The Pittsburgh Press (November 4, 1942)
I DARE SAY —
Report of an attitude
By Florence Fisher Parry
I am home now, the errand over. I have seen him while the hours sped ‘round like a sweep-second hand on a jeweled watch.
And now I am comforted, you might say. Think how lucky you are, say the mothers bereft of a touch or sight of their boys.
Oh, yes, I am lucky. Oh, yes, I am comforted. The hunger and thirst are assuaged for a while – but after that, what comes?
I went to see him – all else was not to matter.
I was to spin across the continent, say goodbye, and spin back again – a blank at both ends of the meeting. I would spend idle hours on the train, sleeping, reading and looking out the window at all the old, wild, beautiful landmarks.
Then they were there, like a multiple image of him, like a chair of mirrors reaching down an endless corridor – khaki, olive drab, Navy blue – legions of them.
So, I thought, I will send back a report to the home front. It will be their report, the report of the fighting men I met. And for 10 days I was faithful to that self-assignment. I sent back fragments, vignettes, little pieces.
Cheering report
But all the time I was writing, the train would stop and the newspapers would fall into my hands… and the little radios on the train would squeal out the news… Guadalcanal… The Japs landed reinforcements… an aircraft carrier was sunk… Our boys were magnificent, thew way they were holding out…
Holding out… Pearl Harbor, Wake Island, Bataan, Corregidor.
Then I read the letter from that dead hero:
…Tomorrow I will have the great honor to participate in Uncle Sam’s first move of retaliation against the Japs. And I can’t wait! O boy o boy, have they got a surprise coming to them! And the bets!.. I don’t believe in history a bunch of men have gone into any engagement as calm and magnificent as this group. There’s only one answer. It will be successful.
Just about that time, my portable broke down, as though in protest against what I had been writing, these daily capsules of good cheer.
And when I came home, friends said:
What a wonderful time you must have had! What cheering reports you sent back!
It’s not all so!
But it wasn’t altogether cheering.
Our boys are losing some of their confidence. They are getting a mite bewildered. They are saving to one another:
Who’s running this show? Why aren’t we getting somewhere? What’s happening?
They’re afraid they’ll be misunderstood and they don’t say it out loud. They know they are resolute and fearless and ready for anything. But when you corner them, they blurt it out: They want to know what’s the matter, what’s holding us back.
They’re being switched from camp to camp, and that puzzles them. Okay, okay, but what’s it all getting us as long as we stay at home?
There’s time, on these trains. To get talking to that guy off the Yorktown, that kid off the Quincy, that man’s who’s just back from Australia… and they hear how a few more planes, or reinforcements, would have changed the story.
And they begin to wonder what’s been holding us back, what’s still holding us back.
No griping mind. No lack of morale. Just a… a rising uneasiness. Why don’t we get a move on? What’s all this backing and filling for? (Much like many civilians are asking, civilians who are looking, for a franker and more realistic policy at the top).
They’re beginning to ask, puzzled, almost apologetic about it, but they’re asking. And when they start asking, look out, Washington; look out America. Men about to die expect answers.
and the Marines assumed no one knew the place they have. Could be true, not sure 
if newspapers made it there. Great scene though.