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Show ANNOUNCER: Crandall's takes pleasure in presenting, for the reader's enjoyment, en-joyment, the remarkable and very amusing story of Army life, from the soldier's point of view, entitled: RhJ See Here," fkM y3) Private Hargrove! by Marion Hargrove ..I i i . i i, ,mi ha cant nn a. ra- in the world, you are the rnost overpaid, two-headed brother. "I am the most underpaid six-armed six-armed Siva," I -snorted. "Look at me! I am the feature editor, the obituary editor, the woman's page editor, the hospital editor, the rewrite re-write man, the assistant to the city editor, the commissar for paste and copy paper and cokes, the custodian of oral memoranda, the public's whipping boy, the translator and copyist of open-forum open-forum letters, the castigator of the composing room staff, the guest artist for ailing columnists, the tourist guide for visiting school children, the press representative repre-sentative at barbecue suppers of the United Brotherhood of Plumbers Plumb-ers and Steamfitters, the butt of the office jokes." "Period," said Mr. Griffith. "New paragraph." "I lead a terrible, turbulent life," I wailed. "I am the man forgotten by Destiny." "If you get your elbows off my "Just look at it," he said on the way to the bus station, "mayle a posthumous medal my grandchO-dren grandchO-dren will get. Private Melvin Pl, who gave his life valiantly and Through the nose from hay fever vet. Sneezing to glory." enjoy reading them again . . . And "tune in" again next week! (This is, as one might say, Newspaper Station HERALD.) mMNUUNCER: Before the sto- ry itself starts Crandall's desires de-sires to tell you that Private Hargrove is a real person, and what he relates actually hap- pened to him at Fort Bragg, N. G. That's one reason why it's such an excellent story . . . Another reason is that Pvt. Hargrove has such a fine sense of humor: ,and pictures so clearly the humor of practically practical-ly all soldiers, everywhere . . . Whether you have a relative or friend at Fort Bragg or not wherever your relative or friend may be in the Army you will find out, from this story, far more than you have ever known before about what he has been through, or is going go-ing through, and what he thinks, and how he feels about it all . . . First Private Hargrove Har-grove speaks to his sergeant (who, as you shall see, figures in the story that is to follow) . Pvt. Hargrove speaking: When he reads that Privates Edward Thomas Marion Lawton Hargrove, ASN 34116620, is giving giv-ing advice to prospective soldiers, his derisive bellow will disturb the training program in the next regiment. "My God!" he will roar." Look who's learning who how to do what! My God! The blind leading lead-ing the blind!" It was once said, Sergeant Goldsmith, by the eminent vegetarian vege-tarian George Bernard Shaw, that he who can, does; he who can't, teaches. This, dear sergeant, is my contribution con-tribution to the army and to posterity. Please go away and leave us young people to our studies. o CHAPTER I If I were giving advice to the boys who have already been called into the Army and will go away in a few days, I'd sum it all up in this: "Paint the town red for the rest of your civilian week. Pay no attention to the advice that is being poured into your defenseless ears for twenty-four hours a day. Form an idea of what Army life is going to be like. Leave your mind open." Two weeks from now, you will be thoroughly disgusted with your new job. You will have been herd- ,days later, you'll be sent on a ration ra-tion detail to handle huge bundles of groceries. You'll haul coal and trash and ashes. You'll unpack rifles that are buried in heavy grease and you'll clean that grease off them. You'll stoke fires, you'll mop floors, and you'll put a high polish on the windows. You'll wonder won-der if you've been yanked out of civil life for This. All your persecution is deliberate, deliber-ate, calculated, systematic. It is collegiate practice of hazing, applied ap-plied to the grim and highly important im-portant task of transforming a civilian into a soldier, a boy into a man. It is the Hardening Process. Pro-cess. You won't get depressed; you won't feel sorry for yourself. You will just get mad as hell. You'll be breathing fire before it's over. Believe me or not, at the end of that minor ordeal, you'll be feeling feel-ing good. You'll be full of spirit and energy and you will have found yourself. You'll look at the new men coming com-ing in to go through the same hardening period, and you'll look at them with a fatherly and sympathetic sym-pathetic eye. They will be "rookies" "rook-ies" to you, a veteran of almost a month. For practical advice, there is none becter than the golden rule of the Army: "Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut." At first, probably, you'll be in- desk," he said, "the Doy can