Canteen Kid By Marcia Daughtrey "You won't remember me," Bill wrote. But he was wrong. As long as she lives she'll remember. One night Joan was serving coffee behind the Snack Bar at the Hollywood Canteen, when a boy came up. "I don't believe it," he said. Now lots of boys might have said the same thing, but she'd have recognized it as an invitation to some breezy give-and-take, and replied in the same spirit. But this boy was handing it out straight. Sincerity was written all over his quiet face. "What don't you believe?" asked Joan. "That I'm seeing you. Maybe this sounds silly, but here's what I mean. I got in a couple of days ago, and I was pretty thrilled, especially coming from overseas. Hollywood was something wonderful to us fellows, and I kept looking for something wonderful to happen, but nothing did. Then they told me about this place. One guy said I'd see movie stars, and another guy said, 'Nah, nobody shows up,' and I walk in and there you are. And now -- well -- now here I am talking to you." He flushed, conscious of having been carried away. "I hope you don't mind. What I am trying to say is -- on account of seeing you, Hollywood hasn't let me down." "Why should I mind?" Joan said gently. "You've said some very nice things and it makes me feel good." That boy, symbolizing many, is why Joan goes to the Canteen week after week -- every Tuesday night. Once you're in, you forget you were ever tired, the boys are so smiley and glad to see you. Sometimes Joan dances, sometimes she's at the Snack Bar. Not long ago she sprained her ankle and couldn't dance. The boys were inclined to be skeptical -- "C'mon, Joan, don't give us that oldie --" She had to stomp out and show them, after which they were protective of her. "Just sit on that high-chair. Never mind the grub --" A soldier glared at a Marine who'd missed the excitement and innocently asked for coffee. "You got a bum ankle? -- Then how about gettin' her a cup o' coffee." shine and sign As a matter of fact, Joan feels honored when they ask her for food. It seems so much more useful than just signing autographs. Good training too, now that she's a waitress in "Cinderella Jones," plug! But generally, whoever's in charge of the Bar says, "Just shine and sign, honey. That's what they want from you --" Even more than autographs, what they want is to talk. She wishes there were time to sit and talk to them all. She's never forgotten the crack one disgusted soldier made in a magazine article. "Iceland," he said, "was named not for its temperature, but for its girls. No matter how corny that line may sound about being a sister to them, it describes what they're looking for better than anything else. One of the nicest compliments ever paid her was by a sailor who'd just been talking about his girl. "You understand," he said, "and that kind of brings my own girl closer." She thinks being an actress helps you to warm up easier. An actress has to meet so many different people, and she's used to the sociable atmosphere of the set and, come right down to it, the boys are the same kind of boys as the grips and juicers at the studio -- younger, most of them, but with that same fun and friendliness and that easygoing American way -- If they are shy, she tries to break the ice by finding some place they've both been to -- "You're not from Michigan, by any changce?" "Oh -- just Detroit --" When that happens, they go at it hammer-and-tongs, just a couple of hometown pals -- military tactics She's glad she's been to Canada, on account of the English boys who come sometimes. They generally know Montreal and the Mount Royal Hotel, and they're homesick for snow and winter sports. The thing to remember about reminiscing though is, do they enjoy it or does it make them suffer more because they're so far from home? So you've got to feel your way, you can't go barging right in. It's funny when they give her what she calls the familiar-face routine. They stand and stare -- who is she? Do I know her? Sometimes the light dawns in a grin. Or sometimes it doesn't dawn, and some bolder spirit puts the question direct. "Are you or aren't you?" "Yes, I'm in pictures." "Don't tell me, let me guess. What were you in last? -- Oh, I missed that one --" "I'm Joan Leslie," she says and ducks for the coffee urn, so she won't have to watch their faces get red. There was one boy standing at the edge of the crowd, looking so white and miserable that she wanted to push her way through and find out what was wrong. But you can't do that; they hate being made conspicuous -- At last his turn came at the Bar. "Would you sign this to my mother, Miss Leslie?" "Anything special you'd like me to say?" "I - I just got word that she's pretty sick. Maybe 'get well' or something -- ?" She took her time and wrote a warm little message. Reading it, his eyes filled with tears, and she felt her own lids sting. She looked for him the following week, but he didn't show up. The next Tuesday she heard a jubilant "Hi!" Wreathed in smiles, he looked like a different boy -- "Mom's going to be okay. She's got your card propped against the medicine glass and shows it off to all the neighbors. Says it's the thing she's proudest of -- except me," he added bashfully. running the gantlet..." As a rule, you can't go for special requests. There are too many boys and not enough time, and the boys understand and are satisfied just with the name. But once in a while you get somebody with ideas -- Holidays are special at the Canteen. They always need extra help, so Joan volunteered for Thanksgiving Day. She and Bob Alda worked together, Bob carving the turkey, Joan heaping cardboard plates. In between they signed autographs -- Along came one of Uncle Sam's more enterprising gobs and stuck a cardboard plate under her nose. "Look, here's what I want you to write: 'My heart belongs to you, Joe --' Joe Allen's the name, but just put Joe -- 'My heart belongs to you, Joe, I'll be waitin' for you, love and kisses --' then a lip-print and your name through it. Cute, huh?" Joan tried to laugh it off. "Don't you see I can't?" she protested. "If I did it for you, I'd have to do it for everybody." "Well then, just love and