The Pittsburgh Press (March 16, 1943)
Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
Algiers, Algeria – (March 15)
The staff of the Army newspaper Stars and Stripes, now being published in Africa, as well as in England, is probably the most compact little family among all our troops abroad. By sticking together and using their noodles, they’ve just about whipped the miseries of African life.
There are 18 of them. Their big boss is Lt. Col. Egbert White, a gray-haired, lovable man who speaks quietly and makes sure that the boys under him are well cared for. Col. White, incidentally, spent a week at the front recently, wandered around until he got behind the German lines, and got himself shot at.
The actual working editor of Stars and Stripes in Africa is Lt. Bob Neville, who was promoted recently from sergeant. Like all others who have been commissioned in the field, he’s had a terrible time getting himself an officer’s uniform. Col. White gave him a blouse, which fits perfectly. A correspondent gave him a cap. He bought a pair of pants from another officer. He picked up his bars here, there, and everywhere. He cut the stripes off his overcoat and pretends it’s from Burberry’s. But, as somebody has already said, the rules at the front are pretty elastic, and how you look doesn’t matter much.
The Stars and Stripes has its editorial offices in the Red Cross building, a beautiful brand-new structure of six stories in downtown Algiers. It’s just as modem as New York, except the acoustics engineer was insane, and if you drop a pin on the first floor, it sounds on the fifth floor like New Year’s Eve in a boiler shop.
They’ve licked the cold too
The staff of the Stars and Stripes works and lives in this building. On the top floor, they have a huge front room, which serves as both dormitory and clubroom. At first, they were sleeping on the hard tile floor. Later, the Red Cross dug up French iron cots for them, so now they’re almost as comfortable as at home.
They have big steel cupboards to use as shelves, and a large table where they write letters and play cards. There’s always a huge basket of tangerines sitting on the table. The windows are blackened out so they can have lights at night. They’ve bought an oil stove, so they have the unspeakable winter climate whipped and tied.
A dozen of the staff write and edit the paper, half a dozen do the mechanical work. They have made an arrangement with a local newspaper for using its composing room. But the American soldiers do all their own mechanical work.
There are four linotype operators on the staff. The boss is Pvt. Irving Levinson, of Stamford, Connecticut. He is a good-natured genius at getting work done in a foreign country.
He has to get out a paper in a French composing room in which not a soul speaks English, and Irv speaks not a word of French. But his native good humor works so well that within two weeks all the French printers were addressing him by the familiar “tu,” they were having him out to their homes for dinner, and the paper was coming out regularly.
Pvt. Wentzel has permanent job
Two of the other lino operators were Pfc. William Gigente, of Brooklyn, and Cpl. Edward Roseman, of Pleasantville, New Jersey. The fourth is Pvt. Jack Wentzel of Philadelphia, and his is the funniest case of all. He hasn’t run a linotype since he joined the staff of Stars and Stripes. He’s been too busy cooking.
Pvt. Wentzel never cooked a meal in his life, outside of helping his mother a little when he was a kid. But the Stars and Stripes decided to set up its own mess right in its own building, and by drawing straws or something. Pvt. Wentzel became the cook.
Before many meals passed, the staff discovered they had a culinary wizard in their midst. Wentzel sort of liked it himself. So, by acclamation they made him permanent cook.
Now the three other linotype operators work overtime, doing his composing-room work for him, so he can remain as cook. As they say, it isn’t quite in line with union rules, but right now they don’t happen to be under union jurisdiction.
At any rate, the staff contributes to the mess fund out of their own pockets, for various local delicacies in addition to the Regular Army rations. So, they wind up with what is unquestionably the best Army mess in the Algiers area. The food is so good that Lt. Neville and Capt. Harry Harchar, the circulation manager, who are supposed to eat at some officers’ mess, eat most of their meals with the men instead.
The whole shebang is about the nearest thing in spirit to a genuine newspaper office back home that I can conceive of.