'Round the Girdled Earth

CAPTAIN LINDSAY BEATON, M. C.'32 wrote the following letter to one of hisprofessors who prefers to remain anonymous, though I can say that the letter naturally delighted him.

If the receipt of this communication does not startle you, as a neurologist 1 will guarantee you as shock-proof past scientific belief. This letter is result of giving in completely to a random notion. By some chance, lonely out here in the Pacific, I found myself reading the little essay on style of Demetrius of Phalerum. Through rather obvious channels of recollection, you come to mind. And I say, what the hell, I'll write him. The classics, sir, still have some power over me.

Now we come to that embarrassed impasse. You have not heard from me for ten years. There should be a great deal to say, but, of course, school, graduated, married, interned, and was engaged in neurological and neurophysiological research, with twenty-five published investigations behind me, when war came. There is no need to trace out my meanderings. I am now in charge of the neuro-psychiatric service of an outpost hospital on an island in the South Pacific theater. News beyond that offends censorship.

I shan't write much more. I wasn't reading Demetrius in the original. That is your fault; you were never stern enough with me, and I never mastered my Greek. Nor, as you see, has my literary style improved, despite you and despite Demetrius, my most recent mentor. I can imagine you shaking a sage head at my errors in syntax and the lax constructions into which I have fallen.

This letter is perhaps, to you, the faintest of the faint voices of the past; I am finding that it is, to me, a strong present greeting. At the least, it will tell you that your classic fowl are of good augury. After roosting in far places, they are showing the instincts of homing pigeons. It will tell you that your teaching of many, many moons ago has borne a sort of fruit—pleasurable fruit for me, fruit rather amusing under these circumstances. It does seem ridiculous to be reading Demetrius in the shade of this vegetation. Like a scene from a cheap and very English play.

CAPT. LINDSAY E. BEATON, M. C. 0-400867 48th Station Hospital, A.P.O. 932 c/o Postmaster, San Francico, California

IST LIEUTENANT HUGH CORRIGAN '42, in a letter from a fair city in theAntipodes, reflects what I am sure is thereal Dartmouth spirit.

Received your very nice letter dated January 25th yesterday. I have been meaning to write to Hanover for sometime now. Your letter has spurred me on to do this.

"Around the girdled earth they roam" this saying is more true now than ever. There is no doubt that our boys (Dartmouth men) are on every fighting front, and I can say from personal experience that they aren't forgetting Hanover, even if you don't hear from them very often.

When our regiment landed on Goddamcanal (our pet name for Guadalcanal) on August 7, 1942 Dartmouth was just about the best represented college among the officers. This Ist Marine regiment is now considered to be a "hot" outfit, and it played a role in each of the several battles for Guadalcanal. Here are the names of our boys here now.

Al Hutton '4l, Butch Hilliard '4l, Frank Simpson '4l, Jay Baker '4O, Monk Larson '4l, Larry Hennesy '42, Jack Williams '42, Don Wheaton '39, Don McAffrey '4O, and our Battalion Commander Lt. Col. W. W. Stickney '26. Also ran across ex-footballers Bob O'Brien and Colby Howe on the island. They are in the 2nd Marines.

So you see this isn't a bad representation. There were also many other Dartmouth men in this first successful allied offensive.

As far as I know all our boys got off with nothing more than minor scratches.

Well, Herb, the horror, filth, and h of it is over now. We are resting easy in a beautiful city, regaining lost weight and health, and having our first indulgences in Scotch and females after 6 months in the battle zone. Needless to say we are carrying on in true Dartmouth style in this department.

I won't try to tell you about our stay on Goddamcanal. I'm not that good at expressing my feelings. Needless to say it wasn't a pleasant sojourn. In fact it's a subject that with us is now closed.

But I will say that our Japanese friends are the most overrated fighters in the world. And they also aren't so keen on "dying for Tojo." God knows how many Japs one marine is worth!!

