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HERE’S “A WOMAN’S EYE VIEW”
OF AN AMERICAN TRAINING CAMP
(Tlds is the first instalment of a descriptive story about Camp Kearney,
written especially for “Trench and Camp,” by a clever and observantfemi
ninc writer, Tbe excluding instalment will appear in the next issue of
••Trench and Camp.”)
By RUTH DURKEE
(Editor of the Dally Trojan, University of Southern California.)
“I don’t want to go home,
I don’t want to go home,
For I'm having a wonderful time,”
whined the carwheele as we hurried
homeward. Here I was, just becoming
reconciled to being a woman all my
life, when along came the army and
upset my equilibrium. I don't like
being upset. It’s painful. I wish
I were born to be a soldier. Being
a girl isn't half bad if you’re as lucky
as I, but if I had my life to live over
I should certainly apply to head
quarters for a man’s commission in
the army.
Yes. after being threatened at the
point of a gun and being requested
to leave Camp Kearney three times
with more force than elegance, I
like ths army, army camps and army
life. And I realize that, as one
sergeant remarked to me, a soldier’s
life is no dream, either, unless it be
a nightmare.. Neither K. P. nor M.
P. can be called joyful experiences.
But still I like it. Uniforms are very
becoming,
“Not a Drum Was Heard”
We rode the fourteen miles from
city to camp that first morning in a
Ford. Just before we reached camp
we saw a road gang in the newest of
blue overalls digging what looked
like an irrigation ditch, and work
ing as if the boss were away and they
knew it. I admit I was surprised to
see they were soldiers. In overalls—
and digging! Where, oh where were
the brass buttons, the gold braid, the
swords and guns? There wasn’t even
a band, that indispensable >:ob
paniment of the army, to cheer the
boys to victory over the rocky
ground. One ideal shattered, I
thought with disappointment. But
the sun still shone and the Ford
rambled on.
Over on the left appeared rows
and rows of khaki-colored tents and
long, low buildings that looked like
cow sheds. Since the rest of the
ground was a sagebrush desert it
took imagination to decide that that
must be the camp. Here the road
turned and a man in uniform came
out of the real estate office on the
tract to stop us. I was just going to
tell him that we did not want to buy
any land or take up a claim when he
asked to see my pass
As we entered, a number of ambu
lances and some artillery passed
out. Everybody was laughing and
talking. They didn’t take it at all
seriously. They might have been go
ing on a picnic instead of to the artil
lery range. Then as we rode along
I found out that the sheds were what
you call mess halls, but the-y looked
quite neat to me. Everyone slept
in tents, and I surely felt sorry for
them, freezing in winter and mosqul
toed in summer, but an officer told
me" that they are planning to build
wooden barracks. Tents are too ex
pensive, lasting a year.
Every now and then we passed an
orderly galloping down tbe street
and cutting corners better than our
Ford could. Yonder was a soldier
r/rolling along with apparently not
a care in the world and ready to flirt
upon no provocation at all. Soon
we came to the downtown district
and stopped at the Y. M. C. A. Ad
ministration building, where we
found my host, the local Trench and
Camp editor, under a pile of debris,
reading a carload of poems contrib
uted by various company poeta. Most
of them sang the praises of the girls
they left behind them. Second in
popularity were the odes to the beat
known.member of the House of Ho
henzollern. Tho editor crawled forth,
straightened to his full height and
peered down at ma from under his
green eyeshade. He would be ready
in a short while. Until then I might
wait here, or over at the Hostess
House. I went to the Hostess House.
A Idttle Bit of Home
The Hostess House was a home, in
spirit if not in fnct. But there
weren't any girls there either. Men,
men everywhere. I never knew
there were so many men in the world
until I visited that camp. Several
were sitting around on the porch.
Regular summer resort, I decided.
Inside three were lounging on a
cushioned seat before a huge log fire
-—on a hot day. Some were writing
at the various tables around the
room. Two were giving us a vic
trola concert which varied in selec
tions from “Some Sunday Morning”
to Alma Gluck and John McCormack.
A short, wild-looking Jjttle man in
civilian clothes grabbed the piano
stool and began to pound out popular
music of the vintage of 1900 io
Page 14
TRENCH AND CAMP
petition. The victrola operators re
treated in disgust. Nothing is more
annoying to the sensitive ear, I
judge, than popular music beyond its
third season.
‘‘He does that every time," said
one, so I offered to take the piano
stool the next time he arose to make
a "new” selection.
"Go to it,” they said, and I did. I
couldn't play any better than he
could, but they said at least I played
in a different tempo.
Two girls came in, tired but expec
tant-eyed. He would be There. They
had come two hundred miles to see
him. They waited. Finally they in
quired of one of the men if he could
tell them where to find him. Yee, he
belonged to that regiment. Did he
know George? No, but he could find
out about him.
George was quarantined at the
base hospital.
