See Here, Private Hargrove Page #3

Synopsis: Journalist Marion Hargrove enters the Army intending to supplement his income by writing about his training experiences. He muddles through basic training at Fort Bragg with the self-serving help of a couple of buddies intent on cutting themselves in on that extra income.
 
IMDB:
6.4
PASSED
Year:
1944
101 min
57 Views


not to the...

never mind, Hargrove.

You may go, Hargrove.

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

[Clicks heels]

[Rapid gunfire]

Now, you don't yank

on that trigger

like a soda jerk, Hargrove.

A smooth, slow, easy

squeeze does it.

[Groan]

Well, what are you doing now?

I'm trying to

squeeze it slowly.

Well, for Pete's sakes.

Not that slow.

If that was the

enemy out there,

they'd be cramping

on your head by now.

Even if I was running?

Ev...

shoot, will you? The

suspense is killing me.

[Bang]

3 o'clock!

That's your last round?

Yeah, sarge.

I want to see this score.

Maggie's drawers again.

Well, you're improving.

You didn't hit anybody

else's target that time,

even if you didn't

hit your own.

Man:
B-o-i-d. Bird.

[Typewriter keys clicking]

Esty:
Say, what are you

beating out on that thing?

I have some military secrets

that I'm selling to

foreign governments.

And the beauty of it is, they

don't have to pay me

until the first payday.

What kind of secrets?

Must be about KP

for you to know.

Marion's got a secret formula

for garbage can polish.

Actually, you pair of

illiterate, untutored grafters,

I am composing certain

pieces for my old newspaper,

and for what I am

assured will be

but a very generous

compensation.

Does that mean he'll get

paid for writing something?

That's the impression

he's trying to get across.

Oh, poor little thing.

KP must have sapped

his tired brain.

[Blows whistle] Late mail!

First man:
Hey, fellas!

Here comes the mail!

Um, Flanders.

[Men talking loudly]

Second man:
If I don't get a letter

from my gal, I'm gonna kill her.

Man:
Ok, if you're in

a hurry, there it is.

Wait a minute!

Take it easy now!

Don't be tearin' the mail!

Third man:
Hey, here's that

letter from your girl!

No mail, huh?

No.

Well, here's a girl

you might like.

Why, thanks!

It's all right.

Check?

Yes, a check.

Ohh! That much, eh?

How much, eh?

Oh, enough.

From the paper?

Uh-huh.

Well, what does

the letter say?

It's from the managing editor.

"Dear Hargrove..."

He says it's a masterpiece!

Take all I can send them.

He says it's one of

the finest pieces

he has ever read.

Oh, but why should I bore

you fellas with my triumphs?

Hargrove?

Buddy?

Of course, you realize

my good-natured joshing

about your writing ability

was just kidding.

Yeah, Hargrove. Er... I

mean, buddy. Me, too.

Naturally, we who are

closest to you realize

that your writing

is talented and...

naturally.

Why don't you come

with us, pal?

Personally, I wouldn't mind

standing treat to a

little celebration.

No, I think I'd better stay

and dash off a couple

of more columns.

Sure, you keep right at it.

Here, use my pen.

Newspaper men don't use

pens, they use typewriters.

Sure.

Don't they, pal?

Smart as a whip, that boy.

Keen mind. I noticed

it right away.

Ought to be able to

figure out some way

to get in on that extra money.

[Typewriter keys clicking]

Boy, what I wouldn't give

for one of them machines.

Oh, you're welcome

to use this, Burk.

Yeah?

Uh, how would I run it?

Oh, if you want to write

a letter or something,

I'll do it for you.

I'm all through now.

No, I'm all through myself.

Anyway, if my mother got a

letter written on that,

she'd think I was

either dead or crazy.

She says I write

like a educated ape.

But at least when she

gets the letter,

she knows it's from me.

How come you're not over

at the service club?

I'll bet you shake

a mean hoof.

I better wait awhile.

I tread on so many of them

dames the last dance,

I don't think I'd do so

good over there tonight.

Very clever, Private Burk.

Anyway, I got some

book work to do.

Book work?

Yeah. I'm reading up on

the field artillery.

You see, when I got in, they was

tapping all us guys for infantry,

but I told them I

wanted field artillery.

Maybe lying a little bit

that I knew all about it.

So now I'm catching up on

what they think I know.

But what difference

does it make

where they put you?

It's all the army.

Maybe you look

at it like that,

but the way I figure it,

with a little rifle,

the kind they give

you in the infantry,

you can only knock off

one Nazi at a time.

But in the artillery,

with a big lollapalooza

of a shell,

a lucky guy might

get a whole company

with one shot!

Boy, I'd like that.

Yeah.

You think we'll get

a crack at them?

If we don't, I'll get transferred

to where I can get at them.

Or I'll buy a Cannon and go

into business for myself.

Boy, you have got a

burn against the Nazis.

Have you got relatives

in concentration camps?

What? In Jersey City?

Nah, I just get steamed up

when I read how they

push people around.

And I say to myself,

it's time somebody

pushed them around,

till their mean skulls rattle.

Yeah. I'm for that.

And when they start in

on us, I say to myself,

"Boy, let's face it. Get in."

So, here I am.

And I bet the army

wishes it had about

10 million more just like you.

They'll be along.

The way I feel can't be such a

special, exclusive

kind of thing.

Or I wouldn't be smart

enough to feel it.

Oh, I wouldn't be too sure.

And anyway, I get a big

boot out of it right now.

Look out at that.

Look at the size

of this place.

And all them P-47s

up there, like

angels guarding us at night.

And how you feel

when the whole fort

lines up for retreat.

Or we go out on maneuvers,

and everywhere you

look, you see

the United States Army,

lined up on every road

as far as you can look.

Why, Private Burk.

You're a poet!

Hey, you want a

rap in the snoot?

No offense, Bill!

Ok.

But no cracks.

I better get that

letter in the mail,

or my mother will come down

here and bat my ears off.

Ha! So long, kid.

So long, Bill.

[Big band music playing]

You know, somebody who didn't

understand the situation

might think I was

trying to muscle in

on Private

Hargrove's good fortune.

Oh, I understand, Mulvehill.

I knew you would.

Thanks!

You're welcome.

Take all you want.

Swell.

The way I see it,

if it wasn't for the rest

of the fellas in the army,

well, Hargrove couldn't

write these pieces about it

and make this extra money.

So he really owes

half of the money

to the rest of the

fellas in the army.

Naturally, when you

try and split it up

among 10 million guys,

nobody's going to

get very much.

So, we have to narrow it

down to just a few of us.

Two, to be exact.

Mmm-hmm.

Doughnuts?

No, thank you.

No, thank you.

How about you?

They're free

tonight, you know.

No, thanks.

Come on, take one.

Ok, thank you very much.

Last round, boys.

Why don't you sit down?

Why, thank you.

Say, you know...

did you boys have any supper?

That's your second

helping, you know.

The kind of supper we get,

what difference does it make?

Oh, you're kidding.

I happen to know the

army food is swell.

Yeah, but you should

see the tiny portions.

Yeah, in our battery,

when dinner's ready,

they don't say,

"come and get it,"

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Harry Kurnitz

Harry Kurnitz (January 5, 1908 – March 18, 1968) was an American playwright, novelist, and prolific screenwriter who wrote swashbucklers for Errol Flynn and comedies for Danny Kaye. He also wrote some mystery fiction under the name Marco Page. more…

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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    "See Here, Private Hargrove" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2025. Web. 19 Jan. 2025. <https://www.scripts.com/script/see_here,_private_hargrove_17733>.

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