Woodward’s Rosie the Riveter

They say Woodward, Oklahoma, has always been a quiet town.

 

 A place where folks work hard, help their neighbors, and don’t make a fuss about it.

 

But when World War II came, everything changed.

 

This is the story of one of the women who stayed strong while the men were away fighting.

 

Her name was Louise Collins, but everybody called her Lu. She was the kind of woman who could fix a screen door with baling wire and make a roast out of nothing but a can of tomatoes and some prayer.

 

Her husband was overseas fixing tanks. Her brother was in Italy. Her son, Henry, was fighting in the Pacific.

 

Then one day, a letter came.

 

Henry wasn’t coming home.

 

Lu didn’t cry. She just sat still for a while, took off her apron, and packed a small bag.

 

She told her neighbor, “If the war wants to take, I’m going to give it something back.”

 

She rode the bus southeast to Midwest City. There was a factory there. Douglas Aircraft. They were building bombers. Big ones. Planes to carry the fight to the enemy.

 

They gave Lu gloves and a rivet gun. She asked, “Which end do I point at Hitler?”

 

They laughed. But Lu wasn’t joking.

 

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She shared a bunkhouse with six other women. One from Enid. One from Ada. Two from Lawton. And a feisty gal named Vera from Tulsa who could cuss in three languages and still make a perfect cherry pie.

 

They weren’t just building planes. They were building something to hold the country together.

 

Lu didn’t complain. She worked hard. Every rivet she drove, she thought of Henry.

 

Back in Woodward, they called it “doing their part.” The DAR ladies collected cans and coupons. School kids knitted socks.

 

Farmers sent meat wrapped in newspaper and hope.

 

But Lu—she was still building bombers.

 

One afternoon, an inspector came by from Washington. He wore a tie so tight it probably cut off the circulation to his sense of humor. He held a clipboard and frowned.

 

He said, “Ma’am, these rivets are out of spec.”

 

Lu wiped her brow and looked him square.

 

“Son,” she said, “you’re welcome to redo them. But I wouldn’t get between me and that coffee pot if I were you.”

 

He didn’t argue.

 

The rivets stayed.

 

When the war ended, Lu came home. There were no parades.

 

Just the wind and the wheat and folks trying to start again.

 

Lu went back to her house, made a pot of coffee, and fixed the back gate.

 

She never talked much about the factory. She said she did what needed doing. Like everybody else.

 

But the truth is, Lu was something special.

 

She stood up when it mattered.

 

She stayed strong when it was hard.

 

She helped win a war without ever leaving Oklahoma.

 

She was Woodward’s Rosie the Riveter.

 

And let me tell you something...

 

Everybody needs a Rosie in their life.

 

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