http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle To his readers, Ernie Pyle was a master of telling the story of the little guy, of describing the fears and daily strife of soldiers fighting in World War II. Wed, 04 Mar 2009 15:52:24 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.8.4 en hourly 1 http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/the-trip-home/ http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/the-trip-home/#comments Mon, 17 Mar 2008 12:14:39 +0000 akincius http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/the-trip-home/ Photo by Tim Street We said goodbye to Paris and the Seine one last time. I woke up to the joyful sounds of French cartoons and a ringing phone.

It was 7:15 AM. After a week of teasing pockets of sleep and constant, continuous leg motions, I knew this morning would be rough. Even the golden colored shower with infinitely adjustable vertical placement wasn’t cutting it.

My hazy tiredness was surrounded with a sense of bittersweet anticipation. We were going home. I was looking forward to sleeping without interruption and spending less than ten dollars on a meal. Going home means leaving Paris, a city rich with history, money, and an enthusiasm for life that was as contagious as it was bedazzling. After a dozen tours and several hours of cramped travelling, my mind and heart were full of knowledge and appreciation for what the men of the past did so I could enjoy the present.

It’s almost incomprehensible to imagine the sacrifice of the Allied soldiers. After seeing Normandy beach, numerous craft of World War II, and cities where some of the fighting took place, I was left with a sense of awe at what transpired long ago through ash, explosions, and sweat. The cemeteries and memorials in France and England exist so we never forget. They were successful.

These thoughts dominated my mind as we packed our luggage for the last time and hopped on the bus in the early morning. For a group known for cheerleading charisma and an immense sense of camaraderie, the air in the bus was unusually still. Faces looked out windows at the rolling prairies and countryside of France that had greeted us several days before. Deep down I knew the scope of it all was finally registering. This was it. Our trip among thirty friends was hours away from becoming the past tense.

The initial flight was delayed by a little more than an hour. The huddled group created a lovely traffic jam in the terminal exit. We had mastered this “road block” skill while in Europe, but with thirty tourists and narrow streets, it’s not hard to get in the way. We eventually made our way onto the plane, another massive airbus complete with mini televisions and pre-packaged, reheated meals of various mystery items. My, oh my, how the perks of flying stack up.

Because of our delay, we were cutting it close with our flight to Indy. As the group was halfway through the Philadelphia airport, we realized that the plane might leave without us. This instigated a sluggishly awkward sprinting mob. We carried our luggage, our tickets, and our sweaty selves past stores and curious onlookers, wondering why we were moving at such a frantic pace. After spending the last week being the “tourist,” a few looks of disdain didn’t phase me.

We made it. Barely. The rest of the passengers seemed to be disgruntled at our disregard for time, but it truly wasn’t our fault. For those wondering who the heck these rowdy folks were, Colin and Sandy put those thoughts to rest by making puppets out of their air sickness bags. They displayed their lovely “bag couple” to one of the flight attendants, and she smiled, not sure what to make of these artistic creations. The intercom rang.

 “Congratulations to row 12 for being most creative!”

Our entire group cheered, as the two were rewarded granola bars for their efforts. More disgruntled looks came from the front of the plane.

I soon realized the bag people came to personify exactly what the trip was about. Not only had we broadened our cultural horizons, but we had become a family. We had eaten, slept, and traveled together for the past 200 hours. Our bond could be seen and felt without saying a word, and by this point, we didn’t care about what others thought. We had become stronger individuals.

Life will commence as normal on Monday, or get closer to it. I speak for my peers when I say we will begin again wiser and humbled. This journey brought Ernie Pyle and World War II to life more than any descriptive writings from the events could ever have. Now it is time to soak it in, and try to give others a glimpse of our fantastic voyage.


]]> http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/the-trip-home/feed/ 0 http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/saying-au-revoir/ http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/saying-au-revoir/#comments Sun, 16 Mar 2008 02:32:05 +0000 Rosemary Pennington http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/saying-au-revoir/ Photo by Tim Street During some free time this morning, groups of students spent time exploring Paris on their own. The groups visited places including Sacre Couer, Notre Dame and the Louvre. The Louvre’s famous glass pyramid, designed by I.M. Pei (who also designed the IU Art Museum) is shown here. Our last day in Paris and what a lovely day it was.

Professor Johnson gave us the morning to visit sites in small groups, so I and another grad student, Nicole Roales, headed up to Sacre Coeur in Montmartre. The area is the section of the city where artists like Vincent van Gogh and Toulouse Lautrec once spent hours debating perspective and art itself. It’s a part of Paris I’ve always wanted to visit.

