One-Arm Cholly Wendorf, upon America's 243rd
One-Arm Cholly Wendorf, Bughouse Square, Chicago, during the 1930s, as remembered by Studs Terkel--Holding up his right arm...
"Know where the rest of this is? Somewhere in France. Somewhere in a trench near Chatoo Teary (Chateau-Thierry). The French have it. Cholly Wendorf's arm is enrichin' the soil that grows the grapes that bring you da best Cognac money can buy. Coovahseer. Reemy Martin. Three-Star Hennessy. I touch nothin' else.
"Know what Omar said? What is it the vintnor buys one half so precious as da stuff he sells? Lemme tell you somep'n, Omar. My arm. Only he didn't buy it. I gave it to him free of charge. When my president, Woodrow Wilson, says, Cholly, I need you. You gotta defend our free way of life. You gotta kill those Huns. You gotta save poor little Belgium. Will you do me dat favor?
"What do ya think I told 'im? I said, 'You're my president, an' if you need me, I'll go. I'm a red-blooded American and I'm gonna save da world for democracy. How da hell do you think I got this? I earned it. Look at it. Unique. I coulda been just an ordinary run-of-da-mill clown. Wit' two arms. Instead-- look at me. One-Arm Cholly. A man of distinction."
Gesturing to a vocal supporter...
"Can you imagine? Savin' democracy for him. Ain't it awful, Mabel?
"I'm marchin' down Michigan Boulevard. I'm Douglas Fairbanks. You oughta see me in khaki. America, here's my boy. What a beautiful parade. It stirs my red-blooded American blood. There she is, da drum majorette leadin' da parade. Ain't she cute? Twirlin' her baton, her little fanny twitchin'. That trombone player's got a hard time keepin' his mind on his work. An' here come da open cars. Da fat boys, with da stars and da chickens. And bringin' up da rear is us, da camels. Wit' sixty-pound bags on our back. And everybody wavin' at us. We're wit'cha boys. All the way."
A man in a car passing by shouts, "Go back to Russia!"
"Why, you pipsqueak! Look at him, ladies and gentlemen... Why if you ever opened your yap over there at the Holy Name"-- gesturing his stub to the Cathedral-- "why they'd fling the pee pot of the Virgin Mary at ya'!
"So now we're on da ocean, on our way to prove we're da big muckety-muck. We land at Brest. Where's da parade? It's all in reverse. We're at the da head of it, us camels. No open car, no brass band, no drum majorette wigglin' her fanny. Across da ocean, we hear 'em sayin' 'We're wit'cha, boys, far, far away.
"So I'm walkin' down the Champ de Leesee, have a few drinks, some Frenchman bumps into me. I say to him, 'Outa my way, you frog. I'm an American.' He says, 'I beg your pardohn, monsoor. You do not own Paris.' So I haul off to sock 'im. I'm an American, by God. Next thing I know, I'm flat on my back. Knocked cold. No more Stephen Decatur.
"There I am in the trench. Chatoo Teary. Next thing I know, I'm wounded. I holler. The Red Cross comes with a canteen of water. I say, What the hell is this? I want Three-Star Hennessy. And that's what they brung me. So here I am today, saved, thanks to demon rum."
posted by CM @ 6:03 AM
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