213: Halloween Special VI: The ASEs & Guy de Maupassant

History That Doesn't Suck

This episode explores the creation and impact of the Armed Services Editions (ASEs), a WWII initiative that printed over 120 million pocket-sized paperbacks for

Key takeaways

• Over 120 million ASE paperbacks were printed and distributed across all theaters of WWII by war's end.
• Army officers Ray L. Trotman and H. Staley Thompson designed the compact, durable format to fit in a soldier's pocket.

Main topics

• Armed Services Editions (ASE) program
• WWII soldier morale and literature

Notable quotes

"It was my best enemy."

Conclusion

The episode demonstrates how accessible literature served as a vital p

Transcript preview

Speaker 1 (0:09) It's an unspecified day, one later described only as not long ago, on September 21st, 1944. We're somewhere on Western Europe's front with an unidentified American battery, currently getting shelled by the Germans firing their deadly 88s. Now, the Yanks are doing okay, as long as they stay well-entrenched in their gun pit, that is. But it's a miserable, hot, dust-filled experience. one that each man prays will soon come to an end. Finally, the guns fall silent. The Americans stand. They stretch, get a taste of fresh air. Well, most of them do, anyway. As the rest rise, the colonel glances at one man and finds he's... he's reading a book. What? Ah, but no time to ask the soldier how on earth he's enjoying a good read right now. Not with the German's horrid 88s starting another burst of shelling. Again, the Americans get low and do their best to endure the heat, the dust, and the misery. Again, the shelling lets up. The colonel seizes the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity. He asks the soldier what he's reading in between, you know, diving to the ground for dear life. The soldier answers, a tree grows in Brooklyn. It's a recently published semi-autobiographical novel by Betty Smith, told through the eyes of a young, poverty-stricken, second-generation American girl, Francie Nolan, growing up in the early 20th century slums of Brooklyn. And man, is it engrossing. In fact, there's this crazy part. It's just downright funny. The soldier offers to read it out loud. out loud from his impressively small paperback with a short, stout spine and pages that are longer in width than in height, each of which contains text that runs in two columns per page. In a word, this copy has been printed and bound specifically so it can fit in a soldier's pocket and survive the vicissitudes of war. This is an Armed Services Edition. Speaker 1 (2:21) It's a small, offbeat part of the novel, a brief, self-contained story about a child named Gussie. Well, perhaps child is too kind of a word for a boy such as this. On the pages, he's described as a tough little hellion, and one with a specific obstinate obsession, an unwillingness to stop drinking his mother's milk. Yes, Gussie will not wean. Even when his mother becomes pregnant, this proves but a nine-month gap. One this mere toddler fills not with cow's milk or any other milk, but black coffee. And the moment his little sister's born, oh, Gussie doesn't waste a moment. Through days on end hunger strikes, accompanied by a refusal to use the toilet and bashing his head on the ground, he forces his mother to cave. until he can return to his, well, addiction. Indeed, so obstinate and adamant is Gussie that his sickly baby sister is fed by the bottle. That's the only way this poor Brooklyn mother can even attempt to satiate her hellion son. Speaker 1 (3:35) The soldiers and officer are all grins, getting a great chuckle at this setup. Then, suddenly, the German guns start up once more. The Americans jump back to their cover. But this time, they do so with their minds utterly distracted in the best of ways. Rather than focusing on the hell they're living through and the possibility of death at any moment, they're wondering where the story of this child who refuses to be weaned and drinks black coffee is gone. So, naturally, when the latest round of shelling ends, everyone is eager for the story to continue. The servicemen are at the edge of their seats. They listen and learn of how the whole neighborhood is gossiping about Gussie, the child, sorry, Hellion, who stands while feeding at the age of three. Then four, the Hellion who has driven his father from his shared bed as the man claims his wife. quote unquote, breeds monsters. And Gussie's poor mother, what can she do? Finally, a solution comes to mind. Using stove polish and lipstick, she carries out a work of makeup wonder such that the next time Gussie demands to nurse, he will be met by what appears to be a wide-mouthed, famed monster. The desperate mother heads to the kitchen. She sits in the rocker by the window. That's all it takes to catch Gussie's