One major bit of advice to pass along first – don’t take the stairs. Nicole and I decided that after the elevator in the Eiffel Tower, we were done with elevators that seem to go sideways–which the funicular that takes you up to Sacre Coeur does. So, we walked up the stairs. It seemed doable until we were halfway up and I suddenly realized my legs do not like stairs that much. Not endless stairs anyway. But, once I was up there I told my legs to stop complaining.

The view from Sacre Coeur might actually have been more enjoyable for me than that from the Eiffel Tower. You’re closer to the city, but still far enough away to get a good idea of its size and beauty. The basilica itself is one of the prettiest churches I’ve ever seen. The white stone against the green grass and blue sky is almost ethereal. Inside, rainbows danced on the church walls as the sun shining through the stained glass windows moved across the morning sky.  

Later on Nicole and I met up with the rest of the group back at the hotel and it was time for our walking tour of WWII Paris. Our guide was an American named Mike who studied psychology and seems to have an endless knowledge of the city. We saw a lot of the big sites in the city, including the Louvre, the Hotel de Ville and the Champs Elysee. My favorite part of the tour came at the beginning. 

Photo by Tim Street

Brannon Smith near Paris’ Police Headquarters, which was an important site for the French Resistance movement in WWII.

We met Mike at a bridge joining the Ile de la Cite, where Notre Dame lives, with Paris itself. Then he took us over to the memorial to French citizens deported by the Nazis during WWII. He told us it was "avant-garde" and similar to the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C.

"I like it because it’s abstract," he said. "You make of it what you will."

Like the Vietnam Memorial, a hush falls over you as soon as you walk into the thing. Unlike the Wall, though, this memorial is white. Clean, clean white. In one area there are what appear to be large black abstract knives or bayonets sticking out of the wall. In a few other spots empty rooms are closed off by iron bars. What got me were the rows and rows of white stones in one section of the memorial. You don’t get close to them, you simply look through more bars, but the effect is the same. You are overwhelmed by their beauty and by how many stones there are. Thousands of them, representing all the people the Nazis deported to work camps from Paris.

In fact, I’ve found all of Paris overwhelming in a way that I never found London to be. This city is beyond beautiful. But there is another side of it I can’t quite get my head around. Not necessarily a sadness, but there are centuries of history here. Awful things happened. Beheadings. The Nazi occupation. The tug-of-war of history and beauty makes my head spin. The what-ifs and what-might-have-beens seem to hang heavy over the Seine.


]]> http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/saying-au-revoir/feed/ 0 http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/wwii-quirks/ http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/wwii-quirks/#comments Sun, 16 Mar 2008 02:22:41 +0000 bs4 http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/wwii-quirks/ Photo by Tim Street The group listens to Mike, our California-born tour guide, talk about the Nazi occupation of Paris at the Louvre. Mike explained Hitler’s particular fascination with the Louvre, particularly anything having to do with Napoleon – including the Bayeux Tapestry. I type tonight’s blog entry with an exhausted body and a mind that has been overloaded with extraordinary visual, historical, and cultural stimuli. My feet ache, and I feel as if I have been traveling nonstop for the last 10 years instead of just the last 10 days. In place of the typical spring break relaxation, the first Ernie Pyle class has gained a wealth of memories that will surpass any average Cancun trip. Nothing could ever match our experiences literally following in Ernie’s footsteps, and nothing could ever match the whirlwind tour we did of London, Normandy, and Paris in such a short period of time.

When my colleagues and I signed up for this course, I think we all acknowledged the fact that the sole purpose of our extended field trip was to bring Ernie and World War II to life. But it’s very difficult to come to Europe and only focus on work when some of the world’s most exciting museums, shops, and landmarks are suddenly within reach. So today marked the first time the class was granted something we had been itching for since we arrived in Europe: an extended chunk of free time. During the first half of today, some students shopped, some visited museums, and some simply ventured out of the safe confines of the hotel’s immediate area and just explored Paris on their terms, which was really exciting for us all.

In the afternoon, however, it was back to business as we went on a walking tour of World War II Paris. This was, by far, one of my favorite directed tours. Our guide did a great job of bringing World War II Paris to life by offering brief accounts of strange events that happened at some of Paris’ most historic sites. He also spent a considerable amount of time talking about the French Resistance and its preparations and reactions to the liberation of Paris.

