Carter, Walter O.

English

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46 l\tL\ NUSCRIPTSand sixty-one cents. It is now time to buy a car-not a new one,of course. Iban lays off work for an afternoon, and we find himat the used-car lot of U. L. Betaken. The salesman, Hank Grabitall,has just found out Iban's financial status. Thereupon, he leads himto a 1926 Hackahack and begins his spiel about the superb upkeepthe car has had, the actual mileage on the speedometer, the practicallynew tires, and the exquisiteness of the car's interior. Poor Iban signsthe contract, pays his five hundred, and makes arrangements for theother one hundred and fi fty dollars. The next day his car is de-livered; but, when he attempts to start it, nothing happens. Aquick glance under the hood tells the story-no engine.There you have it, a complete, unbiased picture of life withoutprincipal, principle. It is obvious that if you have it, you do not needit; and if you have not got much, you will not have that long. Suchis Iife, I suppose. Therefore, let us gather together all our green-backs, set a match to the pile, and go find some colored rocks.Study of a "Character"Walter O. CarterW rIEN I. US]: t~le term "Character" il: reference to this person, Ia111usmg It 111 the slang sense, to Imply a person quite out ofthe ordinary. Druce L. Hopin was his full name, but thiswas shortened to "Hoppie" by his intimates. He was the chiefclerk of the G-2 section of Fifth Corps Headquarters. Our dutywas divided into two twelve-hour shifts, and because we usuallypulled duty together, we were also sack and foxhole companions.This relationship led to a very close friendship.Hoppie was a short little fellow about thirty with dull yellowhair which he always kept cut very short so that it stood up about ahalf-inch all over his head. Because his eyes were bad, he wore verythick-lensed glasses. They were the G. I. type with metal rims andgave him a man-from-Mars appearance when he looked at you. Hehad worked as a typist all his li fe, which accounted for his stoopedshoulders. He grew a mustache which, clue to his nervous habitof pushing it up with his fingers, stuck straight out over his liplike an awning over a window. For some strange reason this mus-tache was red rather than the color of his hair.MANUSCRIPTS 47Along with his strange appearance he loved to talk. He had athis command a wealth of conversational material which he generous-ly colored with anecdotes and figures of speech. Nothing pleasedhim more than to acquire a new piece of information and make therounds of all the other sections to give it proper dissemination. Histalk was very rapid and constantly interrupted by short snorts due toan asthmatic condition. To hear him laugh was like hearing a horseneigh with its head in a rain barrel.I often wondered what kept him from blowing his top, for hewas so nervous he could not sit still. Three packs of cigarettes a dayhe would smoke or at least light and let burn, for he always had tobe doing something. Whenever I ran into Hoppie, he was alwayshurrying somewhere or hurrying back. If there was ever action fromartillery or bombs he would be the first in his foxhole no matterhow far away he was.I shall never forget one two-week period I spent on nights withhim. 'vVe were just inside Germany, and there was an abundance ofcaptured bottled goods around for which he acquired quite a taste.Hoppie had always claimed to be a connoisseur of the better alcoholicbeverages, but I can not remember anything we ever had around thathe refused to drink. Our working quarters comprised two tents, onethe operations tent where Hoppie kept a constant journal of incomingand outgoing messages, and the other the administration tent whereI carried on my duties as draftsman. These tents were connected atone end, and as soon as the midnight periodical report went in, hewould open a bottle and take a "draw," as he would put it. He wouldset the bottle on the corner of my drafting table, snort a few times,make some favorable remark as to the rare bouquet of the contents,and "stomp off" to the other tent to take up his position again athis typewriter. From then on every five minutes, here came U oppiestomping in, a stoop-shouldered, pot-bellied little man with thickglasses, snorting and pushing at his mustache, coming in to haveanother draw un the bottle. This would continue until the contentswere gone. Night after night this would go on, but there was neverany change in his actions or manner of speech. His nervousenergy must have burned the alcohol as fast as he drank it.He had a great interest in games that took a lot of concentration,like pinochle and chess, and proved himself an adept player. For daysafter a session he would repJay his carel hands or discuss his maneu-vers on the chess board. Always he would do his best to win, but ifhe die! not, he was a good loser.There had been some unpleasantness in Hoppie's home life andbecause of it he tried to eliminate any expression of sentiment. He:-vanted to ap_pear hardboiled, but anyone he knew could get his shirtif he needed it. He had a great many friends and to my knowledae noenemies. It was a common truth, admitted by all that Hoppie'" wasa "Character."

Study of a  Character

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Study of a Character

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