I was so enthusiastically received that I made the decision already described, and for the period of a little more than two years visited this military reservation one evening a week, devoting all the rest of my time to scholarly pursuits.
For some weeks I enjoyed the rare pleasure of association with my idols in a squad-room or in a non-commissioned officer’s private room, and had the run of all the other rooms, since practically everybody looked upon me the same as on an unoffending tabby-cat that might invade their quarters. I was even put to bed in the barracks as tenderly as a mother puts her babe in its cradle.
I have always shrunk with horror from handling the weapons of warfare myself, but they had a wonderful fascination for me when in the hands of soldiers, or when seen stacked in the squad-rooms.
A typical evening in a squad-room: On my entering, the soldiers shout goodnaturedly: “Hello Jennie, old girl!”
“Hello all you big braves!”
The rumor soon spreads to other squad-rooms that “Jennie June” is making a visit, and a score or more soon gather about me. I always came loaded down with cigarettes and other things that soldiers are fond of, except intoxicants. One youthful soldier after another rolls back his sleeves and displays tattooed figures for me to rave over: “That proves you are completely masculine, and I worship you for having it done.” Others double back their right arms and let me feel of their biceps: “I call you ‘Strength!’ I call you ‘Power!’ I call you a man of iron! Mighty man of war! Mighty man of valor! Mighty man of renown!”
An Evening in a Squad-Room.
Later one who meets me for the first time asks: “Do you call yourself a girl? In all my life I never vidi puellam cum peni!”
“I know I am only part girl. I have a girl’s mind and breasts and my body otherwise is much like a girl’s.”
“If you don’t believe Jennie is a girl, just feel of her breasts.”