attention. The growing boy tosses aside his toy, marches up to her, props one elbow on her knee. Then, like a man impatient for his drink at a bar, looks expectantly at his mother. Dead silence as the men listen to their fellow narrating soldier read on. The mother baits the boy. She asks if he wants milk. Yup, the salivating child answers. And with that, she quickly opens her dress, instantly and rapidly revealing her makeup-covered, fang-like and monster-esque breast to her monster of a child. The hellion freezes with fright. Then, finding his legs, he dashes to his room and ducks under his bed, where he stays hidden in his horror for a full 24 hours. Creeping out the next day, Gussie emerges wanting nothing but his old black coffee. Yes, Gussie is weaned, and his word of the mother's horror-induced success spreads across the gossipy neighborhood. Nursing mothers throughout the Brooklyn neighborhood turn to the terror tactic, one that shall forever be known as giving the baby the gussy. Speaker 1 (6:24) The men are holding their sides, gasping for breath with laughter. I mean, forget the Nazis across the way. This is hilarious. Speaker 1 (6:34) Ah, but the Germans refuse to be ignored. The bombardment strikes back up. The Americans jump to it, taking cover once more. But as they do, the colonel isn't thinking of the banging artillery threatening to kill him. No, he's still chuckling to himself and thinking about how he can't wait to read more of this novel. And it's in this moment that he realizes just how grateful he is to have books on the front lines. Thank goodness for the Council on Books in Wartime and its soldier-friendly mass market paperbacks. The Armed Services Editions. Speaker 1 (7:24) Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. Speaker 1 (7:45) Identifying himself only by the initials FME, the colonel wrote about this day of reading and laughing between waves of German shells in a letter he sent to the Harper Brothers publishing house. Harper Brothers had only recently published the novel, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, and the officer wanted the publishing company to know what joy and solace this novel brought him that day. To quote the colonel's description of the soldier reading to the group, he started to read us a portion about... giving the baby to Gussie. And we laughed like hell between bursts. It sure was funny. And yes, the colonel did go on to read the book. It kept him distracted in the best of ways during the worst of moments. He shares all of this with Harper brothers. Hence, his heartfelt desire to write, to quote him again, in sheer gratitude. But don't imagine the soldier or Colonel FME reading a thick first edition hardback novel. How cumbersome. That would never do on the front. Undoubtedly, they were reading a paperback from the armed services editions or the ASE. Now, you might be thinking to yourself, okay, great, paperbacks for GIs. What makes these ASEs so special? Well, indulge me for a moment as I share with you the story of how American soldiers came to read good stories. Speaker 1 (9:11) While books were sent to Yanks over there during World War I, and the paperback had already made its debut before the turn of the century, World War II's armed services editions took these inexpensive publications to a whole new level. It started with two U.S. Army officers, one the head of the Army's library section, Ray L. Trotman, the other a graphic arts specialist, H. Staley Thompson. Between them, they dreamed up the idea of putting the rotary presses that, before the war, cranked out cheap magazines, but were now sitting largely unused, back to work to crank out books for soldiers. And they wanted to crank out everything, the classics, mysteries, horror, poetry, even recent bestsellers. Okay, that idea would make these books cheap to mass print, which is already brilliant. But then we add the unique design. Publishing with small print, on small pages, bound on the shorter side. In brief, something that, unlike a massive leather-bound tome, a soldier can slip in any old pocket the same way you're likely carrying a smartphone right this second. Yes. This is something a soldier can carry into battle. That handles logistics. But how do you get publishers to just send this stuff to soldiers? For free? I mean, bestsellers under copyright? Crazy. Or not crazy. Not with the Council on Books in Wartime here to help. Established in 1942, this nonprofit filled with figures from the whole publishing ecosystem, authors, publishers, librarians, booksellers, you name it, loved the idea of getting books in the hands of American boys at the front. These luminaries and literaries leaned into the value of ideas, thoughts. As W.W. Norton put it, books are weapons in the war of ideas. And this council's members embraced their