Old Doc Eubank with his drops and pills
Long protected us from aches and ills
But far the best in his medicine chest
Was the corn that he measured in gills

Sometimes it seems that no one would care
Where we lived or how we would fare
Then Doc's opportune pass of brimming glass
Was a deed doubly thoughtly and rare

Often I, when the mission was spent
With throttles wide and homeward bent
Have licked my chops and revved the props
Thinking of Doc and his hundred per cent

It hit the spot at the end of day
And buoyed a man in the proper way
May all life's missions have such final grace
As a glass of cheer and a friend face

And when we climb the Golden Stair,
Tired with age, gasping for air
Wide shall part the Portals twain,
And there'll be Doc -- with his bottle of grain

-- Lt. Jim Beardsley, A.C.

   404th B. Sqdn.

   A.P.O. 980, Seattle

   March 27, 1943