Farmingdale was a rural village at the start of WWII in 1941. On the afternoon of Dec. 7, I was in our apartment on Main Street - over my father's ice cream store. My father was playing pinochle with his friends and had music playing on the radio. An interruption told of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. The men immediately looked at my world atlas and decided that a mistake had been made. It couldn't be Hawaii - it was too far from Japan. It must have meant the Philippines. Continuing news confirmed Hawaii.

Farmingdale at that time was indeed worthy of its name. South Farmingdale had its vegetable farms. North of the railroad and west of Main Street were potato farms. Slightly farther west on both sides of Hempstead Turnpike were potato farms that ran through what is now Levittown. To the east were potato and vegetable farms of Melville.

Even with all these farms surrounding us, citizens were encouraged to plant victory gardens in their backyards to free the farm produce to feed our troops and factory workers.

As students we were encouraged to buy victory stamps by bringing our pocket change to school. Our nickels, dimes and quarters purchased stamps from our teachers and were pasted into stamp books. When you had enough stamps, I think it was $18.75, we took the book to the local bank and exchanged it for a war bond.

Main Street School had air raid drills. Bells were rung and we went down into the basement or stood in the corridors. If enough time was available, we were evacuated and sent home. My future wife had to go to the elementary wing to pick up her brother and walk home to East Farmingdale near Republic.

Many citizens became air raid wardens. My future father-in-law was one. He was issued a WWI helmet painted white with the blue and red symbol CD (for civil defense). He also was issued an arm band. When the air raid sirens wailed, lights had to be turned off so enemy bombers wouldn't be helped by ground lights. Wardens walked their assigned areas to be sure lights were off.

Lights out applied to village stores too. My father's ice cream parlor blacked out and customers just sat in their booths until the all-clear came.

Cars had to have the top half of their headlights painted black so the beams wouldn't shine light into the sky.

We had rationing. Each citizen received a ration book with numbered stamps. You couldn't buy sugar, coffee, canned goods or shoes without a coupon.

I remember serving as a soda jerk behind the counter in my father's ice cream parlor the last three years of the war. Suddenly, a citizen would open the store door and yell in "The A&P has coffee (or sugar)" and people would jump up and go across the street to the A&P.

I bought my first car, a 1936 Ford, for $250 in the spring of 1945. I could use a gasoline ration book coupon to get three gallons of gas per week. A sticker with an A was attached to the windshield. My three gallons of gas cost me about 35 cents. Farmers and truckers got all the gas they needed with letter T coupons.

My father's store, Pop Wilkens Ice Cream Parlor located at 236 Main Street, was the clearing house for our soldiers and sailors. They would write to my father and he would have the letters available for servicemen on leave. This kept them up to date on what was happening with their friends.

Scrap drives were a way of life during the war. Metal, old rubber tires and bacon fat (for explosives) were collected on a regular basis. The old railroad tracks that went up Thomas Powell Boulevard to the brick yard, were ripped up and recycled. My young sister cut off her braids and donated them to be used as the cross-hairs of bomb sights. We even had to turn in the old metal tubes that held toothpaste to get a new one.

The class of 1945 was originally 99 members. When we graduated we were 95 because four members had enlisted in the service. As news of casualties came in, we in school were constantly saddened because only a few years earlier, many of them had been in school with us.