puu the mail on it. "What you need," he continued, sorting through a batch of letters, "is a tour of military service. The Army would make a man of you. I was in the Army in the last war. A top sergeant at eighteen. The Army did wonders for me." "That's not much of a sales argument," I told him. "Then again," he said, "if we must take up my whole busy day weeping over your sorrows, let's not burden the Army when it has a helluva job already. Concerning the whole matter, I would suggest that you apply yourself to making up the woman's page right now, lest you come down tomorrow morning and find someone else sitting in your chair. Leave my sight." "There's not a letter there from New York," - I asked, "with my The bus station on that morning in July was a pathetic picture. Four large groups of boys, reconciled recon-ciled to the grim and gruesome life ahead of them, were bade farewell by wailing mothers and nobly suffering girl friends who had come down to see their loved ones off in a blaze of pathos. It was pretty terrible. The buses swung out' of the terminal, through midtown, and out toward the road to Fayette-ville. Fayette-ville. The boys began to feel better, bet-ter, shouted farewells to startled girls on the street and finally broke into raucous song. Four flowers of the nation started a blackjack game on a suitcase in the back of the bus. Brother Piel's spirits brightened a little. His smooth voice found its way through the hay fever and emerged in song. "It's a lovely day tomorrow," he sang. "Tomorrow "Tomor-row is a lovely day. "Look at me tomorrow," he said, breaking off suddenly, "Hay foot, Private Piel. Straw foot, Private Pri-vate Piel. Hay and straw and look at what I've got. Hay fever yet! Oy, what "a life I'll lead!" "Maybe what I'd better do when I get there, I'd better tell them I'd like to go north. They could use a IF FIRST 'SERGEANT CLARENCE A. GOLDSMITH, back in the old battery where I was supposed to have learned the art of cooking for the army, ever gets his hands on this, it will pro-v pro-v i d e him with amusement throughout a long, hard winter. ed from place to place, you wui have wandered in nakedness and bewilderment through miles of physical examination, you will look upon privacy and individuality as things you left behind you in a golden civilian society. Probably you will have developed devel-oped a murderous hatred for at least one sergeant and two corporals. cor-porals. You will write and fume under what you consider brutality and sadism, and you will wonder how an enlightened nation can permit such atrocity in its army. Take it easy, brother; take it easy. Keep this jone beam of radiant hope constantly before you: The first three weeks are the hardest. For those first three or possibly possi-bly four weeks, you will bear the greatest part of the painful process pro-cess of adjusting yourself to an altogether new routine. In those first three weeks you will get almost al-most the full required dose of confusion con-fusion and misery. You will be afraid to leave your barracks lest the full wrath of the war department depart-ment fall upon you. clined to tremble at the sight of every corporal who passes you on the street. You might even salute the first-class privates Then, when the top sergeant neglects to beat you with a Knout they rub GI (These two letters are the cornerstone cor-nerstone of your future Army vocabulary. vo-cabulary. They stand for the words "Government Issue" and just about everything you get in the Army will be Gi. Even the official advice. This story, on the other hand, is not G. I.) salt into wounds, you might want to go to the other extreme. This way madness mad-ness lies. When corporals and sergeants are to be dealt with, always remember re-member this: "Make friendsships first and leave the joking until later. When it's the top sergeant it might be best to leave the joking jok-ing permanently. It can be very easy to start your military life on the wrong foot by giving your officers and noncommissioned officers the impression im-pression that you're a wise guy, a smart aleck. Soldiers, like sena- good man in Alaska." "The South Pole is your meat," I, told him. "That's it! The South Pole! Boy, I'm going to love the Army!" The tumult and the shouting died about halfway to Fayette-ville. Fayette-ville. The boys became quiet and thoughtful. (To Be Continued Next Week) Announcer : In presenting this story, which gets more hilarious hilari-ous as it goes along, Crandall's believes it will bring1 great pleasure to readers believes that it already has done so in this first instalment . . . We invite in-vite you to "tune in" for the next instalment in The Herald Her-ald next week, and tell your friends to' do so, and that you will think of Crandall's, carrying carry-ing on in war time, as in peace, in order that our . friends in throughout Spring-ville Spring-ville may obtain the best