Wednesday, Sept. 26, 1917
The Saratogian’s special correspondent with the Saratoga County draftees in Ayer, Massachusetts, files a report today detailing the daily routine of the nation’s newest soldiers.
The correspondent is veteran reporter Frank J. Sullivan, the clerk for Company H of the 303rd U.S. Infantry. While he was credited with postcards sent home earlier this week, he gets no byline for the story that appears in tomorrow’s paper. Sullivan was part of the cohort of draftees that left Saratoga Springs for the Camp Devens training facility last Saturday.
“Enough has been crowded into our first few days here to make them seem like a week,” the correspondent writes, “From 5:45 in the morning until 10 o’clock at night we are on the go in some way or another, and the snores commence surprisingly soon after the lights go out.
“We are in a large wooden barracks, bare enough in appearance when a man who has been accustomed to home life sees it first, but not at all uncomfortable when you get used to it.
“Heaven knows what part of the camp we are in; I don’t, for I haven’t had the chance yet to investigate a tenth part of it. The extent of my dissipation thus far has been one trip to the postoffice to indulge in a wild orgy of stamp buying; a trip to a store where about a thousand lads were lined up waiting a chance to buy ice cream cones, and a visit to the theater last night.
“The ‘theater’ is a tent, equipped with a small stage and managed by the government. For fifteen cents you get a good bill; seven or eight acts. The performance is entirely informal, and because of the fact that the audience includes only men, offers unusual features.
“Polite handclapping is not the thing; one must shout or give his personal opinion of the players for the benefit of the rest of the audience. However, this does not mean that it is a rough house. The crowd is not half so unruly as many audiences of college students I have seen. That’s because of the army discipline, which is already beginning to take effect.
“Then, too, the men haven’t got their bearings yet, and they don’t know just how much they can get away with.”
Sullivan and friends have further opportunities for “dissipation” now that they’re allowed to go into Ayer until 10 p.m. each evening. He notes that Boston is 45 minutes away, but adds, “Heaven knows when we’ll get to those places. It’s to be hard work here, and no fooling.”