Nez also felt good about signing up. It was the right thing to do.

The Marines

Like all Marines, the 30 young men recruited for the special unit were sent off to basic training. They were told that they would be part of the communications team in the South Pacific. They were instructed in Morse code, radio communications, and signal corps work.  After boot camp, they traveled to Camp Elliott in San Diego where they received their specific assignment.

The Japanese had proven adept at cracking all the codes that the military had used. The job of the Navajo soldiers was to create a secret code based on their native language.

The officer stressed the importance of their work. The code needed to be robust enough to use in battle, and the men needed to keep in mind that the messages sent would make the difference between life and death. Anything from troop locations to calls for ammunition, food, or medical equipment might be conveyed over the radio waves. Could the Navajo men come up with something that would work?

Idea for Code

Toward the end of World War I, communication by Native Americans was used. The Choctaw Telephone Squad successfully relayed messages in their own language. No code was created, but the Axis countries did not have time to divine or translate the language being used.   

The idea for turning to the Navajo people for a code came from a fellow named Philip Johnston. Johnston grew up on a Navajo reservation where his parents were missionaries. Though Johnston lived among the Navajos and spoke a bit of their language, he knew that those who were not raised as Navajos were unlikely to master it. Navajo was also a purely oral language so there were no books or guides to help an outsider learn. 

Johnston convinced the Marines that if the Navajo people created a code using their language it would be uncrackable.

Creating the Navajo Code

Thirty men were recruited to create the code, but by the time they gathered in a meeting room at Camp Elliott, there were only 29. (Later on, the Original 29 became a term of reference for those who created it.) As the men worked over a period of several weeks, they saw they would be best served by creating a two-layered code.

The first layer involved the English alphabet. Two Navajo words were assigned to each of the 26 letters. The Navajo language relies heavily on various tones, so the tiny refinements in their work made a huge difference.

The second layer of the code concerned specific military terms. To speed their translations, they created special words for references to officers and terms for equipment that was used: “Battleship” was “lot-so” which means “whale;’ “submarine” was “besh-lo” which meant “iron fish,” and “destroyer” was “ca-lo” (“shark”) 

The Code Talkers needed to know this information better their own names. On a battlefield there was no time for anything other than an immediate reaction and the resulting translation. 

Those who heard the code and knew something about the Navajo language said that it ultimately sounded very little like Navajo.

Code Talker Methodology

The technology for sending codes at that time made use of TBX radio (a portable HF transmitter-receiver that at that time was powered by a hand-cranked generator).

The Code Talkers worked in pairs. All Navajos had to be adept at sending and receiving the codes; there was no room for error. One cranked the generator and oversaw use of the radio; the other translated and sent codes. Both jobs were exhausting in different ways, so they switched positions at regular intervals.

Once in place, the Code Talkers worked round the clock—often continuing for 35 hours without a break.

Testing the Code

Not everyone who heard about the program thought it was a good idea, so a test was devised. The code that was used in the South Pacific during that time was known as the Shackle protocol. Communication specialists would feed a message into a coding machine where it was encrypted into a series of numbers and letters. This string of characters was then transmitted verbally where the soldier on the receiving end would use a cipher to decode it. This process was slow and laborious, and most messages took about 4 hours to send and receive.

For the test, the message was given to both the soldier handling the Shackle protocol as well as the Navajo Code Talkers. The Shackle protocol transmitted the message in several hours. The Navajo Code Talkers passed the message in a matter of minutes. 

There was no question of their value in the war. The Marines couldn’t wait to get them overseas, and their first assignment was at Guadalcanal. 

Guadalcanal

The Code Talkers first exposure to fighting was overwhelming. The American military needed the island for a base from which to attack the Japanese. The fighting began in early August of 1942. Three major land battles, seven naval battles and numerous bombing, from American planes finally convinced the Japanese that the area would be taken by the Americans. As a native tribe, they believed in not walking among the dead. At Guadalcanal, it couldn’t be avoided.

In December, the Japanese abandoned their attempts to maintain control of the island, but they did not fully evacuate until February.

