THE SQUADRON PULSE
For the Men of the Fightin’ 3rd Published in the Philippines.
Vol. 1. No. 5 Weekly March 31, 1945 3rd Airdrome Squadron APO 72.
THOSE LUCKY KP’S
OR LEND LEASE IN REVERSE
“The following named men will report to S/Sgt Robles in the Mess Hall at 0600 22 March 1945.
(Signed) WOODROW W. LINDSEY
1st Sergeant.
How many times have the men of the 3rd seen their name on such a notice? No doubt Cpl. Fessenden, Cpl. Bulger, Cpl. Fowler and Pfc. Rose merely exhaled a sigh of resignation and reported to their respective Sect. Chiefs that they would have to be replaced on the regular shift tomorrow-----Yeah, KP again. Little did they realize that 22 March would be a red-letter day in the history of the Fightin’ 3rd. Little did they realize that they would be the chief recipients of the goodness of that red-letter day.
That’s where the Lend-Lease in reverse came in. It took the form of 85 frozen chickens, big ones, from Canada. To most of the men of the 3rd, it was the first fried chicken since leaving Brisbane in October 1943 and, since there was fried chicken to spare, who is more entitled to it than the KPs on duty? As a result chicken oozed from the ears of the KPs named above. Even the writer got in on his favorite---fried giblets.
The Mess Sgt’s comment was, “Next time I’ll get the pans cleaned first-----then feed the KPs so much chicken they can’t move.”
Our congratulations to the Mess Section and particularly to Sgt. Hutchins, Chief Cook on shift, for the excellent preparation of this outstanding meal.
Captain R.W. Mitchell
CAPTAIN MITCHELL COMMENDS---
Pfc . Stringfield -- for his work in initiating and editing the Pulse.
Little did the Editor ever dream that he himself would make the Honor Roll. This is the encouragement which gives one the impetus to turn out an even better paper. But, as small and simple as the paper looks, it is a tremendous job and a job that could not be accomplished without the untiring aid of my associates, Cpl. Calkins and the indefatigable Drecoll. To them, the Editor salutes and slaps on the back for a fine job done.
MAZZALLA, ONE MAN CIRCUS
[Note that the article spells his name three different ways:
Mazzalla, Mazzala and Mazzulla. - Ed.]
Any casual observer, upon passing the Mess Hall each morning, would think that Mazzalla was an American counterpart of the Kamikaze Corps the way he dauntlessly goes about setting fire to the discarded rubbish. To do a thorough job, it is Mazzulla’s belief, gas and oil, literally by the gallon, should be sprinkled over the slop. This system, when the match is applied, should set off such a flame that nothing, not even bacteria could possibly survive within an area of 50 ft. But, in his eagerness to destroy, it was observed---Mazzalla nearly consumes himself.
The Editor, much concerned, watches this hair-raising spectacle, and safely so, from his tent.....there goes Mazzala now with his match--he is about to strike...he does....there is a terrific explosion. Cans and slop shoot skyward. The trees shake, then hang limp, the ground quakes. It is so terrific that for a period of five minutes, pieces of meat and hunks of cans still plop and clank to the ground only by force of gravity.
Wondrous eyes peer out of tents. Lt. Cantor comes out with pencil and pad to list the casualties--but there are none as usual. Only a grinning Mazzala laying spread—eagled behind the water trailer. “There is a technique to it,” he says.
The new BANNER **
By courtesy of.............Sgt. Lomagro
[See scans of the original mimeograph newsletter below. The header of page one now includes a logo. - Ed.]
THE SQUADRON PULSE
Vol. 1. No. 5 March 31, 1945
Editor .................Pfc. Stringfield
Contributing Editor ....Cpl. Calkins
Chief Compositor........Cpl. Drecoll
This paper may be sent home
A THOUGHT
- By Kolley
A sweet young thing awoke one morning
Arose
Stepped into her slippers
Donned her robe
Raised the shade
Uncovered the parrot
Put on the coffee pot.
The telephone rang -
“Hello darling - I’m just off the
ship - I’ll be right out.”
The sweet young thing
Unlocked the door
Took off the coffee pot
Covered the parrot
Lowered the shade
Removed her robe
Stepped out of her slippers
Retired.
Murmured the parrot -
“Christ - What a short day that was.”
AS TIME GOES BY ---BIRTHDAYS
Moore [?] - 3rd, Coffman - 5th, Lott - 6th, Reinhalter - 8th.
FLASHBACKS - - - - - By L.H. Stringfield
WE FOUND A HOME
(2nd Installment)
By repute, God took a rib from Adam & made Eve; by fact, we the 3rd, overran New Guinea jungle and varmint and made what was to be called, “Our Home.”
“Our Home”------but, there is a story covering these simple, naked words. Any normal home, by all standards, has its ups and downs, its moments of happiness, its time of woe and its occasions of strife--and we certainly did not fall or falter along the beaten path.
Once we left our jungle-snug settlement by the sea, where everyone’s philosophies on man and nature began to show marked signs of moral disintegration, the ball of progress got rolling. Our new area was built on a plateau over-looking the cool and limped Nankina. Here again were the common pests and their insidious plagues---kunai grass, the anopheles and RATS.
So bad were the rats that Major Whittemore proclaimed an open-season on them. To those, each morning, who produced the greatest number of dead rats, went a special commendation.
Davenport usually cinched the honors.
But, before “Our Home” became the garden spot of the Finisterres, work in large orders kept everyone’s brawn and sometimes brains in high gear. “Bull” O’Neal the whip-lash, saw to that.
By degrees, we had a well rounded out area. Our tents became our pride & joy, some with wooden floors. Others had framework and screened-in huts, together with all the furnishings to make life almost humdrum in comfort.
In April, Capt Mitchell replaced Major Whittemore as CO & changes, advantageous to the squadron on the whole and to the personnel were put into immediate effect. As time wore on, things that had seemed so provocatively slow, needless and outmoded were readjusted and morale reached a new high. Together with such luxuries as cold Cokes, beer issues and our own movies, a squadron softball league was formed. There was never a dull moment--But, during the time in making all this possible, lest we forget, we had our fill of other & less savory diversions. Those moonlit nites for instance which in turn meant sleepless nights. Remember how we’d run out of tents, naked and cheer the ack ack when a searchlight had a Nip in its beam-----occasionally to be disappointed---ahem. Of course, pulling guard on the Strip with a couple of Nips coming over made one quake in his leggin’s. Remember that night, Romalin? It was close, wasn’t it? Well, anyway outside of the gooey black mud, losing your soap in the river and eating bully beef with battery acid chaser for a couple months and perhaps a couple tent-wrecking storms, we did find a home. Some of those who could stand neither the grind nor the luxuries, went to MacKay. [According to Stripes.com, “Mackay, on Australia’s east coast, was a popular World War II rest-and-recreation spot for U.S. troops fighting in New Guinea.”] But, when their ten days were up, where did they finally return? Home, and for some strange reason (possibly the grueling trip back) were damn glad of it. Ask Rebel or Tilghman.
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