6 Quotes by Clair Kenamore

With a Western Kansas contingent was another musician, seemingly from a small town. He carried a mandolin. He wore a green hat and green clothes which had pearl buttons on them wherever they could be put — cuffs, lapels, pocket flaps. In his tie was a small gold vanity pin which looked as if a fluffy-haired 16-year-old girl in a white dress had placed it there the night before the lad had started away for the wars.

The sound of the airplanes is in the key of war. The thunder of the truck trains, the sputter of the motorcycles, the music of the bugles, and even the howling of the dogs are parts of the symphony of war.

A halt was called, and the men threw themselves prostrate on the road without loosening their packs. At that moment, the outfit badly needed a 'pick-me-up,' and it came.'Listen!' said the sergeant.Through the cloud and the mournful wind we heard the thunder of our guns — the French 75s. They were talking to us.

His soldiers call Major-General John Joseph Pershing (accent on the first syllable) "Black Jack" when he is not near. The man is an erect, soldierly officer of about six feet, a strict disciplinarian, and one of the hardest workers in the Army.

Racial prejudice, unscrupulous politics, religion, poverty, the hair-trigger methods of the Texas Rangers — they all get portions of the blame.During the last three months, at least eleven thousand Mexicans have fled across the border. Crops are unharvested, cotton unpicked, and ground untilled because the laborers are gone.

Mustard gas, which is the favorite frightfulness of the Hun, does not smell like mustard at all. Its pungency is something like the taste of mustard, but its smell is that of sour, fermented raspberry, with mold on top.