Star-Spangled Jive

This year, as you may or may not know, marks the 25th anniversary of the termination of what Still must be called the most titanic struggle of all mankind: World War Two. Oh, there have been wars before and wars since; and, unfortunately, there will continue to be wars. But until and if there is a World War Three, the epic confrontation with the Axis powers must unquestionably stand as the supreme war of them all.

As one who was a part of that conflict, I have been asked why I consider my war to be superior to others-- such as World War One, for example. During facetious moments, I say, "We were only number two, so we tried harder." But then I soberly add that most wars in history had no raison d'étre. World War One was brought on by the misunderstandings and petty jealousies of some fatuous heads of state. The Spanish-American War was treated by a newspaper publisher. The Civil War was nothing but a colossal, tragic blunder. The Hundred Years' War (continued on page 108)Star-Spangled Jive(continued from page 97) was a useless, bloody bore for at least 99 years. And, of course, the less said about the Vietnamese thing the better.

Why, then, does World War Two stand by itself in historical annals?

When I was taking basic training, I recall being shown a series of films titled Why We Fight. Each one invariably began with a voice-over proclaiming, "There is a good world and there is a bad world...." And that about summed it up. We were the good guys, they were the bad guys. We had a job to do. Our very survival was at stake. When, throughout the ages, has any issue stood out more clearly?

So we went about doing a dirty but necessary job. We bought War Bonds, we collected aluminum pots, we became air-raid wardens or we went off to fight, praying for the lights to go on again all over the world, so that we could all come home wearing discharge pins (or "ruptured ducks," as we lovingly called them) and resume our places in a peaceful society.

In those days, there was no anti-war crowd to speak of and just about all of us gladly did our part. To help lighten the load and point us in the right direction was the ever-faithful Tin-Pan Alley, supplying us with such stirring songs as Remember Pearl Harbor, We Did It Before (And We Can Do It Again) and Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition. Also some less memorable but no less colorful ditties, such as Goodbye Mama, I'm Off to Yokohama, We're Gonna Take a Slap at the Dirty Little Jap and Der Führer's Face.

But the most effective medium for propagandizing a great cause was by far the motion picture. And that, of course, was where Hollywood came along to tell us what it was all about. By skillfully diluting strong doses of Americanism with liberal heaps of entertainment, the film makers got the message across loud and clear. To those nonbelievers, I strongly recommend turning to the raft of early-Forties films that still brighten the late-show channels. As for me, I don't need television to help me keep the faith. I need merely reach into a special crevice of my mind and I get instant feedback. In all honesty, I can't recall any one specific World War Two film. To me, they were all one delicious pastiche of GIs, gals, patriotism and songs, and they went something like this:

Open with Stock Shots of Pearl Harbor being bombed, Japanese soldiers attacking, German soldiers marching, President Roosevelt addressing Congress, American Servicemen training, American soldiers marching, etc.

Fade out and cut to Union Station in Los Angeles. As a train is pulling out, we see three men standing in the station with duffel bags at their feet. They are Lon Mc Callister, a clean-cut, earnest young Army private; Dane Clark, a gum-chewing, jive-talking sailor; and John Wayne, a tough, laconic Marine corporal. Mc Callister (visibly awed): Golly, who'd'a thought when I was a farm boy down in Hot Point, Indiana, that I'd ever get to the film capital of the world? ... (Looking around) Gosh, this is exciting. Clark (chewing his gum vigorously): Wait'll you see what it's like outside the station, soldier.

Mc Callister: Golly, I can hardly wait.... (Extends his hand) By the way, I'm Private Bob Kinkaid.

Clark: Gimme some skin, my friend.... (Shaking Mc Callister's hand) Everyone calls me Brooklyn. And this here (indicating Wayne) is Texas, (Wayne nods)

Mc Callister: Hi, Brooklyn and Texas. Say, I just got a swell idea. Why don't the three of us do the town together? Clark (enthused): Solid, Jackson!

Clark and Wayne start to pick up their duffel bags, Mc Callister doesn't move yet. He is apparently still overwhelmed by the situation as well as the train station.

