Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1932-06-08
SAD ARMY TRAMPS
IN PLEA FOR CASH
Futile Quest for Bonus Made
by Cosmopolitan Force
of Veterans.
BY THOMAS r, HENRY.

BY THOMAS r. HENRY.
Weary footbeats sounding chord Of
inexpressable tragedy, a beaten army
tramped down Pennsylvania avenue ir
the gathering dusk last night.
1t was the saddest parade Washington
ever has known-this silent, grim march
of the defeated 5000 out of the back
ground of cloud-broken sunset into
the falling darkness. World War veter.
ans from all over the United States hat
mustered their battered ranks for Thu
final gesture of defiance in the face Of
an enemy whose assaults they have beer
unable to stem.
It was q sadder parade than any fu.
neral procession of a national hero
There was none Of the heart-quickeninf
music and pageantry Of tragedy. There
was aroused in the spectators none o.
that surging sense that life grandly
lived Is itself an eternal victory, regard
less Of the pathos of its ending. Their
was written last night chapter o.
drab, weary. colorless tragedy. Tint
and its endless succession Of nights may
eventually soften the harsh reality O
it all as 1t passes into the totality o.
American history.
Return to Face New War.
A little over 10 years ago these mer
came home victorious from the great
est war In history. They were a trif1t
harder. trif1e more cynical, trif1'
more disillusioned than they had beer
few months before, when they hae
gone to the training camps with th'
cheers Of the home folks echoing II
their ears. But they came home II
trim uniforms. Flags were flying ant
bands playing victorious marches. Tit
mud and the blood of the battlefield!
were behind them forever. Jobs anc
sweethearts awaited them. Their face!
shone with confidence.
They went home. They established
themselves in their communities. Chill
dren came And then this new war
against an invisible foe that strike:
from the ambush Of poverty, whose
sunken mines are mortgages and whose
machine gun barrages are grocery bills
In this new war they have met with
utter defeat.
So last night they were back for q
new sort of parade-a futile, hopeless
tired gesture What a change in the
faces 10 years have wrought. There
we're no uniform regulations for this
parade. No inspection preceded this
grand review of the defeated before
the people Of Washington. But these
procedures were not necessary. 1t was
a well uniformed parade after all
for hopeless poverty and nights IN ooS
cars reduce all garb, however diversi-
fed at the beginning.
Futility Infects Crowd.
Washington watched from the sloe-
lines. The spectators were about as
silent as the marchers. There were
feeble, half-hearted bursts Of applause
here and there. The hopelessneSS and
futility Of it all infected the watching
crowds. There were tears in many eyes.
It. hardly can be said that the parade
aroused much local enthusiasm for its
specific purpose-to stir sentiment Tor
immediate payment OF the soldiers
bonus. TIE spectators-and probably
most of the marchers themselves
seemed to realize the futility OF 1t all
ana to sense the deeper. more potent
underlying forces that have brought
these men here from the East Side
parks and the Georgia cotton planta-
tons.
1t was perfectly orderly parade.
Nobody who had associated with these
veterans during the past few days ex-
pected anything different-reds or no
reds. These hungry, weary men hardly
have the animal energy and spirit neces-
sary for violence, even If they had any
such thing in mind. In sense, they
are through fighting now. They may
say they are in Washington to demand
the bonus. But they are not demand
ing. They are appealing 1t happens
that they are all World War veterans.
In this respect only are they different
from millions of others. The war
organization gives them a NUCLEUS to
congregate around.
WASHINGTON Lends Color.
The only touch of color in the parade
were furnished by the two washington
drum and bugle corps which gave tnelI
services. Their bright, clean uniforms
and shining instruments furnSneo
strange contrast against the drab pack
Ground of the marchers as the bugles
reflected glints of the slender crescent
moon.
First came the westerners-the ore
pon lumberiacks. the North Dakota and
Utah ranchers and ranch hands. Ihey
were the same tall, broad-shouldereo:
slow-spoken fellows who came out OF
Camp Lewis in 1918, singing rlbald ana
light hearted songs as the troop trains
sped eastward toward Hoboken. Ihere
was the open frankneSs OF forest ana
plain in their countenances. Last nlght
shoulders were stopped. Silently the
westerners filed past, heads bowed. the
facial muscles drawn taut. The faces
still were bronzed with the western sun.
but underneath it all were traces OF
the unhealthy pallor of hunger. Some
had an arm, some leg missing.
Behind them came the New Jersey
mill hands-slight, pallid, undernour-
ished men of all nationalltles from the
streets of Camden. Even in this tragic
parade they were in striking contrast
to the Oregon and Utah men. All their
lives, except for the brief war episode,
thev have breathed into their lungs the
dust of the mills A few tried to make
a brave show in their old Army uni
forms. Some wore overall. Some wore
wrinkled, soiled civilian clothes such as
they might have picked up from second
hand dealers.
All Levels Mingled.
Then came the coal miners from
Western Pennsylvania and the farmers
from Berks and Lancaster Counties, in
ordinary times among the most prosper
GUS agricultural regions in the United
States. They we're phlegmatic, slow
speaking Pennsylvania Dutch. They
marched in step with the Slavic miners.
Mingled among them were veterans
picked up from the street corners OF
Philadelphia-men who had crawled
furtively out of the dark novels of the
great city. With them were pallid, bent
men from the Pennsylvania steel mills.
Behind Pennsylvania came Ohio-its
delegation also representing a cross
section of the great American popula-
ton. There were Anglo-Saxon from