He also shared a lot of interesting stories. According to our guide, following France’s liberation from Germany, three different men simultaneously raced to the top of the Eiffel Tower with one goal in mind: to take down the giant Nazi flag which had flown there for four years and replace it with France’s. The man that won the contest was a fire marshal that made the flag from three bed sheets he stitched together. He dyed one sheet red, one blue, and used a standard white sheet to complete the flag. So the first French flag that flew from the Eiffel Tower following Paris’ liberation was actually made from bedding.

So that was today… and that was the trip essentially because today is done. Au revoir!
]]> http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/wwii-quirks/feed/ 1 http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/my-love-affair-with-paris/ http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/my-love-affair-with-paris/#comments Sat, 15 Mar 2008 15:24:54 +0000 asulewis http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/my-love-affair-with-paris/
Thursday night several us, like eager children, embarked on a personal tour of Paris. Our main destination: the Eiffel Tower. As we walked the streets of Paris, the searchlights that sat atop the tower helped serve as an indicator as to what direction we should walk. We had caught several glimpses of the Tower before, but nothing prepared us for what we were about to see. Just around a tall building, the Eiffel Tower came into view. We literally stopped in our footsteps. Although I had left my camera back at the hotel room, the picture of the tower, as if written with indelible ink, became ingrained in my head. We stayed for a minute or so to take pictures and then we began to head back. With our backs to the Tower, something from the side caught my eye. As I turned around, the Tower was sparkling. What an end to a perfect night.

Friday afternoon we received a bus tour of Paris. After the tour was over and I had a chance to reflect I realized something. I realized that it is no surprise as to why Paris is so popular. The layout of the city was based off the ingenious work of Baron Haussmann, who literally tore down the city and constructed a layout that would lure people in from all over the world. The design scheme has been copied by metropolitan cities like D.C. and Indianapolis. Never will they come close to the historic beauty the city of Paris has to offer.

Although we saw historic monuments like the Arc de Triumph, Notre Dame and various opera houses, as you can probably tell, the Eiffel topped my list. And to learn that we would have a chance to actually go up inside the Tower left me excited. As we approached the Tower, there was a long line. Fortunately we had a pass that would allow us to move to the front and so we did. We waited patiently, and soon after we were hauled up two sectors of the Tower. Stepping off the elevator, we immediately knew that the view was going to be jaw-dropping and it was. The Eiffel Tower allowed us a chance to see what Paris had to offer us in the terms of historic monuments, apartments and cathedrals. It is enough that the Tower itself is beautiful, but to know that it offers a chance to witness the beauty around it… was a gift within itself.
]]> http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/my-love-affair-with-paris/feed/ 2 http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/down-to-earth/ http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/down-to-earth/#comments Sat, 15 Mar 2008 01:30:21 +0000 Rosemary Pennington http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/down-to-earth/ Photo by Tim Street John Morris shares with the Ernie Pyle class in his Paris home. He calls photographer Robert Capa his "Hungarian brother," says he should have died in the bombing of Saint Lo and shared a tent with Ernie Pyle – but John Morris is surprisingly down-to-earth.

Friday morning, all 30 of us descended on Morris’ home near the Bastille. He kindly agreed to talk with us even though he was about to leave for a meeting in Brussels. Morris was a photo editor for Life magazine during WWII; he said he only picked up a camera and shot news photos when a photographer didn’t show up for an assignment.

In the Ernie Pyle class we’ve been hearing a lot about the lives of foreign correspondents during World War II, of course focusing on Pyle himself. I haven’t spent too much time thinking about what life must’ve been like for photographers at the time. So, it was interesting to hear how that side of things worked. In this digital era, the idea that entire of rolls of film, film a journalist risked his life for, were simply lost, dropped in the sea or ruined in a photo lab accident, is in a way very foreign.  That second one happened to Capa.  

Photo by Tim Street

John Morris

The only photographer to get images showing any real action during D-Day, Capa ran out in front of the advancing American troops and photographed them as they came ashore. I’ve seen the photos on numerous occasions, but I hadn’t realized until today that only 11 of the images Capa shot (including 4 rolls of 35mm) were publishable. A lab tech ruined the others as he rushed to develop them for the censors.

I asked Morris what Capa’s reaction had been when he found out the film was lost. Morris laughed, said he’d been asked that question a lot, but he wasn’t quite sure.

"I’m sure he was disappointed, but he never said anything to me," Capa said.  "Capa wrote to his mother about his disappointment when he lost the film, but he didn’t really react much at the time."