kisses and the lip-print. I gotta have the lip-print --" In desperation, she grabbed the plate and wrote "To my favorite heckler --" but before she could sign, someone yelled for coffee. She turned back just in time to see a busboy scoop up Joe's plate, scoop a mess of half-eaten beans into it, stack it onto a pile of dirty plates and march off, whistling. Joe stood and stared in a kind of paralysis. Then he shook his head slowly. "Fate!" he muttered. "It ain't to be --" and lost himself in the crowd. Her most embarassing moment came one night as she herself danced with another sailor who took his title as King of the Jivesters seriously. Joan had come straight from the studio where they'd given her a beautiful up-hairdo which wasn't, however, built for heavy seas. The music grew warmer and warmer, ditto the King. He swung her and caught her and whirled her away, and the pins started flying. Joan grew conscious of a worried-looking youngster on the sidelines, and wondered vaguely what he was worried about. At last he came striding toward them and cut in purposefully, for all the world like Harold the Hero rescuing her from the clutches of Jim Dalton. But instead of dancing, he drew her to the floor. "Your rat shows," he informed her. "I'll hold the wolves off while you fix it." That's the protective typed. Then there's the deadpan ribber, and you can't be quite sure if he's laughing with you or at you. The one with the broken-beer-bottle line, for instance. Every time they danced, he'd tell her about some friend who was dying to meet her -- "He'd come a thousand miles across broken beer bottles to dance with you." "Barefoot, no doubt?" she flips back. "No doubt. Where would he get shoes?" This went on and on till the gag got to be pretty tired. But Joan played along. Why not, since it took so little to amuse him? Then one night he asked if she'd sit the dance out. He said he wouldn't be coming back to the Canteen, it looked as if they were headed overseas -- "I want to thank you for putting up with my stale jokes. They must have been pretty tiresome. You know -- you're a good sport, Joan. I guess I wastrying to get your goat. But he never showed --" "He's got a long way to come," said Joan demurely -- "Three thousand miles over broken beer bottles," they chanted, and people turned their heads to see what was so funny. There's also the romantic type, as exemplified by the boy who'd seen "Stage Door Canteen." His eyes were rapt, his voice intense -- "Miss Leslie --" Not Joan -- perish forbid! -- did "California" call his deity Katherine? -- "Miss Leslie, do you remember the poem you said in 'The Sky's the Limit'?" "You mean the one about the man I wanted to marry --?" "Yes. Would you recite it for me, please, Miss Leslie?" She glanced hastily around. Well, let them laugh. The only thing was, would she be able to go through with it? looking back into the lost-puppy-dog eyes up-turned to her, she took the plunge -- "A creature not too bright or goodHe pulled a sign up from the toes of his G.I. shoes, murmured a simple, soulful thank you, turned his G.I. heel and walked off, gazing into space. Joan dabbed a hankerchief at her face. "Coffee boys?" the broken record There was another young romantic present one night -- Gerald Darrow, aged 9. He and the other Quiz Kids collected autographs as zealously as if they'd never heard of I.Q. As Joan handed the book back, Gerald spoke with impressive fervor, "This is the most exciting moment of my entire life, Miss Leslie. I'll never forget it." Joan was charmed. The words echoed in her ears -- or were they an echo? There was nothing disembodied about the clear treble, sounding off yet more fervently a few feet away. "This is the most exciting moment of my entire life, Miss Hayward. I'll never forget it --" That's what he said to all the girls. Her own most exciting moment occurred one night when a voice called, "Hi, Terror!" She whirled swiftly, her face alight -- On a bond selling tour in Washington, she'd been shown through a bomber. As she talked with the crew members, one said, "Hey, wait a minute, fellas, we haven't named this ship yet. How's for letting Joan name it?" "Swell--" "She's a redhead. She'll bring us luck." They brought a stepladder. She was to chalk the name in, and her handwriting would be traced later in paint. "But what are we going to call it --?" After her, of course. But also they wanted something with fire -- "I got it. The Leslie Terror --" That's why "Hi, Terror!" set her pulses leaping. Yes, it was one of the original crew. Yes, their ship had seen action in the Attu and Kiska fighting, had been damaged but not beyond repair. The boys had come through okay -- "Maybe because you're a redhead." "Maybe because I prayed," she said to herself. What impresses Joan most about the servicemen she meets is their spirit -- the way the accept the job, the way they loathe any trace of hero-worship -- even those that come back with stripes and medals -- you're not supposed to notice such things. The way they're so grateful for what you do, when what you do is so little. Often, when her sift is over, she doesn't have the heart to go home if they ask her not to -- "Why do you have to go?" "I've got to be up at 7 --" "We've got to be up at 5:30 --" "Oh dear, I know --" Her hours are long, but theirs are longer. Her work is safe, theirs is diffucult and dangerous -- It make her ashamed. One letter she treasures especially, because it expresses so simply and beautifully what she herself feels and can't put into words -- the spirit of the men, the spirit of the Canteen, the spirit of America. "Dear Joan Leslie: I'm one of the hundreds you were dancing with Tuesday. You won't remember me, but I'll never forget you...I want to tell you why. It's not because you are pretty, though you are. It's not because you're a good dancer, though you are that too. It's not even because you are becoming a big star. To be honest with you, I didn't even know who you were until they called you to the platform.Bill was wrong about just one thing. She remembers him all right. She'll remember him as long as she lives. |
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