Clark: You coming, dogface?

Mc Callister: In a minute. You know, I was just thinking.... (cut to close-up of his face) I mean, here we are ... a doughboy, a gob and a leatherneck.... (Soft, stirring music begins to build in the background) Three guys from three different worlds. Suddenly buddies. That's what it's all about, isn't it? I mean, that's what I'm fighting for. What are you fighting for, Brooklyn?

Clark puts down his duffel bag and spits out his gum. He is very serious now, as he looks dreamily off into the distance and the music increases in tempo.

Clark: Me? What am I fighting for? Let me see.... I guess it's for the right to watch a golden sunset over Bensonhurst.... The right to bean the ump with a pop bottle at Ebbets Field.... That cockeyed carrousel in Coney Island.... The scent of summer rain in Prospect Park.... The right to stroll down Flatbush. Avenue in my zoot suit.

Mc Callister (swept along now in the tide of reverie): Zoot suit? Say, I've got one of those at home, too. Mine has a reet pleat.

Clark: Mine, too. Does yours have a drape shape?

Mc Callister: You said it. Also a stuffed cuff. Hey, Brooklyn, when did you used to wear your zoot suit?

Clark (fighting back tears): When do you think? When I went to see my Sunday gal.... (Music crescendos, then stops) That's what I'm fighting for.

Clark and Mc Callister stare at each other silently for a moment, too overwhelmed to speak, Mc Callister then turns to Wayne.

Mc Callister: What about you, Texas? What are you fighting for? (He puts his arm affectionately around the Marine's shoulder)

Wayne: Me? I'd just like to kill me some Japs.

Mc Callister (withdrawing his arm): Oh.

Clark: Look, enough of this gab fest. What are you guys planning to do today?

Mc Callister (looking around eagerly): Shucks, I got so many great things in mind, I hardly know where to start. First I thought I'd have a double chocolate malt, then I'd go over to the U.S.O. and play some ping-pong. Then I'd write a letter to my best gal ... and then--

Clark: Hey, Jackson, you got a picture of your best gal?

Mc Callister: Sure thing. (He reaches into his pocket, takes out his wallet, opens it and displays a picture) There she is.

Clark: Solid. But she's a little older than you, ain't she?

Mc Callister (blushing): Shucks, she should be. She's my mom. ... (He puts the wallet back into his pocket)

Clark (to Wayne): What were you planning to do, Texas?

Wayne: I thought maybe I'd catch me some shut-eye. Then maybe hunt me down some Nips. I hear this town is loaded with Jap gardeners.

Clark (visibly peeved): What is it with you hepcats, anyway? I sort of had something else in mind for today.

Wayne: Like what?

A beautiful Girl goes strolling by.

Clark: Like that, for instance. Watch me strut my stuff.

Clark Walks up to the Girl and emits a loud, long whistle.

Clark: Hubba-hubba! Hey, cutie-pie, what do you say you and me cut a rug? Girl (slapping his face): Wolf! (She walks away)

Clark (rubbing his face): I can't understand it. That line always gets 'em.... (Wayne and Mc Callister laugh good-naturedly)

An elderly while Porter comes up to them.

Porter: Excuse me, fellows. I couldn't help noticing you standing around with nothing to do. Why don't you go over to the Hollywood Canteen?

Mc Callister: The Hollywood Canteen?

Clark: What's that?

Porter: It's a place set up by the film industry for you boys in the Service, where you can eat and dance and be entertained.

Mc Callister: That sounds swell.

Clark (reaching into his pocket): Yeah, but I'm a little short of do-re-mi. You know, twenty-one dollars a day once a month don't go very far.

Porter: Are you kidding? It's all free. (continued on page 160)Star-Spangled Jive(continued from page 108) Nothing's too good for you wonderful GIs.

Mc Callister: Wow! The Hollywood Canteen!

Porter: Wait'll you see Hedy Lamarr waiting on tables and Betty Grable washing dishes.

Clark: Hedy Lamarr! Betty Grable! Hubba-hubba!

Mc Callister: Lead us to it.

