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Show J WNU Sot THE SPIRIT AT GUADALCANAL White crosses in the blazing sun Are scattered through the jungle jun-gle hell; They mark the graves of lads, each one, Who played the game and played it well! Those markers stiff against the sky Shall through receding years proclaim pro-claim How well they all obeyed the cry "Get in there, kid, and win this game!" No home-grounds were they playing there This was a new one to 'em all; But they could hear the call so clear "We gotta take this one! Play ball!" No Sunday exhibition gay No romp when everything was jake This was the tough one far away The "croocial one we gotta take!" No well-kept grounds all cut to form No gala one back where you live; The hard one played out through a storm When everything you've got you give! No set-up near the cheering stands-No stands-No bands, no laughter and no drums . . . Yet from afar the old command: "Stay in there, kid and get them bums!" No minor league one in July This took that "extra special clout," True always to the home-town cry "Keep swinging, kid, and run it out!" This was "the one we had to get" But one that knew no bleachers' roar; Yet each man this old challenge met "Give all ya havel We gotta score!" These kids had learned to play the game Back home on countless, sunny fields And in the war they knew the same Grand fighting heart that never yields. The old sand-lots from coast to coast Had given them the stuff it takes; They got "it" where it's given most Where no one "heils!" and no one quakes. No jungle had these youngsters seen They symbolized the little town But they knew one tradition keen Come through, kids, when them chips is down!" A Quickie From Private Purkey Dear Editor: I got a scoop for you. Hitler ain't dead. Not all over I mean. He is only that way from the neck up. I traced that odor. It's just the way all Axis leaders smell, even alive. Also I got the inside dope on them Russians. They don't care if Hitler Hit-ler is dead or not. They don't even slow up to investigate the rumors. They wood not even stop if Goering was dead. They concentrate on one idea and that is to be sure that Russia ain't dead. Yours truly, Oscar. The Office of War Transportation, with the war and navy departments, has adopted a new type of bus to help solve the motor problem. It is a trailer attached to a big sedan. There are "stand-sit" seats, whatever what-ever those may be, and the whole contraption holds 39 passengers. As badly bruised veterans of bus travel we are a little apprehensive. There are so many buses on the roads now that they just hold one another anoth-er up. And 39 passengers! Phooey! They crowd that many passengers into the doorway of any city bus right now. Still if you get all banged up in the tilings, remember you're getting Victory Bruises. WAR PORTRAIT Vandegrift, and Halsey, MacArthur and Patch . . . They are the chiefs that The Japs cannot match. Sluggin' right in with The wallop that jars . . . Changing that sun to A fine mess of stars. The more you think of the Japs, trained Jungle lighters, being be-ing driven out of Guadalcanal by our boys, never closer to a Jungle Jun-gle than the swamp around the ol' swlmniin' hole or the picnic grounds nt (iilholloy's Grove, the more stirring It seems. Personally, we don't read the so-:lnl so-:lnl columns, but the wife docs, and she picked up an unusual item there the other day. It seems sonic girl married a civilian Mcrrll) Chilcolo |