| OCR Text |
Show Ei iiie Pyle With the Navy Only a Fool Would Want To Return to Front Writer Is on His Way Back Despite All Arguments . By Ernie Pylo Ernie Pyle Is with tlie navy in the Pacific. Pending receipt of his dispatches from that war theater this newspaper is publishing a few articles ha wrote before his takeoff from San Francisco, of which the following is one. SAN FRANCISCO Well, here we go again. It has been four months since I wrote my last column, from France. In four months of non-production a writer gets out of the habit. He forgets the rhythm of words; falls into the easy habit of not making himself think or feel in self-expression. This first column Is a man-killer. Your mind automatically resents the task of focusing itself again. Your thoughts are scattered and you can't get them together to put onto paper. Words come hard. You have to think again. You curse the -day you ever took up writing to make a living. So until I'm once more immersed In the routine of daily writing, and transported once f ,''r i more into the Lv'xT" 1 one - track world f$ of war. I'm afraid VV? xl you'll have to be V v," If There's nothing ' ' "lf aice about tne $ i' prospect of going f .back to war 'i v?! again. Anybody k.XLUJ wh0 has been ln Ernie Pyle war and wants to go back is a plain damn fool In my book. I'm certainly not going because I've got itchy feet again, or because be-cause I can't stand America, or because be-cause there's any mystic fascination fascina-tion about war that is drawing me back. I'm going simply because there's a war on and I'm part of it and I ve known all the time I was going back. I'm going simply because I've got to and I hate It. This time it will be the Pacific. When I left France last fall we thought the war in Euorpe was about over. I say "we" because I mean almost everybody over there thought so. I felt it was so near the end I could come home and before the time came to go again, that side of the war would be finished, and only the Pacific would be left. But it didn't turn out that way. Now nobody knows how long the European war will last. Naturally all my friends and associations and sentiments are on that side.' I suppose sup-pose down In my heart I would rather go back to that side. For over in Europe I know the tempo . of the battle; I feel at home with it in a way. And yet I think it's best to stick .with the original plan and go on to the Pacific. There are a lot of guys in that war, too. They are the same guys who are fighting on the other side, only with different names, that's all. It is not belittling my friends in Europe to desert them and go to the Pacific for a while. I'm going with the navy this time, since the navy is so dominant In the Pacific, and since I've done very little in the past on that part of the service. I won't stay with the navy for the duration probably two or three months, and then back ashore again with my noble souls, the doughioots. Security forbids telling you just what the plans are. But I can say that I'll fly across the Pacific, and join ship on the other side. Aboard ship I'll be out of touch with the . world on long cruises. It may be there will be lapses in the column, col-umn, simply because it's impossible impos-sible to transmit these pieces. But we'll do our best to keep them going go-ing steadily. I haven't figured out yet what I'm going to do about seasickness. I'm one of those unfortunates with a terrific stomach on land, but one that turns to whey and jelly when I get aboard ship. I know of nothing that submerges the muse in a man as much as the constant compulsion to throw up. Perhaps I should take t along my own oil to spread on the troubled waters. Friends warn me about all kinds of horrible diseases in the Pacific, About dysentery, and malaria, and fungus that gets in your ears and your intestines, and that horrible swelling disease known as elephantiasis. elephanti-asis. Well, all 1 can say Is that I'm God's gift to germs. Those fungi will shout and leap for joy when I show up. Maybe I can play the Pied Piper role maybe the germs will all follow fol-low me when I get there, and leave the rest of the boys free to fight. So what with disease, Japs, seasickness, sea-sickness, and shot and shell you see I'm not too overwhelmed with relief at starting out again. But there's one thing in my favor where I'm going; one thing that will t make life bearable when all else Is darkness and gloom. And that one thing Is that, out in the Pacific. I'll be damned good and stinking hot. Oh boy J ON CALIFORNIA'S FRONT These first half dozen columns or so are being written in San Francisco Fran-cisco before taking off for the Pacific. They are a very sketchy report on the home front. If you can bear a little reminiscing reminis-cing I'd like to go back over these last four months of furlough, and bring you up to date on the Prodigal Prodi-gal Son's recent activities. Well, since leaving France and returning re-turning to America, I have Crossed the continent three times. Had eight teeth filled. Spent my first Christmas with "That Girl" since the war started. Mowed the lawn once. I've . been photographed 1,000 times, and was made president of the Rio Grande Steamship and Navigation company. (Blubber division.) divi-sion.) I've been kissed by Paulette Goddard, Olivia DeHaviland and Jinx Falkenberg all in one afternoonHallelujah! Six people sent me oil paintings they'd done from photographs. I've sat up all night three nights on trains, and three nights on airplanes. I've said "no" to at least 500 requests re-quests to speak, and have managed to keep well supplied with cigarets. Kind people have flooded me with gifts. Mayor Clyde Tingley of Albuquerque Al-buquerque opened it with a $500 wrist watch, which so overwhelms me that I left it in a safety deposit box back home. Who would dare wear a $500 wrist watch? I've had luscious apples from Washington state, pecans from Mississippi, Mis-sissippi, half a dozen homemade hunting knives, two college degrees, a T etc as cowboy belt, two foxhole shovels, one baby jeep, sun glasses for the Pacific, and one noble friend came through with 10 pounds of bacon. We've had so much company at our house in Albuquerque that one night I slept on a canvas cot in the woodshed, and one night on the living liv-ing room floor in my new sleeping bag. (I didn't sleep very well either.) Despite all the frenzy, I've felt almost al-most pathetic in my happiness at being home. I've had a wonderful time. ... People are always asking what I think of the "home front," expecting expect-ing me of course to raise hell about It. 1 Well, I don't know. In the first place it's so wonderful to be home that I find myself reluctant to criticize criti-cize or even admit any flaws in the home front. . It is true that a great many people don't know there's a war on, or don't seem to care. And yet I realize real-ize that I could very easily ' let myself my-self sit down and take it easy and never think of war again, except In an academic way. I've had no bad incidents during these few months at home. But I have learned from experience that It's almost impossible sometimes some-times infuriating in a helpless sort of way to talk to most civilians feelingly about the war. On trains and in public places I find myself drifting automatically to boys in uniform with overseas ribbons rib-bons or service stripes, for we can talk the same language. As an example of what I mean, one man said to me one day in complete com-plete good faith, "Tell me now, just exactly what is It you don't like about war?" I tUlnk I must have turned a little white, and all I could do was look at him in shock, and say, "Good God, if you don't know, then I could never tell you." It's little things like that which make returning soldigrs feel their misery has all been in vain. t I don't think America at home is either unwilling or incapable of getting get-ting fully into the war. We need only to be told more what to do, and to have scarcities and grimness applied clear across the board. |
