"Don't Go Sympathizing"

The first trickle became a stream, and by this week upwards of 100,000 men had trooped off the grey ships and out of the big grey airplanes. The great migration of U.S. soldiers from Europe was on.

There were many "Kriegies,"* former prisoners of war, bitterly unforgiving of the Germans. There were sick and wounded. There were 1,700 airmen in one day at Connecticut's windswept Bradley Field. One jubilant man jackknifed to kiss the good, solid U.S. runway (see cut). Most of them were pretty certain to be off to the wars again soon.

At New York City, Boston and Charleston, thousands of men piled down the gangplanks, lugging barracks bags, German sabers and helmets. They wolf-yowled at the WAC bands, kneeled to make the sign of the cross. One G.I., debarked to a bus, impetuously obeyed his resolve to kiss the first American girl he saw (see cut). The bus de-bussed them before they could even exchange names.

Almost all the men were heading home for 30-day furloughs. After that, they were headed for the unknown: perhaps to more fighting in the Pacific, perhaps--for a lucky few--duty in the U.S. But for some--those who were due for discharge under the Army point system--life would become suddenly very different. What did they face? For many the changeover would be drastic. The press had been full of warnings and reports of some trouble.

No Questions. In Indianapolis last week TIME Correspondent Edward C. Heinke took a sample of the evidence. He interviewed almost a dozen Indianapolis men taken at random from the list of those recently discharged at nearby Camp Atterbury.

All had seen much combat service. All had been self-conscious about fitting themselves back into civilian ways. But they were feeling no pain--at least in the first stages of changeover. Said ex-Parachutist Edward Burns, veteran of six campaigns, of hospitalization for battle exhaustion: "I'm still pretty nervous, but I'll make it all right by myself. Just let the men alone. Don't go sympathizing."

The Indianapolis veterans struck a common-sense common chord: the returned overseas soldier is no nerve-shattered civilian-hater who will explode into violent action if he does not get all he thinks he deserves. Said big (210 Ibs.) 39-year-old ex-Pfc. Carl Emory Rainwater, veteran of three European invasions: "Listen, you turn the fellows loose in the community and in a couple of weeks you wouldn't know that they'd been in the Army." Said a 25-year-old ex-corporal, now a garage mechanic: "Most of the fellows are like me. Just don't ask a bunch of questions."

"No Sunday Talk." Heavy-set George Wilbur Crutcher, 24, Negro ex-quartermaster staff sergeant, had had five years of Army service. Before the Army, his best job had paid him $18 a week. Now he works in a tire plant at about $50 a week. Did he think the Government owed him something special? Said ex-Sergeant Crutcher: "I don't expect a thing.that a civilian wouldn't get too. We're all in the same class. And that's from the heart--no Sunday talk." Said ex-T/5 Glenn Harrison Jr., whose mustering-out pay helped him and his sister set up a small cleaning shop: "Some of the boys think that the Government owes them a living, but most of them don't. I know I'm going to have to get out and make it myself, and that's what I'm doing."

*Americanization of Kriegsgefangene.

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