One thing about being a columnist, rather than a general reporter, is that the columnist can pursue his wretched muse all over the place, ignoring the sound and the fury all about him. Ignoring the NEWS, is what I mean to say. So in spite of frustrations of one kind and another such as are seen on every hand these days, we shall proceed with the usual whimsicalities.
The other day we had some of that fine red beef that comes our way now and then. Your correspondent was standing in the chow line for some time before he realized that the line wasn't moving at all. While he was puzzling over this in his usual diffuse and disorganized manner, he observed Cpl. E. L. McDonald straggling out of the dining hall and asked what the bottleneck might be. "Oh, nothing much," replied the raconteur of Ruthruff and Ryan, "They're just having a little trouble making the horse lie still."
You might gather from this that E. L. is a quick-witted character, and be entirely right. But even his wits couldn't handle the confoozin' situation he got into the other night, which we hope you will think is also amoozin'. Briefly, Ed had at different times six tickets to legitimate shows in town only to wind up by taking his girl to a movie.
He had planned to see "The Voice of the Turtle," but couldn't get tickets for it, so he got on the aisle for "Carmen Jones" and two for "Turtle" the following Saturday. He called his girl to explain, only to find that she already had two for "Turtle." So Ed hastily gets rid of his tabs for both shows. Comes Saturday night. The girl is late. Finally in the middle of Act I they are practically is their seats when a frantic usher swoops down on them. "Sorry," says he, "but your tickets are the matinee."
It was a technicolor picture, though.
A SERGEANT we know was breezing down Massachusetts Avenue on a recent Sunday morning when he noticed a full COLONEL approaching. Our sergeant friend threw his very best highball, and the colonel spoke a pleasant work. "Good morning, Corporal," he said.
Before he could check himself the sergeant replied, "Good morning, Major." The colonel came to a full stop, turned around, hesitated briefly and then laughed out loud. The sergeant took about seven more steps and then clutched something firm to keep from falling on his face.
The ASTP Glee Club, after entertaining itself and its own little circle exclusively for about six months now, decided to extend its services to the world at large, or at least that portion of it which tunes in the Crimson Network.
The 15-minute concert was sung from the Lowell House Common Room Tuesday night with T/5 Robert R. Rogers on the podium. He had technical assistance from T/5 Robert H. Glauber and 8/Sgt George Avakian, piano assistance from Cpl. Charles F. Coffin and of course vocal assistance from the 40-odd songbirds from both companies A and B.