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Show See Here, W( Private Hargrove! Vgf: ty Marion Hargrove Wc.. if c J u TIE STORY SO FAR: Private Marion Hargrove, former newspaper employee of a North Carolina paper, has been Inducted In-ducted into the army and li receiving his basil training at Fort Bragg. He has become well acquainted with many phases of army life but because of hit classification as a cook and hit too-often KP assignments be knows more about the Company kitchen than most rookies. He has acquired a good understanding of "goldbricking," "shooting the breeze" and all the other extra-cnrrlcular soldier activities. As we pick up the story he Is discussing some of the Interesting traits of his close friend, Private Sher. It Is with Sher that Hargrove has shared many of his adventures. I CHAFTKK X There was one Sunday evening when Sher started a letter to his family and found, after a couple of paragraphs, that there was nothing for him to write about. "Here, Junior," Jun-ior," he said. "Write a letter for your old daddy. Give them the old Hargrovian schmaltz." Since Junior was in a devilish ' mood, he sat down and wrote a long j and Inspired letter to the Shers of Columbus, Ohio telling them how : their little Maurice was falling be- i hind in his class by goldbricking and I hanging out late at the Service Club, ! entreating them to return him to his I true career, the Army. I finished by saying, "You see who's writing the letters; you should knois- where to send the cookies. Bl.-jt that bum Maury." --. " ' " Several days later after I had swapped In skillet for a typewriter and had moved to Headquarters BatteryI Bat-teryI came by Battery A to see if I had any mail from my no.nwriting friends In Charlotte. There weren't any letters, but there was a package which looked about the size of a steamer trunk. There were enough cookies inside to feed a small regiment regi-ment for three days. The card inside read: "Dear Hargrove Har-grove We think your idea about the ( cookies is superb. Give Maury one ' or two; he's a good boy when he V wants to be. Why don't you come up to Columbus on your furlough?" It seemed that this beautiful Ifriendship with all Its fragrant Vnemories, its happy hours and hell-F'ing, hell-F'ing, its beautiful cigarettes, lookies, and Samaritan relatives 1 as destined to end with the clos-Iig clos-Iig of the basic training cycle here. --t --t The old gang, which has lived and worked and played together for over three months and has grown into a p- close and sympathetic brotherhood, Is dissolving now. The training cycle cy-cle is being finished and already the old ties are loosing. The student cooks whom I grew to know and feel a fondness for during those months are not so fortunate for-tunate as some of the other soldiers. The Charlotte boys who were inducted in-ducted with me and who went I've spent too much time flirting with that cute little waitress at the delicatessen In Fayettevllle. through their antitank training together to-gether will go together to Fort Knox and will continue to be with each other for at least a while longer. long-er. On the other hand, these student stu-dent cooks of Battery A will not go out together. No Fort is going to be ''nt a whole battery of cooks. One j V''i. will be needed here, another vj ui?.e, and the old third platoon will t be scattered from hell to breakfast. An old thirty-year man, with five or six hash marks on his sleeve, will tell you that no matter how long you stay in the Army, you'll never find a battery that quite stacks up to the first battery in which you served, no group of buddies quite like the old gang you knew first. There's a reason for it In your first organization, you learn for the first time all the regulations and the customs and the traditions of the Army. When you first face them, they're tough or they're uninteresting, uninterest-ing, and when you finally get to understand un-derstand and agree with them, they're identified in your memory with the battery where you learned them. With the men who serve with you there, you grow closer through hardship hard-ship and privation than you can possibly pos-sibly grow to any other group. After you get out into a line organization real tactical unit, such as these boys are entering any hardship or misery is Just a part of the routine. The sufferers are men rather than boys. But In this first training cycle, this rookie stage, you haven't been hard-tned. hard-tned. You and the new soldiers bout you are sensitive, dellcat boys, newly yanked from home or school, accustomed to an easy-going od usually painless life. You share Private Carney picks up the bait "Anything Hart says about me or about what, anybody else says about me is entirely fictitious, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental and not intended." intend-ed." Private Sager sits up suddenly In bed. "Don't talk like that about Hart," he says in a quiet, serious, and menacing voice. "Anything you say about Hart is a personal insult to me. If you're inclined to insult me, kindly take off your stripe and step outside with me." "Don't you go talking like that to the ranking first-class private of this section," rasps Private Hart. "I don't like your manner at alL Kindly Kind-ly step outside with me while I beat your brains out." If you want peace and quiet on these stay-at-home nights, the best solution is to go to the second barracks bar-racks down the line. There's nobody no-body down there except fifty-eight members of the band, who are always al-ways rehearsing at this time of night. -Pa-Slang runs wild in the Army. It's like a disease or the liquor habit. Among the boys who sit around on A new and gullible man is sent for the cannon report, or the rubber flag which is used on rainy days. the back steps after Lights Out and bat the breeze far into the night, no simple and understandable English Eng-lish word is used where a weird and outlandish concoction can be substituted. sub-stituted. Water is GI lemonade. Salt is sand or Lot's wife; pepper is specks; sugar is sweetening compound. com-pound. Milk is cat beer; butter, dogfat. Ketchup is blood. In the untiring imagination of the soldier, green peas become China berries; hominy grits are glamorized into Georgia ice cream; rice is swamp seed. Potatoes become Irish grapes; prunes change to strawberries; hot cakes become blankets. Bread Is punk and creamed beef on toast is punk and salve. Meat loaf and hash are kennel rations. It is strictly against the code oi the Army to say a complimentary word about the food or the cook, no matter how good the food is or how hard the cook