As the days and weeks go by thoughts of returning to Hanover someday may at certain straining times fade in the background. But they are really always there. In fact returning to Hanover rates with me, and the others right up there with returning to home and loved ones.

Nothing much more I can really say. Give our best to Hanover, and tell them all not to worry. After all a combination of Dartmouth and the Marines—what's there to worry about?

JOHN DE LA MONTAGNE '42 describesaccurately and picturesquely an army career which must be similar to that of thousands. I am glad to print it all here. He is,at the moment, at Fort Benning, Georgia.

To change the old saying a bit; "Long time no write." Once you get going here at the Infantry School, it's hard to find time to brush your teeth in the morning. The key word is pressure, and they are certainly right when they say, if you can't take it here, you certainly aren't going to be able to in battle. The work isn't hard, but it's extremely steady and exacting. To start at the beginning, I enlisted in the army last May as a college boy. I chose the army for many reasons, mostly because I had talked to too many Navy Officers who had come back from the sea complaining that they didn't know as much about their jobs as the men whom they commanded for reason that they hadn't started at the bottom, and also because I wanted to be in the mountains with the men and sort of life about which I knew better than anything else and was confident that my services here would be most beneficial to my country and myself.

I went immediately to Ft. Lewis in Washington, beneath the slopes of Mt. Rainier and spent a most enlightening and enjoyable and rugged summer out there, a good part of it on the mountain learning winter tactics. There I had a chance to learn a lot about the geology of Volcanoes, and the geologic aspects of the great Northwest, and to climb the major peaks of that vicinity. I received the Daily Dartmouth everyday and enjoyed comparing the trend of thought therein to that of the army. The thought which bothered me most in the editorials was that "We are to be the leaders in this war, and in the peace to come." It was said over and over again in various ways, and it bothered me to know that young men just because they were going to college had that precluded attitude. Not saying that it isn't possible and isn't going to be, but college fellows should learn that leadership involves something more than an education and going to college. In my mind it involves starting at the bottom and getting to know what the rest of the three quarters of the American type is like. But to get on, we had a most active Dartmouth Spirit out there,—for instance being a ski outfit, there were about fifty Dartmouth Men in my regiment. Charlie McLane was my sergeant, Ike Weed my Company Commander, and John Rand, Jim Barr, Harry Bond, George Boswell, John Turner, Lenny Woods, and Jake Nunnemacher, were all in my platoon.

BUILDING AN OFFICER

The Mountain Infantry finally transferred the base to Camp Hale, high in the Colorado Mountains, and needless to say we learned much in the art of winter warfare in just about perfect skiing conditions. The regiment being composed of the educated men that it was, it was a great fight trying to be admitted to the Infantry School. Everyone was afraid that by leaving the outfit to go to OCS they would never see it again, but finally Barr and Bond and I ended up down here, and have the most ardent hopes of getting back as officers. In my mind, this is the greatest school of its kind ever conceived, the wonderful coordination, the exact simulations of battle conditions, and the eagle eye helpfulness towards making you the best infantry officer in the world, is something to pay tribute to the American Way. Yes, if I thought I was a man and a leader before, I was wrong, but when I graduate in April I think I shall be. Last week, perhaps the most spectacular event came off when we witnessed an entire Battalion in the attack of three hills. It was reenforced by a squadron of dive bombers, a company of tanks, and the field artillery. What a lesson in cooperation. They sent most of the lead over our heads, and to watch those tremendous bursts on those hills, and see the tanks close in and crush, and see those planes drop their bombs, and then the infantry follow up for the final action, you couldn't imagine any single human, buried in a deep fox hole even, as being able to survive such an assault—a further tribute to the American Way. It is interesting to see how the little Infantry Soldier is the hub of the entire wheel. Yesterday I fired one of our new anti-tank grenades from an 03 rifle, and never let it be said that a single soldier can't knock out the largest tank in existence with small arms. The pellet revolves around the inside of the tank 400 times. They say that if you put dogs and chickens in the tank, when the grenade has gone off, you can't tell the difference between the dogs and chickens. Yesterday also we dug fox holes and experienced the sensation of having a medium tank pass over the holes, —we were inside. And this is just a normal small thing in one small day here.