Porter (picking up the three duffel bags): This way to the Hollywood Canteen.

Mc Callister: Golly, what a swell town.

Porter: Soldier, there's nothing us folks in Hollywood wouldn't do for you great guys.

Clark: We'll never forget you, Pop. What's your name?

Porter (struggling with the duffel bugs): De Mille. But you boys can call me Cecil.

Cut to a war plant a few miles outside of Los Angeles. As we Come in, we see scores of workers hammering, riveting and welding. The noise is deafening, but the workers go at it with a will. As we pan the walls, we can see signs such as Sh ... The enemy may be Listening, a slip of the lip may sink a ship, etc. We Close-up on three figures riveting the fuselage of a plane. They are wearing face shields. Suddenly, they stop and remove their shields. They are all women. More than that, they are Betty Hutton, Ann Miller and Martha Raye.

They burst into the song "Rachel the Riveter," which describes how the gals behind the guys behind the guns are giving their all to help keep this nation free. From the song, Miller segues into a rhythmic tap routine across various wing and tail assemblies, after which the entire factory joins the girls in chorus and all go into intricate marching and dancing steps. The number ends with all the workers forming a V for Victory, with the heads of Hutton, Raye and Miller each forming a dot beneath it, alongside a huge six-girl dash.

Dissolve to a scene of renewed activity, come in on our gals freshening their make-up before donning their face shields once again.

Raye (to Hutton): What are you doing tonight, Sally?

Hutton: I thought I'd do some knittin' for Britain, Irene.

Raye (to Miller): What about you, Mary?

Miller: I was going to work on my Victory garden, then help my father buy a Victory suit, and then send off a V-mail letter and a V disc to my brother overseas.

Hutton: Say, girls, I have a keen idea. Why don't we all go over to the Red Cross and give blood again?

Miller: I think it's a little too soon.

Raye: Yeah, we just gave six pints this morning.

Hutton: I guess you're right. It was just a thought.

Miller: Say, Sally, aren't you seeing Freddie tonight?

Hutton: He's working on the swing shift. But he said he'd pick me up at midnight.

Miller: Sally, could I ask you a personal question?

Hutton: Shoot.

Miller: Are you in love with that big lug?

Hutton (hesitating): Well, he's very kind to me and he's ... decent ... and he--

Miller: That's not what I asked you. Are you in love with him?

Hutton (defensively): Look, Mary, sometimes there are things more important than ... well, love. You know, companionship ... understanding....

Miller: Nertz!

Hutton (hotly): Well, what's wrong with Freddie? I suppose it's a crime to be four-F!

Raye: Easy, honey. Look, kids, let's drop the subject. Listen, I just got a great idea. Why don't we all go over to the Hollywood Canteen tonight?

Hutton: The Hollywood Canteen?

Miller: Don't you have to be in show business to do that? Or at least get a special invitation?

Raye: Natch. And we got an invitation. This morning at the blood bank. I met somebody in show business. Well, he's sort of in show business.... He's Arthur Lake's second cousin.

Miller: Wow!

Hutton: What's he like?

Raye: Very nice. And he invited us. What do you say? Are you kids game?

Miller: Count me in.

Hutton: Well, I suppose I could go for a little while.

Raye: Then it's settled. Tonight it's the Hollywood Canteen.

A whistle blows and the foreman (Lyle Talbot) comes walking up to them.

Talbot: All right, girls, fun is fun, but we've got a job to do. Our boys over there are counting on each one of us to do his share. Remember, freedom is a twenty-four-hour job!

The three girls give a thumbs-up sign. Girls (in unison): Keep 'em flying!

They put on their shields and go back to work with a will.

Cut to the Canteen. Hundreds of Servicemen are milling around, drinking coffee and munching on doughnuts. As we Pan the huge room, we can see some soldiers and hostesses dancing. On the bandstand, Jimmy Dorsey and his band are playing, while Helen O'Connell is singing "Jivin' to Berlin."

Cut to the entrance of the Canteen. Mc Callister, Clark and Wayne are walking in. Greeting them at the door is Bette Davis.

