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MOOSEHEART MAGAZINE
A Mooseman’s Experience in The Army
membrance of the great heart of the Moose made me patient and kindly when other officers were summary in their punishments. This was especially true of my negro soldiers. 1 treated the colored private as my brother and yet I never wavered when a strong hand was necessary. I found out that the average American soldier was trying his best to make good on the job and that ninety-nine out of a hundred of the breaches of good-order came from negligence or ignorance.
I always gave a man a second chance. And I am sure that I would never have been so just and patient in my dealings with the man had it not been for the fraternal lessons taught me at the fireside of the Moose.
A Voice From “The South”
Columbus Lodge was organized on November 20, 1919, with 112 charter members. The skeptic minds said that we would not last three months, at times we thought so ourselves. Six months ago we were in debt and could hardly raise the money to pay our hall rent. But some of the hustlers who have been members of the Order for a long time got together and decided that Columbus Lodge should succeed, with the result that today we are out of debt, have a good General Fund, and due to the fact that since our organization we have never been called upon yet to pay any benefits we therefore have a good beneficial fund. The Lodge recently purchased $100.00 worth of War Savings Stamps. The permanent entertainment committee of the Lodge is keep ing up the social side of the Order by staging monthly entertainments. 1» August a genuine Frolic was held which was enjoyed by two hundred, the events of the evening consisted of boxing, wrestling, instrumental and vocal music, followed by a genuine supper. Our guests were heard to remark that the Moose were sure alive. On Labor Day we staged a pic nic and barbecue which was proclaim ed by the newspapers of Columbus to be the greatest affair ever held by any fraternal order in the city. Aftei the members and their guests had partaken of all the barbecue they could stand there was found to be an abundance left, and to prove that the Loyal Order of Moose, and Columbus Lodge as well, believe in relieving suffering, the remainder of the dinner was turned over to the Salvation Army for distribution to the needy in the city. The Adjutant of the Salvation Army informed us that no matter where he \ 's or upon what duty he was called t > would always remember and speak a good word for the Loyal Order of Moose.
Whereas our membership has not gained as rapidly as we would wish, due to the fact that for every new candidate which we initiate into the Lodge this gain is offset by some of our members being dropped for non payment of dues. But the Moose spirit is now waking up in our midst and a number of our members who have been dropped are now realizing their error and are making application for reinstatement. We are looking forward for a good increase this fall and winter.
By WALTER McINTYRE, Lieutenant
NOTES OF THE LODGES
O. C. Sanderson, member of Los Angeles, California Lodge No. 386, has been missing from his home since May last. Information as to his present whereabouts will be thankfully received by Brother H. A. Shint-felt, Secretary.
The following is the description of Brother Sanderson: Height 5 ft. 8 inches; age 40 years; weight 170 lbs.; complexion fair, eyes blue. Has tatoo marks on forearms.
to the Personnel Department. Most of the rejected were tubercular. At the Personnel Board, our service records were made out and finger prints were taken. Then we were taken back to our tents. Next day I received my first inoculation. And such a time we had. Many big strong fellows became violently sick. But I didn’t mind it at all, despite the fact that I weighed only one hundred and twenty pounds.
After a day or two we were taken out and drilled. Some drill! The hot Florida sun boiled me alive and the mosquitoes never overlooked me for a second. Life for one month was a succession of rookie drills, turbulent meals, and an occasional inoculation.
At the end of a month the Receiving camp was re-organized on an occupational basis. I had given my occupation as teacher and was assigned to an Office Regiment. I stayed there three weeks drilling and attending lectures under the pine trees along the sleepy St. John River. Then I was transferred to an Instructors’ Company. And so overnight came the metamorphosis, the break I had been longing for.. One day I was a rookie, the next day an instructor. I had been applying myself industriously to the lectures as a student and when my chance came I was prepared. The transfer brought me clean across the camp from the tents in the sand to the choicest barracks in the camp.
After a few weeks service as an instructor, during which time I met dozens of well-known Moosemen,_ I was transferred to the officers’ training school. I graduated with a commission a few months later and was assigned as a liaison officer aboard a Japanese transport, sailing from Baltimore on November nineteenth. The armistice was signed before my boat sailed and orders were cancelled and I was assigned to desk duty in Washington, where I was mustered out a few months ago.
No man was allowed to wear any emblem on his uniform. Many of the Masons circumvented this order by wearing fraternal rings. I had no Moose ring and I didn’t know how to let the world know that I was a Mooseman. I wanted to carry one of our emblems into Germany if I could. Finally I managed to get a very small emblem, and I fastened into my hat-strap and regained my Moose status .without landing in the guardhouse.
Many amusing incidents cropped up while I was in the camps. A negro sentry was ordered to have all mounted men dismount when he challenged them. He was put on guard along the St. John. A Military Policeman forded the shallow edge of the stream and came toward the negro’s post. The horse was in five feet of water. The negro challenged the policeman and ordered him to dismount ar d to advance to be recognized. The policeman told the negro that he would drown. But the negro was not open to persuasion and forced the policeman to get off the horse and plod through five feet of chilly water to be recognized. What the Military Policeman said is not on the record, but it is safe to say that he didn’t say much because the negro guards around camp were simple souls who obeyed their orders to the letters and shot when the shooting hour came.
The lessons taught me by my fraternal associations with my brothers of the Moose were of great value to me when I became an officer. They taught me the danger of power and the beauty of kindness. I always tried to live up to the spirit of our fraternity in dealing with my men. The happiness and the very liven of the men are often in the hands of their officers, and I always tried to remember that they were my brothers and treated them as such. The re-
up before the tent. One by one our records were taken and we were sent to the company sergeant.