While fear of death was ever-present, the Code Talkers soon found that fighting in the South Pacific also meant constant discomfort. They often waited in foxholes that filled with water. As Nez wrote: “Nothing ever dried.” Any soldier can testify that wet socks lead to wet feet and that trench foot can be very serious.

After the teams were in field for a time, the Marines assigned a bodyguard for each man. The Code Talkers never really thought about why they had someone with them at all times (even going to the latrine), but as Nez later said, “They could replace a soldier more easily than a Code Talker.”

Messages Sent

The messages sent by the Code Talkers was specific as to locations and often reported on quantities, numbers, and supplies of the Japanese. While the Japanese were unsuccessful at breaking the code, they could pinpoint where messages were coming from, so the Code Talkers would send a message and then quickly move locations in order to avoid being bombed. It was a dangerous job.

Nez notes that the feeling among Marines was one of bonding. Those who served near each other knew that they were all in this together. There was camaraderie, and all the men helped each other out.

One thing their white counterparts couldn’t help the Code Talkers with, however, was badly needed time off. When the regular Marine units were finally sent off for a week or two of rest and recuperation, officers plucked Code Talkers out of the line up waiting for departure. They were informed them that they were vital in the field and would not be given leave. The physical nature and mental intensity of their work must have made it so difficult to keep going.

Secret Even on the Battlefield

Though the Marines that worked near the Navajos saw that they were assigned to communications, the broader group of Marines had no idea who they were or what they did. 

Nez tells a story of a time when he and his partner were stopped by a white Marine. He assumed their different color of skin meant they were actually Japanese, and he pulled his gun and threatened them. Because Nez and his companion could not talk of their responsibilities, they had no way to defend themselves. Fortunately, an officer who knew the Code Talkers came by and told the white Marine to stand down.

Nez Tour of Duty Ends

The Marines used a point system to keep track of the terms of service for Code Talkers. Nez fought through Bougainville, Guam, Angaur (where the Code Talkers were assigned to the Army), and finally to the very difficult battle at Peleliu.

When they landed on Iwo Jima, Nez and four other code talkers were told they earned enough points to go home. 

Nez had no physical injuries, but like many of the soldiers coming home from the South Pacific, he suffered combat stress. The trauma for Code Talkers was compounded by the fact that their work was classified. They were not permitted to talk about it with anyone, even family members.

After five months in San Francisco, Nez boarded a bus to Albuquerque. He knew he could stay with his brother for a time.

Once back in New Mexico, an early order of business was applying for an identity card that Native Americans were required to carry. In a story reported in his obituary in The York Times, Nez arrived at the Federal Building in Gallup to register for the card. The civil servant told him: “You’re not a full citizen of the United States, you know.”  

Until 1948, New Mexico did not grant the vote to Native Americans.

Until 1948, New Mexico did not grant the vote to Native Americans.

The G.I. Bill

Chester Nez was eligible for the G.I Bill. He left for the military before receiving his high school diploma. Once he returned and finished high school, he entered the University of Kansas where he studied for three years. The G.I. funds ran out at that point, so he was not able to complete his senior year. (In 2012, the University awarded him an honorary degree.) 

He got a job working on the painting crew for the Veterans Affairs hospital in Albuquerque. While much of the work was basic painting, the buildings department soon noted Nez’s artistic ability and had him add murals to many of the walls.

To add to his income, he signed up for the Reserves. When the United States entered to Korean War, he was called upon to serve. He was relieved when his assignments were all stateside.

Family Life

Chester Nez married and had several children, only two of whom survived to adulthood.

Nez was still suffering bad dreams and other disturbances from what is now known to be post-traumatic stress disorder. His father recommended they organize a traditional healing ceremony to help him overcome the nightmares and fears that overtook him.

For Nez, this native tradition was a successful remedy. In his book, however, he notes that many code talkers turned to drinking or suicide—they had little support for what they had been through.

Code Talkers Declassified

In 1968, the government finally declassified the Code Talker program. By this time, computers were quite adept at creating codes. 

But 1968 was during the build-up of anti-war and anti-government sentiment, so little acknowledgment was given to the Code Talkers or the incredible work they had done in creating an unbreakable code. 

