You’ve seen the yellow background. The blue work shirt. That polka-dot bandana and the flexed bicep. It’s on coffee mugs, laptop stickers, and gym walls. We call her Rosie the Riveter, and we assume she was a massive recruitment tool that fired up millions of women to join the war effort in 1943.
Honestly? Almost none of that is true.
The story of the J. Howard Miller We Can Do It poster is one of the strangest "accidental" fame stories in American history. The man who drew it wasn't trying to change the world. He was just a freelance artist trying to keep factory workers from taking too many bathroom breaks or complaining about their bosses.
The Westinghouse Mystery: It Wasn't for the Public
Let's get one thing straight: if you walked down a street in New York or Chicago in 1943, you would never have seen this poster. It wasn't on billboards. It wasn't in newspapers.
J. Howard Miller was a graphic artist hired by the Westinghouse Electric & Manufacturing Company. They didn't want a national icon; they wanted internal "cheerleading" posters for their specific factories. Specifically, the "We Can Do It!" poster was displayed for exactly two weeks in February 1943.
It hung in a few plants in East Pittsburgh and the Midwest. After those ten working days? It was taken down and replaced by another poster. It basically vanished for nearly 40 years.
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Why the "We" in "We Can Do It" is Misunderstood
In the 1980s, feminists rediscovered the image and interpreted "We" as "We Women." It became a sisterhood anthem.
But back in the Westinghouse days, the "We" almost certainly meant "We, the employees and management of Westinghouse, working together." It was about corporate unity, not necessarily gender empowerment. The badge on her collar isn't a fashion statement—it’s a Westinghouse employee ID.
J. Howard Miller vs. The Clock Company
There’s a weird bit of confusion that pops up when people search for "Howard Miller We Can Do It."
You’ve probably heard of the Howard Miller Clock Company. They make those massive, expensive grandfather clocks. People often assume J. Howard Miller, the artist, was the same guy or at least related.
They aren't.
- Howard C. Miller founded the clock company in Zeeland, Michigan, in 1926.
- J. Howard Miller (James Howard Miller) was the Pittsburgh-based artist who lived from 1898 to 1985.
While the clock company is a legend in furniture, they didn't have anything to do with the bandana-clad woman. It’s just a case of a very common name creating a historical "glitch."
Who Was the Real Woman?
For decades, a woman named Geraldine Hoff Doyle believed she was the model. She saw a vintage photo of a woman at a lathe and thought, "Hey, that looks like me." The media ran with it.
But history is messy.
In 2015, a scholar named James J. Kimble finally cracked the case after a six-year obsession. He found the original 1942 news photo that Miller used as his reference. The caption on that photo clearly identified the woman as Naomi Parker (later Fraley). She was working at the Naval Air Station in Alameda, California.
Naomi didn't even know she was the "face" of the movement until she was in her late 80s. She wasn't a professional model. She was just a 20-year-old in a jumpsuit who happened to have a photographer snap her picture while she was working on a machine.
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How the Poster Actually Became Famous
If it was only on a wall for two weeks, how did it become the most famous poster in the world?
In 1982, the Washington Post Magazine published an article titled "Poster Art for Patriotism's Sake." They included the Westinghouse image from the National Archives. Because the image was created for a corporation during the war, it was largely in the public domain.
That was the spark.
Since there were no royalties to pay, it was the perfect "free" image for the burgeoning feminist movement. It was stripped of its corporate "work hard for the boss" context and turned into a "women are powerful" symbol.
The Rosie Confusion: Miller vs. Rockwell
Most people call the Miller poster "Rosie the Riveter." Technically, that name originally belonged to a different painting by Norman Rockwell.
Rockwell's Rosie was on the cover of the Saturday Evening Post in May 1943. She was much bulkier, had a giant rivet gun on her lap, and was literally stepping on a copy of Mein Kampf.
The big difference? Rockwell’s image was copyrighted. It was hard to reproduce. Miller’s image was "free," clean, and much more "Instagram-friendly" (before Instagram existed). So, the Miller version effectively stole the "Rosie" name through sheer repetition.
Why the Poster Still Works
There’s something about the way Miller drew the face. It’s not a soft, traditional "pretty" face of the 1940s. She has a look of intense, slightly annoyed focus.
It feels modern.
The primary colors—that stark yellow and the deep blue—pop in a way that most drab olive-drab war posters don't. It doesn't look like a relic; it looks like a brand.
What You Can Do With This History
If you’re a collector or a history buff, knowing the J. Howard Miller backstory changes how you look at the "We Can Do It" merch.
- Check the ID Badge: If you're buying a replica, look at the collar. A "true" Miller replica will have the small Westinghouse Electric employee badge. If it’s missing, it’s a modern "sanitized" version.
- Verify the Artist: Make sure you aren't attributing it to the clock company. If you're writing a paper or a blog post, J. Howard Miller is your man.
- Appreciate the Irony: Enjoy the fact that a poster meant to discourage factory strikes became the ultimate symbol of social rebellion and gender equality.
History has a funny way of taking something small—a two-week internal memo on a wall—and turning it into a permanent part of the human story.
Actionable Steps for History Enthusiasts
If you want to see the real thing, the National Museum of American History (Smithsonian) houses the original Westinghouse posters. You can actually view the entire series Miller did. Most of them are pretty boring—reminding people to wear safety glasses or not to waste scrap metal.
It’s a great reminder that "greatness" often comes from the most mundane places. Sometimes, you just need a blue shirt, a red bandana, and the right person to find you forty years later.
To dive deeper into the visual history, look up the National Archives Record Group 179. It contains the digitized versions of the War Production Board records, where you can see how Miller's work compared to the thousands of other posters that never made it to a coffee mug.