Son, You're Just As Good As In The Army, Now!
 By Joe Lipsius
Regtl Hq 272nd Inf Rgt

            When registration for Selective Service took place by Octobe 1940, I think most were like me and thought it would not apply to them.  I was living in Montgomery, Alabama with a co-worker, Oscar Harper, and his father, Malcolm Harper, in a large room, in the landmark Exchange Hotel, in downtown Montomery.   I mention these names because both became big Alabama politicians and some of you might recognize them.  Mr. Harper was in the process of moving his family from Geneva, Alabama.  When this was accomplished in August, 1941, I moved with them to the Cloverdale section of Montgomery. 

            Oscar was in the advertising department of the Alabama Journal while I was in its circulation department as City Circulation Manager. 

            My "Greetings," or whatever it was called, letter came in July, 1941, rather unexpectedly, and actually with not a lot of importance attached to it.  It instructed me to report at 10 AM, on a Sunday, a certain date, to a Doctor's office not more than a block away from the Exchange Hotel as well as the newspaper office. 

            Usually, my Sunday morning was consumed riding around the poor sections helping newspaper carriers collect the weekly paper bill from customers.  I knew I was to report to the Doctor's office but the main thing was collecting the money so the boys could pay their bills and have a profit left over. 

            About mid-morning, I drove to the Hotel and was greeted by the desk clerk with, "Joe, the FBI has been looking for you.  Two of them are standing over there, now,"

pointing to two men at the Hotel entrance.  I walked over, introduced myself and was informed the Doctor had reported my failure to be at his office.  They told me to beat it over there now and everything would be ok. 

            I rushed the block to the Doctor's office which was in a converted house.  Reaching the door, I found it locked.  A knock brought a nurse to the door who angrily greeted me for being late.  "Doctor so and so is very mad you are late.  He runs 8 or 10 through at a time.  Now, he will have to take extra time and run you through alone.   He is about finished with the morning group so just wait." 

            In a few minutes an upset Doctor summoned me to the scales with the nurse alongside him.  "Step up here," pointing to the scales.  "112 punds and 5 ft 5 inches," he said after some scale adjustments, to the nurse with my papers.  Sheepishly, I asked, "Doctor, that's not enough to be in the Army, is it?" 

            No doubt "browned off" with me for requiring him to do extra work on Sunday, he replied, "Son, you're just as good as in the Army, now!"