During the 1970s and ‘80s, more press articles began to appear. Finally in 2001, Congress awarded Congressional Gold Medals to those who were still living. 

The Code Talkers were the inspiration behind the 2002 Hollywood film, Windtalkers, starring Nicholas Cage.

***

Another story about World War II and fighting in the South Pacific concerns the dogs the Marines to take with them: U.S. War Dogs in the South Pacific.

Bill Mauldin was a young artist in World War II who created a cartoon featuring two mud-covered, combat-weary infantrymen, Willie and Joe. Mauldin’s work appeared in U.S. military newspapers where his foxhole-level view of the military brightened the spirits of U.S. soldiers by giving them something to laugh at.

His cartoons were picked up by civilian newspapers in the U.S., so he also provided Americans at home with a better understanding of the day-to-day life of an infantryman.

In 1945 he received a Pulitzer Prize for his work.

William Mauldin’s Background

Bill Mauldin (1921-2003) was born in Mountain Park, New Mexico. According to Mauldin’s obituary that appeared in Stars and Stripes on January 23, 2003, Mauldin started drawing in his early teens after he spotted an ad for a correspondence course in cartooning in Popular Mechanics magazine. He borrowed the $20 tuition from his grandmother. After learning the basics of cartooning, he was accepted at the Academy of Fine Arts in Chicago.

When he left Chicago, Mauldin settled in Phoenix, Arizona, and tried to sell his cartoons. It was slow going, and he needed money. In 1940, he signed up to be part of the Arizona National Guard. Within a few months, a military build-up began, and Mauldin’s unit was absorbed into the Army as part of the 45^th Division. The men were all moved to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, for training.

Communication on Military Bases

Military brass knew that morale improved when everyone on a military base felt they were part of a community. On most bases, a weekly newspaper was an important aspect of that effort. Generally, there were plenty of editors and writers who found themselves in the service, so newspapers were quickly staffed.

The 45^th Division News was the weekly publication at Fort Sill.  Mauldin dropped off some of his military training cartoons, and the editors liked them.  They checked with Mauldin’s superior and requested that in addition to his regular military training he be assigned to serve one day each week working at the newspaper.

This also offered another opportunity for Mauldin. One of his editors submitted Mauldin’s cartoons to a local Oklahoma newspaper. The reaction was so positive that the editor helped Bill syndicate the material. Soon Mauldin’s cartoons appeared in 159 city newspapers across the West. As U.S. entry into World War II seemed closer, Americans everywhere were worried about the war and had family members enlisting. Mauldin’s cartoons helped citizens understand what the men were going through.

Mauldin’s Subjects

Mauldin titled his regular cartoon panel for the 45^th, “Star Spangled Banter.” His subjects always concerned the day-to-day doings of the Army inductee.  Though he helped with the newspaper one day each week, the fact that he continued to  drill with the other riflemen in his unit provided him with excellent perspective to draw what the soldiers were going through.

When the troops from Fort Sill departed for Sicily, the newspaper continued though somewhat less regularly. Mauldin’s cartoons were spotted by an editor at the well-respected military newspaper, The Stars and Stripes. Bill Mauldin’s work was so good that he was assigned to work for the newspaper full-time.

The Characters Willie and Joe

Willie and Joe began cartoon life separately. Joe appeared in cartoon form before Pearl Harbor. At that time, he was clean-shaven and energetic. Then after December 7, 1941 (Pearl Harbor), Mauldin created Willie. The two cartoon soldiers became friends. As Mauldin drew them over the next couple of years, they grew war-weary and resigned to the fact that they might not live beyond the war.

In the cartoon panels, Willie and Joe are almost always miserable–often wet and cold. The cartoons capture the gritty, grunginess of fighting as well as the moments of fear and those of total boredom. All of the scenes are infused with a grim humor. A typical cartoon shows Willie and Joe ducking artillery fire, and Willie says: “I feel like a fugitive from th’ law of averages.”

From Real Life

As one writer put it: “Willie and Joe were the guys who always got sentry duty when it rained…shrapnel in their backside when they left their foxholes, and they dealt constantly with lice, fleas, and terrible food.”

Mauldin drew not the officers but the men “who were doing the dying.”

