Evening star., 1943-04-11
INSTALLMENT XIX

The word buddy" hasn't come
into popularity yet in the new Army.
I suppose that if there were such
things, Maury Sher would be mine.
Sher and occupied adjoining hunks
when was in Battery A. I bummed
most of my cigarettes from him and
we always got into trouble together.
Pvt. Sher Is smart and likable
Jewish boy from Columbus, Ohio.
He went to school at Southern Cali
| fornia, until he learned that all the
worlds knowledge doesn't come
from the Intellectual invalids who
usually teach the $3.50 class. Then
he went back to Columbus, had an
idea patented and built himself a
restaurant shaped like a cham
pagne glass.
Came the fateful 18th of October
and Sher enrolled for the Selective
Service System. His application was
accepted last July and since he had
been the successful proprietor of q
restaurant he was classified as a
promising student for the Army
cooking course.
The two of us got together when
he was sent to the replacement
center here. We started an ac-
quaintance when 1 topped all his
Jewish jokes and began teaching
him how to speak Yiddish. 1 was
attracted by his native intelligence,
his pleasant personality, his sense
OF humor, the similarity OF his likes
and dislikes to mine, his we'll
stocked supply of cigarettes (my
brandt and the cookies he con-
stantly received from home.
So we became more or less con-
slant companions. We made the
rounds here together, went to Char
iotte together, made goo-goo eyes
at the same waitress in Fayetteville
and snapped valuable trade secrets
in goldbricking.
Asks Junior to Write.
There was one Sunday evening
when Sher started a letter to his
family and found, after a couple of
paragraphs, that there was nothing
for him to write about. Here,
Junior he said, write a letter for
your old daddy. Give them the old
Hargrovian schmaltz."
Since junior was in a deyilish
mood, he sat down and wrote long
and inspired letter to the Shers of
Columbus, Ohio-telling them how
their little Maurice was falling be-
hind in his class by goldbricking
and hanging out late at the service
club. entreating them to return him
to his true career, the Army. I fin
lshed by saying, You see who's
writing the letters: you should know
where to send the cookies. Forget
that bum Maury.'",
Several days later-after I had
sWapped skillet for a typewriter
and had moved to Headquarters
Battery-I came by Battery A to see
If 1 had any mail from my nom
writing friends in Charlotte. There
weren't any letters. but there was
package which looked about the size
OF steamer trunk. There were
enough cookies inside to feed small
regiment for three days.
The card inside read: Dear Har-
grove: We think your idea about
the cookies is superb. Give Maury
one or two; he's good boy when he
wants to be. Why don't you come
up to Columbus on your furlough?"
It seemed that this beautiful
friendship-with all its fragrant
memories, its happy hours and hell
raising, its beautiful cigarettes,
cookies and Samaritan relatives
was destined to end with the closing
of the basic training cycle here.
1 had already left Battery A for
another residential section a half
mile away. We managed to get to-
gether three or four times a week
for movie, trip to Fayetteville
or pleasant evening of bull-shoot-
Ing at the service club. But even
this was tRpass.
Sher's own 13 weeks we're drawing
to close and he was slated to be
assigned to permanent station as
cook. With sinking hearts we