Evening star., 1946-09-06

cleared the lobby, and, from base.
ment to top floor, the Doughbov.
have taken care of the room to.
room battling.
II 1t were in my power, I woulc
ask Congress to award the manager
OF this hotel a Medal of Honor
Since the 37th checked in he ha.
performed feats far beyond the oal
OF duty and has reflected credit upor
the Hotel Managers Association
With complete disregard for his owr
safety he has moved forward, GOV.
cred only by the small arms fire o1
night managers, assistant managers
cashiers and room service to obtain
his objective-the happiness of the
37th Division.
Dangerous Mission.
Last night it was my privilege tc
watch John Sabrey, manager of the
Commodore Perry, subdue a suite
full of infantrymen singlehandedly
Unarmed save for the right to refuse
to cash check for any in the room
he Knocked on the door and walked
in. No man ever took on a more
dangerous mission. You have read
OF men charging pillboxes filled with
Japs or Germans. You have thrilled
to the reciting of how an American
a flame thrower strapped across his
back, assaulted an enemy strong
hold, but you never saw anything
like this. With only his boutonniere
as arms, Mr.. Sabrey strode in. A
flick of his striped trousers, and in
fantrymen held up their hands. One
flash Of his eyes, and men twice as
big as he quieted down. Soon we
were all prisoners and with quiet
submission allowed ourselves to be
herded into an elevator and dropped
to the basement stockade.
F.. John has put up with quite a LOT
during the three days of this con-
vention. He has had to handle open
fires in the lobby, kindled by men
who are still too close Gin memory
to New Georgia, Guadalcanal, Bou-
gainville and Luzon to have a meal
served to them on white linen
cooked by cooks. Men tore up news
papers and started cooking their own
food. 1t. was pretty sight, to be
sure, but it did not comply with the
safety rules. SPAN sizzling near the
newsstand is against the rules. Imi-
tation salmon throws up fume
which jeopardizes transients. De-
hydrated potatoes are more deadly
than a garageful Of carbon mon
oxide.
Sweat and Tears.
Mgr. Sabrey had another task
and performed it we'll. He intro
duced old friends to old friends. The
last time the men of the 37th were
together was in Luzon. They were
wearing clothes that only the master
tailors of the Quartermaster Corps
could design. Dark green fatigues.
shoes that wouldn't At, and elephant
hats Of the type that you press a
button and one man could lower and
raise it. Mud. Sweat. Blood. Tears.
Churchill. In fact, everything that
could disguise a man as a man. So,
when we gathered here wearing nice
shoes, white shirts. blue suits, brown
suits, salt and pepper suits, no one
could recognize any one.
Men who had shared the same
foxhole passed one another without
a greeting. 1t was too quick a
change from war to civilization. So
Mgr. Sabrey went around as liai-
son officer bringing old friends to-
gether. He did great kindness for
me. A man I had known for 10
years, Dick McGeorge, sports writer
on the Toledo Blade, passed me by
as If were a typhoid carrier. I
passed him as If thought he were
the same thing. I didn't recognize
him. Last time I saw him he was
In Manila with no shoes, no hope of
ever getting any shoes, and a beard
which made Moses look like a
Harper's Bazaar lover.
Mgr. Sabrey introduced us. You
look funny in shoes, Dick" 1 said.
You look funny in a IT shir.
McLemore," McGeorge retorted.
So help me, had forgotten to put
on a shirt.
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