The Ely miner., 1943-09-23

tttttttttt
boys, newly yanked from home or
school, accustomed to an easy-going
and usually painless life. You share
each others illness, fatigue, despair.
When Happy Menza grows home
sick for Buffalo and McGlaufiin
starts wistful reminiscing about
the lakes and forests of Minnesota,
you are homesick for them rather
than for yourself. You are compan-
ions tested in misery.
Friday night was probably the last
evening the boys of my old crowd
would be together. At least, it was
the last evening they were sure of
being together. The following day
they were to 60 home for a weeks
furlough. On their return, next Mon
day, they will be assigned to their
permanent stations to enter the field
as soldiers. So they arranged to
hold a party Friday night on the
river beyond Fayetteville.
When we rode to the river in our
chartered bus, we rang the welkin
with the old songs-the family fra
grant songs you pick up through
the years and the ''Caisson Song"
and ''Old King Cole" that you learn
IN the Army. They were boisterous,
those songs, but melancholy strain
ran under all of them.
At the party we ate barbecue and
we drank beer and we recalled the
best anecdotes of the training cycle.
We sang and we shouted. Two or
three of the boys dipped little too
deep into the keg and became slight
ly sentimental. And although the
food and the beer were the best, the
songs were the songs we loved and
the anecdotes were the cream of the
season, it was empty Joy. It had
dull undercurrent of sorrow.
It was the sort of feeling that you
know IN the last hour before the
New Years bells, the feeling that
reaches its fullest when 'Auld Lang
Syne" is heard.
Since we left our homes last July
we've learned a lot. Drills and
rifles, pup tents and gas masks, all
Of that.
This, though-the scattering of our
first fraternity-is another thing we
have learned, now and for the first
time. It is our first lesson in new
kind of homesickness, bred only in
the Army.
"a
"Private Hargrove, said to my
self, 'you have been doing quite
too much gallivanting lately. There
have been too many movies, too
many bull sessions, too many hours
spent at the Service Club and too
much time spent flirting with that
cute little waitress at the delicates-
sen in Fayetteville. Tonight, Pri-
vate Hargrove, you will take this in
teresting and improving book, read
it until Lights Out and go to bed
promptly at nine o'clock"
There was a little back talk, a
little argument, a little entreaty.
However, the forces of Truth and
Progress prevailed. Immediately
after supper I adjourned to the
squadroom, arranged myself COM
fortably on my bunk and dug into
the interesting book. Peace and
quiet held sway about me.
AS luck would have it, this same
sudden decision toward a Quiet eve
ming at Home struck several fellow
members of the squadroom at the
same time. Six or seven nearby
hunks sported occupants who usu-
ally disdained the comforts of home
until at least nine o'clock. Books
were brought out from the foot lock-
ers, pens and papers made their
appearance, and one ambitious and
energetic flower of the nation even
got out his shoe polish and went to
work
Private Wesley Sager, late of Am
sterdan, New York, grew weary of
the quiet. Yawning widely, he rolled
over in bed and with a sudden
swoop yanked the pillow from be-
meath the head of Private Melvin
Hart. "Yippee," screamed Private
Sager, tossing the pillow across the
squadroon to willing accomplice.
"Yippee," screamed the willing ac-
complice, tossing the pillow back to
Private Sager.
Private Hart rose and retrieved
his pillow with dignity and formai-
ty. He placed it on his bunk,
smoothed it and laid his head upon
it. Three privates sighed in resigna-
ton. The incorrigibles were at it
again.
Private Sager lay quiet for a
while. Then he broke into a loud,
regular, but unconvincing snore. The
| three signing privates did not re-
turn to their occupations, but lay IN
philosophic expectation. Once the
boys IN that corner got started,
nothing but physical exhaustion
could stop them.
Private Sager turned as if tossing
in his sleep. Private Hart noted
the move and held his book ready
TO strike if a hand came toward
his pillow. Private Sager turned
again, facing away from Private
Hart, and Private Hart relaxed his
vigil. When he did, the hand shot
out once more and the pillow sailed
across the room and into waiting
arms.
Again Private Hart retrieved the
pillow and again he lay down.
"Why," he asked, must you behave
like a two-year-old infant? Can't
you act like a normal adult?"
''Sure I can," Private Sager re-
piled. Kindly step outside with me
and put UP your fists"
Private Hart gave vent to a quiet
and gentlemanly oath. please do
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