Evening star., 1942-10-04
BY FRANK CAREY,
Wide World,

CAMBRIDGE, Mass, Oct. 3.-It
was inky. black and the air was
filled with the pungent essence Of
moth flakes.
I lay 'topside" on the upper tier
OF a Navy double decker bunk in
Matthews Hall of Harvard Univer-
sity, trying to court slumber in
readiness for my first morning as
student officer" with group Of
several hundred men undergoing a
capsule Annapolis course.
The odor of moth flakes from the
white and blue Navy blankets issued
to me when I came aboard" with
permission of the Navy for a "a
hour cruise to see how naval officers
are made.
Sheets Close Hauled.
My coverings were close hauled,
partly in difference to Navy "regs,"
which say bed clothing must be
tucked with square corners, but
chiefly to prevent me from going
oversize in the night and landing
on the deck" feet below.
I had reported shortly before
noon. in my civvies, to Comdr. c. A.
MacGowan, Maine-bor Navy
veteran who is skipper of the naval
training school. at Harvard
Before carrying my civilian "dun-
mage" to my billet at Matthews, I
lunched at Harvard Union with my
future classmates. A swell feed of
chicken chop suey on ricc, green
peas and orange jello was typical
of the first-rate meals-and there S
no sugar-rationing in the Navy!
1t was while we were leaving the
mess hall that I found I really was
in the Navy, after a fashion. I was
smoking cigarette while going
along the path from the building to
the street when one of my COM
panions grinned:
Snuff the butt, sailor. What are
you, a plebe?"
(Smoking's allowed only in bar
racks and mess hall)
Picks Up Equipment.
En- route to barracks, I picked up
my bedding and linen-two blankets,
four pillow cases, four sheets and
four towels-and also my books,
eight big fellows that constituted
quite an armful for hot day.
But it was a brief cruise to Mat
thews. and presently I was being
introduced to my shipmates, 1t.
Gordon H. Fitzpatrick of Franklin,
Mass, high school mathematics
teacher; Ensign William M. Fergu-
son, Seattle, Wash, lawyer, and
Ensign Harry w. Harmon, an archi-
tectural engineer from Los Angeles,
Calf.
Ensign Harmon was sewing a but
ton on khaki shirt, using sew
ing kit of which any dressmaker
would be proud. But the study
room of the three-room suite was
as cold in aspect as monks cell,
the only decorations being a war
map of the world and several pho
tographs of girls.
There was scarcely time for greet
ing before afternoon drill and under
orders from my battalion COM
mander, 1t. Fitzpatrick dug up a
khaki shirt and a garrison cap for
me, Ensign Ferguson produced
trousers and black tie, and Ensign
Harmon came through with a belt
and pair of black shoes. I dressed
with the speed of vaudeville aero
bat.
Bugle Sounds. f9l~,7
The bugle sounded and the order
was Double time'-but we just plain
ran like hell out the door of the
dormitory and into historic Harvard
quadrangle.
Our platoon formed right smack
in front of the brooding statue OF
John Harvard, and I ducked into an
empty space in the second line. But
there was another gap in front OF
me and our platoon commander, who
hadn't been tipped off that there was
an interloper in the midst, COM
manded me:
CLOSE up that holidays"
I stood quivering, but the man
behind me gave me a shove and !
landed in the empty space. To
"close a holiday in Navy lingo, I
learned, means filling. in for a guy
who's absent.
Drill on Quadrangle.
In the next 1s4 hours, as the hot
sun streamed down through the
Harvard elms, I learned that while
a man may be big shot in civilian
life, he's just another guy named