A Broadcast From Home
A dark, damp, dreary evening somewhere in England, blacked out by the terrible war which embraces the world. It is pass night but there are a few fellows staying in camp. They make their way wearily to the dayroom, a small-sized imitation of home which the boys have created in their spare time. They talk about home, their civilian jobs, their schooldays and the girls and wives they left behind. It is a lonely little scene, these few men sitting around the fire with sad-looking faces. Then suddenly the radio blares out “We take you now direct to the Yankee Stadium in New York by shortwave for a play by play broadcast of the second game of the 1943 World Series.” The lights seem to go up as ten faces are lifted as one and happy smiles begin to beam across the room. They’re at home now, right in little old New York, these men are. They are playing the game right along with the players. It’s turned out to be a happy evening after all.
We Shall Win
War is terrible they say. Yes, war is terrible. One never knows suffering until he has had a first hand view of it. But the suffering I speak of is not all physical. It is mental, like the prospective bridegroom in the vestibule of the church or the soon-to-be father in the hospital corridor.
When the war began, the Nazis roared over England day and night, dropping destruction at every turn. Cities were turned into conflagrations, streets into morgues. For many a month this went on and then one day it stopped. The Englanders have had a rest and fortunately they are still partly at rest from that great fury.
People here like to be quiet, peaceful and reserved. Their calm has been interrupted but one day the war will end. Homes were destroyed by the thousands, occupants of some ruthlessly killed in that horrible blitzkrieg. Many more live on, however. They are lonely, they are hurt but they are not discouraged, rather they are patient and hopeful. They are confident that with the help of God they, and we, shall win the inevitable victory and the peace to follow.
Vincent B. Haggerty
That name does not mean much to the average citizen, but anyone who is familiar with the inside workings of amateur journalism, knows, without question, that that name is one of the greatest in the history of amateur journalism. Although Vincent B. Haggerty has passed on, his name, is certain to live on forever in the stories of the National, of the United, of the Fossils, of the United Alumni, of the Blue Pencil Club, and of the Amateur Printers’ Club. He was one of the mainstays of each of those six organizations during long periods of their varied existences. He was not always in the headlines, often he was mentioned only as “one of those present” but that was enough for him. With all due respect to three relatives, they sometimes carried the ball and received the cheers of other members but it was generally Vincent who ran the interference and made fine service possible. He was an active amateur journalist up to the minute the good Lord visited him in his office. We all feel his loss keenly. We who knew him, even slightly, will never forget Vincent Haggerty.
From somewhere in England the urge to say hello to you all has prompted me to publish this Bay Stater direct to you from England. I don’t want to be a long-winded orator but I do want to say hello to my many old and new friends of the National and American Amateur Press Associations. I have rejoined after quite some time of inactivity but somehow I can’t lose the sweet smell of printers’ ink, the heavy roar of the big presses, or the cramp that comes with writing.
I have undertaken to publish this issue of The Bay Stater even tho I am at war and far away in England because I feel that I would lose in time the urge to publish if I did not act when that urge hit me. I would be missing a lot of fun in the meantime also. I hope that this will be the only issue which I will have to publish from here, for when my next one appears I hope, as do thousands, yes, millions more, that I and we will be safe and happy at home once more. The war is not going to last forever: it will take a while but not too long. You know we have a rather good slogan over here: “The hard things we do right away, the impossible take a little longer.” We shall live up to that.
Don’t Be Blue, Dear!
Above me tonight is a sky of blue
And stars that remind me of a distant few
The air is filled with a fragrant dew
And my thoughts just naturally wander to you.
I think of you in the days just past
And til next I see you time will be vast
O’er here that time won’t pass too fast
And I dream of the day I’ll be back at last.
I love you, dear, I mean it too,
So please don’t feel so awfully blue.
The war will soon be done and through
And I’ll come back just to be with you.
Did you ever spend a rainy season in England? Try it sometime. It is now mid morning, the sun has been shining brightly till ten minutes ago, now it is misting, in a moment it will turn to a heavy rain. It rains for hours, days, until the hard ground is soft with moisture, then mud. Boots will be in season. Jolly, what?
Paper and Ink
My picture was to have appeared herein. I had a cut made and sent to my printer but he could not readily get paper on which the cut would print satisfactorily. There are limitations on paper in the United States. Some kinds have not been made for many months. So paper companies are compelled to generally accept orders only from old steady customers. Therefore my printer felt it wiser not to wait weeks or months in the hope of getting more suitable paper.
This paragraph ghosted by the printer for the Editor at the Editor’s order to fill up any blank space.
Virginia Baker And The Utahman
Last June I was stationed in the grand and glorious city of Ogden, Utah, and for two months previous I hadn’t known of the existence in that fair city of one Miss Virginia Baker, vivacious member and publisher of the Utahman from Virginia. Willametta Turnepseed told me of her being there and she also told Virginia of my being stationed there. We made some arrangements to get together one certain evening, and then as usual the unexpected happened. This was a welcome happening though, of course, for just before I was to leave to meet Ginny a furlough suddenly presented itself to me, and who am I to refuse to go home?
I traveled back to Massachusetts and returned a week later to Ogden. We again made arrangements but again it happened. Ogden was not to be our home any longer it was announced. I again would be unable to see Ginny.
Then again the unexpected happened. She called me at the camp and within an hour came out personally to see me. It was my last night there but we did finally meet. We held an impromptu convention between the two of us and chatted the whole evening long about the NAPA and its affairs. We parted with the promise to write to each other. I reached England shortly thereafter and wrote twice but both letters were returned marked “Not of this city.”
Are you there, Virginia?
The Bay Stater, an NAPA and AAPA publication, is scribed in its entirety except as noted by one Cpl. Charles J. Hoye, now peacefully residing for the duration in bonny old England. In normal times this brainstorm emanates from Taunton, the Friendly City, in Massachusetts. Printing of this issue is through the generosity of Alfred Penn Babcock of Cranford, N. J. and distribution is made through the American and National Amateur Press Association mailing systems and through private mailing as well. Handset in ten point Bookman and Italic with heads in eighteen point Century Expanded italic. Comments will be appreciated by said Editor, Cpl. Charles J. Hoye, 31299449, 444th Engineer Base Depot Company, APO 510, c:o the Postmaster, New York, N. Y. Every letter will be answered personally.