In one particular cartoon, Joe and Willie are sitting near a battlefield amidst mud and reeds, their feet not visible because of the muck. Willie has something in his hands and says to his buddy: “Joe, yestiddy ya saved my life an’ I swore I’d pay ya back. Here’s my last pair of dry socks.”

Reaction of Officers

The increased circulation of Mauldin’s front-line soldiers brought Mauldin’s work to the attention of the officers, many of whom understood that the cartoons gave release to the GIs’ pent-up feelings.

A few of the top brass, General George Patton among them, strongly objected to the depiction of the grimy bedraggled fighting men. Patton was so incensed that he threatened to halt distribution of Stars and Stripes because of the “unsoldierly” appearance of Willie and Joe.  His superior, General Dwight D. Eisenhower, disagreed. He believed in a hands-off policy on the newspaper, and no one wanted to cross him. However, in deference to Patton’s strong feelings,  he asked that Patton and Mauldin meet to discuss their differences.

Mauldin wrote of the meeting in his book, The Brass Ring.  He relates that Patton berated him for depicting soldiers who “looked like bums.” Mauldin explained his thinking, and the meeting concluded with Patton telling Mauldin “they understood each other now.”

Despite this “understanding,” Mauldin never changed what he drew, and the cartoons continued to appear in the Stars and Stripes.

Later, Patton reportedly said he would “throw Mauldin in jail” if Mauldin ever came back again.

Important to the Men

“The cartoons were not always appreciated by regular officers,” confirmed  Tom Czekanski, senior curator and restoration manager of the National World War II Museum, in New Orleans. “But the citizen soldiers …enjoyed [Mauldin’s] look at the war from their perspective.”

As to what happened to Willie and Joe, Mauldin intended to have them die at the end of the war. His editors fought against it, however. To Mauldin, the two infantrymen were reminders of the pain and suffering by all involved, and he carried guilt from the fact that his success grew from something that was truly so terrible.

While he resisted killing off Willie and Joe, he set them aside in his work. He revived Willie for some freelance articles he wrote in the format of letters to Joe. However, only twice were the pair drawn together again—-once in memory of General George Marshall (1959); the second time after the death of General Omar Bradley in 1981.

After the War

After World War II ended, Mauldin worked for the United Press service for a time and then was hired as an editorial cartoonist working for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.  While in St. Louis, he won another Pulitzer Prize (1959). This one concerned Soviet novelist Boris Pasternak saying to another gulag prisoner: “I won the Nobel Prize for literature. What was your crime?”

In 1960, he moved to The Chicago Sun-Times. One of his most poignant cartoons appeared in that newspaper on November 23, 1963. It depicted the statue of Abraham Lincoln that sits in the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, slumped over in grief cradling his head in his hands. It was the day after John F. Kennedy’s assassination.

He remained at the Chicago newspaper until 1991, but his arthritis became so painful that he gave up cartooning. He retired to a home in his native New Mexico.

Even after retirement, one cartoon tradition continued, however. Cartoonist Charles Schulz was also a World War II veteran and thought the world of William Mauldin. Each year on Veteran’s Day, the two collaborated on a cartoon to run in Schulz’s strip, Snoopy. The last year the commemoration appeared was in 1998. Schulz signed the strip, “Schulz and my hero…” Mauldin’s signature was below.

Mauldin also acted in two films and ran unsuccessfully for Congress in New York in 1956.

Word That He was Ill

A fellow veteran named Jay Gruenfeld, who served in the Pacific and now lives outside Santa Barbara in Lompoc, California, heard that Mauldin was at a veterans hospital in California, suffering from Alzheimer’s. Gruenfeld had good memories of Mauldin’s work. After being injured in the war, Gruenfeld was hospitalized for several months for a serious spinal injury. His father sent him several collections of Mauldin’s work, and Mauldin’s work helped him get through a difficult time.

When he heard that Mauldin was ill, he sent out letters to veteran groups, and he got in touch with two newspaper columnists: Gordon Dillow of the Orange County Register and Bob Greene, a former colleague of Mauldin’s at the Chicago Sun Times.

