OCR Text |
Show fMn Here!" ''FCT Private Hargrove! HPc Marion Hargrove w.M.u. bf ?f ENCE A. GOLDSMITH, back in the old battery where I was supposed sup-posed to have learned the art of cooking for the army, ever gets his hands on this, it will provide him with amusement throughout o long, hard winter. When he reads that Private 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, Gold-smith, by the eminent vegetarian George Bernard Shqw that he who can, does; he who can't, teaches. This, dear sergeant, is my contribution con-tribution to the army and to posterity. pos-terity. Please go away and leave us young people to our studies. asnes. 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. win-dows. You'll wonder if you've been yanked out of civil life for This. All your persecution is deliberate, calculated, systematic. It is collegiate colle-giate practice of hazing, applied to the grim and highly important task of transforming a civilian into a soldier, a boy into a man. It is the Hardening Process. You won't get depressed; you won't feel sorry for yourself. You'll 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 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 hard-ening period, and you'll look at them with a fatherly and sympathetic eye. They will be "rookies" to you, a veteran of almost a month. For practical advice, there is none better than the golden rule of the Army: "Keep your eyes ODen and the United Brotherhood of Plumbers and Steamfitters, the butt of the office of-fice jokes." "Period," said Mr. Griffith, "New paragraph." "I lead a terrible, turbulent life," I wailed. "I am the man forgotten by Destiny." "If you will get your elbows oft my desk," he said, "the boy can put 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," argu-ment," 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 m 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 atten-tion 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 herded from place to place, you will have wandered in nakedness and bewilderment bewil-derment through miles of physical examination, you will look upon privacy pri-vacy and individuality as things you left behind you in a golden civilian society. Probably you will have developed a murderous hatred for at least one sergeant and two corporals. You will writhe 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 one beam of radiant hope constantly before you: The first three weeks are the hardest. For those first three or possibly four weeks, you will bear the greatest great-est part of the painful process of adjusting yourself to an altogether new routine. In those first three weeks you will get almost the full required dose of confusion and misery. mis-ery. You will be afraid to leave your barracks lest the full wrath of the war department fall upon you. your mouth shut." At first, probably, you'll be inclined in-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 of your future Army vocabulary. They stand for the words "Government Issue" and just about everything yon get in the Army will be GI. Even the official advice. This story, on the other hand, is not GI.) salt into wounds, you might want to go to the other extreme. This way madness lies. When corporals and sergeants are to be dealt with, always remember this: Make friendships first and leave the joking until later. When it's the top sergeant, it might be best to leave the joking permanently. perma-nently. It can be very easy to start your military life on the wrong foot by giving your officers and noncommissioned noncommis-sioned officers the impression that you're a wise guy, a smart aleck. Soldiers, like senators, "don't like for a new guy to shoot his mouth oft." 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 darnedest to impress your employer with your earnestness, your diligence, your interest in-terest in vour work eo thou and "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 illegible, feminine, and slightly redheaded 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. some-where. We know what Fate means for you. Ypu can be happy now." He handed me a long, white, innocent-looking envelope, addressed to me. The return address read, "Selective "Se-lective Service System Mecklenburg Mecklen-burg County Board Number Three." The President of the United States to Marion Hargrove, greetingl -H- The boy across the table in the Piedmont Grill lifted both hands and clapped his brow three times. He do likewise in the Army. As in your civilian job, the impression is made in the first few weeks. You make that impression, starting from the very first day, by learning as quickly quick-ly as you can, by applying yourself with energy to (each task, no matter mat-ter how small or how unpleasant it is. You don't get anywhere by buying buy-ing soda pop or beer for your sergeant. ser-geant. -Ba- Brodie Griffith, managing editor of the Charlotte-News, adjusted 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 to be worth a hoot as a public relations man for a Benedictine Ben-edictine college. The' drugstore chain in Washington said you had neither the talent nor the temperament tempera-ment 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 pro-tect them. "Day after day I work my fingers to the shoulder blades for tKnnb-c nnr livinff Wfl?P. T 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? In the jungles of South Carolina for maneuvers, ma-neuvers, with my hay fever! Oyl" "Just look at it," he said on the way to the bus station, "maybe a posthumous medal my grandchildren grandchil-dren will get. Private Melvin Piel, who gave his life . valiantly and through the nose from hay fever yet. Sneezing to glory." The bus station on that morning in July was a pathetic picture. Four large groups of boys, reconciled to the grim and gruesome life ahead of them, were bade farewell by wailing wail-ing 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, termi-nal, through midtown, and out toward to-ward the road to Fayetteville. The boys began to feel better, shouted farewells to startled girls on the "Yon don't get anywhere by buying buy-ing soda pop or beer for your sergeant." ser-geant." 5fou will find yourself unbelievably awkward and clumsy when you try to learn the drills and the knowledge of this awkwardness will make you even more awkward. Unless you relax you can be very unhappy during dur-ing those first three weeks. When you are assigned to your basic training center you'll really get into it. You'll druU and drill, a Utile 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 and he can't do anything about it. You'll be inoculated against smallpox, small-pox, 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 of military courtesy. cour-tesy. Most of what you are taught will impress you as utterly useless nonsense, non-sense, but you'll learn it. You'll be Initiated into the mysteries mys-teries of the kitchen police, probably proba-bly before you've been In the Army for a week. Possibly two days later, lat-er, you'll be sent on a ration detail to handle huge bundles of groceries. You'll haul coal and trash and am the feature editor of a progressive, progres-sive, 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 possi-bly straighten out the chaos you have brought to this office. In the .most underpaid brotherhood in the world, you are the most 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 letters, the castigator of the composing room staff, the guest artist for ailing columnists, col-umnists, the tourist guide for visiting visit-ing school children, the press representative repre-sentative at barbecue suppers of street and finally broke into raucous song. Four flowers of the nation started a blackjack game on a suitcase suit-case 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 "To-morrow is a lovely day. "Look at me tomorrow," he said, breaking off suddenly, "Hay foot, Private Piel. Straw foot, Private 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 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 Fayetteville. The boys became quiet and thoughtful. (TO BE CONTINUED ) |