Dear Readers:
A recent story by Wes Allison of the St. Pete Times had this glorious introduction:
FORT DIX, N.J. –- Army Sgt. 1st Class Keith Rickenbacker turned to the eight men and two women assigned to his Foxtrot squad, a ragged line of lumpy journalists with all the military bearing of a beanbag.A year or so ago, Hasbro tried marketing an Ernie Pyle action figure as part of its G.I. Joe series. For some reason, things didn’t work out. Those wacky little boys. In spite of all the Ritalin pumped into their veins, they still prefer the bazooka to the typewriter.
Rickenbacker saw combat in Somalia, trained Army Rangers in the swamps of Georgia and is assigned to the prestigious Old Guard at Fort Myer, Va. Now this.
But he is a good soldier, and he betrayed no chagrin.
“Hoo-ah!” Rickenbacker called, the Army’s all-terrain term for yes, roger, ready.
Foxtrot stomped their feet and adjusted their packs. A couple stubbed out cigarettes.
“Hoo-ah” the reporters called back.
A small shrine to Ernie Pyle at Indiana University contains some WWII memorabilia, including a Remington Noiseless Portable typewriter, beat up beyond belief, suggesting many battles survived, until old Ernie caught a sniper’s bulletin at the end of the war.
Covering a war is serious business. Ask the widow of Daniel Pearl.
But war training for journalists seems humorous by definition, leading Doc to these fantasies:
- Establishment of sweeps week for mines
- A drill instructor named Perry White (“Don’t call me chief!”)
- A new command for ending a story: Get down and give me 30!
- If they run out of helmets, the broadcast guys and gals can get by with extra lacquer
- This training could produce not the next Ernie Pyle, but the next Gomer Pyle
- Creation of the AP barbed wire service
- Guys carrying around cheesecake photos of Helen Thomas
- Winding up in the same foxhole with Geraldo Rivera
- As a resulting of a typing error finding yourself in Iran instead of Iraq
- Returning from the war to be greeted by a ticker-tape parade
