“Didn’t register for the draft? I guess I did! Here is my blue card and my classification card.”
Explanation followed. This man’s name ended with the Polish “-ski” and was otherwise almost identical to the name of the culprit who was sought. When he was asked if he was “So-and-so-ski,” it sounded so much like his own name that he admitted it. He was taken back to his lodgings in the seat beside the captain and proper apologies were made.
In most cases where humor existed, there was sometimes a mixture of tragedy. There was one man, a motor truck driver, who had made himself exceedingly popular with a number of women by wearing a uniform of an infantryman without having gone through the formality of enlistment. He was captured one day while paying a call on one of his admirers. Operatives burst in upon the imposter and told him he must straightway doff the uniform.
“But this is the only suit of clothes I have,” he protested. One operative went to his truck and found an oil-stained suit of overalls. He was taken behind the screen and forced to get into these and give up his military raiment.
Another incident of this kind involved a young man who was subject to draft and who said he was ready to respond when called. He could not wait the Government issue of clothes, however. He went to a tailor and equipped himself with a suit of khaki which fitted perfectly and further adorned himself with the insignia of the Artillery Service and an officer’s sleeve braid. When he was summoned to headquarters, he explained that he intended to take this uniform to camp to wear when “he went to town.” His readiness to wear the uniform was communicated to his draft board by telephone and brought orders for immediate induction. Although he had sold all of his civilian clothes, one suit was recovered from the second-hand dealer who had purchased them, and he went to camp in it.
One Saturday night a young man of stentorian voice, wearing classical shell-rimmed glasses, appeared at a prominent down-town corner, mounted a soap-box and shouted, “Step closer, gentlemen. I have no bombs, no T. N. T., no lyddite, no dynamite or powder explosives of any kind. Step closer though and I’ll treat you to some talk-bombs.” In the vanguard of those who stepped closer were two A. P. L. operatives. Five minutes later the orator, Herbert Blank, alias Herbert C——, deserter from the British army, was registered at the county jail. The shell-rimmed glasses and his predilection to Bolsheviki oratory had proved his downfall. They had been mentioned in a bulletin asking his apprehension, sent out from Chicago headquarters of the Department of Justice and received that morning in Minneapolis headquarters.
The leading man of the theatrical company which scored the biggest hit of any troupe playing Minneapolis last winter applied his cold cream and other theatrical embellishments for his Saturday matinee performance under the eyes of an A. P. L. operative whilst he confessed to the operative that it was quite possible that he should have registered for the draft, although he had not. At the request of the New York A. P. L. headquarters, this man was examined, and although he carried with him a sworn statement from his father to the effect that he had been born prior to June 5, 1886, coöperation with the Toledo A. P. L. had developed evidence that this was not true. Before the interview was concluded, ample evidence was secured to warrant the arrest of the actor, but his role was so prominent and there was such a certainty that the company would be compelled to cancel all of its engagements with distinct losses to all its members, that mercy was shown and he was allowed to continue the performance until such a time as his draft status could be adjusted. For several weeks, during the travels of the company, he was compelled to report daily at the offices of the U. S. Department of Justice in the various cities visited.
One night a squad of operatives, led by the Chief, visited an apartment in a down-town building to investigate a report that liquor was being served to soldiers and sailors. When they gained entrance they found no uniformed men upon the premises, but one of the operatives who had lived in San Francisco recognized the unmistakable odor of opium smoke. He said, “Hop, Chief!” A search was made and a large quantity of opium was found secreted in various nooks of the apartment. Further search revealed twenty-three sticks of dynamite, a complete kit of burglar’s tools, a supply of saws and other devices used by crooks. A bolt of silk and other new merchandise, afterwards identified as property stolen from stores, also was uncovered. Five men and a woman were taken to jail.
One of the most interesting cases was that of a German who left Germany fifty-six years ago, at the age of six years. He went to South Dakota, where he prospered greatly, and moved to Minneapolis about fifteen years ago. At the outbreak of the war his remarks were such that his business associates and social acquaintances practically ostracized him, and the members of his lodge preferred charges of disloyalty against him. The man was brought to headquarters. Members of his lodge were invited to be present, and he was given twenty minutes seeing himself as others saw him. His attitude at first was stubborn and defiant. The Chief then began to dwell on the suffering of his children; said they were refused admittance to fraternities, were not invited to parties and that his boy departed for the mobilization camp brokenhearted and in tears over the fact that none of his family were at the station to bid him good-bye at the most important milestone in his career. This line of talk seemed to soften the subject. He broke down and said, with tears: “I never was talked to like this before in my life, but I never had anything said to me that did me so much good. Will you please shake hands with me?” After that his fellow lodge members affected a reconciliation on the spot. This man’s future conduct was above reproach after this incident, and he became one of the most active workers for the Red Cross and Liberty Loan.
A well known clairvoyant and spiritualist medium of Minneapolis was brought into the office by one of the District Captains. She was told that she had been talking sedition, and waxed indignant at the idea of anybody accusing her of sedition when she was a woman so far removed from ordinary planes, who could see into vast rounds of space. Her complacency was seriously jarred when informed that one of our operatives had crawled into her basement through the coal chute and listened to her seditious talk. Her inability to see into the basement caused her to have renewed faith in the long arm of Uncle Sam.