Right This Way

The Greatest Show On Earth gave its 99th and final performance last week in Atlanta, replete with clowning, the blare of trumpets and prancing steeds. In seven months the show had played to approximately four million people in 18 cities and 15 States. It had grossed $2,500,000, broken many a long-standing attendance record. In 21 coaches and 40 freight cars it had traveled 5,118 miles. Its magnitude (2,000 performers, 300 vehicles) dwarfed even the tinseled grandeur of Barnum & Bailey-Ringling Bros.

When the last cheer died away and the last tent was folded in Atlanta's Piedmont Park, most of the performers hardly knew what was coming next. But most of them had a good idea. This was the Army War Show.

Khaki-clad infantrymen, anti-aircraft battery crews, cavalry detachments, tankists and flyers had come from U.S. Army units all over the country. Together they had toured as far west as Omaha, as far south as Houston, showing enthusiastic audiences how their tax-bought weapons operate and how the U.S. is whipping a great army into shape.

Hit number of the show: a seven-ton truck lumbered on to the field while an announcer described it as a "prime mover," one of the Army's most important vehicles. The truck stalled. Out jumped 38 soldiers who sweated and strained but were unable to budge it. Then from inside the truck emerged a jeep, backed up to the truck, hooked it on and bounced off with the monster in tow.

Said Colonel Wilson Tarleton Bals, commander of the outfit: "The jeep is our most popular equipment." Said Corporal John Relinscwk: "To heck with this chorus business; I want to go to war."

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