Veterans Paid Respects

As word filtered out to veterans that Mauldin was quite ill, men stopped by the veterans’ home where Mauldin was staying. They wanted to pay their respects.

Day after day, volunteers arrived wearing parts of their World War II uniform or bringing mementos to share with the man whose view of reality and dry sense of humor helped get them through the war. Soon there were so many visitors that the home introduced a sign-up sheet.

Mike Anton, a reporter for The Los Angeles Times in 2002, wrote that after visiting Mauldin many of them stopped in the lobby and cried.  Anton quoted an administrator saying: “They have a connection to him that’s extraordinary—a connection that I didn’t anticipate.”

As one of the men told Anton for The Los Angeles Times article: “We relied on Mauldin to break the tension for a moment, just a moment. He meant an awful lot to us.”

Funeral at Arlington

In 2003, Mauldin died.  His funeral took place in Arlington National Cemetery on January 31, 2003. The day was gray and cold and drizzly, just the type of day that Willie and Joe endured so often during the war.

After the funeral, one of his sons spoke to a reporter about the regular calls he received every month from veterans checking on his dad. He also noted that one gift from a veteran made him cry: The fellow sent the family a pair of dry socks, just like what Willie gave Joe for saving his life in battle.

Honors

In addition to two Pulitzer Prizes, William Mauldin received many honors throughout his career. In 2010, the United States Postal Service issued a commemorative stamp honoring Mauldin and Willie and Joe. A little humor meant the world to men in the midst of war.

***

To read other stories about World War II, see “Kilroy was Here,” or “World War II and Hollywood.”

Ida Rosenthal emigrated from Russia in the early 1900s and supported her family as a dressmaker. As she responded to the marketplace, she and a partner soon crafted dresses with built-in bras—freeing women from corsets.

Because the dress designs were so popular, women returned to the dress store with a request: “Could I buy the bra without the dress so that I can wear it under other garments?”

With that, the Maidenform Bra Company was born.

Early Life

Ida Rosenthal (1886-1973) was born in Rakov, Russia, in 1886 and was the oldest of seven children. Her father was a Jewish Talmudic scholar; her mother supported the family by running a local grocery store.

Growing up, the children often worked in the store, and Ida’ mother impressed upon them the importance of being self-sufficient. When Ida and one of her sisters were in their early teens, their mother placed them in an apprenticeship with a seamstress in Warsaw, Poland.

While in Poland, Ida picked up the anti-Russian politics of many of the local people. She also met and fell in love with William Rosenthal. Rosenthal, too, was from Russia and feared the Russian military draft, so he made arrangements to leave for the United States before that happened.

Ida and her sister returned to the family in Rakov, but Ida made plans to follow William. With her parents blessing, she contacted  an aunt and uncle in Hoboken, New Jersey, and arranged to stay with them.

But life with her very conservative relatives proved difficult. William and Ida decided to marry right away, and they did so in 1906.

Family and Early Business

William, however, contracted a lingering illness—perhaps tuberculosis—so during the first dozen years of their marriage, he was in and out of sanitoriums.

While William tried to get well, Ida settled into their home in Hoboken, New Jersey, and established her dressmaking business. Her first dresses were sewn on a Singer sewing machine she purchased on the installment plan. Though she was not yet conversant in English, she studied the photos of fashionable people in American magazines to be certain that her dresses were up-to-date.

During this time, Ida and William also started a family. Their son Lewis was born in 1907, a year after they married. Daughter Beatrice was born in 1916. Ida also worked toward citizenship, becoming an American citizen in 1912.

Outside Influences

As the U.S. prepared to enter World War I, small businesses struggled to survive. When the war ended, Ida was relieved to have made it and was eager to expand her dressmaking business.

Their home was four stories, so she devoted the bottom two floors to her business. She was soon employing 15 workers.

The weather in 1918 proved challenging for a young woman raising two children and running a business from her suburban home, and William was still in a hospital in New York City. When a heavy snow blanketed New Jersey that winter, Ida was surprised when a policeman knocked on her door. He informed her that it was her legal responsibility to clear the sidewalks on the front and side of her corner property.

