PHOTOCONSERVATISM
Re: R. Emmett Tyrrell, Jr.'s Front
Page's Picture of Bill and Me:
R. Emmett Tyrrell's crashing of Bill's Big Party is one of the funniest stories I've ever heard. The photograph of the two beaming gentlemen captures a classic moment in advanced conservative high jinks. It's impossible to look at without cracking up.
Well done and excellent sleuthing!
-- Doug Roll
Jacksonville, Texas
PYLING ON
Re: Jeff Emanuel's Winning the
PR War in Iraq:
Jeff Emanuel without a trace of irony describes the efforts to win, and possible victory in, the "PR War."
Anybody out there read Ernie's War: The Best of Ernie Pyle's World War II Dispatches, edited by David Nichols, published by Touchstone? If you did, you can't help but ask yourself what died on Ie Shima on April 18, 1945, besides the GIs' best buddy.
As Nichols notes on page 363, "shortly before Pyle left France, General Omar Bradley urged him to go home and stay home; his chances, the general suggested, were about used up. Pyle's wife, Jerry, virtually begged him to abandon war correspondence. But the armed forces in the Pacific badly wanted Pyle to join them. It was apparent to them what a morale booster he had been in Europe, how he had made the war there so vivid to stateside readers, and they exerted considerable pressure on him to cover the Pacific Theater. Although he was emotionally not up to the job, Pyle acquiesced." In fact, Pyle had premonitions of death before leaving his home in New Mexico, and advised at least one friend that he didn't think he was coming back.
How could Pyle be such a hero to the GIs, improve morale at home
and still "tell the truth"? And what was Pyle's "truth"? Consider
this rough draft of a column Pyle had been preparing for release
upon the end of the war in Europe, found on his body the day he was
killed.
...This is written on a little ship lying off the coast of the Island of Okinawa, just south of Japan, on the other side of the world from the Ardennes.But my heart is still in Europe, and that's why I am writing this column.
It is to the boys who were my friends for so long. My one regret of the war is that I was not with them when it ended.
For the companionship of two-and-a-half years of death and misery is a spouse that tolerates no divorce. Such companionship finally becomes a part of one's soul, and it cannot be obliterated.
True, I am with American boys in the other war not yet ended, but I am old-fashioned and my sentiment runs to old things.
To me the European war is old, and the Pacific war is new.
Last summer I wrote that I hoped the end of the war could be a gigantic relief, but not an elation. In the joyousness of high spirits it is easy for us to forget the dead. Those who are gone would not wish themselves to be a millstone of gloom around our necks.
But there are many of the living who have had burned into their brains forever the unnatural sight of cold dead men scattered over the hillsides and in the ditches along with high rows of hedge throughout the world.