The Ely miner., 1943-10-07

''Git out of there or I'll dump you
out"
ly. Private Busheni is still sleep
ing, with a sweet and childish smile
on his face. I lift a foot and give
him firm shove in the posterior.
"Git out of there, you blankerty-
blanked dash-dash, shiftless, good
for-nothing burn!" I shout, giving
him two or three more shoves. "Git
out Of there or I'll dump you out!"
''Do me favor, Hargrove," he
growls. Crawl off somewhere and
die. Just one more time you're 60
ing to raise that club foot of yours
and I'm going to get up and clip
you one. Now go away"
I reach over and grab the edge
of Bushemi's bunk. joggle it slight
ly to give the impression that I am
just about to overturn the bunk.
Bushemi bounces out of bed, swing
ing wildly. you're going to get
funny just one morning too often,
and I'm going to beat the eternal
perdition out of both of you. It's
getting to the point where it amt
funny" Then he begins mumbling
aimlessly under his breath as he
steps into his trousers.
Somehow, we manage to get into
the second shoe just as the whistle
blows to call us outside. We shiv-
er in the dark cold as section lead
ers call the roll, mostly from men,
ory. The second section of the first
platoon is always the last to finish
roll call. We stand there listening.
"P-o-g-g-i!" 'Hyoh!" "Pulver!"
'Here!" and then the piece de re-
sistence: Peacock" Always the
answer comes in the same way-an
unbelevably deep bass, long-drawn-
out and rumbling: 'Heeeeeeere!"
The second platoon smokers and tit
ters, just as it did the day before,
and the top kick shouts, dis
missed!"
Busherni heads straight back for
his bunk. 'Can me at chowtime,
will your"
Breakfast time arrives and again
we begin the ordeal of getting Bu-
sheni up. He lies there, fully clothed
by this time, with a blanket thrown
over him. "Can me at SEVENTH
teen, will your" After swearing not
to lend him money for coffee at the
Service Club on his way to work,
we strike out for the mess hall. d,
"a
Bill, a friend of Bushemi's and
mine in Charlotte, drives a street
bus. Before he began his service
as driver, he served a hitch in
the Army. Like all ex-service men,
he's ready to drop everything and
just shoot the breeze any time the
conversation turns to the Army.
There was a young first-class
private got on my bus last week."
he told me, 'and he sat in the
long seat behind me, so we got
started talking. Well, I thought I'd
snow him under, telling him about
the time was in the Army. So,
just to start the ball rolling and get
the talk turned to the Army, asked
him how long he'd been in.
"'Oh, I've been in for well over
eight months he said, like he was
just starting his thirtieth year of
service. Then he started wiping his
sleeves so I'd be sure to notice
his private-frst-class stripe.
''I thought I'd let him blow off
about his stripe, so I asked him,
Say, what does that stripe stand
for?'
"fOh, that he said, as much as
to say aw-shucks-that-ain' 't-nothing.
That just means I'm a sergeant >
"'Is that right?' I asked him,
looking sort of widemouthed at him.
'Yessir,' he said, real casual,
'in the Army only eight months and
I've already been made sergeant ,
"'Well, tell me- / said, what
grade of sergeant are you? I've
seen some sergeants have three
stripes and then I've seen them have
as many as six. How come that?'
fTO BE CONTINUED