Evening star., 1927-08-28
BY CAPT. HERMAN ARCHER,
u. S. A,

Timidly he plucked at the writer S
sleeve and spoke in voice as low,
- gentle as that of bashful school
g.
The s,alwart Gibbons looked down
swiftly, impersonally, as 40 might
have regarded an importunats beg
gar. He saw the replica of thousands
of Jewish business men the world
over, though the sergeant was, of
course, in uniform-a dark, f1eshy
man, whose mild eyes sat deep in
shadows of wrinkled coffee-colored
skin under dark brows.
Gibbons found himself oddly
enough, gazing into the disturbed
face of suppliant. He looked
amazed.
"Why-why. Samr he exclaimed,
stretching forth the hand of wei
come. whats wrong?"
Floyd, | want to see Pershing,"
the lugubrous soldier told him. Il
thought maybe you could fix it,"
surely, Sam, I'll fix it. I'm going
up there now. But what on earth
has hit you? You look like you'd lost
your dog"
The newspaper man, even then
wearing the black patch which COW
cred his blinded eye, looked, for all
that, the veteran of world affairs
that he was-bold, confident, cour-
teous and kind. AS he strobe into
Paris headquarters a few minutes
later, that highceiled, noble old draw
ing room where Gen. Pershing stood
that afternoon, surrounded by army
officers of many nations, was like a
page from Napoleone days. But Glib
bcns belenged-in his own profession
he was royalty. And like a retainer
even, perhaps. like a valet-the little
sergeant teddled l1urriedly in at his
heels, shrinking, selfConscieus, un.
happy.
Gibbons went straight up to Per-
shng. The general nodded kindly
enough, but, having acknowledged
Gibbons salutation, he stuck out his
hand to the sergeant. With a voice
Of deep and fatherly sincerity the
general said:
Sam. I'm mighty glad to see you
I've wanted for a long time to tell
you how proud I am of you. Is there
anything l can do for your"
''Yes-yes, sir" Sam managed with
difficulty, and a crimson face, you
can let me go home to my wife
and-and business"
Immediately" said Pershing. and
to an aide, See that this is DONE
NOV, all this seems too astounding
to be true until you know who
the little sergeant was. He was none
other than Samuel preben, the
Fighting Jew" one of the bravest,
most gallant soldiers of fortune who
ever won a medal, and certainly the
gentlest of all that glorious tribe.
For quarter century, in fact since
I myself was a lad of 20, with La
Guardia in Honduras, he had been
following the wars. And between wars
he had been making fortunes in busi
ness. In fact, his life-he died, but
not with his boots on, out in Holly
wood not so long ago-Was a tug of
war between the lure of the firing
line and the world of business and
money.
Across his breast, when he cared to
wear them, were medals enough to
appease a dreaming West Point cadet,
and on his record in the World War
Gen. Pershing, with whom he served,
too, in the Philippines, lately referred
to him as "the finest soldier, and one
of the bravest men / ever knew"
A story for the gods is Sam's-a
natural born business man with the
fire of the true warrior, now smolder-
ing, now f1aring brightly up in his
great heart.
Let us go back to the day he ar.
rived at Ellis Island, a generation or
so ago-a fat. rather frightened boy.
He had been born in. Odessa, Russia,
and had fed, no doubt, from the po-
groms that market the last years Of
the Car. With the rest of his family,
Sam went from New York to Phila-
delphia. Here he grew up.
Perhaps it was the shadow of early
terror, but Sam wasn't much of an
early success. He worked at various
jobs, got nowhere, and finally enlisted
in the Army. The history of the in.
surrection in the Philippines gives no
stars to his name: he was, from all
accounts, a good but una ssuming
soldier. The same is true of the record
of the Boxer trouble in China, where
he also served. None the less, when
he was discharged at last, after the
pacification Of the Philippines, he had
become first sergeant of Infantry.
There was following his discharge
brief foray in Honduras with La
Guardia-but even there he was moth
ing Of a leader. The latter day Dire.
ben. Fighting Jew" was still to come.
So **
PUT stay! The troops of Gen.
Campo. rebel leader in the upris-
ing against Francesca Madero in 1912,
were falling back before the Federal
forces after a desperate fight near
Parral, Mexico. Gen. Campo and Gen.
Salazzar had surrounded the city,
planted their artillery ready for a
bombardment and had demanded the
town surrender. The demand had
been summariy refused. Federal
troops had marched out against the
rebels. Gen. Francisco Villa, one of
the government leaders. had begun an
enVeloping movement, and had all but
fianked the revolutionists before they
discovered their plight.
Retreat had been sounded. The
Federals pressed forward to victory.
The retreat threatened to become
rout; Gen. Campa's 18.year.old son
was shot dead at his side. Suddenly
the morale of the rebels collapsed
They turned and fled in panic. Every
thing seemed lost.
But there was one figure that he.
mained like a rock against this vic
torious charge short, stout little
man sat on a machine gun in front
Of Gen. Campa's carefully planted ar
tillery. This was Sam Dreben, the
Fighting Jew.
Past him to the rear raced his own
infantry, but Sam was not disturbed.
One by one his own gunners Joined
the race for safety, but still Sam
stayed on, swinging his own machine
gun from side TO side, pouring hail
of bullets into the enemy. He was
quiet, calm, and Jack Zimmerman,
one Of the last 70 remain at his side.
was authority for the statement that
his voice was as soft and gentle as
always when he said:
go, Jack, while there's time.
can hold them little longer"
Here and there a Mexican stopped
in his fight; soon these men were
carrying to the rear machine guns,
were hurrying other pieces of pre-
cinns rebel artillery TO the rear. under