The Pittsburgh Press (January 6, 1942)
Rambling Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
ALBUQUERQUE, N.M. – My friends in San Francisco assured me that they now had themselves in hand and could spare my guidance and counsel for a few days.
So we’ll drop back to Albuquerque for a little while, to sit and reminisce hungrily over that now-departed three months of idleness in which I recently indulged.
All through the fall, you know, I disappeared into the great void and wallowed in the luxurious experience of not making a living.
That three months was my longest stretch of “non-work” in nearly 19 years. It was a nice experiment. For all my life I had heard it said that an active man couldn’t sit around and do nothing. That he would go nuts pretty soon, and have to get busy.
But I am a living, walking refutation of that ridiculous theory, I reveled in laziness. And the longer I was lazy, the lazier I got. Another month and I would have been static.
So I am now an experienced craftsman in the art of loafing. I know whereof I speak. And I can assure you that loafing is wonderful. and that working is a very poor way to spend a day.
Of course the sudden excitement of America at war sent me back to work eagerly and in a hurry, but that doesn’t spoil mv new philosophy. In normal times, I shall stand upon a creed of “give me idleness or give me death.”
As soon as the war is over, I’m going to sigh a deep good-for-nothing sigh, write “phooey” at the end of my last column, and never do another lick of honest work as long as I live.
Pyle the croquet wizard
In those three idle months I didn’t do a single constructive thing, unless you call playing croquet constructive. I did become a shark at croquet. And, incidentally, I turned my croquet wizardry to a nice profit.
For it happens that one of our friends out here is a contractor named Earl Mount, and he suffers from a hallucination that he can play croquet. This hallucination is so stubborn that he is willing to bet money on it, and he just keeps on betting (praise Allah).
So throughout the fall I managed to make, not exactly a lavish living, but a very comfortable one, just taking a quarter away from Mr. Mount five or six times every afternoon.
I never expected to find such a gold mine when we stopped in this part of the country. I don’t need a burro and a pan to do my gold prospecting. I can do it just five blocks up the street, on a nice green lawn, with somebody handing me sandwiches between masterful strokes of the mallet.
But what you want to know most, I expect, is about “That Girl.”
Well, she is beginning to perk again. Her escape from death was much slimmer than most of you ever suspected. She spent seven weeks in the hospital, and will be under a nurse’s care all winter. Her complete recovery is still a long time off.
She is home now, but sees only intimate friends. She is up most of the day. and once in a while even takes a ride. Her diet is strict, and she has to drink so much milk we are thinking of buying a herd of milk cows. She hates milk, too.
Thoughtfulness is appreciated
There is considerable question whether my presence here is legitimate or not. One school of thought holds that there was some justice in my dropping the columns until she was out of the woods. The other school avows that I really am lazy, and merely used her illness as an excuse for a long rest. Personally I know the answer, but I ain’t telling.
That Girl and I both were deeply touched by the cards, letters and flowers that came from unknown friends all over the country. If any of you haven’t been thanked, consider yourselves thanked now. For we appreciated everything.
It was hard for both of us when I set out again on my travels. But I had to go, and she wanted me to go. She will lack for nothing while I am away. She has friends and interests here, and the best of care.
To some of you, I expect, it must seem that out here on the desert a person isn’t in the best professional hands when he falls desperately ill. Get that out of your head. There are doctors here as fine as anywhere in America. When I finally begin to rattle and fall to pieces (it won’t be long, either), I hope it can be right here.
And, oh yes… While we’re at it, I want to seize this opportunity to say that I am disgruntled and disgusted with all of you.
It had been my impression that the American reading public would simply fold up and wither away if denied the daily hypodermic of this column.
But now, after a three-month famine, I see you’re all as healthy and frisky as steers.
I’ve never been so insulted in my life.