The Pittsburgh Press (May 12, 1944)
Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
London, England – (by wireless)
The American contingent in London has many new terms since I left here in 1942. The newest and most frequently heard is “SHAEF.” This is the initials of Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force. It is SHAEF that is planning and will direct the invasion. Gen. Eisenhower is head man of SHAEF.
I mention it only to show how initials grow into words over here, just as they do back in Washington.
The word ETOUSA still exists. That stands for European Theater of Operation United States Army. That is, headquarters of the American Army as distinct from Allied Headquarters. It is two years old and still functioning.
When we were here in 1942, ETOUSA was always pronounced “eetoosa.” For some unexplainable reason, the pronunciation has now changed to “eetowza.” Being old-fashioned and set in my ways, I like the first one better.
‘Frozen’ soldiers rejoin units
I had a quick V-letter the other day from the Mediterranean. It was from one of the “frozen” boys in Casablanca that I wrote about – the American-bound soldiers who had hit a dead-end street and had been hung up in Casa for six weeks when I ran into them.
Well, they got a decision on their fate. But it was the wrong one. Their schooling program was called off, their transfer home was canceled, and they were ordered back to their original outfits. The letter says:
It was a great dream while it lasted, but it’s over now. We have been riding the Forty-and-Eights and hitting the replacement depots – and you know what that means.
The only thing that really hurts is that we didn’t catch the many boats we might have caught if we had seen “somebody” sooner. But enough of this crying in your Scotch, Ernie. We will see you again someday. And again, thanks a million from all of us.
It was a cruel and disappointing thing, but that is the way real soldiers take it. The Army is so big that things like that are bound to happen. But they shouldn’t happen too often.
Such a thing had happened to one of those boys four times in two years. Even the best soldier can’t have too much discouragement and disillusionment heaped upon him.
The other day I took a trip up to mid-England to see a man from Albuquerque. He is, in fact, the man who built our little white house out there on the mesa, and who subsequently became one of our best friends.
His name is Arthur McCollum. He was a lieutenant in the last war and he is a captain in this. He spent 20 years regretting that he never got overseas the other time, and he is very happy that he made it this time. He is attached to a big general hospital in the country.
Son missing following reunion
In January, Capt. McCollum had a reunion with his son, Lt. Ross McCollum, Ross was chief pilot of a Flying Fortress. Father and son had two wonderful weekends together. And then on his second mission over Germany, Ross didn’t come back. Nothing has been heard from him since. That was nearly four months ago.
Capt. Mac and Ross were real companions – they played together and dreamed and planned together. After the war, they were going to fish a lot and then start an airplane sales agency together.
Capt. Mac says he kind of went to the bottom of the barrel over Ross. For two months, he was so low he felt he couldn’t take it. And then he said to himself, “Look here, you damn fool! You can’t do this. Get yourself together.” And having given himself that abrupt command, he carried it out. And today he is all right.
I found him the same kind of life-loving, gay friends I had known in Albuquerque. We rode bicycles around the countryside, celebrated here and there, made fools of ourselves and had a wonderful time.
Capt. Mac talked a lot about Ross, and felt better for the talking, but he didn’t do any crying on my shoulder. He feels firmly that Ross will come back, but he knows now that if he never does, he can take it.
Even though he is an intimate friend of mine, I consider him one of the finest examples I know of what people can and must do when the tragedy of war falls fully upon them.