Amoebic Dysentery - Germs and Worms versus The Big Brass

I. Brain assembles scattered facts and forms pattern; clarity ensues.

Here is a swimming hole in a southwest Chinese village in the summer of 1945. I am not 100% sure of all that the villagers did with this water, but they must have done some things of significance or Dad would not have snapped the photo.

This village was a recruiting station for KMT soldiers attached to US OSS for jump, combat, and demolition training for purposes of harassing Tojo’s occupying forces. They learned quickly. These volunteers made excellent soldiers who fought eagerly for their country. In two months they and their mentors conducted multiple missions and did their job.

Later in the summer the team was flown to Kaifeng, from whence they jumped to Hsien for the Hwang-Ho Bridges mission. Here is a scene in Kaifeng, city of canals.

A shadow of a certain kind passed over Dad’s face as he told 12-year-old me, once, I had amoebic dysentery. It was very painful and it took a long time to go away. It was a shadow of remembered pain. He had been lucky: he survived, had never been captured, was not maimed, and his illness did go away. So the illness must have been impressively painful to have caused such a recollection decades on.

Dysentery comes from the Greek for bad gut, bowels gone wrong. Medically, it indicates pain and blood. All diarrhea involves loss of body salts and water. Dysentery severe and prolonged additionally can result in blood-loss anemia. Amoebic dysentery, prolonged and undertreated, can result in liver infection and abscess formation with the protozoan, with consequent liver impairment and jaundice. The creatures can settle in the brain, too; after all, once they get into the bloodstream they have to fetch up somewhere.

The Bug in Evidence

Our pathogen, Entamoeba histolytica, has an absurdly complex life cycle. In brief, victim-host ingests an encysted form. Organisms excyst in the intestinal lumen, develop into their trophozoite form, and either are excreted or invade the tissue lining the intestine.

Here is normal intestinal lining:

The section has been stained with H&E, hematoxalin (blue, for nuclear material) and eosin (pink, for cytoplasm.) This is from a histopathology text (Figure 24.3) but anyone who has ever nurtured and grown any plant or animal can see that the structures are healthy. Those villi are long and elegant. The cells lining each villus are plump and entire. They can do their work of absorbing sugars, salts, amino acids, water, and so on, and of keeping out toxins and pathogens.

But if the toxins or pathogens are too strong, or the host is weakened, they can damage these defensive structures and effect a breach. Then the germ can go systemic. Here is a CDC photomicrograph of a typical flask-shaped ulcer of intestinal amebiasis. Yep, it is an ulcer all right – a hole in the lining – and the bad guys have poured in. But also note the remaining villi. They are blunted and thickened. Most of their own lining cells are shriveling up or exploding, and so not working well at all. The victim-host cannot absorb much water, nutrients, or medicines. After consuming his store of body fat, he starts to break down his muscle tissue for protein and energy. He becomes weak and cachexic. Yet he continues to fight.

What treatment can be offered a person with amoebic dysentery?

Stop the ingestion of new cysts. Clean up the drinking water, improve general sanitation and kitchen hygiene, and get the human carriers out of the kitchen. Such things were pretty well impossible in rural China in 1945. Oral electrolyte solutions were not generally available at that time, either. Intravenous electrolyte replenishment and intravenous alimentation were only fantasies, on remote battlegrounds.

As far as I can learn, the only antimicrobials available at that time were the sulfa drugs and, more rarely, penicillin. Sulfa would only work if the diagnosis were wrong and the soldier in fact had a bacterial disease. (It presents its own problems as well: it must be mixed with plenty of water to avoid damaging the soldier’s kidneys. And what’s in that water? Something sulfa does not kill?) Penicillin has no effect on enteric protozoans.

We are fortunate now to have metronidazole (Flagyl) which trashes the DNA of microbial cells while doing no harm to host cells. The MDs have that now among their options for killing amoebae that have invaded human tissues. We also have the aminoglycoside drug paromomycin, which gums up the works of microbial ribosomes; the MDs have that among their options for killing amoebae still in the gut lumen. But those were not available commercially until 1960. I can find no evidence that anything like either of them was available, even experimentally, during World War II.

So, a stricken man could only eat and drink the cleanest stuff he could find, and the easiest to absorb, including salt. It was a race to rebuild the intestinal lining, using materials gleaned largely from elsewhere in the body, before those ran out or new waves of the pathogen attacked.

During the war years there were thousands of men in this fix, in all theaters and climates, with the highest rates being in CBI, the China-Burma-India theater. The Army epidemiologists kept records:

In late 1942 and in 1943, increasing numbers of troops entered North Africa and the Mediterranean, the Middle East, and the China-Burma-India theaters, all north of the Equator. Rates for the total Army rose to 25 per 1,000 and for troops overseas to 66 per 1,000, the 1943 annual rate for all overseas troops being the highest of the war. June 1943 marked the high point in monthly rates for troops overseas, the figure being 164 (chart 28). Large numbers of unseasoned young men made a first entry into poorly sanitated areas of highly endemic diarrheal disease. Conditions were different in subsequent years for smaller numbers of men were rotated into already established bases where preventive medicine practices were established and the bulk of troops had become accustomed to conditions. For overseas troops in 1943, 7.4 percent of all disease and 3.5 percent of all noneffectiveness was due to the diarrheas and dysenteries (table 67). Rates for the total Army were better in 1944 and 1945, 22 and 22, respectively. Rates overseas fell from 66 in 1943, to 38 in 1944, and to 33 in 1945 (table 54). 