A great pleasure has been the Ft. Benning Dartmouth Alumni association under the able efforts of Bill Geraghty and Colonel Chase. Also my fraternity has had several meetings, and it is good to know that fraternity days certainly don't end with college,—they just begin.

To delve into a bit of deeper thinking for a minute, there is one thing which worries me. I can see it in others, and I can see it in myself, and haven't even seen combat as yet. It is the harshness and hardness which comes over one's personality and way of thinking during war. A minute ago, while sitting here writing to you, there happened to be a picture of my wife on the desk. She was on skis standing on the horizon and behind her was a Wyoming Aspen. One of the boys picked it up, and the first thing he said,—"Gad, what a perfect target, —range 300, reference point, lone tree at greater range. Say, John, you better tell her never to silhouette herself on the horizon like that." And so it goes, but that, as you can see, is a very mild example of what I really mean, but I think you get the general idea. It is my hope that after it all, men will be able to change themselves back into the civilized, gentle, rational, considerate, and sympathetic ways in which they were brought up, or should have been. In the army it's very easy to lean back and say, "you do the thinking, and I'll do the acting, no matter what it is." It's very easy for an officer to fairly ruin a private for showing his feelings in any way, and rightly so, in war time. I hope we can change back. I pick up a bayonet (the thought of which made me rather nauseated last year this time) and wield it with the fury and yells, and sweaty lust for kill of a barbarian in the days of Hannibal. It worries me that things have degenerated into such a state, but I am glad of it when the heat of battle will demand such.

I am too young out of college to be "looking back on those wonderful days" so won't go into that. Palaeopitus and all of its problems worried me last year no end, and like a fellow who had a bad dream, on May 17th I had forgotten completely about that rather unsuccessful career, but now the good in the experience is beginning to show itself in the form of an interest in army morale, and the sympathy with those who are attempting to lead. I am extremely thankful for my education,—just to be able to sit down with someone and talk about a book, or an involved problem, gives me the extremest pleasure. I had heard about the liberal college while at Dartmouth, and often had wanted to stowe the idea of a liberal education and "really learn something special," but no, I can see it all now, and the liberal education has it all over any other,—there isn't a thing it does not prepare you for,—not a thing. Yes lam thankful for being a Dartmouth Man, a difference between living and existing.

Well, Herb, perhaps I shall be able to drop up and see you all on a leave sometime in April, and until such time, hang on. The hearing of thoughts of men of the college through the ALUMNI MAGAZINE and through the many letters which they somehow seem to get off means so very much to men in the service.

Sincerely, and for Victory,—

LT. DAVID P. BOYLE '4Ol remember as afine skier, one of two men who shot for thefirst time the Queechee Rapids, and who isnow serving in a capacity unknown to mein the R.A.F. His letter is a honey.

Much appreciated was your letter which was copied out onto a couple of V-mail forms and sent over by my Dad. It is first rate to hear of Dartmouth and Hanover from one who appreciates more or less the same things. The fine memories that spring up when skis, Occum Pond, Hanover Plain, etc. are referred to—why it's like having a new lease on life. Although this statement must have been repeated up to the point of triteness, yet I too will go on record as saying that in times like these I fully appreciate the way of life that I led at Dartmouth—to me it was the epitome of existence. To study, ski or row, and live with such good men is a perfect answer to happiness.