Although Morris shared a tent with Ernie Pyle, they rarely saw each other.  But, on the day Morris decided to head back to his editing post in London he said Pyle took the time to wish him well and say goodbye.   

Just before Morris had to say goodbye the issue of ethics came up, as it had in London when we visited with John Burns. One of the students asked Morris what he saw as the major ethical issues facing photographers.  He mentioned the problems of deciding how to shoot something and whether to run a photo or not.  But there was another thing he thought was more important.

"For me the bigger problem is the things we don’t photograph," Burns said.  "There are a lot of things that just don’t get covered that should."
]]> http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/down-to-earth/feed/ 0 http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/the-city-of-light/ http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/the-city-of-light/#comments Fri, 14 Mar 2008 20:02:28 +0000 eostreet http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/the-city-of-light/ Photo by Tim Street The class in front of the Eiffel Tower. The City of Lights. That’s what they call it. It’s Paris, France, and it may be the most beautiful place I have ever seen.

It was dubbed the city of lights during the nineteenth century, when the entire city was told to put little candles in their windows, to make the city look more beautiful. It was Napoleon’s idea to beautify Paris. He thought it would attract people that wanted to spend more money.

The window candles are long gone, but the bright twinkling lights remain. Now the light comes in various shades of yellow and neon, sparkling above the doorways of the hotels, shops, and cafes that dot the city streets.

Every time I leave the hotel, I seem to notice something a little more beautiful than what I saw before. This morning we went to meet with a former picture editor for Time Life magazine and Lady’s Home Journal. He had spent time with Ernie Pyle and was a good friend of Robert Capa, the famous photographer.

As we walked to the tube station, little nuances caught my eye—the overflowing window baskets, the ornate street lamps – it even seems like the people here are prettier.

After our meeting, we had a chance to do some sightseeing and grab lunch before taking a bus tour of the city. There were designer shops on every corner, intermixed with little cafes and quaint little parks.

After lunch we headed off for the bus tour. Our guide narrated as we passed the innumerable amount of monuments and historic sites. His thick French accent dripped off of every word he said; the end of each word was slowly drawn out. Instead of "Paris," it was "Pareesss." Instead of "Arc de Triomph," it was "Arcuh de Triomphuh." It was really quite funny, and to be honest, I don’t think the tour would have been the same without it.

As the bus squeezed its way through the narrow city streets, it seemed to take me back in time. We saw castles and churches dating back as far as 1,000 years. The other buildings all have similar features. Almost all are limestone, and most have black, wrought iron balconies looking over the streets. This continuity was also the work of Napoleon. The designer he hired to beautify the city knocked most of it down, then rebuilt it so that the buildings just kind of melt together.

As our guide took us through the city, he would describe the various areas we were driving through. Some were residential, some were commercial, others were only for eating and shopping. Most of Paris seems to be very exclusive (or “exclooseevuh," as our guide would say). Very few of the streets are without at least one designer shop. Some streets are overflowing with them. Around the Ritz Hotel were some of the most beautiful jewelry stores in the world—Cartier, Tiffany’s, Swarovski—all of the jewelry combined would probably be worth billions.

Photo by Tim Street

A Parisian panorama from the second deck of the Eiffel Tower.

As if we hadn’t seen enough, we ended our day with a trip to the Eiffel Tower. I think everyone was pretty excited to see the city’s most recognizable monument. We took the lift up to the second level and stepped off to see the whole city buzzing all around us. “The people look like ants,” Andra shouted as we peered over the edge.

She was right; it was pretty impressive how much a city could shrink in the time in took the elevator to get to the second level. The small shops are no longer distinguishable, and the city just becomes an endless see of beautiful buildings and tiny little ants.
]]> http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/the-city-of-light/feed/ 0 http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/transported-back-in-time/ http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/transported-back-in-time/#comments Thu, 13 Mar 2008 23:39:54 +0000 maj9 http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/transported-back-in-time/ Photo by Tim Street A courtyard at the top level of the Mont St. Michel abbey. Coming out of the lush green rolling hills of the French countryside in Normandy, a large castle-like structure suddenly appears on the horizon. At first glance this structure reminds you of Cinderella’s castle, but it is really Mont St. Michel, and on this overcast, rainy day, we had the experience of having a tour of this centuries-old landmark.

