MacArthur aide declares enemy has huge fleet massed at Truk
By Don Caswell, United Press staff writer
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Allies must destroy 5 planes to every one they lose
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Workers, not stockholders, getting the breaks in World War II
By Dale McFeatters
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Boston, Massachusetts (UP) –
Barnett Welansky, owner of the Cocoanut Grove nightclub was sentenced to 12 to 15 years in prison today for manslaughter in connection with the fire at his club last Nov. 28 which cost 491 lives.
Judge Joseph Hurley imposed the prison sentence on each of 19 counts, but ordered that they all be served concurrently – the first day in solitary confinement and the rest at hard labor. The possible maximum sentence would have been 20 years in prison.
The 46-year-old defendant, a Boston lawyer, stared ahead as sentence was pronounced.
400-mile-an-hour Thunderbolt called answer to Focke-Wulf 190 in raids on Europe
By Walter Cronkite, United Press staff writer
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Halifax agrees unity depends on better understanding
By William Philip Simms, Scripps-Howard foreign editor
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It’s our only foreign policy, Hull, Welles reveal
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Drop three tons of bombs on Jap airdromes
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Allies on schedule in cleanup in Africa, general says, terming Rommel no superman
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Two officers arrive to prepare for landing of big group
By Helen Kirkpatrick
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Uniform insignia deserves much quicker recognition
By Ruth Millett
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By Ernie Pyle
In Tunisia –
You run onto some unusual people in the American Army. For instance, I know a corporal who can recite the Versailles Treaty by heart, and who can quote from memory every important military treaty since the Franco-Prussian War. This man is Cpl. William Nikolin, of 1105 West New York St., Indianapolis. You call him Nick. He is 28 and has a gold tooth. He has lived 14 years in America and 14 years in Europe, and he can speak in almost every language there is in Europe. Although born in America, he speaks English with quite an accent.
Nick studied journalism at Butler College and Columbia University. Then he went on to Europe, and took an M.A. degree in political history at Belgrade University. For six years he worked on various European newspapers. He knows the Balkans intimately, and his manner of thinking is really more Balkan than American.
Nick saw the war ahead
In 1939, Nick returned to America, because he saw the war coming and he wanted no part of it. He was disillusioned and sad over the state of things. He resolved he would never return to Europe under any circumstances. He turned his back. And then he was drafted, and here he is headed right back for the old stamping grounds. But he is glad now. He’s an excellent soldier, and outstandingly conscientious. He will be of great value when our armies get onto the Continent. But Nick sees further than that. He wants to be a part of the peace building. He wants to get his discharge over here, and stay on to cover the peace conferences. He feels himself especially equipped for the job.
Nick, in addition to his other duties, is a sort of personal assistant for two officers – Maj. Charles Miller of Detroit and Capt. Tony Lumpkin of Mexico, Missouri. Nick looks after them as though they were babies. They have a tent buried in the ground with a kerosene stove in it, and every night just before bedtime they heat up some beans and make some chocolate and call Nick in, and then they all sit there and eat and drink and discuss the world.
We correspondents have many little memories of the Central Valley in Tunisia; little things we never had time to write. I remember one night, for instance, when four of us were eating supper with Col. Edson Raff, the famous paratroop leader, and his young adjutant. Lt. Jack Pogue. It was my first meeting with Raff, and I felt some awe of him, but he was so attentive that I soon got over that.
Ernie meets a neighbor
Raff and Pogue were both dressed in the paratroop uniform and carried their Tommy guns with them. Tanks clanked and rumbled by constantly outside the door, shaking the ground and the building itself, and making the candles dance on the table.
Lt. Pogue and I got to talking, and it turned out he lives just over the hill from me in New Mexico. He’s from Estancia, in the valley behind Albuquerque, only about 40 miles away. So there in the Tunisian desert we did a couple of hours’ reminiscing about our own special desert back home.
The very first time I ever pitched my pup tent I had to have help, of course, for I didn’t even know how to button the thing together. My assistant on that first venture was Sgt. Walter Hickey, of 401 76th St., Brooklyn. He was a clerk before the war. Sgt. Hickey and I picked out a fairly level spot on a sloping mountainside and put up the tent under a fir tree, after pulling out a few shrubs to make a clear space. When we had the tent finished and staked down, I noticed the ground was crawling with ants. We had unwittingly opened up an enormous ant nest in the loose soil when we pulled up the shrubs. So, we had to take the whole tent down and pitch it under another tree.
By now, I can put up my tent all by myself, in the dark, with a strong wind blowing and both hands tied behind my back. I can too.
Horses outpull truck
You see little things in wartime that make you laugh, they are so incongruous.
I remember the forenoon our troops were evacuating Sbeitla. The roads were lined with our convoys. Mixed in with them was the French artillery, withdrawing along with us.
The sight that struck me so funny – a caterpillar tractor was laboring up a slight grade in the gravel road, pulling a French 75 behind it. And as we watched, here came another 75, pulled by six straining horses, and sped right around the motorized gun as though it were standing still.