Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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PAGE FOUR THE NEWEERRY SUN Friday, January 21. 1944 1218 College Street NEWBERRY, SOUTH CAROLINA O. F. ARMFIELD Editor and Publisher Published Every Friday In The Year Entered as second-class matter December 6, 1937, at tht postoflice at Newberry, South Carolina, under the Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. A VOICE FROM OVERSEAS Kenneth Walsh, who is fighting in the South Pacific, went to a picture show somewhere in the Pacific war zone, and they saw pictures of strikes in America. He wrote to his hometown paper, the Munice, Ind., Evening Press, say ing, “I should like very much to con vey my feelings and those of thou sands upon thousands of service men on this subject to the ones back home. Here is what he wrote for publica tion: I want to show you a bit of hal lowed ground—it is the Arlington Cemetery of the South Pacific; it is the Valhalla of American senice men. I’m going to show you this bit of ground, but it will be done the hard way. Come with me up Sealark Channel on that dawn of Aug. 7, 1942. The feeling of living in a vacuum tells you that this is the thing that these men waited for so long. Like actors that have rehears ed well their lines, the marines and sailors stand there in the hush of the opening curtain. Yes, Mr. Striker, I want you to stand at the rail with these men, nerves drawn as taut as a violin string—mouth dry, eyes strained to the breaking point, breath coming in short gasps of fear—that awful feel ing of nothingness in the pit of your stomach. The objective comes into view, the time has come for these men to step out on the stage, and they know full well that death plays the leading role in this theater. There they go over the side of the big transport, Tom Jones, Dick. Brown, Harry Smith, hand-over hand they crawl down the cargo nets into their small craft that is to take them to a rendezvous with that death. You know it’s death—it is in the destiny of these men. An attempt at a small joke a few scattered laughs, as the small craft .pull away from the protection of the mother ship.^ The first objective is reached—the cocoanut grove at the water’s edge. Men are down never o rise again, but like some great tidal wave, other men move up to take the places of the fallen. The main objective is an airfield beyond that fringe of cocoa- nut trees, and as though God Himself has pulled the curtain on this brutal stage, xheir movements become vague and finally obliterated and these movements become lost to you. The uncertainty, the utter feeling of help lessness leaves the element of time suspended in the hellish hot sun of the tropics. Close your eyes, Mr. Defense Plant Worker, close them tight; it is anoth er day, in another month; your hands are gripping another rail, the inevi table cocoanut tree rail that separ ates the living from the dead in these areas of war. You can open your eyes now, Mr. Coal Miner, open them wide. Yes, the seeds that have been planted have grown into bloom; the bloom is the row upon row of white croses that meet the eye. These men have paid the price in full for just seven acres ef ground, but seven of the most important acres of ground ever owned by Uncle Sam. Restful, isn’t it, peaceful and quiet —yes, quiet with eternal peace. Read the epitaphs, Mr. Labor Leader, they tell the story in themselves—Ameri ca, the Land of the Free. One sees the Star of David beside a pair of rosary beard owned by some Irish man. A captain of marines and a colored boy from Georgia sleep side by side—a lieutenant from Indiana, a sailor from North Dakota, an avi ator from Ohio, from here, from there, from every star in the flag, a cross in the ground. Tom Jones, Dick Brown, Harry Smith. It’s their home now, some 7000 miles from home. These men were making S50 a month, Mr. Striker, $50 a month, room and board. Mr. John L. Lewis, look up into the misty blue of yon mountain top that frames this cemetery, is that a vision I see? Is that the murmuring of the trade winds, or is it some message He is trying to convey to you and yours? I believe I hear it, ( think it is a message, and the nurmuring seems to say, “Father, forgive them, for they know not .vhat they do.” “For the want of a nail the shoe was lost, for the want of the shoe the horse was lost, for the want . of the”. . . .We got some news out here the other day, Mr. Labor Leader, the tind of news that hurts, the kind of lews that makes a man wonder if this thing is worth the price. No! Not in money, Mr. Defense Worker, but in something that you seem to have lost. When you were a kid and studied about the American heritage of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Read it again and then again; study it; delve back into the pages of A- merican history and show me any thing in the American creed of liv ing that will justify your wartime strikes. Come out here with us in these South Pacific waters and stay awhile. Eat our chow, sleep in our sacks, watch us work. Help us fight these jungle flies, help us kill dan gerous, malaria-bearing mosquitoes. Walk with us through