America at war! (1941--) -- Part 2

Steubenville youth held as fake officer

Willkie urged as arbitrator in power fight

Union proposes him for cases involving firm he once headed

Looks like this one is caught on camera while fleeing Kiska to Antarctica :antarctica: :innocent::joy:

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Fun fact about that film: The man who directed Happy Feet also directed Mad Max. Quite the contrast, eh? :joy:

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Lol indeed both down under flicks

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Ferguson: Advice to Mr. Stowe

By Mrs. Walter Ferguson

Leland Stowe, the war correspondent, is now on an interurban jaunt beating his breast before lecture audiences about the willpower shortage in America. He doesn’t exactly spare the men, but when he compares his own countrywomen with those of Russia, he suffers mental anguish because the women of the USA are so far behind the women of the USSR in their patriotic efforts.

“We’ve been mollycoddled for 50 years and now look at us!” cries Mr. Stowe. The men have spoiled us until we are no good at winning a global war.

Piffle and both! Mr. Stowe should leave the mink-coat set and get off the pavements for a change. He’d make an agreeable discovery, for there he would find hundreds of thousands of women getting up before day to milk cows, plant gardens, tend chickens, put out the week’s wash, and take a turn at corn planting and picking as the season demands.

Also, he would see city women, millions of them, putting in from 12 to 14 hours a day at some sort of hard work. If my facts are straight, the coddled portion of our sex is always a mere handful compared to the laboring groups.

What’s got into these Soviet-admirers? They seem to be bowled over by the sight of Russian women doing men’s work. As if that hadn’t been going on among the peasant classes since the time of Ivan the Terrible. Their remarks leave us befuddled on another point. Most of them talk as if we would have been infinitely better off to remain in a state of savagery – which, you remember, is that state in which man always shoves off the hard manual labor onto his womenfolks.

My suggestion for a partial relief from the manpower shortage and the food problem is to set some of our war correspondents to doing field instead of platform work during their brief visits back to their homeland.


Another great column. She rightfully pushed back on this man to look at reality within the country. He is the person who is blind.


What?!! Mad Max was a flick? I thought it was a documentary of how to survive Australia and its animals.

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Pacific outbreak likely, Knox says

Quiet in combat area may be lull before the storm, war still on… ‘very much’… Secretary warns

Big Allied offensive begun against threat by U-boats

Ability to invade Europe and thereby shorten war depends on success of operation
By Helen Kirkpatrick

Japs on Kiska hit in 6 raids

Big fires started in camp areas in Aleutians
By Russell Annabel, United Press staff writer

Generals rationed also; get 2 bullets for a Jap

Guadalcanal commander chagrined by rebuke for wasting six others to get sniper

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Considering case of pedal nudism

By Maxine Garrison

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Millett: Homes await new start at war’s close

Families will face remarriage conditions in peacetime
By Ruth Millett

Ernie Pyle V Norman

Roving Reporter

By Ernie Pyle

On the North African desert –
When finally, late at night, we arrived near where the wrecked American planes were supposed to be, our Arab friend “Wah” directed us over a multitude of tracks, winding around through bare wraithlike hills, to a little group of sand-colored buildings standing lonesomely in the moonlight. We stopped about 500 yards away, yelled, and waited. At last, there was a shout from far off. We shouted back, “*Les Americains,” and then we could see two figures start toward us. Two of us went out to meet them. You proceed cautiously in the desert at night when you’re within half an hour’s drive of the enemy.

The place turned out to be a French garrison, as we had thought. And they acted just as they had at the other French post – anything they had was ours. The commandant was a tall, thin fellow with long hair, who looked like a poet. We didn’t know for a long time that he was the commandant, because he wore a civilian topcoat.

He and the one American officer with us went off to another part of the garrison to see about our sleeping quarters, and the rest of us hung around a big mud-walled corral which turned out to be the stables of the Camel Corps.

Hobbled camel fools Ernie

The Arab cavalrymen, or whatever you call camelback soldiers, gathered around in the moonlight and smiled at us and tried to talk. An old camel hobbled past, and I said:

Look, there’s a three-legged camel. It must have lost a front leg in an accident.

It wasn’t until next day that we realized the Arabs had merely hobbled the camel by bending its leg and lashing one foot up to its foreleg.

The Arabs had a tiny black burro that was a pet. It wasn’t any bigger than a dog, and just stood around among us looking sadly at the ground, waiting to be scratched. The soldiers were astounded at such a tiny animal, and all of us took turns picking it up in our arms to see how light it was. The truck driver jumped into his cab and came out with some cube sugar, and from then on, he was the burro’s man.

After a while the French said everything was arranged, and we all walked to another building. They turned over one big empty room with a tile floor for the soldiers to sleep on, and then insisted that the one officer and myself have supper with them. It was late at night, but apparently, they eat late on the desert.

