Newsreel Man

NEWSREEL MAM By CHARLES PEDEN DOUBLEDAY, DORAN COMPANY, INC. GARDEN CITY MCMXXXII NEW YORK DEDICATED to my companions of camera and microphone. With them I have shared thrills, joy, and despair. Climbed mountains, sailed seas, and trod the paths of strange lands. All of which is woven into the fabric of a friend ship that can never be rent asunder. THE PHOTOGRAPHS in this book were made from actual sound news film and are used here through the kindness of Movietonews, Inc. Acknowledgment is made to the Butterick Publishing Company for the use of certain of these stories as published in Adventure Magazine. Preface f i HE IDEA of writing this book was born in far-off Japan. I It was one rainy afternoon, and work for the day was out. --While gazing through my hotel window at the fascinating display of international shipping that constantly chokes Yokohama Bay my eye caught an incoming liner as her sleek hull was being cautiously warped into its berth. I thought of the passengers aboard her they would be tripping down the gangplank soon, eagerly look ing forward to their first contacts with a strange land. In the majority of cases they would have to be content with sights as pointed out by a guide, the regular tourist sort of thing, adhering to an itinerary as outlined to conform with railroad schedules and tides. It had been my lot to dig deeper, see things off the beaten track while on the trail of news. The thought that I should like to tell about some of those things struck me. This, coupled with a glimpse of my portable typewriter resting in a corner, started me off. Orders from the home office shifted me to the South Seas. On a traders . schooaer as it lunged through the open seas andprowled around coral reefs, I tapped away. More work was done in languid Pago-Pago, Samoa, in Reids Hotel, where in former times Sadie Thomp son, of Main, got religion during the forty-day deluge. During my stay on the island my writing was interrupted by assignments to photograph Siva-Siva dances, shark hunting, the barefooted Fita-Fita Guard, Uncle Sams native troops, missionary activities. Furthei portions of the book were written in a natives grass fale. Then the naval radio picked up reports of a hurricane in the Fiji Islands While in those hard-bitten islands I was permitted to delve into th c PREFACE oiystic rites of the Vila Vilairevo, or Fire Walking. It was several weeks before I could resume my writing at the Grand Pacific Hotel in Suva on Vita Levu. Other pages were written on the lanai of a rambling Hawaiian, bungalow out Kahalawai way in the very shadow of Diamond Head. The sight of the sun dipping through the Golden Gate as seen from a house on Nob Hill once halted my fingers. The type bars clattered in unison with the subdued click of trucks as the long transcontinental train laboured over the Great Divide, screamed through homely little Ohio villages. In New York I finished the manuscript between assignments to cover world flights, official wel coming of distinguished foreign visitors, and all the other events of metropolitan news. In the short time I have been back in town Ive welcomed other companions that have returned. One barged in from Mesopotamia, another from Rio. Yes, and many have started away again. Lew Tappan, who had just returned from a long sojourn in the Congo, managed to push back a few with me, and to shoot the breeze a bit. I saw him off on theCentury the other day. Hes off for Manchuria and new thrills. Another shouted a cheerio from the prom rail of the Europa. Lucky devil. Hes in Berlin now. Thats what makes this newsreel racket the swell thing it is. New places, new faces, queer customs. Manys the yarn Ive picked up in these chance reunions when we cross each others trails. We dont stay put for very long. Ive seen my companions start at the hoarse burrrrrrrrrr of some departing steamers siren, and the sight of a Blue Peter acts as a Lorelei to me, for far places beckon...