Throughout the war each American citizen was confronted
daily with the slogan, “Save Your Waste Fat!” The
waste fat campaign may have sounded strange but was motivated
by a critical national shortage of fats and oils necessary to
the manufacture of many articles of essential war materials.
Each housewife was urged to have
a special tin can handy beside her stove and pour into it every
single drop of grease or lard remaining from her cooking. Once
the container was filled it could be submitted to any local
meat department and be redeemed for a few cents in cash and
several red ration points for each pound of fat presented. Though
the financial reward was small, the red stamps were always a
great inducement. And, of course, taking part in our patriotic
obligation was important to each of us.
There was just one small problem
with the waste fat campaign ...
Since meats, lard, butter, oleomargarine and salad oils all
were strictly rationed and often unobtainable, it was difficult
to salvage even a few drops of valuable fat. Any grease remaining
in the frying pan, broiler or roaster was used over and over
again in later cooking. Only when it had acquired a dozen different
flavors, odors and colors would it be assigned to the waste
fat can. Filling this can was a slow, tedious process but once
ours reached the top no one was prouder than I was to carry
it to the butcher.
Other wartime salvage programs each
presented their own problems to the civilian population.
The Tale of Tin Cans…
The tin can salvage drive was, during the first part of the
war at least, a highly publicized activity. Most memorable to
me, personally, were the scratches, cuts, bruises, hangnails
and sore heels I acquired in support of this drive.
The cans were supposed to be prepared
in a particular manner. It all seemed very simple when we read
the newspaper description of the technique and saw pictures
of a model housewife inspecting her neat little stack of properly
prepared cans. In theory, we were first to remove the label
and then, with a couple of quick swishes from our modern wall-type
can opener, remove both ends of the can. Finally, according
to the directions, we gave the empty cylinder one gentle but
firm tap with our foot and this would automatically collapse
the structure into a neat flat fold of tin.
So simple! That's what they told
us.
Whenever I was overcome with a burst
of patriotism, and decided, once again, to tackle a stack of
empty cans the flaws in the system became apparent. Nothing
about the process was simple. My first waterloo was the label.
Apparently all our cans had formed an "until death do us part"
attachment for their labels and nothing short of a twenty-four
hour soaking would dissolve their steadfast union. I learned
this fact at the expense of many chipped and broken fingernails.
Another obstacle to success was that
we did not own a modern wall-type can opener. Like many wartime
brides, I felt fortunate to have any kind of can opener at all
as metal kitchen tools were in very short supply for the duration.
The only can opener we were able to find was of the old-fashioned
"anchor" type. Alas, it did not open the can with a couple of
simple swishes. Instead we first had to pound a hole in the
can, then see-saw the blade of the opener, up and down, up and
down, round and round until it nearly circled the lip of the
can. The dissection was never neat nor complete but always resulted
in an irregular flap of very sharp and ragged tin about two-thirds
the size of the top.
Once we had consumed our corn or
beans the salvage headquarters were welcome to the remains of
our tin can. And so, goaded by obstinacy or patriotism, I tried
to complete the job. To my dismay, I found the bottom of the
can much harder to open than the top had been.
After both ends were removed, I had
to decide whether I wanted my cans flattened with the ghastly
ragged flaps protruding from either end or if I preferred to
conceal the flaps within the recesses of the parent can. Regardless
of my decision the result was always the same. One flap landed
inside the can while the other sprawled on the outside, waiting
to cut anyone who tried to pick it up.
Worse, trying to flatten the can
seemed to require more coordination than I possessed. Just when
I was ready to step on it the can would roll out of the line
of fire. If I held it in place I was certain to stamp on my
thumb instead of the can. Refusing to admit defeat I always
blundered on until I had succeeded in bashing in part of the
elusive tin, scarring the floor, nicking the furniture and losing
my temper. From now on, I vowed, I would only purchase fruits
and vegetables packed in glass containers!
It was quite a relief to me when
the government announced that the metal used in manufacturing
cans was no longer worth salvaging and that we might permanently
discontinue this patriotic activity.
Papertroopers and Toothpaste Tubes…
The campaign for the collection of paper was widespread, too.
Paper of any description —
old newspapers, magazines, books, waste paper
— was welcomed. The schools in our area were very
active in this volunteer war work and there was quite a bit
of rivalry among the students to see who could bring in the
biggest stack. These juvenile collectors were known as “papertroopers”
and they received a number of awards in recognition of their
efforts.
Last but not least was the program
for salvaging our lowly toothpaste tubes. Once the last bit
of paste had been squeezed from the tube or had seeped out of
cracks in the side of it, we could no longer toss aside the
empty, battered, rolled-up, lop-sided container. It must be
saved and surrendered to our druggist before he would sell us
a new tube.
My chief recollection of this program
was the experience of forgetting, over and over again, to take
my empty tube along with me when I needed to purchase a new
tube. My druggist was very firm, declaring "No old tube, no
new tooth paste!"
Dejected, I would return home to
use a home-made salt and soda toothpaste solution until I finally
could coordinate my memory and my intentions and take both my
money and the remnants of the old tube in my quest for a new
supply of toothpaste.
In truth, we all understood that
the salvage programs were an important part of the civilian
war effort and we participated with pride. But I defy anyone
to deny relief at being able to discard our "victory model"
supplies and salvage efforts once the war years came to an end.
As for me ... well, I confess that as soon as
wall-mount can openers were available once more I could hardly
wait to buy one!
