The Wilmington morning star., 1944-01-05
BY KENNETH WALSH


I want to show you bit of hallowed ground
it is the Arlington Cemetery OF the South
Pacific; it is the Valhalla Of American service
men. I'm going to show you this bit of ground,
but it will be done the nard way. Come with
me up Sealark Channel at dawn of day in
August.
Yes. Mr.. stiker, 1 want you 10 stand at
the rail with these men, nerves drawn as taut
as violin string-mouths dry, eyes strained
to the breaking point, breath coming in short
gasps of fear-that awful feeling of nothing
ness in the pits of theil stomachs. The OBJ
jective comes into Wow, the time has come
for these to step out on the stage, and
they know full well that death plays the lead
ing role in this theater
There they go over the side of the big
Transportation Jones, Dick Brown, H rry
Smith. Hand-over-hand they crawl down the
cargo nets into their small craft that is to
take them to a rendezvous with that death.
You know, it's death-it is in the destiny of
these men.
The first objective is reached-the cocoanut
grove at the waters edge. Men down
never to rise again, other men move up to
take the places of the fallen. the main OBJ
jective is an airfield beyond, that fringe of
cocoanut trees, and as though God himself
has pulled the curtain on this brutal stage,
their movements become vague and finally
obliterated and these movements become lost
to you. The uncertainty, the Utter feeling of
helplessness leaves the element of time sus-
pended in the helllsh hot sun of the tropics.
| Close your eyes, Mr. Railroad Worker close
them tight; it is another day, in another
month; your hands are gripping another rail,
the inevitable cocanut tree rail that separates
the living from the dead in these areas of
war. You can open your eyes now, Mr.. Coal
Miner, open them wide. Yes, the seeds that
have been planted have grown into bloom;
the bloom is the row upon low Of white
| crosses that meet the eye. These men have
paid the price in full for just seven small
acres of ground, but seven of the most impor-
| tant acres of ground ever owned by Uncle
Sam.
Restful isn't it, peaceful ard quiet-yes,
quiet with eternal peace. Read the epitaphs,
Mr. Labor Leader, they tell a story in them
| selves-America, the Land of the Free. There's
| Star of David beside pair Of rosary beads
owned by some Irishman. A captain of Ma
rnes and a colored boy from Georgia sleep
side by side-a lieutenant from Indiana,
sailor from North Dakota, an aviator from
Ohio, from here, from there, from every star
in the flag. a cross in the ground. Tom Jones,
Dick Brown, Harry Smith, It's their home
now, some 1000 miles from home These
men were making $50 month, MIR. Striker,
$50 a month, room and board.
When you were a kid, Mr. Striker, you
studied about the American heritage Of life,
liberty and the pursuit of happiness" Well,
read it again and then again, study it, delve
back into the pages Ut American history and
show me anything in the American creed of
living that will justify your wartime strikes.
Come out here with US in these South Pacific
waters and stay while. Eat our chow, sleep
in our sacks, watch us work, help us fight
these jungle flies, help us xiii notwithstanding
mosquitoes. Walk with through the mud
and the slime of the swamps OF these jungle
islands, walk with us in the sweltering, steamy
heat of a MONDAY sun. Their isn't any air.
conditioning out here, Mr.. c. ]. O., and there
isn't any way you can strike fol it, either.
| You haven't even the time to think about it.
Come with me to the bridge over the jungle
| river. l want you to see someone who would
make you ashamed of that extra SO cents an
hour you get in your pay envelope. He's Just
| 17-year-old kid that the brass hats put on
| duty at this infrequent bridge for the simple
reason that he isn't sure OF himself any more.
! Did l hear you ask what's wrong with him?
| He was on a destroyer that took three fish
amidships and blew up Mr.. Twenty-Dollar-
a-Day-Man. His brother was on that ship,
too. There were but few survivors from
a crew of 300, and his brother was not among
them: He's plainly shell-snockeo. Talk to him
a while, watch him; he'll breS--: your heart,
man. if you have one. Did you ask me how
much money he makes? It's S5C month,
Mr.. Welder-$50 a month, room and board.
And here's guy I want you to meta
left handed Marine. What's remarkable
about that? I should make myself clear. He's
learning to be left-handed Marine. Jap
slashed off his right hand at the wrist as
he was climbing out of foxhole on Guadal-
canal He is making $50 month, room and
board. Ask him how near sighted the Jap is
reputed to be. He'll tell you that in a morn
ing check-up no less than % of his buddies
were found dead at their posts, shot through
the head, Mr. Stacker. Found 1000 miles from
| 49, b0,n m
saken bit of land. Not very nice to hear
about, is it? But it's the brutal truth. Think
/ about it the next time you sit over a big
steak dinner in your comfortable home.
| See that boy sitting over there on that
hatch cover, Mr. A. F. of L.? He's only
22-just a boy, maybe the ore that lived
down the street from you. He looks down in
the mouth, doesn't ne? Why shouldn't he?
Some time this week his wife is going to
have baby, but he's not going to be there
when it happens. He has TO stay out here
for the duration. Wonder i! it's boy
! or a girl; hope it's BOY. | wonder if my
wife is well. Please, God. she doesn't die
she can't die-Tve got 10 get home" Fifty
dollars a month, MI. Steel Worker, $50 a
month, room and board.
| ship today is bringing IN a cargo of
human suffering. Come down to the quay
with me and witness the transition of young
America
The men on the wharf become tense the
music has a sound to it thai is OF the infinity
as all eyes are strained toward the slowly
descending gangway. The first man OF these