He certainly was hard-boiled. I stepped up to him and asked him to assign me to a tent. He bawled,
“Come along and make it snappy.”
I followed him down the sandy street. At each tent he would stop and ask if there was any more room inside. Such abuse as poured forth from those tents! You’d think I was a German spy. Finally he found an empty tent and informed me that my suite was ready. I pitched my baggage down and looked around. There were three men in the tent. One was a copper-miner from Oregon. The other was an expert teamster from the borax mines. The third was a shipping-clerk from New York.
They received me cordially and in five minutes I was one of the gang.
I removed my coat and vest and hung them on a nail of the tent-pole. Then I solemnly folded my black silk knitted tie, kissed it a fond farewell and laid it away. Next came my collar. I tore it m two and flung it into the company street. In ten seconds a street guard made me pick it up and put it into a garbage receptacle.
I then went to the supply sergeant’s tent. He gave me two army blankets, a bed sack, which I had to fill with straw, a mosquito net, a sadly worn knife, a fork that must have been originally issued in the Crimean war, a spoon big enough to dredge a river with, a plate so badly bent that it looked like one of those terrain maps we studied in school, and an agate cup that dated from the fall of Rome.
A short time after someone blew a whistle and the whole camp went mad. I thought there was a mutiny.
I stepped outside and saw a line of soldiers a hundred yards long, each man armed with a mess kit. I fell in line and waited. Finally I got to the kitchen. Big gunboats filled with soup rested on the table. Someone slammed a spoonful of soup on my plate, next a chunk of bread, and then some rice pudding, slammed right into the middle of the soup. My scalded fingers told me I was getting Java.
I sat on the ground and wondered how I could manage it all. A big Montana cowboy, spurs, Stetson, chaps, and all sat beside me. I watched him fold his knees under him. Then I tried it. It worked like a charm. I put my cup in the hollow made by my folded knees. Then I placed the plate in my lap. Thus the plate kept the savages from kicking sand into my coffee while I ate. I picked the potato out, peeled it and ate it with relish. Next I looked at the goulash on my plate.
The pudding was doing its best to hold off from the soup. Finally I closed my eyes, whirled the whole mass into foam and then looked at it. It didn’t look so very bad, so I pitched in and put it away.
After supper I strolled down to the Knights of Columbus tent and wrote some letters home. Then I retired at eight-thirty leaving my candle lit,״‘ At nine o’clock the street guard fired a ball of Spanish moss at the candle and put it out for me.
I tossed on the hard bed for hours and finally, unable to sleep, dressed and walked down to the river-bank. The night was alive with trembling stars. A tropical moon scattered silver over the width of the gorgeous river. I sat until dawn wondering and wondering where it was all going to end. And I must confess that a fleeting remembrance of fraternal nights in the Moose clubhouse, brought a stray tear or two.
However with reveille I was up and at it again. After breakfast we were taken to the Medical Examining Board. Those who passed were taken
Lleutenani
McIntyre
ON A cool June night many months ago I left New York for Florida I was riding first class and I was traveling prepaid. I was one of the many packages of human freight, (the most valuable shipments in the world), that Uncle Sam was sending to the camps.
After two days’ uneventful riding I arrived in J ackson-ville. As soon as I got off the train a soldier with a blue band on his arm came over to me with a greedy glance in his eye and asked me in the most proprietory tones where the H—
1 was bound for. I told him that I was bound for Camp Johnston.
He looked me over from head to foot and told me to get out of sight until two P. M.
[ was sorely tempted to tell him what 1 thought about him. But a glance at the surly automatic in his holster reminded me forcibly that I was no longer a free agent but had become a willing servant, fhe first thing I noticed in Florida «as the intense brilliancy of the sun. it is unlike our Northern sunlight and you feel as if you were looking straight into the face of the sun itself »11 the time.
I took a street-car to Riverside Park. On entering the car I did not jail to notice the segregated seats for negroes. I was sorely tempted to sit with the negroes just for spite but my good-sense prevailed and. I rode with the super-men who derive the ■right to rule from the color of their skin. Weary with the night’s incessant jostling in my Pullman berth 1 curled up on a bench and was soon »sleep. The semi-tropical indolence crept into my bones and I died temporarily until I awoke.
At two o’clock I took a train for camp with about thirty other young Americans. They sang and shouted until we got to camp. After a half-hour wait on the station platform a large motor cargo truck rattled up and we were bundled, boots and baggage, into the truck. Never did I have such a ride. The truck stood on one end and then the other. My valise was bounced all over the floor. The truck had been carrying coal before it came for us. We sat on the floor because we couldn’t stand up. The coal-dust swept up in clouds and I was soon devoid of all the earmarks of culture and civilization. •Most of my companions were New Yorkers and you couldn’t make them mad. They sang between showers of coal dust and sighed gently for a bucket of “malt beverage”.
As we passed the gate a soldier along the road shouted:
“We feel sorry for you but we can t reach you.”
All along the route we were met with cries of, “You’ll like it.”
“Do you want’a sell that straw hat?”
“You’ll get yours.”
“Hang up a crape. You’re as good as dead.”
We sat grimly in the truck and said nothing. The truck rolled up to the sub-depot quartermaster’s office. While the sergeant went inside, a crowd gathered around us as if we were in a zoo. You never heard such banter in all your life. You should have heard the New York Irish go after that gang of “crackers”.
After a short delay we rolled on to the Receiving Camp. We were unceremoniously dumped out and lined