meee 6 PRICG GLORY ?

IHNNY MASON, technical sergeant in
> U. S. Army Air Corps, had achieved
amazing record.
Young and good looking, with a winning
ile, he was a visitor in Calgary, Alberta,
ly last November. And a double row of
-dal ribbons were confirmation of his
roic record, for he wore the Silver Star
th Oak Leaf clusters, the U. S. Dis-
guished Flying Cross, the British Dis-
iguished Flying Cross, the Purple Heart,
2 Good Conduct Medal, and the Ameri-
n and European theatre campaign ribbons.
> was on convalescent leave from a vet-
ans’ hospital in the neighbouring state
Washington.
He told newsmen of being awarded the
lver Star when he returned his bomber
fely to England, the pilot and crew out
action through a burst of flak. The Oak
af cluster was added to the decoration
ter he was shot down over France in
nuary, 1942, returning from a bombing
id over Berlin. Only he and the pilot
saped with their lives and Johnny had to
ve a foot amputated as a result of injuries
stained in the crash. But, long before this
d happened, Johnny had been a Flying
facer with the Royal Canadian Air Force,
d won a D.F.C. in the early days of the
ar. He got this award for rescuing a
ember of his plane crew after his ship was
ot down over the English Channel.
When the United States entered the war,
hnny Mason transferred to the U. S.
rmy Air Corps and he got the American
unterpart of the D.F.C. when he risked
s life to release a bomb load after the bomb
y doors had jammed. Johnny had seen
's of action over France and had shot down
ven Nazi planes. Then finally he was
ot down himself and-taken prisoner in
ance by the Germans, he was interned
Stalag III until he was repatriated in
ptember, 1944. Altogether he had a
tal of 61 combat missions over the con-
vent of Europe.
Even out of a plane Johnny had seen a
> of action for, during a London air raid,
had rescued a woman from the ruins of

a bombed building. He got the British
Merit Medal for this. And—while the
newshawks were trying to figure out what
the British Merit Medal was—Johnny left
town.

However, he turned up a few days later
in Fernie, British Columbia, a few hundred
miles to the west.

There was much excitement when Johnny
uncorked that disarming smile and told of
his exploits. And, in no time at all, the
town’s ‘teen agers had forsaken Sinatra for
Johnny Mason. That is, the feminine
swoonsters did. The younger male element
commiserated with one another on the un-

Johnny Mason

fair competition offered by the be-ribboned
airman.

The group of Provincial Policemen who
are responsible for the policing of Fernie,
are directed in their duties by Corp. A. G.
“Pat” Brabazon, a smiling Irishman if ever
there was one. And before long Pat was
listening to the young airman’s experiences,
and making some deductions. “Now,”
thought Pat, “if this 18-year-old boy was

a Flying Officer in the R.C.A.F. before
Pearl Harbour, they sure were takin’ in a
bunch of school kids.” So he kept an eye on
the young hero, turning the matter over in
his mind. And then Johnny made a mis-
take. He ducked out of town without
settling a simple little hotel bill. In no
time at all Corp. Brabazon and Const. Bill
Lemm sped out to Elko, 20 miles west of
Fernie, and picked up their man waiting
in the railroad station for the morning train
to Bonner’s Ferry, Idaho.

Back in the Fernie Police Station the
young “hero” confessed that he was a simple
buck private, AWOL from a U.S. Army
Post in Washington, and he had never been
on active service. An interchange of tele-
grams brought a military escort and, a
couple of days later, a sadder but wiser
Johnny Mason went off across the border
in their company.

Said Pat Brabazon: “There was no harm
in the boy—just a kid looking for a little
cheap glory.” And then, reflectively, he
added, “But, man, he sure took in some
territory!”

A RHODESIAN soldier up North was
being pestered by a dusky seller of carpets.
After declining several times to do business
he turned in irritation to the hawker:

“Oh, buzz off,” he said, “your carpets
smell.”

The vendor drew himself up haughtily.
“Pardon me,” he said, “it’s not the carpets
that smell. It’s me!”

ONE hundred tons of coal are needed to
make a tank.

FRASER & HORNE

M. I. HORNE AND SON
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IIRTEENTH EDITION

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