The Pittsburgh Press (February 12, 1945)
Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
Ernie Pyle is with the Navy in the Pacific. Pending receipt of his dispatches from that war theater, we are publishing four articles he wrote before his takeoff from San Francisco, of which the following is the second.
SAN FRANCISCO, California – This column is being written in San Francisco before taking off for the Pacific.
If you can bear a little reminiscing, I’d like to go back over these past four months of furlough, and bring you up to date on the Prodigal Son’s recent activities.
Well, since leaving France and returning to America, I have–
Crossed the continent three times. Had eight teeth filled. Spent my first Christmas with “That Girl” since the war started. Mowed the lawn once.
I’ve sat up all night three nights on trains, and three nights on airplanes. I’ve said “no” to many requests to speak, and have managed to keep well supplied with cigarettes.
Kind people have flooded me with gifts. Mayor Clyde Tingley of Albuquerque opened it with a $500 wristwatch, which so overwhelmed me that I left it in a safety deposit box back home. Who would dare wear a $500 wristwatch?
I’ve had luscious apples from Washington State, pecans from Mississippi, half a dozen homemade hunting knives, two college degrees, a Texas cowboy belt, two foxhole shovels, one baby jeep, sunglasses for the Pacific, and one noble friend came through with 10 pounds of bacon.
We’ve had so much company at our house in Albuquerque that one night I slept on a canvas cot in the woodshed, and one night on the living room floor in my new sleeping bag (I didn’t sleep very well either).
Despite all the frenzy, I’ve felt almost pathetic in my happiness at being home. I’ve had a wonderful time. The older I get the better I like being alive. I wish it could go on forever.
What of home front?
People are always asking what I think of the “home front,” expecting me of course to raise hell about it.
Well, I don’t know. In the first place it’s so wonderful to be home that I find myself reluctant to criticize or even admit any flaws in the home front.
It is true that a great many people don’t know there’s a war on, or don’t seem to care. And yet I realize that I could very easily let myself sit down and take it easy and never think of war again, except in an academic way.
It’s almost impossible – sometimes infuriating in a helpless sort of way – to talk to most civilians feelingly about the war.
On trains and in public places I find myself drifting automatically to boys in uniform with overseas ribbons or service stripes, for we can talk the same language.
As an example of what I mean, one man said one day in complete good faith, “Tell me now, just exactly what is it you don’t like about war?”
Service act favored
All I could do was look at him in shock and say “Good God, if you don’t know, then I could never tell you.” It’s little things like that which make returning soldiers feel their misery has all been in vain.
I don’t think America at home is either unwilling or incapable of getting fully into the war. We need only to be told more what to do, and to have scarcities and firmness applied clear across the board.
Personally, I’m glad for the President’s proposal for a national service act. I think it will stiffen up the whole American nation, and through touching almost every family, make people buckle down. That, and the casualties that lie ahead of us.
I believe the worst of our war is still to come, and that before it is over everybody in America will really feel it. I hope so, because then the boys overseas won’t feel so lonesome.