Mont St. Michel has been a landmark, an abbey, a fortress, a prison and a tourist destination throughout its centuries-long history. The first monastic structure on the island was built sometime in the 8th century (though the Romans inhabited it even earlier), and since then, the island has grown and expanded in many ways. The cathedral is built on top of a coastal island that rises some several hundred feet around the flat countryside. Once completely an island, various developments and farming operations have led to the buildup of silt along the coast, creating long, coastal mud flats that surround the island at low tide. This area is subject to extreme tides, and the water will retreat several kilometers after high tide, as we witnessed while we were there.

Though the island itself has no real strategic value, Mont St. Michel still figured in many wars and skirmishes, including an allegiance with William the Conquerer in 1066 (the story we saw told in the Bayeux Tapestry). The isle was also repeatedly attacked during the Hundred Years’ War, but was never overcome.

Photo by Tim Street

Students snap pictures as the tour guide explains characteristics of the architecture found on the island.

As we stepped foot on the granite pathway, we immediately had a sense that this was a special place. The entire structure, which is located in the province of Normandy, is surrounded by a huge, granite wall (built during the Hundred Years’ War). Most of the buildings are made out of granite or wood, a style from Normandy, and moss grows on many of the walls and roofs. As we walked up the steep slope, our tour guide told us there were 25 people who live on Mont St. Michel year-round, and that the town had two churches which each held two masses every day. After climbing the island’s many steps, we entered the abbey cathedral, which is situated at the top of this town. On top of this church is a copper statue of Saint Michael, the island’s namesake.

We then took a tour of the abbey church while the tour guide explained the history of the island. Roman and Gothic architectural styles were both used on the island, but the more elaborate gothic style was more elaborately beautiful. Continuing on, we were also informed by our guide that Mont St. Michel was regarded as the first pilgrimage sight in France, and every king had to visit at least once. We were shown where the monks, who lived in this church when it was a monestary back in Rennassance times, ate, prayed and worked. One of the more interesting facts was that there was no heat anywhere in this structure – except for the room where the monks worked.  

Standing high up in this church while looking out at the beautiful view of the vast green country, you could almost forget the bus that brought you here or the modern shops that line the pathways and pretend for a moment that you had been transported back in time.
]]> http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/transported-back-in-time/feed/ 0 http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/video-blog/ http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/video-blog/#comments Wed, 12 Mar 2008 23:57:03 +0000 jocker http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/video-blog/
Download Quicktime ]]> http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/video-blog/feed/ 1 http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/omaha/ http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/omaha/#comments Wed, 12 Mar 2008 23:14:13 +0000 Rosemary Pennington http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/omaha/ Photo by Tim Street Tracie Ortman on Omaha Beach, site of 2,500 American deaths on June 6, 1944. Forgive me if I get tongue-tied.  I’m not sure I have the words to fully communicate my thoughts.

Today was our tour of Normandy. We also visited Bayeux and Arromanches, but someone else will write about that part of the tour. I will focus on the morning. Focus on the bit of the day which, for me, was the most personal: Omaha Beach and the American Cemetery.

My grandfather fought during World War II. He was an infantryman in the U.S. Army and served in Italy at Anzio Beach – a place Ernie Pyle visited and wrote a good deal about. It’s also where my grandfather became shell-shocked. During his months at Anzio he saw several friends killed and several more gravely injured.

Photo by Tim Street

Audrie Garrison watches as Beka Mech writes her grandfather’s name in the sand at Omaha Beach.

The war destroyed my grandfather, who was eventually reassigned to the Philippines. Were he not reassigned there, he may very well have been on Omaha Beach on D-Day.  

Driving to Omaha Beach, we passed through the village of St. Laurent sur Mer, a town which was destroyed during D-Day and the Battle of Normandy. It’s since been rebuilt and is just lovely. There are stone houses with thatched roofs, the greenest grass and the volatile beauty of the English Channel.

It was difficult to be there amidst all that beauty and to think of all those dead. 2,500 Americans died on Omaha. It was all I could think of – the dead. Dead Ernie Pyle saw, and wrote about.

"The strong, swirling tides of the Normandy coastline shift the contours of the sandy beach as they move in and out. They carry soldiers’ bodies out to sea, and later they return them. They cover the corpses of heroes with sand, and then in their whims they uncover them."*

I walked down onto the beach, as did all of us, and saw it full of men. Young men with dreams and hopes. The tide was low but was beginning to move forward. Then, as now, my mind went empty. Not of feeling but of thought. I think it was the only way my mind could make sense of the awfulness of what happened on June 6, 1944, and the simply serenity of the beach claims now.