the mud and the slime of the swamps of these jungle islands; walk with us in the sweltering, sultry, steamy heat of a noon sun. There isn’t any air-condi tioning out here, Mr. CIO and there I isn’t any way you can strike for it, either. You haven’t the time to think about it. Come with me to the bridge over the jungle river. I want you to see someone who would make you ash amed of that extra 50c an hour you get in your pay envelop. He’s just a 17-year-old kid that the brass hats put on duty at this infrequent bridge for the simple reason that he isn’t sure of himself any more. Did I hear you ask what’s wrong with him ? He was on a aestroyer that took three “fish” amidships and blew up. Mr. Twenty-Dollar-A-Day Man. His brother was on that ship, too. There were but a few surviv ors from a crew of 300, and his bro ther was not among them. He’s plain ly shell-shocked. Talk to him awhile, watch him; he’ll break your heart, man, if you have one. Did you ask how much money he makes—$50 a month Mr. Welder, $50 a month, room and board. Here’s a guy I want you to meet —a left handed Marine. What’s so remarkable about that? I should make myself clear. He’s learning to be a left-handed Marine. A Jap slashed off his right hand at the wrist as he was climbing out of a fox hole on Guadalcanal. He is mak ing $50 a month. His roof, since last August, has been a stinking, muddy hole and his board has been canned untasty food—when he has timb to eat it. Ask him how near-sighted the Jap is reputed to be. He’ll tell you that in the morning check-up no less than 25 of his buddies were found dead at their posts, shot thru the head, Mr. Slacker. Found 7,000 miles from home in a God-forsaken hole on a God-forsaken bit of land. Not very nice to hear about, is it? But it’s the brutal truth. Think about it the next time you sit over a big steak dinner in your comfort able home. See that boy sitting over there on that hatch cover, Mr. A. F. of L? He’s only 22—just a boy, maybe the one that lived down the street from you. He looks down in the mouth, doesn’t he? Why shouldn’t he? Some time this week his wife is going to have a baby but he’s not going to be there when it happens. He has to stay out here for the duration. Don’t you suppose he’s thinking something like this: “1945—now if this damn thing is over by then my kid will be almost three years old. Hell, I’ll be a stranger, not only to my kid but the wife will hardly know me any more. But one thing about it, the Government will give me «,n extra $12 a month for the little shaver. Wonder if its a boy or a girl; hope it’s a boy. I wonder if my wife is well. Please God, she doesn’t die—she can’t die—I’ve got to get home.” Fifty dollars a month Mr. Coal Miner, $50 a month, room and board. What are you going to do, Mr. Railroader, when the eerie sound of the air raid siren sends out its warning cry over Los Angeles, Fris co, Seattle, Middletown, Peoria—the small and the large, they’re all bomb sights. Those eggs the Japs lay weigh 500 pounds apiece. Be sure one isn’t laid in your front yard— your children may be out there. What are you going to send up in . ■ We got to HURRY to PREVIEW 11 • :> SPRING CATALOG iff Yes, folks come a runnin’—several advanced copies of Sears New Spring Catalog just arrived at our Catalog Sales Desk—the popular One- Stop Shopping Service. But don’t wait, drop in tomon-ow and glance through this big, new book. See the refreshing new Spring fashions—see the new things for the home. Over 1000 pages brim ful of values and savings. Place your orders with us now and be assured of speedy delivery. Due to production and delivery difficulties, cus tomers’ copies will be mailed later. J 1 Slw CATALOG SALES DEPT- )iii Ait Invited itieil/tM! I 1210 Caldwell St. Phone 430 the sky, Mr. Striker, to fight off the mad men from Japan—dollar bills? Don’t think it can’t happen there. A ship is bringing in a cargo to day that you might be interested in, a cargo of human suffering. Come down t« the quay with me and wit ness the transition of young Ameri ca. Yes, there is the familiar little locomotive and her white-painted coaches, each carrying the red cross of mercy on its sides. She is here to take away these human derelicts; its an old story to her. A little to the left of the train is a great army band standing rigidly at attention. The big hospital ship slowly comes into her berth and as the ground- crew makes her fast to the wharf, one hears the band softly playing the music thete men loved so well. “My Old Kentucky Home,” Beauti ful Ohio,” “On the Banks of The Wabash.” The men on the wharf become tense, the music has a sound to it that is of the infinite as all eyes strained towards the slowly descend ing gangway. The first man of these thousands of battered troops tor- tously feels his way to the ground, the band strikes up the “Stars Span gled Banner” as soldier after soldier follow in his wake. But what is this?What is wrong? These men have to be led! They am’t sure of themselves as they stumble and fumble their way down to Mother Earth. Mr. John L. Lewis look into eyes that are open, but see not. Watch lips that move, but say nothing. Look