Davis: Hi, fellows. Welcome to the Hollywood Canteen.

Mc Callister (doing a take): Hey, wait a minute ... aren't you.... No, it couldn't be.... Why, you're ... Bette Davis!

Davis (modestly): That's what they call me.

Clark (incredulously): Well, I'll be darned ... Bette Davis!

Mc Callister: Golly, Miss Davis, imagine a big star like you taking time off to spend time with nobodies like us.

Davis: What do you mean, nobodies like you? Soldier, it's men like you who stand between all of us and the most unspeakable tyranny of all time. Besides, I'm not the only one who's helping out here. You see that fellow over there.

Cut to close-up of James Cagney carrying dishes, Cut back to Mc Callister.

Mc Callister: I don't believe it. Why, that's ... that's James Cagney! And he's bussing tables!

Davis: And proud of it, soldier. And there's Lana Turner sweeping the floor.

Cut to close-up of Lana Turner doing just that. cut back to Davis.

Davis: Oh, there's someone you might know.

Cut to close-up of Mc Callister.

Mc Callister: No, don't tell me. It couldn't be. Why, it's ... Rita ... Hayworth!

Cut to Rita Hayworth coming toward them, carrying a huge receptacle, Cut back to Mc Callister.

Mc Callister: And she's carrying garbage!

Hayworth (struggling by with the can): And loving every minute of it, soldier. God bless all of you boys.

Cut back to the bandstand, where Spike Jones and his band are playing the hilarious "Der Führer Shtinks." The song ends, the bandstand revolves and onstage now are Woody Herman and his band, giving out with the jivey "Hacken-sack Bounce."

Cut to Mc Callister, Clark and Wayne pushing their way through the crowd.

Clark: Wow, that music! I can't keep my dogs still. I just gotta cut a rug!

They are passing a table at which are seated Hutton, Miller and Raye. Clark goes over to Raye.

Clark: Hey, little de-icer, what do you say you and me have a jam session?

Raye: Well, aw reat. I'm hep to this jive.

They head for the dance floor.

Mc Callister (to Hutton and Miller): Do you girls mind if my buddy and I sit down?

Miller: Be our guests.

They sit down.

Mc Callister: I'm Bob and this is Texas. The other fellow is Brooklyn.

Hutton: I'm Sally ... that's Irene (indicates Raye walking off with Clark) ... and this is Mary.

Cut to the dance floor, Clark and Raye are jitterbugging wildly.

Clark: Wow, are you a solid sender!

Raye: I hear you talking, gate!

Cut back to the table, close-up of Mc Callister and Hutton.

Mc Callister: Golly, there are so many celebrities around here, it sorta makes you all goose-bumpy. There's Alexis Smith waiting on tables and Joan Crawford checking hats and Deanna Durbin passing out cigarettes.

Hutton: They're all so pretty, it kind of puts us mere mortals to shame.

Mc Callister (looking at her earnestly): Oh, no, Miss Sally, I think you're prettier than all of them.

Hutton: Gee, I could kiss you for saying that.

Mc Callister: Gosh, no one's ever kissed me before ... 'ceptin' Mom.

Hutton (something inside her stirring): Your mom is a ... (lowering her eyes) lucky gal.

She steals a quick glance at him, then looks down again.

Cut to Wayne and Miller at the other end of the table.

Miller: You don't talk too much, do you, Texas?

Wayne: It's hard to talk, ma'am, when your buddies are getting it on Tarawa, Guam and Iwo from a bunch of yaller, bucktoothed, slanty-eyed gooks.

Miller: You poor kid. You've got a lot of hate in you.... (She sighs) But I guess 1 can't blame you. Look, Texas, can't you forget the War for a minute and think of something else?

Wayne: Like what, ma'am?

Miller (shyly): I don't know. Me, maybe.... (Catching herself for being so bold) I mean--

Wayne: Maybe you're right, ma'am. Maybe there are other things besides war and killin'. Maybe, with all the dyin' goin' on, there should also be time for livin'. You know somethin'? ... For the rest of this evenin', I'd like to think of nothin' but good and decent things ... like democracy and brotherhood ... and you. (Rising from his chair)But first, I got a little job to do.

