Camp Adair Sentry
August 6, 1942.
<»| ' bed too. A train whistle screams
Vignettes of Army Life____
THE G. I. HAIRCUT
By Pvt. R. C. Johnson
The famed and widely-publicized
•sugar bowl’’ haircut adopted by
(he Army, is the bane of the
rookie’s first few weeks in camp—
when the time inevitably comes for
him to part company with his long
and curly, sleek-with-aromatic-goo,
and glamourous locks. The psycho
logical pain is more deadly than
the physical pain caused by a
dentist’s drill in a bad tooth—but
it must be endured. (Ed. Note:
Rule 17B5 — “The soldier’s hair
must be kept short and neat.”)
So. with dreaded anticipation,
Joe Rookie musters his courage and
drags his reluctant feet into the
G.I. barber shop on the post. He
pauses before he enters, and tend
erly smooths his fingers over his
curly mane, and soberly reflects
how “cute” his Daisybelle thought
he looked. But, brother, it's no use.
Daisybelle must relax and silently
wait for the day when your hair
may grow again—after the dura
tion. He enters. The barber smiles
warmly; Joe leers.
“I take it you want a regular
haircut?” asks the barber, know
ing full well all the while exactly
what Joe came in for.
Timidly and weak in voice, Joe
mutters, “Yes------but NOT TOO
SHORT!”
“O. K.. son, just sit here.”
Joe sits. What an ordeal. To Joe
the buzz of the electric clippers is
the drone of a dive bomber—and
he knows the results will be as
devastating. Just grin and bear it,
Joe. Your hair will keep on grow
ing.
Then it’s over. Too late now.
Cautiously and with fear Joe ap
proaches the mirror. “Gad, I’m
RUINED!” he yells. “What will
Daisybelle ever say if she sees me
like this?” But it’s too late now,
Joe. We told you that before.
With hope for revenge, some day,
Joe pays the barber and hurries
away—right smack into Pete and
Jim, his buddies — at least he
thought they were his buddies.
“Why didn’t ya give the barber
an extra dime and let him use the
bowl with the fancy edges,” Joe
hears them say in unison. Joe
burns. Pete and Jim howl.
And so Joe retreats to his bunk,
and makes the supreme effort to
make himself invisible—mentally,
if not physically.
Buck up, Joe. Your hair will
grow again. )n a couple of weeks.
Then you can get ANOTHER hair-
cut. And another bow], maybe.
Tent City Soldier
Reproduces Evening
Routine Under Canvass
able rasp of the city pavements i
(sounds like them Dead End Kids
in the movies, says the Westerner).
“It’s your turn to fill that water I
bucket.” “When this war is over
I'm goin’ back to the farm and lie
on my----- for six whole months!" |
“Hey, yardbird, ya know you got 1
KP tomorrow?”.. “My ------ pay
check all asked for before I even
get it!" “It sounds sort* silly, don’t
it, but we made an agreement.
Every night at eight I get out her
picture and look at it and she does
the same back there.” “Me that’s
never done nothing but tickle the
keys in a night club—pushing those
crates!” “Wonder what they're
doin’ home right now — wish I
could see.”
The voices die down. The moon
comes up slowly, like a stage prop,
tremendous and jaundice yellow.
At home the families are going to
Towards nine o’clock of a cool
Oregon evening the sallow light of
the fading day shows signs of leav
ing tent city altogether. The
DEML’s, those sturdy packhorses
«f a camp a’building, are prepar
ing to saw wood in preparation for
next day’s wood detail. Somewhere
a melancholy guitar strums—and
someone brushes an accompaniment
on his teeth. A mixture of voices
rises to the sky where once only
the crickets’ chirp disturbed a
deeping farm field. Western voices,
that somehow combine a slur and
abruptness of speech at the same
time (they all sound like hayseed
farmers, says the New Yorker) —
Ea stern voices, with the indefin-
“Wherever you’re working—in office or shop.
And however far you may be from the top—
And though you may think you’re just treading the mill,
Don’t ever belittle the job that you fill;
For, however little the job may appear,
You're just as important as some little gear
That meshes with others in some big machine.
That helps keep it going—though never is seen.
They could do without you—we’ll have to admit—
Rut business keeps on. when the big fellows quit!
And always remember, my lad, if you can.
The job’s more important—(oh, yes).—than the man!
So if it’s your hope to stay off the shelf,
Think more of your job than you do of yourself.
Your job is important—don't think it is not—
So try hard to give it the best that you’ve got!
And don't ever think you're of little account—
Remember, you’re part of the total amount.
If they didn't need you, you wouldn’t be there—
So. always, my lad. keep your chin in the air.
A digger of ditches, mechanic, or clerk—
Think well of your company, yourself, and your work!"
—The Tax Dodger, Albany.
COOTIE — The army arithmetic
| a distant banshee wail—that train bug. He adds to your troubles, sub
tracts from your pleasures, divides
might be going home.
your attention, and multplies like
hell.
MOIDER IN NEW JOISEY
I Toity poiple boids a-sitting on a
coib
I
A-choiping and a-boiping and a-
eating doity woims.
Along came Boil and a skoit named
Goit
U ho woiked in a shoit factory over
in Joisey
When Boit and the skoit Goit
Saw the toity poipie boids a-sitting
on the coib,
A-choiping and a-boiping an a-eat-
ing doity woims,
Boy, was they poitoibed.
BED CHECK — Done to be sure
no soldier has smuggled a blonde
into the barracks. (If a blonde is
found she is to be confiscated by
the first sergeant).
MILITARY
EQUIPMENT
f/Z// /oi Settice
Vf ll-THIN*
LEXINGTON
’ S
for
Officers and
Enlisted Men
*33”
• MG1STW»
’•art MAR*
rwcis INClUOt Ht»«AL TAX
ARMY STORE
3rd & Monroe
Corvallis, Ore.
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1
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Wm. KONICK
Jeweler
Est 1913
Corner Second & Madison Sts.
Telephone 4F5, Corvallis