The American officer was the kind all the mechanics called by his first name, and he would have preferred to eat and sleep with them, and so would I. But we talked it over with the enlisted men and decided it would be a breach of etiquette if we didn’t accept the invitation.

French are fine hosts

There were eight French officers and we two Americans at dinner. The French were dressed in all sorts of half-military getup. Apparently, they’ve had no new supply issues since the fall of France, and they wore whatever they could get their hands on. They apologized for not having any wine with the meal. Hadn’t had any for months.

We ate at a long bare wooden table. The room was lighted by a dim bulb hooked to a battery they’d taken off one of the wrecked American planes. Candles were used in the other rooms. One of the officers spoke a few words of English, and that was our only avenue of contact with our hosts.

We had a delicious omelet for an appetizer, and then a stew of vegetables and what was either goat or camel meat. The French can make anything taste good.

Just as we were finishing, one of the Frenchmen said, ‘"Shhhh,” and cocked his ear. We all ran outside, and sure enough we could hear German planes high in the sky, bound for a night of bombing of some of our friends.

Some of the French officers slept in beds, some on the concrete floor. They made room for our two bedrolls on the floor, and the next thing we knew it was daylight.

Frenchmen don’t eat a regular breakfast, so next morning they came out and watched while we cooked our breakfast over small cans of burning gasoline.

Marksmanship is excellent

One of the soldiers let the French commandant shoot his rifle, and then all the Frenchmen took turns. Their skill amazed the soldiers. Even with a strange rifle they could hit a small rock 150 yards away at every shot.

The commandant had a car – a sort of delivery wagon – and said he’d lead us to the wrecked planes if we could give him some gasoline. No wine, no gasoline. These soldiers at these far outposts fight a lonely and bleak kind of war.

We gave him five gallons and off we went, with several Arabs hanging onto the truck. We had at last reached our pinpoint in the vast desert, and were ready to start to work.

Nitti accorded ‘sneak burial;’ mobsters hide

Widow, son and only few relatives attend services

Chicago, Illinois (UP) –
One of the shortest and most unpretentious funeral processions in the history of Chicago’s underworld followed Frank “The Enforcer” Nitti to his “sneak burial” yesterday, as former members of the Al Capone gang he led hid from the eyes of federal authorities.

Nitti committed suicide Friday less than six hours after he and seven other members of the syndicate had been indicted by a federal grand jury in New York for violations of the anti-racketeering law.

Buried ‘ahead of time’

Nitti was buried 24 hours before the announced time for his funeral, and only his widow and son and a few relatives were present. The men who gave Nitti the title “Enforcer” because of his ruthless dealings with the gang’s enemies, refused to make his last rites a replica of the expensive and flamboyant funerals that attended the demise of other underworld lords.

A $5,000 bronze casket was the only sign reminiscent of the heydays when a top flight gang leader’s funeral included thousands of dollars’ worth of floral displays, long processions of limousines and marching mourners.

Flowers lack cards

Yesterday the floral pieces included a red and white heart from the widow; a cross and pillow, with no card; and several baskets of flowers, also without cards. One auto was sufficient to carry the party from the undertaker’s chapel to the grave.

Nitti, a Catholic, was buried without benefit of clergy, it is the practice of the church to deny a funeral to a person who takes his own life, and to deny him space in consecrated cemeteries. Nitti, however, owned the lot in which he was buried at Mt. Carmel Cemetery. The undertaker said a few words, and then concluded with:

That concludes the ceremony, folks; please return to the car.

Hoodlums stay away

The hoodlums who backed Nitti’s domination of the old Capone syndicate stayed far away from the chapel and cemetery. They had no desire to flaunt their association with “The Enforcer” even in death.

Even the undertaker craved anonymity. He removed the company nameplate from the hearse before beginning the trip to the cemetery.

U.S. Navy Department (March 24, 1943)

Communiqué No. 322

South Pacific.
On March 23:

  1. A force of Army fighters (Lockheed P‑38) strafed the enemy seaplane base at Rekata Bay in the Central Solomons. Results were not reported. All U.S. planes returned.

  2. During the night of March 23‑24, a small number of Japanese planes attacked the airfield on Guadalcanal Island. There was some material damage but there were no casualties to personnel.

The Pittsburgh Press (March 24, 1943)

Yanks beat off attacks, smash 35 tanks

Eighth Army thrown back by counterassault in fierce fighting
By Virgil Pinkley, United Press staff writer

Coal wages retroactive for 30 days

President’s plea to avert shutdown heeded in joint pact

Steak eaters must learn to like stew

Those who buy homelier cuts will fare best in food-sharing