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.With an indoor tennis court, squash court, swimming pool,and other facilities, the place was essentially a country club in themiddle of Manhattan, making it truly unique and ultraexclusive.The war, however, threw a monkey wrench into the works as, oneby one, members resigned to serve the nation and, no doubt, todisassociate themselves from an organization whose very existencewas so contrary to America’s democratic ideals.Even the presidentand vice president of the club, Frank A.Vanderlip and Walter P.Chrysler, each sons of famous business tycoons, were off to become‘‘dollar-a-year-men’’ for Uncle Sam.Soon the entire contents of thehouse, including the antique English and French furniture, hand-painted oilcloth wallpaper, hand-tufted carpets, and paneling froma European palace, would be sold off in two hundred lots, althoughthe fate of the tennis court, a replica of the one at Roland Garrosin Paris, wasn’t clear.81Unlike resort hotels and private clubs, pleasure boating—another staple of the rich—appreciated in value during the war,transformed from a leisure activity for the wealthy into a way home-fronters could do their part.‘‘Yachting, instead of being regardedas a frivolous pastime of millionaires, is hailed this season as a patriotic gesture,’’ observed the New York Times in 1942, suggesting the slogan, ‘‘Go Boating and Help Win the War.’’ The Navy and CoastGuard were in fact asking yacht clubs to teach navigation and sea-manship to civilians who could then enlist as commissioned offi-cers or else patrol coastal areas and harbors.FDR himself urged theInterlake Yachting Association, an organization of forty-nine clubs,three thousand boats, and ten thousand members, to get involved.The former Assistant Secretary of the Navy under Woodrow Wil-son knew firsthand that pleasure boating could be an excellentlaunching dock for naval service.82When it came to wartime propaganda, borrowing the rich100R ICHthemselves was much better than borrowing the rich’s toys.Todemonstrate that everyone was backing the war, the governmentwas elated when it had the chance to report that a millionaire hadenlisted.When the enlistee was a member of one of America’sgreat families doing menial work in an obscure location, the storyproved an especially juicy piece of news.Such was the case withPrivate First Class George Jay Gould, the twenty-three-year-oldgreat-grandson of railroad mogul Jay Gould, who was spending hisvaluable time peeling potatoes and driving officers around at anArmy camp in Sydney, Australia, in 1942.Gould had married Ei-leen O’Malley, a New York society woman, just after being drafted,but that didn’t stop him from shipping out to the other (albeitquite safe) side of the world when Uncle Sam called.Having ‘‘hadno time to arrange for this detail after being posted overseas,’’ theLos Angeles Times claimed something difficult to believe: Gould was ‘‘acutely short of money for the first time in his life.’’ Hearingthat the rich were also making sacrifices was welcome news to mostAmerican working stiffs and fellow servicemen, however.83Even before Pearl Harbor, instances of millionaires interruptingtheir charmed lives to become just another soldier were discovered(or created) and turned into patriotic fodder.Everyday military oc-currences, such as a promotion, when a person of considerablewealth (and/or fame) was involved were also reason enough for astory to make it into a major newspaper.‘‘T.Suffern (Tommy) Tal-ler, millionaire amateur golfer of Peapack, N.J., who enlisted in thearmy last January, today was promoted to the rank of sergeant andpicked up a $6 month raise,’’ went a classic example, published inthe Chicago Daily Tribune in May 1941.The message to readerswas that if a millionaire golfer was willing to put his clubs down tohelp win the war, all Americans should somehow jump into thefray.84 Stories in which GI Joes were somehow living some version of the life of a millionaire also made good copy, a kind of reversalof fortune.‘‘Milne Bay may be exposed to Japanese attack, but it isthe only American outpost in the Far East where American soldierscan have millionaires’ salad,’’ a sergeant based in Australia told aBROTHER, CAN YOU SPARE A DIME? 1930 –1945101war correspondent in 1942, millionaires’ salad being heart of palm,which was going for a whopping $1.50 a plate in the States, if onewas lucky to find it.‘‘Here we eat millionaires’ salad three timesdaily, if we like,’’ the sergeant added, another example of how thewar had made the idea of class in America irrelevant or sometimeseven turned it upside down.85Instances of millionaires using their money in ways that wereless than democratic also popped up during the war, however—proof that the ownership class was alive and well, thank you verymuch.Not helping the wealthy’s public image was their habit ofluring nurses away from the armed services by offering them $25 aday and up for their services—quite a bit more than Uncle Samwas shelling out and incentive enough for the nurses to remaincivilians.Some war factory executives were hogging nurses by keep-ing a dozen or more on their staffs, able to pay them very well fromtheir fat military contracts.This poaching of desperately needednurses from the military did not sit well with government wonksand made those cornering the market on them look bad.‘‘Thisluxury type of nursing is not only foolishness but pretty poor patriot-ism when these nurses are needed so badly to care for the woundedwho are coming home,’’ said Charles Schlicter of the War Man-power Committee in 1944, who intended to nip such special treat-ment in the bud, pronto.86Administration officials were also put off when the wealthyused their remaining private railroad cars to get around the countrywhen everyone else, including servicemen and servicewomen, werepacked into trains like sardines in a can, especially toward the endof the war.When members of the Weyerhauser lumber family usedtheir private Pullman cars to take a vacation in 1945, for example,Representative Hugh De Lacy, a New Deal Democrat from Wash-ington State, raised a ruckus and demanded that such wastefulnessbe immediately stopped.‘‘If we are to provide luxury, let us provideit to those who deserve it most, the returning battle-weary GIs,’’De Lacy told his fellow House members, accusing Great NorthernRailway top brass of similar undemocratic behavior.87102R ICHEven those who were not rich but acted as if they were cameunder attack for violating the wartime creed of self-sacrifice andrestraint.Rosie the Riveters’ free-spending ways didn’t please moreconservative observers of the wartime scene, for example, when itbecame readily apparent that the women were hardly putting allof their extra cash into war bonds
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