A Forty & Eighter is Many Things

Between the manliness of serving his country, and sometime during the golden years to follow, we find a delightful fellow called a Forty et Eighter. Voyageurs come in all sizes, ages, drinking capacities, and from all walks of life. Forty et Eighters are found everywhere - on top of, hanging from, marching in, climbing, running, or presiding over and giving to others. Children love them, non-members hate them, wives tolerate them, newspapers misspell their names, nurses respect them, and heaven protects them. A Forty et Eighter is many things. He has the consumptive capabilities of a camel, the digestive qualities of a little boy, the energy of a rocket thrust, the imagination of a clown, the audacity of a pick pocket, the enthusiasm of a cheerleader, and the heart of a saint.

A Forty et Eighter is fun with egg on his smock, camaraderie with beer in his belly, cockiness with a chapeau on his head, chivalry with a string around your legs, innocence with a buzzer on your hip, wisdom with his own version of the French language, hope with candy in his pocket, and sack of toys under his arm. He likes conventions, kids, nurses, parades, fire trucks, boxcars, swapping stories, wrecks, his best friend is always another Voyageur. He’s not much on lengthy meetings, windy speakers, neckties, complainers, non-workers, and Voyageurs who don’t pay dues on time. A few others would even claim that all he can hold in his pockets are raffle tickets, a can opener, a beer can, breath freshener, assorted crumpled up addresses, keys, billfold, credit cards, paperback joke book, cigars or cigarettes, matches, American Legion membership forms, 17 chances on a bushel of booze.

A Forty et Eighter is quite a guy. You can knock him, tease him, torment him, flatter him, or rebuke him, but you can’t beat him in the long run. He’s an angel of mercy to the needy, but a fun loving, hell raising, flag waving little boy who runs amok among the unsuspecting. He’s a hardworking dedicated man to his community, but sometimes is a hard-to-find, unapproachable, grouchy man when the grass needs cutting and the ball game is on. He’ll break a leg playing ball with the kids and laugh it off. He’ll work from dawn til dark cooking for a Voiture project, though at home he won’t fry an egg. He’s got a gift of gab, that before you know it, you find yourself listening to his words of wisdom with awe.

So when you meet this Voyageur, after a wreck, or Promenade, and he appears slightly worse for the wear from booze, cards, talk, lots of work, and he is grinning a little foolishly, with a pocket full of tickets that didn’t win, well right then my friend, you have met

“Some Kind of a Man, A Forty et Eighter.”