It wasn’t until the middle of 1942 that we Centrahoma folk realized we faced yet another wartime hardship. The great coffee shortage. Seemed like it affected our fellow Americans too. We were each buying and consuming 20 pounds of coffee per year in 1942. But no worry. Grocery stores in American were well stocked. Big warehouses had it stacked up and nobody, but President Roosevelt seemed worried about it.

What worried the president? It was the German U-Boats. They had brought the war to our shores. Folks around Coney Island and along the Florida coasts gathered at night to watch the subs torpedo the ships that quietly plied the East Coast. Yes, Hitler had quickly surrounded our East and Gulf coasts and started sinking — at will — large numbers of our important cargo ships and they were essential to our economy and our war effort. While our Navy had looked impressive before the Jap attack on Pearl Harbor the previous December — it now lay in the mud of Hawaii’s Pearl Harbor.

The U. S. government obviously didn’t want voters to know just what poor shape we actually were in. It was truly an American faux pax. Even worse, there was the coffee situation. Roosevelt knew Americans were drinking coffee like nothing had happened. What had happened was Columbian and Brazilian coffee beans were no longer getting by the subs. Hitler was sinking them too.

The news finally came to Centrahoma. Coffee rationing would start for all of us on November 25, 1942. I was told by my Grandpa Armstrong who would always read the war news out loud in our store. That same day I noticed my patriotic (and coffee loving) father carrying some Folgers to the back. We lived in an apartment at the back end of our store. The powers that were in charge of such, also announced that no coffee at all would be delivered wholesale to stores for one week preceding this new rationing. How severe was it to be? One pound per person every five weeks. Coffee stamps were printed.

Dad may have been smart to “hoard” those three cans when he did because before the day was over there wasn’t a bit of coffee left in any of the three grocery stores in Centrahoma. The next morning a wild man rushed into our store — looking for coffee. He wanted to buy all we had, which was zero. He had already been to Coalgate and found none. He peeled his pickup out of Centrahoma, heading west. I heard he found nothing in Ada either. While in our store, the coffee addict had cursed Roosevelt, the warmongering government and wondered aloud how that “Jew” Roosevelt could do such a thing.

I suppose that he learned to get by on that one pound every five weeks. I will presume that he too learned to drink (not like) instant postum, chicory, and something called “Roosevelt coffee.” That was because FDR had suggested that we all make our second pot of coffee, using the grounds left after the first perk. We received reports of folk using acorns, chicory, grains and no telling what else. The government could ration coffee, turn off streetlights and all that but this was, after all, Oklahoma. Stores like ours and our Centrahoma customers joined our fellow Americans and just suffered till the rationing ended in July 1943. One week later a large truck unloaded several cases of this desired product (coffee) and it sold briskly. Our grouchy president hating coffee customer sadly returned and bought all the rest of what we had. His pickup was heavily loaded.

A few customers drew near at the check out and heard dad say: “I will order more coffee which will be in next week. It will be cheaper. I will not take back any of this.”

The man left in his pickup full of Folgers. Sure enough, we got that big shipment of coffee. All drastically cheaper than the week before. Sure ‘nuff. He came back, madder than a wet hen. The man demanded a refund — at the higher price, of course — but dad stuck to his guns. He reminded the man that he had been warned that he would not take it back. “Why buy it back from you above market price? I half expected the guy to pull a gun, but he didn’t. And that ugly incident had nothing to do with our selling out and moving to a faraway place called Stonewall the next year.

Be sure to drink your coffee and go to your church Sunday.

Wayne Bullard, DPh

cwaynebullard@gmail.com