The emptiness followed me to the American Cemetery.

Photo by Tim Street

A handful of the 9,386 grave markers at the American Cemetery at Colleville-sur-Mer in Normandy.

At the cemetery, there is a sculpture – "The Spirit of American Youth Rising from the Sea" –- as well as maps of the D-Day assault and European campaign and the Wall of the Missing. Those are the first few things you see upon walking into the cemetery. Then there are the graves. Row upon row of white tombstones, crosses and Stars of David, blooming out of the verdant field.

While walking among the graves, John McCrae’s poem "In Flanders Fields" kept running through my head. Although that was about World War I it seemed to ring true there among the dead of the Second Great War.

"We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields."

Photo by Tim Street

Inside the Wall of the Missing, looking at the memorial that contains the sculpture "The Spirit of American Youth Rising from the Sea" and maps of Normandy and the European theater.

Among the stones I found a soldier from my home state of Ohio. There was no hometown and no date of birth on PFC Laurence P. Mauser’s gravestone. Simply his name, rank, army division, what state he was from and the day he died. That was all. I suppose it should be enough.  He could have been one of those slumbering under the simple phrase "Here rests in Honored Glory a Comrade in Arms, Known but to God". At least PFC Mauser has his name.

At the beach I picked a daisy I saw growing in the grass, planning to press it and place it in an album with the photos I took on Omaha Beach. Instead I found myself placing it on Mauser’s stone. I don’t know why; it just felt like the right thing to do at the moment.  

My time at Omaha Beach will forever be imprinted on my mind. It certainly seemed imprinted on Ernie Pyle’s.

"But there are many of the living who have had burned into their brains forever the unnatural sight of cold dead men scattered over the hillsides and in the ditches along the high rows of hedge throughout the world. Dead man by mass production … Dead men in such monstrous infinity you come almost to hate them."**

I can’t hate them.  But I certainly can’t forget them.    

*From Pyle’s column "A Long Thin Line of Personal Anguish," published June 17, 1944
**From Pyle’s unpublished column "On Victory In Europe"
]]> http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/omaha/feed/ 0 http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/hopes-for-france/ http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/hopes-for-france/#comments Wed, 12 Mar 2008 18:04:11 +0000 Colin Dugdale http://journalism.indiana.edu/resources/erniepyle/in-the-footsteps/hopes-for-france/
The weather was, as forecasted, quite unfavorable during our stay in Great Britain – the Great in its name obviously not referencing the climate. It rained nearly the entire time. Yet, as natives of Indiana, with its infamously erratic climate, we were able to survive the storm with almost no casualties. And, as much as it poured, we refused to let the rain dampen our spirits. Our underwear, maybe, but not our spirits.

The night before we left London, I turned on BBC news in my hotel room, which showed the horribly rough conditions of the ocean waters, waters that we would be floating on the next day. After days of strong wind, the ocean looked angry. The violent waves punched against the rocky coastline with the force of an irate Jerry Springer guest.

When we pulled up to the ferry, which would be taking us to France, the weather was even wetter, and colder. Thanks to the news reports, though, we came prepared, anticipating a rocky ride on the boat. Many of us took preventative Dramamine on the bus, washing it down with the final gulps of day-old café water. The motion sickness medicine’s "non-drowsy" claim turned out to be a blatant lie – a lie that many of us actually appreciated. We slept for the two-hour ferry ride, as well as the five-hour bus ride, which took us from the Calais port to Caen.

Our hotel in Caen was posh and surprisingly modern, offering fashionably tiny bottles of shampoo that were almost too precious to use. We ate dinner in the hotel at 10 p.m. The first dish offered to us, as an appetizer, was a tri-colored meatloaf of sorts, featuring mysterious colored layers of orange, taupe and swamp green. When the plates were first set down, our faces instantly morphed into horrified expressions, reminiscent to looks seen on "To Catch a Predator" – looks of fear mixed with fierce denial. Our entrée, however, a savory meal of poulet avec les frites, was delicious.

After dinner, we crashed immediately, the first horizontal sleep we’d had all day. And as I awoke this morning to beautiful French skies, I wondered if, perhaps, the meal we’d had the night before was symbolic for the trip. While the miserable London weather was as horrific as the tri-colored meatloaf, I sensed that the soft Parisian wind would help to cleanse our palate, serving as a delicious ending to a wonderfully eye-opening trip.
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