I might also go on record that my present life is one of the best that war time conditions will allow. I have been with the R. A. F. for the past seven months and enjoying every minute of it. Admittedly, have not been seeing the action that some of the boys in the So. Pacific or No. Africa are up to their necks in. Yet there exists enemy activity in this phase of work. It comes in concentrated form, and as the R. A. F. chaps say, "You must have your finger out to cope with it." Can't say much more regarding the job other than it is terrifically interesting, and you are surrounded by very good types. Actually (notice my easy reversion to the English way of talk, what!) one doesn't meet many of the "Battle of Britain" boys—by now they are few and far between. Saw Richard Hillary of "The Last Enemy" fame just a short time before he was killed. Also his old squadron commander who was on the same station that I was for a long while. By now I have become quite accustomed to the under-statements of these chaps. It is a wonder Intelligence officers can make up any report at all from the vague, sketchy reports the boys tell him—though hell and high water may have been breaking loose at odd times during a flight.

Reflecting on the whole set-up, I must say it is an odd way to fight a war—what I mean to say is that existence around the Mess is quite normal what with good food (never was better fed in my life, I don't think), coffee after dinner, mess bar, books, squash, etc. Yet what transpires between visits to said mess may have taken you hundreds of miles, in all sorts of weather, any time of day or night, and odd Huns about. It seems typically English (except for odd bombing) to fight this war in such a gentlemanly fashion—at least from the R. A. F.'s point of view. Certainly the Army and Navy return to no such comforts of home after an action! Must say I do have a yen to get out to the tropics for a while and go native to the extent of letting my beard grow. All in good time I figure.

From what I've seen I believe I'm the only Dartmouth man in this particular racket. Have kept my eyes and ears peeled to catch a trace of others, so far no luck. Very infrequently I do run into an old Hanoverian attached with the Fortresses of the Bth Air Force over here. Feel like hell that I can't remember the names, but the face is enough to start up a conversation.

It's going to be tough to break away from R. A. F. slang, I can feel that. For instance, the weather is either "wizard" (beautiful, good) or "duff" (bad) these may also be applied to "gen" (information). An aeroplane is a "kite" and it may "prang" (crash) on the "deck" (ground) unless the pilot "has his finger out" (that is left to imagination).

It's been interesting to compare the England I knew in '35, '36 etc. with what is seen now. Really no automobiles at all, you use bike or train. By one hardly notices any bomb damage, but the number of people in uniform is really amazing. Women doing a damn fine job. It is true that the old class distinction is going—the well-born go to pubs, and the WAAF daughter of a farmer may go to the best club in London with a R. A. F. officer! Especially noticeable in the R. A. F. as all types are thrown together as crews. It's still the land of strange paradoxes such as people living in cold, stone homes with few, if any, modern conveniences, and above them the fastest planes (British) in the world coming over at chimney height.

Can't figure out why all my old roommates (Grant '39, T. G. Allen '40, Hube '4O, etc.) get the Pacific and while I (being from California) am shipped East! Oh well, I'd just like a couple of weeks at home this spring, then be ready for more.

Peg a snow-ball at one of the Crosby windows for me—By God, I miss the old hickories on a new fall of powder snow.

My best to your family—hope they are well, also to Prof. Proctor.

JOHN DE LA MONTAGNE '42 Corporal in the Byth Mountain Infantrywhose letter is published this month.

ADVANCED FLYERS AT LEE FIELD, FLORIDATwelve Dartmouth men, who have already won Navy wings, have completed the inten-sive pre-operational combat course at Lee Field, large auxiliary air station of the U. S.Naval Air Station, Jacksonville, Florida. They are (back row, left to right): Ens. W. B.Elcock '42, Ens. R. R. Laidlaw '44, Ens. R. F. Kirk '42, Lt. Comdr. M. P. Merritt '20,Ens. R. D. Isner '44, Ens. W. Anderson '4), Ens. R. H. Higgons '44. Front row, left toright, Ensigns G. L. Newell '42, R. D. Higgins '42, P. P. Geisler '42, P. A. Bruch '44,J. Maguire '44, and J. P. Riley '44.

TILESTON & PapermakersHOLLINGSWORTH for more than one hundred and COMPANY forty years Printing papers for magazines and commercial printing