at the stumps dangling from their bodies that once were arms and legs. Look into the soul of these shell-shocked, fear- ridden, malaria-sick men that are not men but sacks of skin and bones. Nerves gone, minds temporarily de ranged, bodies numb from being stretched on the searing, tearing rack named war. Yes, Mr. CIO, these men that are no longer men, have paid part of the price with their arms and their legs, their eyes, their nerves—but stay awhile, don’t leave me now! Do you hear the bugle in the far distance blowing taps? It has an unearthly sound and it is for the unearthly that it is being played. The band in an undertone plays on and one hears their music as though they were playing in a thick grey fog. The big boom on the hospital ship swings downward and picks up the last of her cargo—the wicker baskets of the dead. Look around you, man. Those are tears you see in the eyes of the^e hard-bitten veterans, they who have just witnessed a scene from God’s greatest of plays, “Life and Death.” The baskets are lowered to the cold concrete of the dock and draped with the flag that they gave their lives for. Their work is done, their race is over, these men have paid their price in full. Yes, Mr. Defense Plant Striker, these men were getting $50 a month, $50 a month, room and board. On and on it goes, things too hor rible to mention in black and white, unbelievable things, things that would make your hair stand on end: the story of the five Sullivan bro thers on the cruiser Jur-sau, the one about Schmidt, Diamond and Rivers, marines on Guadalcanal, the story of the Coral Sea, Wake Island, the Argonne, Belleau Wood, Bull Run Gettysburg, Lexington, Concord and Bunker Hill.—the cradles of our lib erty. Each battle, each life sacrificed that in some future date men and women like you and I can live and worship and talk in the peace and security of an American people united. RETURNS HOME FROM HOSPITAL Earl C. Taylor, who has been a patient in the Columbia hospital for the past three weeks, returned to his home near Newberry last Satur day. AUDITOR’S TAX NOTICE I, or an authorized agent, will be at the following places on the dates given below for the purpose of tak ing tax returns of alVspersonal prop erty, new buildings and real estate transfers. Persons owning property in more than one district will make returns for each district. All able bodied male citizens be tween the ages of twenty-one and sixty are liable to $1 poll tax. All persons between the ages of twenty- one and fifty outside of incorporated towns and cities are liable to pay commutation tax of $1. Alld ogs are to be assessed at $1 each. Whitmire, City Hall—Monday, Jan uary 3rd, 1944. Whitmire, Aragon Baldwin Mills— Tuesday, January 4th, 1944. Longshores— Wednesday, January 5th, 1944, from 9 until 12. Silverstreet— Wednesday, January 5th, from 2 until 5. Chappells—^Thursday, Jnn. 6, 1944. Hollngsworth’s Store—Friday, Jan uary 7th, 1944, from 9 until 12. Kinards—Friday, January 7th, 2 until 5. Prosperity—Monday, Jan. 10, 1944. Little Mountain—Tuesday, January 11th, 1944. Glymph’s Store—Wednesday, Jan uary 12th, 1944, from 9 until 12. F. L. Ruff & Bros. Store—Wednes day, January 12th, 1944, from 2 to 5. Peak—Thursday, Jan. 13, 1944. Pomaria—Friday, Jan. 14, 1944. St. Lukes’—Monday, January 17th, 1944, from 9 until 12. O'Neal, L. C. Fellers’ Store—Mon day, January 17, 1944, from 2 to 5. Maybinton, F. B. Hardy’s Home— Tuesday, January 18th, 1944, from 9 until 12. Reese Bros. Store—Tuesday, January 18th, 1944, from 2 until 6. At Auditor’s Office to March 1st, after which a penalty of 10 per cent will be added. PINCKNEY N. ABRAMS, Auditor Newberry County WILD LIFE SOUTH CAROLINA IN I WITH PROF FRANKLIN 5HEDMAN I HRAD*CLfcMSOM COLUfCE • OePT OF ZOOLOGY WINTER BIRD WANDERERS Bird observers in every state are eager to add to what is known about their favorites. To record a bird not previously recorded in a given area is quite an accomplishment and takes careful observation and ability to identify the bird accurately. Most birds occur rather regularly in a general “range,” but often a bird may lose its way or be blown off course. Recorders class these birds as “casual, occasional, accidental, wanderer,” etc. Also a blustery spell or blizzard may drive a bird farther south than normal. Several species of birds may thus have been 'placed on S. C. records uncertainly or not at all: a nice possibility for keen and careful students to add to what we now know. Some birds follow mi gration routes via the Mississippi valley and may occasionally pass east of the mountains through this state, in spring or autumn. A list of “possible” birds which might yet be found in S. C. for the first time would be very long. Many would be costal country birds which folks upstate could scarcely hope to find. So we will confine our list prin cipally to land-living birds which might be found in the main portion of the state. Water birds: ducks, geese, gulls, terns. Recently built ponds, reser voirs and lakes will surely bring in some new birds. Shore and marsb birds: .herons, plovers, sandpipers, egrets, rails, and other long-legged, long-necked species which