Miller: What kind of job, Texas?

Wayne (indicating a man standing nearby): I'm gonna get that dirty Nip over there.

Miller (grabbing his arm): Texas, that's Keye Luke He's Chinese!

Wayne (sitting down reluctantly): All them gooks look alike to me!

Cut to Clark and Raye on the dance floor. They have just stopped jitterbugging and have joined a large circle of people who are watching a Negro Soldier and a Negro Wac doing a wild lindy. They dance with lightning speed. He lifts her into the air, throws her over his back, pulls her down, shoots her under his legs and lifts her up again. They spin around and dance at an incredible pace, then finally stop to tumultuous applause.

Clark (to the Negro Soldier):Solid, Jackson!

Negro Soldier: Thanks, boss.

He shufftes off slowly a table in the rear of the hall.

Cut to Miller and Wayne at the table. A burly sailor (Mike Mazurki) taps Miller on the shoulder.

Mazurki: Hey, hot patootie, let's yon and me take a little spin on the dance floor.

Miller (looking at Wayne): Well, I--

Wayne (to Mazurki): Back off, swab jockey.... The lady's with me.

Mazurki: Says who, gyrene?

Wayne: Says me, that's who.

Miller: Texas, please don't fight ... not on my account.

Wayne rises. He and Mazurki square off, then proceed to take turns punching each other in the mouth.

Cut to a group of Marines in the rear of the. Canteen.

Marine one: Hey, leathernecks ... trouble with the swabbies.

Marine two: Where?

Marine one: Two fingers left of the bandstand.

Marine two: Lead us to it.

Cut to a group of Sailors in another part of the Canteen.

Sailor one: Let's go, mates. The Marines have landed.

Sailor two: Let's land on the Marines.

Cut to Wayne and Mazurki knocking each other down. Other Sailors and Marines arrive and they begin punching one another, stopping only long enough to sock a bunch of Soldiers who throw themselves into the fray. A mad, wild inter-Service brawl goes into full swing with liberal socking, kicking and smashing over heads of chairs and tables. By this time, Wayne has Mazurki pretty much at his mercy and is knocking him down, picking him up and knocking him down again.

Wayne (punching Mazurki): Here's one from the halls of Montezuma. ... (Drags him up by the collar) And here's one from the shores of Tripoli. ... (Knocks him down again)

Cut to Bette Davis on the bandstand, trying to make herself heard over the battle.

Davis: Fellows, Please! ... Please Stop, Fellows!

Slowly, the battle subsides and all is quiet again.

Davis: Listen to me, you wonderful bunch of GIs.... I realize you have a lot of tension inside you that has to come out. But why waste it on each other? Let's save some of that for the Ratzis and the sneaky sons of Nippon. Come on, let's shake hands and make up. What do you say?

Cut to Wayne holding the helpless Mazurki by the collar, with his fist drawn back, Mazurki, who has absorbed at least 15 punches to the mouth, is amazingly devoid of battle scars, save for a slight scratch over his right eye.

Wayne (grudgingly putting down his fist and propping Mazurki up against the wall): Well, maybe she's right.... (Extending his right hand) Put 'er there, swabbie.

Mazurki (taking Wayne's hand): Well, I guess we're all in this together, gyrene.

Suddenly, all the combatants begin shaking hands and throwing their arms around each other's shoulders. They then break into the rousing, patriotic number "We're All Yanks Together."

After the song, Cut to the bandstand. Charlie Spivak and his band start playing a soft, dreamy fox trot, cut to the dance floor, where couples are gliding by. Keep Panning until we Stop and Close in on Mc Callister and Hutton.

They are dancing cheek to cheek.

Mc Callister: Golly, Sally, just think, here we are, dancing and having fun, and in only a few minutes, all us GIs here will be shoving off for overseas.

Hutton (stunned): In a few minutes? All of you? Where did you hear that?

Mc Callister: From the attendant back there in the latrine.

Hutton: But how can you believe an attendant in the latrine?