Ida Rosenthal was 4’ 10”, mother of two little ones, with her husband in a hospital in New York. She later reported that the policeman ended the visit by saying, “I’d do it for you if I had the time.”

Somehow Ida got the walks cleared, doing some of the work herself, but it spurred her plan to move out of the suburbs. She found a location in a building at 141^st Street and Broadway. By 1920, she moved the business to the city. There, the weather was less likely to disrupt production and sales.

Enid Frocks

Enid Bissett was a successful shop owner who maintained a store on West 57^th Street. She and her husband were a vaudeville dance team so they had many friends in the theater who dressed well. One day she was in her shop when a customer came in wearing a fashionable dress that was new to Enid.  She spoke to the woman and learned about Ida Rosenthal.

Enid got in touch with Ida, and the two women met. The original plan was for Ida to supply Enid’s shop with some of her dresses, but the more they talked, the more excited Enid became. Enid proposed a business partnership.

Though it was a struggle for the Rosenthals to come up with the money to buy into the partnership, Ida made an initial investment of $4500. It turned out to be one of the best steps she ever took. The midtown location and the show business clientele meant that her dresses commanded much higher prices; some selling for as much as $300.

Undergarments and A Time of Social Change

In 1913, a young society woman named Caresse Crosby, applied for and received a patent on a design she created for a bra.  She was dressing for an evening out, and saw that her corset (what well-to-do women wore as undergarments at that time) was going to show beneath her frothy evening dress.

This wouldn’t do. She sent her maid off to find several handkerchiefs and ribbon. Soon, Crosby put together a garment that covered both breasts, had thin shoulder straps, and could be tied behind the wearer’s back. Crosby’s design was best-suited for young, small-chested women like herself. Her social circle was wowed by it, and she patented the invention and started production of the Crosby bras.

Bissett and Rosenthal Address Reality

As Enid Bissett and Ida Rosenthal listened to their customers, they heard that women with larger breasts were also eager to do away with corsets.  (Bernard Baruch, chairman of the War Industries Board during World War I aided in this cause. Because corsets contained steel stays, Baruch pointed out that steel was needed for weapons, and therefore, women should give up their corsets.) Enid and Ida came up with a way to build a supportive bra into the dresses, which meant women didn’t need corsets.

As the newly designed dresses with built-in support went home in shopping bags, an interesting phenomenon occurred. Customers returned to the store with a request: “May I buy the support part of the dress without the dress?”

And that was the beginning of their bra manufacturing company.

At first the women included one extra bra with each dress sold, but as demand grew, they began selling the bras separately for $1 each.

Initially, the company was called  Enid Brassiere Manufacturing Company.

William’s Health Improves

After a dozen bad years, William Rosenthal was finally well enough to return to his family and participate in their lives. The company was growing nicely, so both Enid and Ida were glad for the extra help.  Enid’s focus was the retail side of things. Ida loved the business end—training the sales representatives, visiting the trade shows and department stores, and keeping track of the finances. William was drawn to design. They were a well-suited trio.

Some sources give William “co-founding credit” and indicate that Ida was the lesser business partner in the marriage. These accounts were written when men were assumed to dominate. William does play an important role in Maidenform, but my research indicates that Ida was the partner with business acumen. She provided the drive that made Maidenform the largest bra company in the country.

In 1926, the business partners opened a large manufacturing space in Bayonne, New Jersey, and business was humming along. But the stock market crash of 1929 meant re-grouping. Enid and Ida and their husbands all agreed that the bra business was the one in which to invest. They closed the dress company and went full-time into bras.

Shortly after that time, Enid Bissett chose to retire. Ida and William Rosenthal bought her share of the business. The name of the manufacturing company was changed to Maiden Form Brassiere Company.

Bra Designs

The Rosenthals firmly believed that the uplift style took weight off the midsection of the body and thereby, relieved women from fatigue. In designing the bras, William knew women rejected the steel stays in corsets, so he puzzled with seamstresses as to how to piece together and stitch fabric in such a way that there was support and uplift from the fabric alone.

Many innovations came out of the factory in Bayonne, New Jersey. William held the patents for the company, and he patented new closure designs, better methods of uplift, bra designs for different needs (maternity and nursing, particularly), and eventually, what we now consider standard: bras that come in various cup sizes.

