The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1944-01-20
HERE, MR.. STRIKER"

The author of this article is a
sailor aboard a warship some
where in the South Pacific The
story was first published in his
home town newspaper, the
Muncie, Ind, Press.
BY KENNETH WALSH
| want to show you a bit of hal
lowed ground - it is the Arlington
cemetery of the South Pacific; it is
the Valhalla of American service
men, Pm going to show you this bit
of ground, but it will be done the hard
way. Come with me up Sealark Chan
mel at dawn Of a day in August.
Yes, Mr. Striker, | want you to
stand at the rail with these men
nerves drawn as taut as a violin
string-mouths dry, eyes strained tc
the breaking point, breath coming in
short gasps of fear-that awful feel
ing of nothingness in the pits of then
stomachs. The objective comes into
view, the time has come for these men
to step out on the stage, and they
know full we'll that death plays the
leading role in this theater.
There they go over the side of the
big transport - Tom Jones, Dick
Brown, Harry Smith, Hand hand
down the cargo nets into their small
craft that is to take them to a rem
devious with that death. You know
it's death-it is in the destiny of these
men.
The first objective is reached the
coconut grove at the waters edge
Men are down never to rise again
other men move up to take the places
Of the fallen. The main objective is ar
airfield beyond that fringe of coconut
trees, and as though God himself has
pulled the curtain on this brutal
stage, their movements become lost
to you.
The uncertainty, the utter feeling
of helplessness leaves the element OF
time suspended in the hellish hot sun
Of the tropics.
Close your eyes, Mr.. Railroad
Worker, close them tight; it is an
other day, in another month; youl
hands are gripping another rail, the
inevitable cocOnut 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 row 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 important acres OF
ground over owned by Uncle Sam.
Restful, isn't it, peaceful and quiet
yes, quiet with eternal peace Read
the epitaphs, Mr.. Labor Leader, they
will tell a story in themselves-Amer-
lea, the Land Of the Free
There's Star of David beside a
rosary owned by some Irishman.
A captain of marines and 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 town now
some 1000 miles from home. These
men were making $50 a month, Mr.
Striker $50 month, room and board
When you were kid, Mr.. Striker
you studied about the American herit-
age of 'life, liberty and the pursuit
of happiness"
Well, read it again and then read
again. study it; dclvc back into pages
of American history and show me any
thing that will justify your wartime
strikes.
Come out here with us in these
South Pacific waters and stay a
while. Eat our chow, sleep in our
sacks, watch us work, help us fight
these jungle flies, help us kill ma
laria-bearing mosquitoes. Walk with
us through the mud and the slime of
the swamps of these jungle islands;
walk with us in the swcltering
steamy heat of MONDAY sun.
There isn't any air-conditioning out
here, Mr.. c. |. o., and there isn't any
way you can strike for it, either. You
/ haven't even the time to think about
it.
Come with me to the bridge over
the jungle river. | want YOU to sec
someone who would make YOU
ashamed of that extra fifty cents an
hour you get in your pay envelope
He's just a l7-year-old kid that the
brass hats put on duty at this in
frequent bridge for the simple reason
that he isn't sure Of himself any more
Did | hear you ask what's wrong
with him.
He was on destroyer that took
three fish" amidships and blew up
Mr.. Twcnty-Dolar-a Man. His
brother was on that ship, too. There
were but a few survivors from crew
Of 300, and his brother was not
among them. He's plainly shell