Mc Callister (fatalistically): Sally, would Walter Pidgeon lie?

She looks at him sadly and they dance silently for a while.

Mc Callister: Gee, Sally, I never danced with anyone like this before. I mean, Mom and I used to do-si-do together sometimes, but--

Hutton: You're doing just fine, Bob.

Mc Callister (looking at her intently): You know what I wish, Sally? I wish this mess was over and... well, us two ... I mean, you and me ... I mean, what I'm trying to say is ... I mean, certain things have to be said and I'd like to say what I have to say. because--

Hutton: Bob, believe me, I know what you're trying to say. And there's nobody I want more to say what he has to say than I want you to say what you have to say.

Mc Callister: I'm glad, because, Sally, what I'm trying to say is--

Sally: Don't say it.

She breaks into the poignant strains of "Give Me Your Khaki Heart." The entire Canteen joins in as the lights are lowered, Pan to couples swaying, dancing, singing and blinking away tears, overcome by the meaningful words, Cut to the bandstand. The song ends and the lights go up. Kay Kyser and his band break into the stirring patriotic song "We'll Knock the Axis Right on Their Backses." As Ginny Simms, Harry Babbitt and Ish Kabibble sing out the rousing lyrics, all the Servicemen in the Canteen fall into line, each man with a girl on his arm. Rhythmically, they march out the back door onto Cahuenga Boulevard.

Cut to the long line of guys and gals swinging onto Sunset Boulevard and heading for Union Station. We see Wayne and Miller, Clark and Raye. Then we Stop and Hold on Mc Callister and Hutton, gazing tenderly at each other as they march. Suddenly, we hear a horn honking.

Cut to close-up of a civilian (Eddie Bracken) in a car. He is honking his horn and waving.

Bracken (calling): Sally! I'm over here!

Cut back to Hutton. She Spies Bracken.

Hutton: Golly, it's Freddie. I forgot all about our date tonight.

Cut to close-up of Mc Callister. He is visibly shaken.

Mc Callister: Sally, what date? Who is that?

Hutton (breaking away from him): Bob, I must straighten something out, but I'll be right back. I'll meet you at the station.

Mc Callister: But, Sally--

Hutton: Bob, I can't talk now. I promise I'll explain later.... Trust me.

Mc Callister: Sally, you can't--

Hutton (rushing off, stops and looks back): Bob, remember what you were trying to say to me before?

Mc Callister: I remember.

Hutton: Well, what you were trying to say to me, I've been trying to say to you.

(She runs over to the car and jumps in)

Mc Callister (calling): Sally, what were you trying to say to me?

Hutton (calling back): It goes without saying. (The car zooms off)

Cut to close-up of Mc Callister. He waves once, sadly, then, straightening his shoulders, he continues marching ... the only Serviceman on Sunset Boulevard without a gal.

Cut to Union Station. A train is waiting to pull out. All around, we can see Servicemen saying goodbye to civilians.

We Come up on Mc Callister, Clark, Wayne, Miller and Raye.

Mc Callister (looking off into the distance): She's not coming.

Raye: Stop worrying, ya big lug. She'll be here.

Cut to Bracken and Hutton pushing Bracken's car into a gas station. On the pump we see a sign, Sorry, no gas today. Keep 'Em Flying!

Cut back to Union Station.

Mc Callister: I tell you, she's not coming.

Raye: Listen to me, soldier. That lousy four-F means nothing to her.

Mc Callister (bitterly): Nothing, hah!

Cut to Hutton running down Sunset Boulevard, alone, trying to hitch a ride.

Cut back to Union Station.

Mc Callister: She doesn't want to see me anymore.

Raye: Doesn't want to see you? ... (She punches him affectionately on the shoulder) You big palooka! Don't you know the gal loves you?

Cut to Hutton fighting through the crowds outside Union Station.

Cut back to the station.

Trainman: All aboard!

The men pick up their duffel bags. Clark kisses Raye and Wayne kisses Miller. The GIs hop onto the rear platform of the train. Mc Callister continues to look off into the distance, in vain, for Hutton. As the train begins to pull out, Raye and Miller run for it.