labors to make it so. Oscar of the Waldorf in the Army, would still be either a slum-burner or a belly-robber. Back at the News, the boys in the composing room 'and the mailing department used to send greenhorns searching all over the building for erasing ink, striped or dotted ink, paper stretchers, and other non existent ex-istent items. Here, a new and gullible gul-lible man is sent for the cannon report, re-port, or for the biscuit gun, the flagpole key, or the rubber flag which is used on rainy days. Here are some of the most popu lar figures of speech: Army Bible the Articles of War; regulations. Barrage a party, especially where the Demon Rum rears its ugly head. Blanket drill sleep. Butchershop a dispensary or hospital. By the numbers like clockwork; clock-work; with precision and efficiency. effi-ciency. Chili bowl regulation haircut. Chest hardware medals. Didie pins the gold bars of a second lieutenant. Dog robber an orderly. The eagle money. On payday, pay-day, the eagle flies. Front and centercome forward. for-ward. Flying time sleep. Gashouse a beer joint. Glue honey. Goof oil to make a mistake. Handshaking playing up to superiors. Higher brass the higher ranks of officers. Hollywood corporal an acting corporal. Holy Joe the chaplain. Honey wagon the garbage truck. Housewife a soldier's sewing kit Jubilee reveille, which Is too often pronounced "revelee." Mother Machree a sob-story alibi. Pocket lettuce paper money. Pontoon checks canteen checks, good for credit at the post exchange. Ride the sickbook to gold-brick gold-brick the easy way by pretending pretend-ing to be ill. Shoulder hardware the shoul j der insignia of a commissioned ! officer. I (TO BE CONTINUED each other's illness, fatigue, despair. When Happy Menza grows homesick home-sick for Buffalo and McGlauflin starts a wistful reminiscing about the lakes and forests of Minnesota, you are homesick for them rather than for yourself. You are companions compan-ions tested in misery. Friday night was probably the last evening the boys of my old crowd would be together. At least, It was the last evening they were sure of being together. The following day they were to go home for a week's furlough. On their return, next Monday, Mon-day, they will be assigned to their permanent stations to enter the field as soldiers. So they arranged to hold a party Friday night on the river beyond Fayetteville. When we rode to the river in our chartered bus, we rang the welkin with the old songs the faintly fragrant fra-grant songs you pick up through the years and the "Caisson Song" and "Old King Cole" that you learn in the Army. They were boisterous, those songs, but a melancholy strain ran under all of them. At the party we ate barbecue and we drank beer and we recalled the best anecdotes of the training cycle. We sang and we shouted. Two or three of the boys dipped a little too deep into the keg and became slightly slight-ly sentimental. And although the food and the beer were the best, the songs were the songs we loved and the anecdotes were the cream of the season, it was empty joy. It had a dull undercurrent of sorrow. It was the sort of feeling that you know in the last hour before the New Year's bells, the feeling that reaches its fullest when "Auld Lang Syne" is heard. Since we left our homes last July we've learned a lot. Drills and rifles, pup tents and gas masks, all of that. This, though the scattering of our first fraternity is another thing we have learned, now and for the first time. It is our first lesson in a new kind of homesickness, bred only in the Army. -Pa- "Private Hargrove," I said to myself, my-self, "you have been doing quite too much gallivanting lately. There have been too many movies, too many bull sessions, too many hours spent at the Service Club' and too much time spent flirting with that cute little waitress at the delicatessen delicates-sen in Fayetteville. Tonight, Private Pri-vate Hargrove, you will take this Interesting In-teresting and improving book, read it until Lights Out and go to bed promptly at nine o'clock." There was a little back talk, a little argument, a little entreaty. However, the forces of Truth and P.tigress prevailed. Immediately after supper I adjourned to the squadroom, arranged myself comfortably com-fortably on my bunk and dug into the interesting book. Peace and quiet held sway about me. Private Wesley Sager, late of Amsterdam, Am-sterdam, New York, grew weary of the quiet. Yawning widely, he rolled over in bed and with a sudden swoop yanked the pillow from beneath be-neath the head of Private Melvin Hart. "Yippee," screamed Private Sager, tossing the pillow across the squadroom to a willing accomplice. "Yippee," screamed the willing accomplice, ac-complice, tossing the pillow back to Private Sager. Private Hart rose and retrieved his pillow with dignity and formality. formali-ty. He. placed it on his bunk, smoothed it and laid his head upon it. Three privates sighed in resignation. resigna-tion. The incorrigibles were at it again. Private Sager lay quiet for a while. Then he broke into a loud, regular, but unconvincing snore. The three sighing privates did not return re-turn to their occupations, but lay In philosophic expectation. Once the boys in that corner got started, nothing but physical exhaustion could stop them. Private Sager turned as if tossing In his sleep. Private Hart noted the move and held his book ready to strike if a hand came toward his pillow. Private Sager turned again, facing away from Private Hart, and Private Hart relaxed hli vigil. When he did, the hand shot out once more and the pillow sailed across the room and into waiting arms. Again Private Hart retrieved the pillow and again he lay down. "Why," he asked, "must you behave like a two-year-old infant? Can't you act like a normal adult?" "Sure I can," Private Sager replied. re-plied. "Kindly step outside with me and put up your fists." Private Hart gave vent to a quiet and gentlemanly oath. "Please do me the honor to shut your mouth," he requests. "I should like to read without the clamor of your big yap roaring in my ears." This is but the opening gun. Almost Al-most daily it marks the beginning of a half-hour session of blusters, threats, extravagantly insulting remarks, re-marks, and repeated invitations from each side for the other to step outside and settle it Nothing ever comes of it and soon the contending parties tire of the play. Silence reigns again, but its throne Is shaky. Private Hart tires of his book and turns to Private Sager. "Were you at the dance last night when the redhead got started telling what she thought of Jim Carney's dancing?" |