Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1917-08-31
BY WARD GREENE.

Camp Gordon, the miracle city that
the hand of Uncle Sam has carved OUT
of DeKalb county cornfelds in the
course of a few weeks, opened its dusty"
arms Tuesday to the officers who will
make fighting men out of the first forty
thousand citizens selected for military
service on the battle front in France.
Singly and in groups of two and ten
they reported for duty at the little shack
on a knoll facing the tracks of the
Southern railway, where Major General
Eben Swift has established his tempo
rary headquarters.
For a sheer mile and a half to the
east stretched the city, a Jangle of raw
timber rising in housetops and skeleton
frames above woods and fields, clamor-
ing with the rattle and hum of ham,
mers and saws. swept by a wind that
curled the dust in clouds over men and
buildings, so that a roof was scarcely
finished before the new surface WAS
thick with a red deposit.
Around the little shack on the knoll
wagons, automobiles and people chung
like moths to the flame. Here the new
arrivals approached; here they stopped
and waited and went in: and, afJet a
while, from here they dribbled off north
and east and west to new quarters or
back to Atlanta. The little shack on
the knoll seemed to be the magnet which
drew all the activities Of the raw city.
only to shake them off again and send
them whirling and scattering through
its intertwined streets and roads.
BY Wednesday morning at 10 O'CLOCK
all 1,4O0 of the incoming officers will
have reported for duty and been as
signed TO their quarters. Within a few
DAYS they will have settled down.
found themselves" And within a week
they will be ready for the first two
thousand rockies who will begin re-
porting at the rate of four hundred
day on September ..
PICTURE OF CONFU SION.
Today Camp Gordon is a picture OF
utter confusion to the casual visitor.
The great cantonment Is like a giants
child, all arms and legs beating about
in the hot sunshine, as If he was seek
ing, bewildered. to find a place to CIT
down, and raising a mighty rumpus
about il until he could.
But a peep into one little section of
the camp brings order out of chaos.
One piece of building. where each man
has his bit to do and is hammering away
at IL as though his life depended upon
it. Or just that little shack on the
knoll. where a clerk pauses above
grooming typewriter and snaps out a
TO an office boy, who in turn
dashes away. all concentration and i'm
portance.
Each man has his bit, and all doing
il despite the hundreds of others doing
theirs around him, from the general
down to the black and sweaty team
ster. That is the secret of the work.
that is why Uncle Sans city is growing
so fast that today il is different from
what it was yesterday, and tomorrow
you will not know ii if you see IL to-
day. The only comparison is to say
that north Atlanta vanished in flame
but little quicker than Camp Gordon
is growing.
A quarter of a mile away from the
camp. on the road to Atlanta, a breath
Of wind brings you the faint volley of
Nearer, and you glimpse
on the horizon a fringe of telephone
poles, men clinging to them like birds
black against the blue sky, rigging
them with wire with the speed of sail
Ors smuggling down a schooner's shrouds
before an advancing storm.
BUILDINGS EVERYWHERE.
AS your car sweeps over a rise in the
road. the valley falls away before you
into an open area trimming with half
buildings. Men swarm over
their tops like flies. the incessant ham
mering volley is loud in your ears, the
seem to stretch east and west
and north as far as you can see. You
are amazed. But
Wait a minute" says your compan-
ion. This isn't bit of it,"
And IL isn't. For a mile and a half
the length of a good sized city in it,
the buildings and the dusty
streets and the swarms of men. For
mile and a half and for a mile on
either side the corn fields have wilted
before the hammer and saw. For a mile
and a half you ride, until your amaze
ment knows no bounds
Many of the buildings are already so
finished that they lack nothing but ten
ants. Some are but now rising from
their foundations. Others lack only
roof; but pass that way a few hours
later. and they will have it,
Vehicles Of all sorts and sizes thread
the dusty streets by 4he score-a hump
backed farm tractor with wheels as
high as cemetery monuments; long
cared mules Juggling away At plows and
road snOvels; high-powered trucks,
handsome Iimousines; fiivvers that buzz
Dy with the cocky conceit of pampered
doodle dogs; a team of oxen hauling a
load of lumber; a motorcycle dashinr
up the hill with 4 sputter of cylinders
The farm ira etor ploukhS through
lust inches deep, the trucks throw dust
on either side in clouds, the shiny
bodies of the limousines are invisible