Wayne (to Miller): So long, gal. I'll send you a V-mail letter.

Miller (through tears): Texas, when you get over there, give 'em ... heck!

Raye (running and calling after Clark): Don't forget to write!

Clark: I won't.

Raye (dabbing her eyes): And, Brooklyn, will you give those tyrants a message from all of us on the home front?

Clark: I sure will, Irene. What is it?

Raye (choked up with patriotic fervor): Tell all those Japs that ... that we Yanks are no saps!

Clark gives her a thumbs-up sign.

Cut to close-up of Mc Callister. He takes one final look, sighs, then vanishes inside the train, followed by the others. Pull back to the station. Long shot of train disappearing.

Cut back to the girls. Suddenly, we see Hutton running up to them breathlessly.

Hutton (gasping): Oh, golly, I got here as fast as I could. ... The car ... gasp ... broke down ... puff-puff.... Oh, don't tell me I missed him? ... Gee, now he'll never know how much I ... how much I.... (She breaks down in sobs)

Raye: I'm sure he knows, kiddo.

Miller (consoling her): Don't be so hard on yourself, honey.

Hutton (looking up through glassy eyes): Kids, I've got to do something for Bob ... for all the Bobs and all the Brooklyns and all the Texases. Will you help me?

Raye: We're doing all we can. What else can we do?

Hutton: Let's go over to the Red Cross right now and give blood again.

Raye: But we just gave this morning.

Hutton: We won't tell.

Pull back. High overhead shot of the three girls walking through the station.

Quick cut to Stock Shots of bombs falling, shells bursting, ships firing.

Cut to Clark on the deck of a destroyer in the Pacific, firing away at Japanese planes.

Cut to a beach at Okinawa. We see Wayne charging a Japanese position, pulling grenade pins with his teeth.

Cut to a command-post bunker in France. The commanding officer (Van Heflin) is standing at a blackboard, erasing names.

Heflin: O'Hara ... Wiznowski ... Greenstein ... Meglioli ... the cream of my company ... gone, all gone!

Suddenly, Mc Callister comes staggering into the bunker. His combat clothes are torn, his face grimy with battlefield mud.

Mc Callister (saluting weakly): Sir, Private Kinkaid reporting and requesting permission to go on patrol.

Heflin: Patrol? Are you insane, man? You just came off patrol. You've been on sixteen patrols in the past two days.... (Looking at him carefully) I could be mistaken, soldier, but I get the feeling you don't care if you come out of this War alive or not. (Tenderly) Is something bothering you, son? Care to talk about it? (Mc Callister shakes his head dumbly) Trouble at home? (Again, he shakes his head) A girl? (Mc Callister stiffens, then shakes his head once more)

Mc Callister (almost by rote): Sir, Private Kinkaid requesting permission to go on patrol.

Heflin (sighing): Very well, soldier.

Mc Callister salutes feebly and staggers out. Heflin flops down wearily at his desk.

Heflin: Who am I, God or somebody? Sending those green kids out into that ... that hell! (He pours himself four fingers of bourbon, swallows it, then slumps forward, burying his head in his hands)

Cut to an American patrol running across a field. Shells are bursting all around. A soldier throws up his hands and falls to the ground, Cut to close-up of the soldier. It is Mc Callister.

Dissolve to Mc Callister's face. His eyes are wide open and he is looking up blankly, Pull back and we see that he is lying on a cot in a hospital tent. Two doctors (H. B. Warner and Lewis Stone) are standing over him.

Warner: Strangest case I've ever seen. Mild concussion. But all medical evidence indicates he should have recovered.

Stone: And yet he just lies there day and night, responding to nothing.

Warner: I seem to get the feeling that he doesn't want to get better ... and yet, I know he's not gold-bricking.

Stone (looking upward, meaningfully): I guess it's out our hands now. (They walk out of the tent)

Cut to close-up of Mc Callister's face. He is still staring at the ceiling blankly, his eyes unblinking. It is deathly silent in the hospital tent. We Hold for a moment. Suddenly, we hear a soft, sweet, feminine voice singing the poignant lyrics of "Give me Your Khaki Heart." Mc Callister's eyes waver a bit; then they blink; emotion begins to creep back across his face. With a faltering voice, he joins in the Chorns. Then he suddenly turns his head.