William Rosenthal also addressed what he saw as inefficiency in manufacturing. After studying how machines and cars were made using an assembly line, he investigated how to bring this process might help Maidenform. He and the seamstresses experimented with how to make a bra in parts—putting all the pieces together at the end. Ultimately, Rosenthal’s methodology changed the entire garment industry.

Second World War

Having struggled through World War I to keep her business afloat, Ida Rosenthal was thoughtful as to how Maidenform should approach the coming of World War II. She’d seen that the key to keeping a business running during tough times had to do with maintaining a good supply chain. If she converted part of her factory to make items for the military, her company would be a high priority for incoming material and supplies.

After a trip to Washington, she picked up the commission to make pants, coats, and shirts for soldiers as well as oversized fabric items like parachutes.

She also emphasized to the government that with more women in the workforce, Maidenform Bras continued to be needed.  As a result of her strategy, Maidenform was among the factories that maintained production throughout the war, continually receiving the shipments they needed to continue to make garments for the government.

War’s End

When the war ended, Americans longed for a normal life. Women became more interested in fashion again, and they turned to models and movie stars for their inspiration. Mae West, of course, had been popular in the 1930s and ‘40s. She was followed by full-figured Jane Russell. With curvy women making headlines, the Rosenthals were in a good position for selling bras that defined the female figure.

Soon they were producing the Chansonette Bra, a design that accentuated the bust. (It is also known as the “bullet bra.”) In the first year, they sold more than a million of the style. In the mid-seventies, the company was still selling millions of various versions of that style.

Family Business

With the death of their beloved son Lewis in 1930, the Rosenthal dream of a family member taking over the business relied solely on their daughter Beatrice. Fortunately, Beatrice was interested, and so was her husband, John Coleman. Both of them were folded into Maidenform.

Daring Advertising

Ida Rosenthal saw that Maidenform’s success would lie in selling to the masses. While some products benefit from exclusivity, Rosenthal had the instinct to know that Maidenform should be sold as a mass market item. She knew the importance of getting wide distribution, but creating demand for the bra was also necessary.

Son-in-law John Coleman felt that women would more readily buy what they could see. Selling a bra based on a photograph of a bra display just didn’t work. But no one had yet come up with an advertisement that showed undergarments on people. It was viewed as too suggestive.

He took his problem to the William Weintraub Advertising Agency where he worked with account manager Mary Fillius.

Fillius and her team went to work on the project and came up with the precedent-setting ad campaign that we now know as the “I dreamed I went ____ in my Maidenform bra.”

Ads Broke New Ground

The first ad appeared in August of 1949 and featured a satin bra in the “Allo-Ette” style. The company purchased a one-third page black-and-white ad featuring a beautiful model wearing a skirt, a bra, and carrying a shopping bag. She looked delighted to be out shopping and the ad read: “I dreamed I went shopping in my Maidenform bra.”

After raising eyebrows for a time, the campaign became a staple in newspapers, magazines, and eventually even on television, lasting for twenty years. The themes changed regularly:
“I dreamed I painted the town red in my Maidenform bra.”

“I dreamed I went whistle-stopping in my Maidenform bra.”

“I dreamed I was a toreador in my Maidenform bra.

To see more of these ads, click here.

Company Continues

William Rosenthal died in 1958, but Ida remained active in the business until 1966 wen she had a stroke. At that point, Beatrice took over many of the responsibilities overseen by Ida, and John Coleman retained his position as company president until his death in 1968.

Beatrice became president after he died, and this prepared the way for the company management to pass to Elizabeth Coleman, daughter of John and Beatrice.

In the late 1990s, the company faced hard times. Management restructured it and made it a publicly traded company. In 2013, Maidenform was acquired by Hanesbrands.

Company Success

While the Maidenform Company went on to make the Rosenthals wealthy, they were very philanthropic and had many interests. In sadness over the 1930 death of their son, they established Camp Lewis for the Boy Scouts in 1943. Throughout many years, they also contributed to the Anti-Defamation League, B’Nai B’rith and the United Jewish Appeal.