The mirror., 1922-12-21
THE CODY BLUES
By Mr.. K. L. M.

Why that title? Because we sang them
some three hundred and sixty-fve days
year while we were doing our preparatory
training at Camp Cody, Deming, N. NJ,
which is just thirty miles north of Colum-
bus, where Senior Villa and his marahuano-
smoking followers put on a party one men,
orable night. And 1 have heard it said
that the distance to the domain of Mephis-
topheles, the tempter of Goethes Faust, is
less. Be that as it may, it was undeniably
warm enough to have been very close. AT
least the members of the Thirty-fourth or
Landstorm Division thought as much.
They never saw Llano Grande, Texas,
which will be the setting of the Border
Day series, however.
Before the influx of the national guards
men from Iowa, Nebraska, Minnesota, and
South Dakota, Deming was the usual bor-
der town, somnolent and inactive. With
the soldiers there came bustling activity;
store space was at a premium; two thea
tres, featuring burlesque troupes, were open
seven days week while before the small
town opera house had housed an occa-
sional stock company; takes scurried
through the sandy streets and Deming
had heretofore been what might be called
horse town; cafes opened under Chinese
management; cabarets sprang into exis-
tense-seven, if my memory is functioning
rightly An auction sale such as might be
seen on State Stree, Twelfth Street or
South Sixteenth Street in Chicago, Kansas
City and Omaha respectively, was a regu-
lar feature.
Entertainers and mattresses drifted in
from the resorts on the coast many of the
former old standbyes from the Barbary
Coast in its heyday, Roadhouses opened
their doors on the roads leading into the
little city; enterprising individuals started
regular "grease" line between the min
ing towns to the north in the copper dis
trict-Silver City, Santa Rita, Tyrone,
Hurley, and Hillsboro; special operatives
arrived to cooperate with the Military
Police, and of course the human buzzards
found this Mecca of easy money and free
spenders, for it was that.
Just consider a moment and you will
readily grant the veracity of that state
ment. There were approximately thirty
thousand soldiers being paid each month
at the camp, and the least that each re-
ceived was thirty iron men, so the aver
age would be well over that, for there
were many former clover-kickers, gas
meter readers, soda jerkers, and black
smiths wearing the leather puttees and Of
fetal insignia of the officer, to say nothing
of the elaborate boots with their clinking
spurs encasing the feet of the shavetails of
the infantry and quartermaster corps.
Easy come, easy 60, was the motto of
the wearer of the khaki, and he prac-
ticed it faithfully. Many a fat-footed
draft dodger found his nest egg during the
hectic days of privateering and profteer-
ing. He could drive taxi on shares while
his consort entertained the doughty defen-
ders of democracy with song and languish-
ing glances in one of the palaces of fren-
zied bedlam.
Every night after retreat when the daily
Squads Right, Squads Left was over, the
inhabitants of the tent city would clambor
aboard vehicles of ancient and modern
vintage, bound for the thriving center of
attraction. That is in case he possessed
the necessary "cuter" to pay the jehu for
the takes were not run upon charitable
or philanthropic plan. If he was broke,
as he usually was, he gave his ankles an
excursion and hoofed it into town.
The days in New Mexico were warm,
but the nights were cool, and during the
summer, not unpleasant. The dusk was
soft with just enough tang in the air to be
invigorating. Plaintive, barber shop