The Pittsburgh Press (December 20, 1943)
Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
At the frontlines in Italy – (by wireless)
The conversation in a gun pit during a lull in the firing line everywhere from the number of flies in a bottle of local vino clear up to what the war’s all about.
Although profanity is a normal part of their language, the boys in the artillery seem to be less profane than the infantry. The rougher a man lives the rougher he talks, and nothing can touch the infantry for rough and horrible living.
The impending arrival of galoshes forms a good part of the conversation in our howitzer crew. Galoshes have been promised for weeks, actually from day to day, but the rains are two months old and galoshes aren’t here yet.
One soldier said:
I’d give my payroll for a pair of galoshes.
Another cannoneer said:
They’re supposed to be on a ship already in the harbor. And sure as hell the Jerries will sink it before they get them unloaded.
One soldier said:
My feet haven’t been dry for six weeks.
And another one spoke up:
If you take a shot of that lousy cognac they sell in Naples, it will dry your socks as soon as it hits bottom.
Peewee likes to talk
Little Cpl. John C. Graham from Dillon, South Carolina, sits on a water can before a bonfire scraping the mud off his shoes before putting on his leggings. He gets off onto the subject of overshoes, of course, and one of the other boys says:
Oh, for God’s sakes, stop talking about overshoes, that’s all I’ve heard for weeks and I’m sick of listening to it.
Cpl. Graham says:
Well, you got to talk about something and it might as well be overshoes. You just can’t sit around all day with your trap hanging open.
Cpl. Graham is nicknamed “Peewee.” He is short and chubby and round-faced, and his eyes squint with good humor and friendliness. He is only 20 now and has been in the Army since he was 17. He weighed 117 when he went in and now weighs 160.
Peewee lived on a farm before he enlisted. He is very conscientious and always on the job. He is called the gunner, which means second in command to the sergeant. When the sergeant is away, he runs the gun. The other boys like to kid Peewee about swearing mildly and smoking occasionally when he is so young.
Three boys in this crew are only 20. They’ve got nothing but fuzz on their faces and only shave once a week – and don’t need it then.
One of the crew is Pvt. Lloyd Lewman from Ottumwa, Iowa. He goes by the nickname of “Old Man.” That’s because he is 35, which to most of the crew is ancient.
Actually, he doesn’t look much older than the rest and it seems odd to hear him called Old Man. He used to be a farmer and then worked for a long time as a section hand on the railroad. He is quiet and pleasant and everybody likes him.
Gamble on anything
Like soldiers everywhere, the gun crews kill time by gambling. Our battery got paid for the first time in two months while I was with them, and immediately a poker game started in every crew.
Our crew even brought a shelter half and spread it on the floor of the gun pit and played right there while waiting for further firing orders. As Sgt. McCray said, the best way to bring on a firing mission is to start a hand of poker. And sure enough, they hadn’t played five minutes till the firing order came and everybody grabbed his cards and money and scrambled for the shells.
While they were playing one of the boys said:
I wonder if the Germans got paid today.
And another one said:
Do you suppose the Germans play poker too?
To which another answered, “Hell no, them guys ain’t got enough money to play poker,” which was probably a little misconception on his part, since most of the prisoners I’ve seen had money in their pockets.
The boys will bet on anything. I’ve heard of one bet on whether I would come back to this theater or go to the Pacific. They’ve got bets on when we’ll get to Rome, and when the war will be over, and a couple of them were betting on whether Schlitz beer was sometimes put in green bottles instead of brown. They came to me to settle this, but I didn’t know.
This is the regiment, incidentally, that had a payday just before leaving America more than a year ago. They left the States with around $52,000, and when they arrived in England and turned in their money for foreign exchange, they had $15,000 more than they started with. They had taken it away from other outfits on the ship at poker.
Dunno, these hillbillies.