If you haven’t already seen The Six Triple Eight on Netflix, I highly recommend it. Directed by Tyler Perry and produced by Kerry Washington (who also plays a starring role), the movie is based on the true story of the US Army’s 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion during World War II.
The 6888th was America’s only all-Black female unit to serve in Europe during the war, sent to England in 1945 to resolve what had been deemed an impossible task: sifting through 17 million pieces of undelivered mail that was backlogged and stored in several airplane hangers—letters and packages that had been piling up for three years, severing communication between soldiers and their families. The result was low morale for the service members, and a mound of worry and uncertainty among those back home who waited to hear anything at all.
Serving in a segregated military, the 855 women assigned to the 6888th were met with racism and skepticism. Not to mention they were only given six months to perform their mission. They got it done in 90 days.
Having been a young navy sailor who served in the Pacific during WWII, my father used to talk about “corresponding” with family and friends young women (just keepin’ it real) during his overseas deployment. I never stopped to think about the magnitude of Mail Call, until I was given a journal written by another sailor assigned to the USS Norman Scott, the same destroyer as my dad. Some of the journal entries leaped off the page, compelling me to see just how much letters, photographs, and packages from home renewed the sailors’ sense of purpose and gave them hope.
Thousands of servicemen assigned to the Pacific Theater in WWII lived on ships that were roughly 376 feet long and 39 feet across at the widest point. That’s 16 feet longer than one football field and 121 feet narrower. While it may seem like a lot of space, keep in mind that roughly 300 men occupied the vessel, and quarters were extremely tight.
What’s more, these men were at sea for months at a time, often navigating through rough waters. The sounds of bullets and bombs exploding were constant. Kamikazes came out of nowhere, and enemy sea mines and submarines lurked everywhere.
War wasn’t just scary. It was isolating. Confining. Soul crushing. Yet, mail was the panacea.
It was with this realization that I decided to include a detailed ‘mail call’ scene in my forthcoming book, The Weather Officer:
March 1945
Sporadic enemy fire continued over the next several days. Alonzo tried his damnedest to stay focused on his tasks and to get some sleep amid the war’s turbulence. It was impossible to not think about dying, or wonder if a torpedo or suicide pilot was careening toward their ship. Kamikazes struck fear in even the most seasoned sailors. Alonzo heard horrific stories about “One-Way Charlies,” as they were called, how they came out of nowhere during the daytime and out from under the cover of night. Most were shot down. Yet the pilots who succeeded left a wake of destruction in their paths. Some of these would-be killers were teenagers, ceremoniously volunteering to die for their emperor. The American sailors struggled to comprehend that type of sacrificial loyalty, but these were the brutal realities of war.
The ship retreated from Kyushu and moored at a naval depot for refueling and restocking. The stopover offered a welcome break. Morale was low, and most of the crew hadn’t seen their families in months. Alonzo prided himself on being emotionally strong, but he missed home just as much as the sailor in the bunk to the right and left of him. Mercifully, the single best cure for homesickness made its way around the steel corridors of the ship and into the hands of the war-weary sailors—mail.
As he sat on his bunk and carefully opened his letters, Alonzo smiled ear to ear as he slowly read each handwritten note and studied the enclosed pictures. Ruby sent a colorized photo of herself that emphasized her brown skin and big brown eyes. Her lips were scarlet, and she wore a lime-green dress. Nita included a photo of herself posing sweetly in a dress embellished with lace. Marjorie and Hattie wore fur stoles in their photos. Dorothy had on a floral dress, and a flower was tucked in her hair, like Billie Holiday.
Betty also sent a letter . . . Betty never included pictures in her letters, but that wasn’t a problem. The contours of her face were etched in Alonzo’s memory (as were her lovely legs). He took great care to write all the young women back. It would take more than a vast ocean to keep him from being a ladies’ man.
To the servicemen of WWII, mail was a lifeline. When their minds started playing tricks on them, mail was a reminder that home was a real place where loved ones awaited their return. A place where they could resume their lives as husbands, fathers, sons, brothers, friends, fiances, and yes, even a ladies’ man.
Mail provided a reason to fight, to stay alive. On the other side of the ocean, letters from the war zone allowed family members to keep the faith. Or let go.
I’m in awe of the women who served in the 6888th. They understood the importance of their assignment and carried it out with the twice-as-good excellence that Black Americans are taught to embrace and put into practice daily. As Major Charity Adams (portrayed by Kerry Washington) says in the movie, those women bore the “burden of being better.” Better while working in decrepit facilities, being second-guessed, and receiving little support.
And still. They rose to the occasion.
*I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that 350,000 American women served in WWII, including 6,500 Black women. Notably, the 25th Station Hospital Unit was comprised of 30 Black women who were a part of the Army Nurses Corps. They were deployed to Liberia in 1943 (two years before the 6888th). While their assignment lasted less than one year due to rampant cases of malaria, this group also has a place in history and is worthy of our recognition.