GM president opposes union for foremen
‘Man cannot serve two masters,’ Wilson tells House committee
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U.S. fliers set fire to Jap destroyer
Washington (UP) –
Low-strafing U.S. fighter planes set a Jap destroyer afire after making a damaging attack on the enemy’s seaplane base on Faisi Island in the Solomons, the Navy announced today.
Five to seven Jap planes were set ablaze by a group of Lockheed Lightning and Vought Corsair fighters in the foray against Faisi.
Following that attack, the same fighter group came across a Japanese destroyer off Alu Island, near Faisi, and left the craft burning.
So low did the American airmen come in over their quarry, that three feet of the wing of one plane was sheared off by the destroyer’s mast.
Only one thing sure in Africa
Axis will be thrown out, but not without fight
By William H. Stoneman
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Army terrific, Ingersoll says
Ex-publisher tells of fight for El Guettar
By James McGlincy, United Press staff writer
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Movie role alters Veronica’s hairdo
Hollywood, California –
Veronica Lake’s famous peekaboo bang is gone for the entire duration of So Proudly We Hail, in which she stars with Claudette Colbert and Paulette Goddard.
Since she plays a U.S. Army nurse, Veronica’s coiffure trademark is strictly against the regulations of no hair touching the uniform.
Hence, it will be a new Veronica Lake in the picture. The hairdo decided upon by producer Mark Sandrich is ultra-plain. It parts in the middle and waves backward with her 27-inch-long hair done into a coil at the back of her neck.
Why would they tell about this? Isn’t an invasion supposed to be top secret? Or did they know Italy would not be able to do anything?
I don’t think they specified the point of attack. 
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Lockheed acts to cut prices by $31 million
Aircraft company’s net profit hits new high at $8,163,721
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Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
With U.S. forces in Algeria –
Every Army headquarters anywhere in the world has what is called a “Message Center.” It is run by the Signal Corps, and through it goes all the vast flow of communications necessary to keep an Army running.
Where I am, the Message Center handles my columns after they leave the censor. Some columns go home by wireless, some go part way by air and the rest by wireless, some go all the way home by air. I have to trust blindly to the boys in the Message Center to get my columns headed in the right direction and by the right means, and especially trust them to get them started somewhere immediately, and not let them lie around for days under a stack of papers. I understand there were several lapses in this column at home a while back, due to its getting bottlenecked somewhere along the route. But I’m sure the delay hasn’t been at the fountainhead of literature. For the boys at the Message Center and I have a system.
Now Ernie’s paying off
I’ll put their names in the paper if they treat me nice and handle my copy well; they’ll treat me nice and handle my copy well if I’ll put their names in the paper. It sounds like collusion, and undoubtedly is. At any rate, the boys have done their part, so now I’ll pay off. If any of their parents should read this, they may know their boys are living under cover, eating well, are in no personal danger, and that they are gay and have fun at their work. Here they are:
Lt. Gordon Carlisle, of 14 Cass St., Exeter, New Hampshire, was still in college when he joined the Army. They call him the boy from “Cow College,” the nickname for the University of New Hampshire. Coming from up north, he’s a fresh-air fiend, and keeps the boys frozen stiff by having the windows open all the time.
Erie private misses bowling
Pvt. Frank T. Borczon, of 631 Payne Ave., Erie, Pennsylvania, says the worst part of being in Africa is that he can’t find a bowling alley. He was a champion back home.
Pvt. Julius Novak, of 1613 Ave. V, Brooklyn, New York, is so quiet the boys can’t tell me a thing about him to put in the paper.
Pfc. George Doomchin, of 1944 Unionport Rd., the Bronx, said the great mystery of the war is how the Saturday Evening Post gets along without him. He used to sell it at home.
Pvt. Gerald Kelly, of 22 Central St., Elkins, West Virginia, is a cheerful, good-looking young fellow who used to be an athletic director for the YMCA.
Cpl. A. C. Moore, of Mobile, Alabama. His mother always called him “A.C.,” which has been slurred into “Ace” in the Army. In the slack hours late at night, the boys pass the time by drawing up court-martial charges against “Ace.” He is a printer by trade. His wife is waiting for him out in Lufkin, Texas.
Fill-‘er-up Phil Harrington
Pvt. William J. Harrington of 908 Greenfield Ave., Pittsburgh, is jovially known in these parts as “Fill-'er-up Phil.” Seems as though his glass is always getting empty.
Pvt. Jacob L. Seiler, of Covington, Louisiana, or “Jake the Fake,” as the boys call him, says to put down that he was a “mixologist” before the war. In other words, a bartender. I assume he carries on in the Army by getting the messages all mixed up.
Pvt. George Murphy, of 172 Grand St., Lowell, Massachusetts, spent years as a textile mill’s traveling salesman, and can’t seem to stop traveling.
Sgt. John D. Taylor, of Temple, Texas, is a big husky who was a football and baseball letter-man at the University of Alabama.
Cpl. Jack Price, of Bellefontaine, Ohio, says he grew up in a poolroom. His father owned one. Jack speaks only about twice a day, and then it’s always something that rolls the other boys in the aisles. That old dry wit, you know.
Beer salesman from Steubenville
Pvt. Ed Sailor, of 2542 North 31st St., Philadelphia, said to put down that he is a former postal clerk and well-known Strawberry Mansion pinball player. I asked him what Strawberry Mansion was. He said anybody in Philadelphia would know.
Pfc. Thomas C. Buckley, of New Hebron, Mississippi. They call him the “Mississippi Mud Hen.” He used to jerk sodas way down South. He celebrated Christmas and his first wedding anniversary the same day.
Cpl. Russell W. Harrell, of 902 East Burlington St., Fairfield, Iowa, has been everything – farmer, building constructor, hardware salesman – so nothing surprised him anymore.
Pvt. Primo de Carlo, lived at 255 North 7th St., Steubenville, Ohio. The boys give him more Italian nicknames than Musso himself, the main one being Signor Vaselino. The Signor just grins. Primo was once an opera singer. He went to school for three years in Milan. And then wound up selling beer in Steubenville. He wonders if he won’t eventually get back to Milan, after all.