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Image provided by: New York State Military History Museum
12 GAS ATTACK GAY LIFE IN CHARLOTTE A Former 27th Division Man Tells How Camp Greene Men Spend Their Free Evenings. E d itor’s Note—Corporal Howard A. H e rty now of the F ir s t New H a m p shire Infantry was a steady and valued contributor to the Gas Attack w h en he was a m em ber of Co. A, 102d M ilitary Police at Camp W adsw o rth. As a lot of men we know are up a t Char lotte at Camp Greene, we asked Corp. H e rty to act as our special correspondent there. Corp. H e rty has taken his trusty Underwood in hand and sent us the following story of the wild tim es he has in C h arlotte. * * * A fter R e treat, the adventurous youth sal lies forth into the bright lights of town in search of am u sem ent. A m usem ent is usu ally sought in one of two places: the res taurants or movies. It is more frequently sought than found. B ear with me, while I go to the best ■ th e a tre in tow n : Of course it’s raining. It alw ays rains w hen we have a chance to go to town. The first thing to be done, is to get a pass. This is done in the m o st com p licated way con ceivable. F irst, I obtain perm ission from the Top Sergeant to speak to the Captain. A fter this privilege has been granted, I pro ceed to the C a p tain’s tent and gently rap upon his door. ‘'Come in,” invites the Captain. Instead of “coming in,” I meekly push the door open, and in a fluster of bew ilderm ent try to say: “Sir, I have the F irst Ser g e a n t’s perm ission to address the Captain on subject of pass.” “Very well, w h ere do you w a n t to go, and w h a t are your reasons?” inquires his honor. “Er, ah, I, oh, yes, I would like to go to Taps until Town tonight, because some of my relatives ju s t arrived today.” “All right, have the Top-Sergeant make out a pass.” Leaving the tent like a m an just released from jail, I proceed back to the “Topper” and he reluctantly m akes out the pass. He Gets a Pass. A fter m aking out the pass, the “Topper” instructs me to go to the Colonel for his approval. This is the m o st unkindest cut of all. Approaching the Colonel’s lair, I present my case to him, and evidently he is m ore interested in my w elfare than the Captain was. He asked me when I was to town last, w h en my relatives w ere going home, and in fact everything but my opin ion on W oman Suffrage. He finally signed it w ith my fountain pen, and he had so m uch trouble w ith the pen th a t I thought he was going to keep the pass. Even at th a t I had to tell him th a t the pen he was put ting in his pocket was mine. Safely folding the docum ent th a t dis played everything except my photograph, I started in search of a trolley car. By this tim e it was raining very hard and the mud was knee-deep. In the dim dis tance I could see the car. It was standing still. Summoning up all my energy I dashed through the mud in the general direction of the w aiting car. Occasionally I stepped into a spot th a t was once a well, but on I struggled. If I m issed this car, I probably couldn’t get another before peace would be declared. I was going along in great style, moving w ith all the graceful dexterity of a tank, w h en a sonorous greeting brought me to a halt. “Got a pass?” “Sure,” I breathlessly gasped. “Well, let’s lamp it.” A fter getting alm o st completely un dressed, I found the pass and showed it to the guard, and honestly I don’t believe he knew how to read. Anyway, he m anaged to get it all w et before saying, “’S all right.” I knew th a t much before he stopped me, but I w a sn’t anxious to engage in any fur ther conversation w ith him so I hurried on. The car was still waiting, but I was certain I’d miss it by about two steps. N e a rer and nearer I came, and w ith a final burst of speed m anaged to get a strangle hold on the railing. By this time, I was alm o st completely exhausted, and helplessy staggered into a seat. Fifteen m inutes pass. A n o ther fifteen, and then some and the car hadn’t moved. He Takes a Trolley to Town. Two men w ith exceptionally large fitting blue uniform s, em erged from an adjacent lunch-room. As they near the car, I discov ered th a t they were the crew. The motor- m an entered the front, and the conductor entered the rear. Thinking they were go ing to start, I pulled my h a t on a little tighter, m u ttered a few words of resignm e n t and gripped the sides of the seat. “W aal, w h at do ye say, Jess, shall we go?” This was the motorm an. “W a it a m inute, Zeke, Ah left m ah hat in the lunch room.” This was the conductor. W ith all the speed and agility peculiar to southern conductors he stepped forth into the atm o sphere. I w atched him intently. Suddenly, as the wind blew his hat in the mud, he m u st have realized th a t he hadn’t left it in the lunch room, as he actually stooped and picked it up. W h ile engaged in brushing it off, he displayed a shaven neck th a t would have made a W e st Hoboken plum b er green w ith envy. R e turning to his colleague in crime he said: “Ah thot ah left m ah hat in th a t err lunch room, but ah guess ah didn’t. I know ah left som ething in thar.” “Perhaps it was yesterday’s paper you left. Ah rem e m b e r you bought one,” sug gested the m otorm an. “W ell, never mind it, ahm a sport, le t’s go,” said the conductor and I was mighty glad th a t the m o torm an didn’t notice the mud spots in his six-sizes-too-large celluloid collar, or they would have w aited to polish that. At length, and for some unknow n reason, the car started. I’ll not dwell any further on the incidents of the journey; suffice it to say th a t th e r e ’s some things worse than the U-boat m enace or M eatless Tuesdays. He Goes to a Vaudeville Show. A lighting from the car, I traversed the m ain thoroughfare until I encountered the gilded establishm e n t of m irth. The lobby contained divers posters of interest, dis played in gorgeous colors. W as it the pic tures of the scantily clothed “G allagher Sis ters” th a t interested me m ostly? Twice did I scan the stunning poses of “La P e tite B a b e tte,” and blushingly I adm it th a t I didn't even notice the nam es of the Black face Comedians. Feeling in a much better fram e of mind than I could possibly conceive, considering my trolley car experience, I elbowed my way to the box office. “One ticket, please,” I ventured. “In the O rchestra?” inquired the encased robber. “Go ahead,” I said, “I im agine they’re a pretty decent bunch of fellows, although I don’t play anything m y self.” Looking at me in blank am azem ent, the ticket man proceeded to give me ten cents excessive change, which I hurriedly re turned and told him to buy him self a drink. He said he couldn’t buy a drink in town, but he didn’t offer to give me back the dime. E n tering the theatre, a dainty little m aid with a powdered face and soiled spats es corted me to Row “H,” and lost in my ad m iration for her, I followed her betw een the seats to the end. Then she reached over in Row “I” and pointed to the seat I was to occupy. As gracefully as possible, I about-faced, and m arched out of Row “H ” and w aited for her. Thinking I m ight oc casion a conversation, I ventured: “H ave I the pleasure of sitting in Row “I” ? “Yes,” she smiled, and paused for my next rem a rk which came presently. “It looks like ‘L’, doesn’t it?” “S i r ! ” and she left. At length I becam e seated. My antici pated adm iration for “La P e tite B a b e tte” becam e stronger when the program dis closed th a t she was the “Famous Dainty French Singing Comedienne.” Suddenly, and w ithout warning, the Or chestra burst forth in a pandem o n ium of discord. They w ere rendering “W illiam Tell,” and believe me, they rendered poor W illiam limb from limb. Next came the H e arst-Selig W eekly. I could tell it was still raining, as each and every scene splashed and spattered. The “latest new s” gave inform ation concerning (Continued on page 36)
