TRANSCRIBED FROM THE FAYETTEVILLE DAILY DEMOCRAT JUNE 3, 1918 P. 5
Paris Island, S.C.,
My Dear Mother:
I am on the rifle range now. We get up at 7 o’clock in the morning, have chow, and then go to the range. We work two shifts, one in the mornings and one in the afternoon. The afternoon shift is from 12 to 1 p.m. An average of fifty or sixty shots a day are fired.
I have broken into motion pictures. The Mutual weekly corporation or some other film corporation has been taking pictures of the Marines. Sunday we had a big parade and motion pictures were taken of us and a few days before, pictures were taken of us charging with fixed bayonets, singing, marching and other things. Be sure and watch the Mutual weeklies and you may see the very same pictures.
One of the things they do down here is to teach the Marines how to sing. We sing all the time in the bunk house, on the march, and in the Y.M.C.A., etc. They have trained song leaders here to lead us. And every man is supposed to sing.
There’s more pep in a company of Marines than a hundred companies of the draft army, regular army or navy. But we have to do things doubly hard. The stuff that makes the Marine Corps is their spirit. The pep that they put in to what they do.
There is scarcely any time for yourself to have until after seven o’clock. After seven we go to the Y and see pictures. They have five, six or seven reels here every night. One of the best pictures that I saw was “Nan of Music Mountain,” a book that I have read.
I am certainly feeling fine. I have been sick only once. That was on my third shot for the typhoid prophylaxis. I had a bad fever all night but later the next day I felt all right again. I am all through with my shots now. It certainly isn’t pleasant to have a hypodermic needle punched through your arm.
We have had all sorts of drills—skirmish, bayonet, and close order. They took us through a system of trenches here. In the bayonet drill the men thrust at dummies hanging from frames. In the close order drill we were started in by counting as every command was given us, as—one, two, three, four, one, until I got so I could hardly do anything without sounting one, two, three, four, one.
The fellow that gets a big box of candy or cake here is considered in luck, generally the other fellows as well as the receiver. Generally the other fellows get some, so we are all made happy. One of those nice big chocolate cakes that no one else but you can make, would certainly please me, mother.
I have been in the states of Illinois, Indiana—I passed through Evansville—and Tennessee. I traveled practically the whole length of that state and took a meal in Nashville and Chattanooga. I was in Alabama and Georgia. There were about 80 of us Marines who were put up at the Southern Hotel in Atlanta, and stayed all night. Atlanta, the Queen of the South, is certainly some city. The streets are thronged with soldiers, for there are two army camps near, one being camp Gordon. I passed through Marietta, Georgia, where Leo Frank was lynched. That sensational case you perhaps remembered in the newspapers.
Your loving son,
Tom.
Company 17, Marine Barracks,
Paris Island, S.C.
NOTES: Tom Finch was writing to his mother, Mrs. C. A. Finch. He lived with his parents in Fayetteville, Arkansas as his father was a minister at the First Christian Church of Fayetteville.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT
Paris Island, S.C.,
My Dear Mother:
I am on the rifle range now. We get up at 7 o’clock in the morning, have chow, and then go to the range. We work two shifts, one in the mornings and one in the afternoon. The afternoon shift is from 12 to 1 p.m. An average of fifty or sixty shots a day are fired.
I have broken into motion pictures. The Mutual weekly corporation or some other film corporation has been taking pictures of the Marines. Sunday we had a big parade and motion pictures were taken of us and a few days before, pictures were taken of us charging with fixed bayonets, singing, marching and other things. Be sure and watch the Mutual weeklies and you may see the very same pictures.
One of the things they do down here is to teach the Marines how to sing. We sing all the time in the bunk house, on the march, and in the Y.M.C.A., etc. They have trained song leaders here to lead us. And every man is supposed to sing.
There’s more pep in a company of Marines than a hundred companies of the draft army, regular army or navy. But we have to do things doubly hard. The stuff that makes the Marine Corps is their spirit. The pep that they put in to what they do.
There is scarcely any time for yourself to have until after seven o’clock. After seven we go to the Y and see pictures. They have five, six or seven reels here every night. One of the best pictures that I saw was “Nan of Music Mountain,” a book that I have read.
I am certainly feeling fine. I have been sick only once. That was on my third shot for the typhoid prophylaxis. I had a bad fever all night but later the next day I felt all right again. I am all through with my shots now. It certainly isn’t pleasant to have a hypodermic needle punched through your arm.
We have had all sorts of drills—skirmish, bayonet, and close order. They took us through a system of trenches here. In the bayonet drill the men thrust at dummies hanging from frames. In the close order drill we were started in by counting as every command was given us, as—one, two, three, four, one, until I got so I could hardly do anything without sounting one, two, three, four, one.
The fellow that gets a big box of candy or cake here is considered in luck, generally the other fellows as well as the receiver. Generally the other fellows get some, so we are all made happy. One of those nice big chocolate cakes that no one else but you can make, would certainly please me, mother.
I have been in the states of Illinois, Indiana—I passed through Evansville—and Tennessee. I traveled practically the whole length of that state and took a meal in Nashville and Chattanooga. I was in Alabama and Georgia. There were about 80 of us Marines who were put up at the Southern Hotel in Atlanta, and stayed all night. Atlanta, the Queen of the South, is certainly some city. The streets are thronged with soldiers, for there are two army camps near, one being camp Gordon. I passed through Marietta, Georgia, where Leo Frank was lynched. That sensational case you perhaps remembered in the newspapers.
Your loving son,
Tom.
Company 17, Marine Barracks,
Paris Island, S.C.
NOTES: Tom Finch was writing to his mother, Mrs. C. A. Finch. He lived with his parents in Fayetteville, Arkansas as his father was a minister at the First Christian Church of Fayetteville.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT