The Lakeland evening telegram., 1917-11-27
(By Edna Ferber)

Up to fifteen minutes ago my
knowledge of the Y NJ c. A. was
limited to those familiar posters de-
picting a bare-legged young man at
tired in the breezy garment known as
track pants. He was always crouched
in Ready! On your mark! Set! Go!
attitude, and it was plain that he was
all ready to run around something or
other. Sometimes that picture was
varied by another showing the same
young man about to dive into a large
lively-looking swimming tank. Oh,
yes. One more thing. | knew that
the Y. M. c. A. was substantial
square. red brick building, rich in
windows, and with printed notices of
meetings and classes tackled up on
the hallway. That's all.
My knowledge has so widened, and
broadened, and deepened in the last
few minutes that it seems imperative
to give all of it to someone, and some
of it to every one. l know now that
the Y. M. c. A. is going to be one of
the biggest factors in the winning of
this war l know what well-known
editor of widely circulated magazine
meant when he said: Every cent that
| have to give in this war is going to
the Y. M. c. A. That's where it will
do the most good" l know that that
young man in track pants is young
man in khaki now, and that the Y
M. c. A. is going to mean more to
him, and to you, and to this country
in the next few years than it has ever
meant in the past. It's going to
mean books, and comfort, and vel.
come, and warmth, and cheer, and
help, and direction.
Any person who has visited a train
ing camp in the last few weeks knows
what the Y. M. C. A. buildings repre-
sent to the soldiers. Multiply that
by winter cold, and the strangeness of
foreign land, and trench hardship,
and loneliness, and you'll have the
answer to what it's going to mean to
them Over There.
What the Red Cross is to his
wounds, the Y. M. c. A. is to his
what's the word? Spirit? Soul?
Mental and physical well-being? All
four thrown into one. There is that
in the Y. M. c. A. hut to heal his
loneliness. 1t sews up the stitches in
the gap made by absent family and
friends 1t is a refuge. clubhouse.
A meeting place. A library A
lounge. He can't smoke in his bar
racks, but he can in the Y. M. C. A.
He can get the new books, and the
magazines there, and the newspapers.
He can learn French there, and Eng.
lish, too. which he needs much worse.
It's the well mans hospital, is the Y.
M. c. A. And whole country of
men and women left behind in com.
parative comfort and ease must be
made to realize this fact.
The Y. M. c. A., above all, is
place to 60 Any one who has ever
been lonely will get the significance
of that New York, and Chicago, and
Detroit, and Pittsburg, and Philadel-
phia, and ever other big city is full
OF men occupying mahogany desk po-
sitions now who can look way back
down the year to nippy November
nights when they used to have the
chores to do before coming in to sun.
per. There was the milking, and the
stock to feed, and bed down, and wa
ter, and wood to carry in, most likely.
frosty, hungry, tiresome business,
all of it. for the farm boy. But the
thought of that warm, bright lamp
lighted kitchen awaiting hm, with the
yellow glow of it in his mind, and
the savory smell of it in his magma
ton. kept his lips puckered into
whistle while he went about his work,
and made his nipped fingers, and his
red nose, and his weary limbs things
of little consequence. since they were
SO soon to be allayed. Any man who
has known that feeling-be he ever
SO surrounded now by plate glass, and
brass grills, and mahogany, and secre
taries-must be made to realize that
what the prospect of that warm,
bright cozy kitchen mean to him in
those days, the Y. NJ. C. A. is going
to mean to the soldier in this war.
And more. Infinitely more. With
out the aid and comfort and support
that the Y. NJ. C. A. can give him,
night of cold and Ofors ond g..