possible pos-sible goods, in the many lines we carry, at the best possible prices. Come in and see us when you are in Springville, we'll do our best to supply your wants . . . One other thing, save the pages containing contain-ing "See Here, Private Hargrove" Har-grove" so you and others can "Well, my lad," he said with faint glee, "we know what Fate means for you. You can be happy now." name written on it in a delightfully delightful-ly illegible, feminine, and slightly red-headed hand?" "Is there ever?" he snorted. "Let's see " and he went through the stack. "Well, my lad, he said with faint glee, "at last we're getting somewhere. We know what Fate means for you. You can be happy now." He handed me a long, white, innocent-looking envelope addressed to me. The return address read, "Selective Service System Mecklenburg Meck-lenburg County Board Number Three." The President of the United States to Marion Hargrove, greeting! The boy across the table in the Piedmont Grill lifted both hands and clapped his brow three times. He looked at the clock, then back at his breakfast, then back at the clock. "My name is Hargrove," I said, handing him a cigarette. "Mine is Piel," he said. "Melvin Piel. Tomorrow maybe you can make it 'Private' on the front." "So long as you're healthy," I said, shrugging a shoulder. "It cuts down on the income tax." "My hay fever," he wailed. "What will I do with my hay fever? fev-er? In the jungles of South Carolina Caro-lina for maneuvers, with my hay fever! Oy!" tors, "don't like for a new guy to shoot his mouth off." So much for the don'ts. On the "do" side, the most important thing for you to watch is your attitude. As a matter of straight and practical fact, the best thing that you can do is to reason that you are going into a new job. The job is temporary, but while you have it it's- highly important. As, when you go into a new job in civil life, you do your darndest to impress your employer with your earnestness, your diligence, your interest in your work go thou and do likewise in the Army. As in your civilian job, the impression im-pression is made in the first few weeks. You make that impression starting from the very first day, by learning as quickly as you can, by applying ourself with energy to each task, no matter how small or how unpleasant it is. You don't get anwhere by buying soda pop or beer for your sergeant. Brodie Griffith, managing editor edi-tor of the Charlotte News, adjusted adjust-ed his ancient green eyeshade and began glancing through a sheaf of copy. "Hargrove," he said, lighting a cigarette, "it beats the hell out of me what fate did mean for you. Dr. Garinger down at the high school said years ago that it didn't write a formal education in on your budget. Belmont Abbey found out that you weren't destined des-tined to be worth a hoot as a public pub-lic relations man for a Benedictine Benedic-tine college. The drugstore chain in Washington said you had neither neith-er the talent nor the temperament for soda-jerking. And you certainly cer-tainly fizzled as a theater usher. Maybe fate don't know you." "May I have a cigarette?" I asked, reaching before he could protect them. "Day after day I work my fingers to the shoulder blades for neither thanks nor living liv-ing wage. I am the feature editor edi-tor of a progressive, growing newspaper. What makes it that? My heart's blood makes it that!" "I would fire you tomorrow," he sighed, "if anyone else could possibly straighten out the chaos you have brought to this office. In the most underpaid brotherhood "You don't get anywhere by buying soda pop or beer for your sergeant." You will find yourself unbelievably unbeliev-ably awkward and clumsy when you try to learn the drills and the knowledge of this awkardness will make you even more awkward. awk-ward. Unless you relax you can be very unhappy during those first three weeks. When you are assigned to your basic training center you'll really get into it. You'll drill and drill, a little more each day, and when the sergeant tries to correct or advise you, you'll want to tear his throat out with your bare hands. You'll be sick of the sound of his voice before an hour has passed. The only comfort I can give you is the knowledge that the poor sergeant is having a helluva time too. He knows what you're thinking think-ing and he can't do anything about it. You'll be inoculated against smallpox, typhoid, tetanus, yellow fever, pneumonia and practically all the other ills that flesh is heir to. You'll be taught foot drill, the handling of a rifle, the use of the gas mask, the peculiarities of military vehicles, and the intricacies intrica-cies of military courtesy. Most of what you are taught will impress you as utterly useless nonsense, but you'll learn it. You'll be initiated into the mysteries mys-teries of the kitchen police, probably prob-ably before you've been in the Army for a week. Possibly two |