Evening star., 1941-09-22

saS>S@'''S'' - @saas@ea@ face to lace with
MeLemore the London
Moscow Montpelier alignment.
l made my way here from peace
full New York in an exciting and ad-
venture packed trip.
1t was not easy to reach Vermont.
A high-ranking information official
at Grand Central Station was the
first barrier in my path. He was
patiently suspicious when told him
that 1 wanted to 90 into the Ver-
mont war zone and would he please
instruct me as to the shortest and
quickest way to get there. He
elared at me from behind his mar
BILE booth, thumbed what was OBJ
viously a code book and twice held
whispered conferences with a dark,
mysterious appearing person who
wore uniform and answered TO the
strange name of Red Cap.
Red Cap led me to a formidable
array of booths, all fenced in with
forbidding steel grillwork, and in an
almost foreign tongue, said:
"You gets yo' tickets there, suh!"
I flashed a big roll of bills. I have
read enough books by foreign corre-
spondents Gas who hasn'tO to know
that foreign correspondents always
carry thousands of dollars in cash
with them in order to meet any
emergency. Greed flashed in the
ewes of the man behind the grill
work. As soon as he saw the money
he was ready to sell me anything.
I crossed his palm with greenbacks
and from a mysterious rack he
whipped out bits of colored paste
| board.
All was excitement on the train
platform.
NV blood raced and my pulse
pounded as the train announcer
called off the exotic names Of the
cities through which the train would
pass.
"One Hundred and Twenty-ffth
street, Albany. Troy, Manchester,
/ Rutland"
AS we pulled out of the station l
looked back at the quiet, tranquil
city I was leaving for embattled
Vermont. Would I ever get back?
Memories rushed through my brain.
Happy memories of New York.
The carefree hours had spent
fighting for seat on the subways
:. the gay opening nights at Min
sky's, with the intimate beer parties
after the show -. The warm spring
afternoons in Central Park, feeding
the pigeons waste paper and rubber
bands The bracing rides along
| the Hudson in the Black Maria. =.
For a moment I was tempted to
Jump off the train and run back to
New York. Then I noticed that we
were making all of 60 miles an hour
and thought better Of it.
The train roared through the
night.
You're going to war-you're 60
ing to war-you're going to war"
the wheels seemed to say.
College freshmen laughed and
joshed in the aisles. Happy, happy
boys, I thought. Soon you will be
safe in your dormitories and I'll be
lodging shot and shell in war-torn
Vermont.
On we roared.
Albany.
The last place to turn back.
Make up your mind, McLemore.
Either admit you're afraid to 90
into Vermont or get the hell back
on that train.
There was an air of tension on
the train to Vermont, even in the
air-conditioned cars. The conductor
took an extra long look at my papers
and was displeased when none of
them had the final score OF the
Dodgers game. In the dining ear
the walters showed their nervous
ness by serving the coffee while it
was still hot.
AS we neared the Vermont border
I chewed up and swallowed the in
structions from my superiors, pol
ished the identification tag that
hung around my neck, scribbled a
note to my family, stuck it in a
bottle and threw it out of the win
dow and made a silent pledge to
myself to come out of the Vermont
German war hero, an author and
broadcaster.
Then I stepped to the platform
and swung off into the night.
banged my head against an old
vote for Landon" sign.
I pulled myself together and
slogged of toward the front. Refu-
gees. bound for the neighborhood
movie, passed me on the road.
I struggled on.
Tomorrow?