It's-A-Small-World Department:

There's nothing like a good war to bear out the fact that it is, after all, a small world. No less than four student officers in this activity, including your correspondent (Toots to you), are from South Bend, Ind. Three are Company D men, while the fourth, one Arch Graham, is a Baker boy.

Bill Armstrong is in the fighting first, Harry Browne in the scintillating second, your correspondent (blush blush) in the thundering third. All four of us went to high school together, and all but Mr. Browne were spending our ration points in South Bend B.H. (before Harvard).

South Bend Slighted

Mr. Browne traveled extensively as an employee of the federal government prior to getting his indoctrination in Tucson, Arizona. He joined Company D. (then E) after two months at Tucson. Probably most people around here think of South Bend as the home of Notre Dame, but South Benders insist that there also are a couple of places called the Stude-baker and Bendix corporations deserving of mention.

And that isn't all. In the last six weeks your news broker has had reunions right here in Cambridge with two other gents who, with him, formed a very important part of the Harter Heights Terriers, a kid football team which was the "scourge" of the neighborhood back in South Bend as long ago as 1929.

That makes a total of six South Bend in or near this activity who knew each other well back in their school days when Hitler and Tojo were just thinking. Yep it's a small world.

Absent-Minded A.J.

Ever hear the one about the absent minded professor? Well, this is almost as good. A. J. Gregory, who was trying awfully hard to function as the leader of the third platoon on the way to chow the other day, got his signals mixed as we approached the outskirts of Harvard Union. "Column left," commanded Mr. Gregory, who promptly did a very next column right and marched down Quincy Street all by himself. The Platoon, which was hungry, marched straight ahead toward the Union's main entrance. "Oh, pardon me," apologized Mr. Gregory, scurrying back to the head of the column. "Just stick with us, sir," cracked a wag in the platoon, "and we'll show you the way."

The next day poor A.J. lost his garrison cap, just before visual com., and asked Ensign L.N. Wires to announce the loss over the loud speaker. There was no response. A.J. later found the cap in his belt.

It's An Old Saying: Every Girl Just Loves a Uniform

Did you ever wonder what is going through the girls' minds as they watch a column of military men go marching by? Well, here's a sample of their thoughts.

Recently, as a seemingly endless column of NTS (Communications) men cadenced their way across the busy intersection near Littauer, the usual traffic and pedestrian jams resulted on either side of the khaki-clad marchers. Suddenly one of the feminine onlookers gave a deep sigh and exclaimed to her friend:

"Go ahead. Take your pick. They'll never miss just one of them."