Logansport's Lions

Into U.S.O. fund headquarters in Logansport, Ind., fortnight ago, came two hot, weary young Americans wearing the blue-grey uniform of the R.A.F. One of them, decorated with the Distinguished Flying Cross, carried a barracks bag; the other, badly in need of a shave, had only his empty pipe for duffle. Could they get a meal?

Shyly they told their story. They were both on convalescent leave, hitchhiking across the country to visit their parents in San Diego, Calif. They had such short leave they hadn't waited for the British consul to arrange transportation. USOers, fascinated, pressed them for details.

Two in a Boat. While on reconnaissance patrol a few weeks before, they said, 200 miles off the coast of England, they were attacked by six German fighters. After shooting down two Germans, their plane, radio dead, was forced into the sea. They spent the next 16 days on a rubber life raft, stretching out five days' emergency rations by mixing canned milk and water together. Finally they saw a vessel, a U.S. ship which was part of a convoy. The boy with the empty pipe said he jerked a thumb at the boat's crew, asked ''Ride, buddy?" The crew, he said, grinned, and said, "Sure. Hop in."

In New York they got in touch with the British consul. The boys had taken a cattle boat to England to enlist in the R.A.F. soon after the war began. They had flown over Germany, Poland, France and Libya. One, a gunner, said he had shot down 56 enemy planes; his friend had shot down more than that. Both deprecated the idea that these were exceptional scores.

Toast of the Town. Hospitable Logansport went into a tailspin over its newfound heroes. First they were sent to a local restaurant with a blanket order for all they could eat. The Deputy Prosecutor, Kenesaw M. Landis II (nephew of the baseball commissioner), who had questioned them, took them home with him. The Elks gave a dance in their honor. Members of the American Legion, Veterans of Foreign Wars, Elks, Eagles, Knights of Columbus and Rotary Club got together to plan a giant shindig.

Every minute was mapped out in entertainment for them, except Sunday afternoon, when the boys said, "We'd like to meet some girls." That was being swiftly arranged.

At the Elks' dance in their honor, the Deputy Prosecutor, who had been listening to his guests with care, began to think their stories were somehow--well, not quite. . . . They didn't get to make their speech. When they went home after the dance, he kept them up all night questioning them. Finally they broke down and admitted that they had never been off the continent.

The "gunner," Kelly Albert, was a Detroit boy who had once worked for Ford, had enlisted in the Canadian tank corps, whence he had been AWOL since April. The "sergeant pilot," Robert Poynter, another Detroit boy, had worked for Hudson, had enlisted in Canada in the Polish armed forces in November 1941, but had been taken home by his parents as underage. On his 20th birthday he enlisted again, was honorably discharged. He started to bum around, met Albert. "We had to say something," said "Gunner" Albert.

Their uniforms were stripped from them; but they had broken no laws. Logansport laughed it off. Kindly Kenesaw Landis gave Poynter a pair of pants, bought Albert a $3 second-hand suit. Both promised to enlist in the army.

"If you do come back as members of the American forces," said Landis, "the town will be glad to see you. Maybe you'll get a chance to make your speech after all."

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