It wasn't very long before Mr. Edi
tor arrived and we set forth to view
the Pike "an' everything." On the
left was the postoffice, a large, barn
like structure; over there the library,
with about ten empty shelves to each
one filled with books (no wonder they
needed a book drive!) and the poat
exchange, where one can buy any
thing except hairpins.
For lunch we were with an ambu
lance company that claims Ruth St.
Denis as its godmother. That's an
other nice thing about being a sol
dier; you get a beautiful and famous
woman as your godmother in addi
tion to all your other relatives
Mess Too “Spoony”
Meas was ready I stood in line
with the rest of them, my kit out
ready for service. There was just
one trouble with that kit. Each part i
was too big, especially the spoon. I
don’t know what size mouths most
men have, but I might as well have
tried to feed myself with a coal
shovel as with that spoon. The cup
also was devised with groat ingenu
ity. One never knew when the han
dle was going to slip out of place to
help one lose tbe contents. The eats
were fine. It was fiahday and the
fish was cocked as well as if the cook
were the Ritz-Carlton chef. Also
there was plenty of everything—
PLENTY.
We sat on benches like those at a
stock ranch bunkhoues. There was
no tablecloth, for which I knew the
laundress was thankful. The floor
was covered with sawdust like a cir
cus ring, so I wasn’t surprised when
I looked vp to see a man flapping
his arms slowly .and carefully, his
head on one side, looking for all the
world like an American eagle.
“Do you usually have a cabaret?”
I asked.
“Oh, that’s Ted Shawn,” said the
man next to me. "He enlisted in
this company, and hi-, wife, Ruth St
Denis, has adopted the company. She
gives us our breakfast every Tues
day morning.”
Awfully Scientific
After mess everyone washes his
own dishes. Army dishwashing is
reduced to a science, worthy of note
in Good Housekeeping. Two pails of
water are set outside the door—one
soapy, tho other clear. If you eat
little and oat that little fast, you
have the opportunity of washing your
utensils in fairly hot and, clean water.
The glutton has his just reward when
his turn comes at the cold and greasy
liquid.
While I waited I inspected the
kitchen. One man wae cutting up a
flank of beef in an entirely original
manner. I asked him sweetly if he
was a professional butcher, but he
glared at me and snapped, “Hardly.”
I decided that I liked the other side
of the room best. Men don’t seem
to like work in the kitchen, do they?
Now personally I should feel more at
home there than on the parade
ground.
Two soldiers came in. dragging an
unwilling comrade between them.
The sergeant began an inquisition.
"What’s wrong with you?" he
asked.
“Bunk fatigue,” answered his
brothers in K. P. for him.
"Did yer get permission?”
The culprit nodded his head in
assent.
“Yes, SIR,” snarled the non-com.,
and began a short but concentrated
lecture on the afterlife of naughty
little boys who run away from K. P.
After seeing big, strong men cook
ing, washing dishes, washing clothes,
scrubbing floors, peeling potatoes and
onions, I can see some advantages in
marrying a soldier—-if one must
marry* . .
STYLE
HEADQUARTERS
You officers who realize the im
pc-tance of wearing uniforms that
arj"'*•* in every detail will be In keeping
gsp with your rank will appreciate the
9 Inj B ultra-military effect and smartness of
(f -ift uniforms tailored by the makers of
I Society Brand and
II W 11 Kuppenheimer Clothes
| '/// I Officers’ uniforms in Khaki, Gabar-
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jrigtl. had from our large stock or ordered
- - made to your individual measure-
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Ju to jgg
7
"Style Headquarters”—Where Society Brand and Kuppenheimer Clothes are sold
DR. LANIER. DR. MABRY. DR. DUNCAN.
UNION DENTAL PARLORS
d»p Largest and Best Equipped Offices South.
Best Work at Lowest Prices
Gold Crownss3, $4, $5.00
U Bridgess4, $5.00
All work Guaranteed Fillings .50c, 75c, SI.OO
10 Years. Painless Extractionssoc
I
1052 Broad Street. Over Goldberg’s
AUGUSTA, GEORGIA. Phone 120 S.
I Soldiers, Attention! I
I HAVE THE AUGUSTA I
I HERALD I
(2 LEASED WIRES, BOTH ASSOCIATED
PRESS AND UNITED PRESS DISPATCHES)
Delivered to Your Company Street
Every Evening and Sunday Morning
I 60 CENTS A MONTH. I
I 'ls CENTS A WEEK. I
I MAIL THIS COUPON-TODAY. I
THE AUGUSTA HERALD:—
■K 9 B
Please deliver to me The Augusta Herald
every afternoon and on Sunday morning one
month, for which I agree to pay 60 cents.
Name
CoOganization
Camp TTancpck,
Augusta, Ga. H
j uhhbhihhhhhhbhhhhhhbihhbmhbbl
May ZD.