wade in the shallow water of marshes. Land birds: broad-winged hawk, golden eagle, duck hawk, pigeon hawk, short-eared owl, and snowy owl. Clemson college needs specimen of these; can you help? Typical perching birds: homed larks, blaCk-capped chickadee (dif ferent from Carolina chickadee,) red-breasted nuthatch, and even Bo hemian waxwing; also Northern shrike (larger than Loggerhead). Blackbird group: Brewers blackbird and yellowhead. We will mention only a few of the sparrow family: evening grosbeak & Pine grospeak are possibles; redpoll, red crossbill, white-winged crossbill, Carolina Junco (differs from our usual “snowbird”). The eastern tree sparrow may occasionally wander in to South Carolina in winter. Do you know any of these? Keep your eyes open. THE SPECTATOR January 19th marks the anniver’- ary of the birth of America’s great est soldier, whom we rever as one of the noblest characters of all time. General Winfield Scott, while commanding the Federal army at the outbreak of the civil war, is quoted as saying that there was a young officer on his staff in Mexico, named Lee, who was the finest soldier that he had ever seen. That young officer was Robert E. Lee. It is not surprising, then, that General Scott tried to prevail on Lee to accept the command of the Federal army. Lee declined, and re signed fro mthe Union army, rather than fight against his state, Virgin ia. That was a measure of the man. . As a soldier, as a Colonel in the army he loved and hed served thirty years, he had every reason to asuire to .the distinction, honor and possible glory of leading the Nation’s embat tled forces. But Lee was above pal try considerations of personal recog nition and popular acclaim. At the close of the Civil War Gen eral Lee was offered a position pay ing $50,000 a year. He remarked that he had no knowledge of that business. Upon being assured that no work was required; that only his name was necessary, the General re plied that his name was not for sale. Let it be said to the credit of John N. Gamer that he refused the Vice- Presidency of the United States, while held by him, was not for sale. We know too well how richly some others have capitalized high office for their personal gain. It is diffi cult to decline easy money;it re quires the highest sense of personal dignity and a conscience acutely trained to delicate distinctions. We need not dwell on the military genius of General Lee; volumes have been written by competent critics; he looms so big as a man that gen ius, however marked, and service, however notable, are dwarfed by the moral stature of the man. One may think of General Lee in the un- forgetable commendation spoken by Jesus of Nathaniel: “Behold an Is raelite indeed in whom there is no guile”. General Lee was a patern of vir tue which the Romans regarded as a quality of character compound ed of all the solid merits which make one a moral force and a spiritual power. We build nations on men. We can raise billions of dollars of money, hundreds of billions of dollars; and we can produce incalculable tons of commodities; and we may lose all that—as the South lost everything in the struggle of the Civil War and the predatory period of Reconstruc tion; but MEN are not produced ex cept through the turmoil and com petition of life, chastened by sor rows, disappointments, strain and grief. A figure like Lee is an inspir ation, a sustaining influence, a guide to the averege man, like the light ship anchored off Cape Hatteras, to the ships passing through those per ilous waters. Lee has long since ceased to be merely a Virginian, or merely a Southerner, or even just an Ameri can; he has taken his place as one of the choice spirits of all time. Governor Johnston and Senator Brown were quoted recently in the press as urging “caution” in com mitting the State to larger appro priations. These gentlemen, togeth er with Chairman Morrison Tuten constitute the State Budget Com mission. Undoubtedly the wisdom of experience teaches us the truth of what they recommend. Both the Governor and Senator Brown urge a degree of retrenchment, and the new budget conforms to that idea to the extent of a half million dollars. There is a heavy increase for schools, but that, we may assume, is part of the plan to take over a larger part of the local burden, thus reliev ing the taxpayer somewhat on his property taxes. . It is distinctly refreshing to have public leadership which can look ahead to possibilities inherent in a .which is sure to .'hange drastically. The Governor, as a young soldier just back from the First World War, and Senator Brown, as a young business man, recall the deflation of 1920. That knocked the bottom out of the South, and the boll-weevil came along and found us too groggy to fight. In our boyhood we have all said “What goes up must come down”. We may have referred to a rock, but prices respond to the same rule, everything based on abnormal prices and abnormal wages must shrink when they shrink. So the leaders of the State are wisely admonishing us that we are riding in a collapsible buggy and in danger of a crash. 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