Cut to the entrance of the tent. Standing there is Hutton, immaculately attired in a Special Services uniform.

Cut back to Mc Callister. He sits up in his cot. Hutton comes running to him. They embrace on the cot (over the covers, with their feet firmly touching the floor).

Mc Callister: Oh, Sally, Sally, Sally, is it really you?

Hutton: Bob, I wanted so much to see you again, to explain what happened in Hollywood. But I never thought it would happen. And then Sam Goldwyn, who heard me singing to you at the Canteen, gave me a screen test and Al Jolson saw the test and he happened to have this opening in his U.S.O. troupe and he asked me to join him and our first stop just happened to be here in France and I happened to have this headache and I happened to stop off here at this hospital to get an aspirin and I happened to come into your tent by mistake and--

Mc Callister (pulling his finger on her lips): Please, no explanations. You're here, that's all that counts. (He kisses her and then he gets up, goes behind a screen and emerges fully dressed)

Hutton: Bob, where are you going?

Mc Callister: Thanks to you, Sally, I'm fully recovered. And now I've got to rejoin my company. From here, my outfit pushes out for Bastogne. And from there, we go to Remagen. And then on to Berlin. So I guess it's goodbye again.

Hutton: Wait a minute. Did you say Bastogne, Remagen and Berlin?

Mc Callister: That's right.

Hutton: Why, darling, what a fantastic coincidence. That's exactly where our U.S.O. troupe is headed.

Mc Callister: You mean ... ?

Hutton: Darling, we'll be in this thing together. True, you'll be fighting and I'll be singing. But we won't be that far apart.

Mc Callister (with great emotion): Sally, I consider myself the luckiest Yank alive.... (He pulls away from her) But now. it's time to go. The job is not finished yet.

Cut to Mc Callister (and Hutton, both in uniform, marching arm in arm across a large field. The two are suddenly superimposed over Stock Shots of war plants. We see workers turning out ships, guns, shells.

Voice-over (Westbrook Van Voorhis): No. Bob and Sally, the job is not finished yet. There are still planes and ships to build and more guns and more shells.

The stirring strains of "We'll Knock the Axis Right on Their Backses" begin to build slowly in the background. Linking arms with Hutton and Mc Callister now are Clark and Raye (in a Wave's uniform), Cut to Stock Shots of men marching into induction centers. Voice-over: From the factories, from the hills, from the teeming slums, from the farms across the breadbasket of a great nation, they come to feed the fires of victory.

Cut back to the field. Linking arms with the foursome now are Wayne and Miller (in a nurse's uniform). The song builds in intensity. We keep pulling back and we see our six friends linked arm in arm with Bette Davis, James Cagney, Rita Hayworth, Alexis Smith, all the stars and all the bands from the Canteen: also IDA Lupino, Dennis Morgan and just about everyone else under contract to Warner Bros. As we keep Pulling Farther Back, we see one long. almost unending line of people marching arm in arm. As the song gets louder, we see falling in behind our cast soldiers, sailors and Marines--not only from this nation but from France, Britain, Russia, Canada and other Allied countries. The song continues to crescendo.

Voice-over (shouting above the music): While the price of freedom is high, it is a price we are all willing to pay. Are you listening, Messrs. Hirohito and Tojo? And, as for that man with the funny mustache, here's a message shouted loud and clear by the entire free world: We will never heil a heel!

Cut to a gigantic mass of planes flying overhead in V formation. Quick Shots of guns roaring. Then Cut to huge Stock Shots of Franklin Roosevelt. Winston Churchill, Charles De Gaulle, Joseph Stalin and Chiang Kai-shek.

Cut to High Overhead Shot, looking down at the hundreds of marching people as the music gets still louder. Suddenly, all bring their hands up in a salute.

Voice-over: Bye-bye! ... Buy Bonds!

Slow Fade to black.