And again:

Highest rates were encountered when United States Army troops intermingled in densely populated areas with Eastern peoples, as in China-Burma India, the Middle East, North Africa, and the Philippines. It was at these points of contact with Eastern civilizations that highest rates of diarrheal disease occurred. Diarrheal disease was hyperendemic in these locations into which United States troops were introduced. The criticism was often made that United States troops, accustomed to the advanced sanitary practices of Western civilization, were not sufficiently briefed regarding precautions necessary to prevent personal and mass diarrheal disease in these Eastern locations.

And here is the money quote (emphasis mine):

China, Burma, and India are all hyperendemic areas in respect to diarrheal disease. Many sanitary practices of these overcrowded populations, both personal and communal, are tied to habits and customs of generations past. The saving and collection of night soil for agricultural purposes and the promiscuous deposition of filth including feces and garbage favored survival and spread of the infectious agents of intestinal diseases. Food is commonly unprotected from dust, rodents, and flies. Refrigeration is almost universally lacking. Flies are generally abundant. Diarrhea and dysentery, bacillary and protozoal, are constantly present.

These diseases were quickly established among United States troops entering this environment, where standards of sanitation were so different from those at home. Close contact with the native population was often demanded by the military situation. Native help was almost universally employed in foodhandling throughout the theater.

In the China sector, arrangements existed whereby the Chinese Government provided food and lodging for United States Army personnel. A Chinese Government agency, the War Area Service Command, organized and staffed messes and living accommodations at stations and airfields. Air shipments over “the Hump” were limited to essential military materials, and personnel and sanitation materials had low priority. The United States Army in China, in certain respects, was a nonpaying guest, and severe criticism of sanitation was not considered diplomatic. However, inspections were made by medical officers, and mess sergeants were assigned to supervise. Ultimately, new equipment and sanitation supplies were provided, and a gradual improvement in sanitation was achieved. Separate data for the sectors of the theater are available for the period from November 1944 through December 1945. The China rate for diarrheas and dysenteries was 122 cases per 1,000 troops per annum, contrasted with a rate of 86 for the India-Burma sector. The latter sector had the benefit of a belatedly organized preventive medicine program and the opening of area and research laboratories.

Here’s Dad on the troopship home, passing through Suez headed for Strathclyde. Seasickness may be contributing to the drama in this photo.

They let him go home for a month to recuperate, that Christmas, before having him back in D.C. for prolonged debriefing. He still has smudges under his eyes and an anxious expression.

There is a later photo showing him standing on a scale and smiling a big smile that goes around his face three times. He must have reached some goal for weight gain.

II. Higher-ups enter the story; confusion and obfuscation abound.

Primary source item dated August 29, 1945 is a mimeographed recommendation for citation. It mentions the entire Team Jackal and summarizes their various actions.

There was a big encampment at Kunming, and they all had to wait around there for some time, so an OSS named Krause had the duty of writing these up.

Importantly, the final two sentences of this recommendation read (emphasis mine): These men all did extremely fine job despite fact they were continually besieged by attacks of dysentary, [sic] diarrhea and worms. Intelligence submitted was also excellent and helped to pinpoint targets for Air Force.

Now contrast this with primary source item dated 13 September 1945. I don’t know the proper term for this 3-page document of which I have flimsy copy; it is a writeup of the reasons for the citation. (The body of the text, edited down by some 15%, appears with similar wording in the citation proper. The rest of this document is attestation of data points concerning the recipient, in the manner of an affadavit, except that it is unsigned.) Nor can I tell which headquarters is meant: HQ in China? in Assam? in D.C.?

The writer added many details about the various missions, for which I commend and thank him.

But he censored out the germs and worms.

Instead there are slick, nonspecific phrases about untiring energy and devotion to duty.

Why do higher-ups do this? Is it personal, or careerist, in that they want to sound suave themselves, rather than crude? This guy could have transmitted the truth that was given to him, using language less graphic. He did not have to write diarrhea. He could have written . . . chronic debilitation due to health conditions in the area of operation. Phrasing of that sort would preserve and transmit the truth while maintaining a tone of propriety. Our soldiers deserve both truth and propriety. They do not deserve to come home to a lifetime of psychological isolation from badly-informed countrymen.

Or is it policy? If so, is the policy of sanitizing reports and citations for some purpose of domestic morale? Or is it to cover mistakes that led to avoidable casualty? Or is it intended to burnish the public image of one outfit that is competing with all the other outfits for, well, everything – replacements, equipment, fame? Did all branches pretty up their reports this way?

What did our WWII Staff and Cabinet think was going to happen when the citizenry found out various suppressed truths as to front-line hardships, as eventually they did, twenty-five years later on the development of wartime news on evening television? What did they think their situation was going to be when the citizenry no longer felt they could believe anything they said?

Was it part of diplomatic policy, as above: severe criticism of sanitation was not considered diplomatic. Was this instance of potential, implied criticism censored to avoid offending the sensibilities of Chiang Kai-shek? If so, that did not work out too well, did it?

This is a case of elision of unpleasant truth just days from the Japanese surrender and, possibly, before leaving China. One step back from the scene of battle, the truth begins to take hits.

This sanitizing of field reports may well have been done for the best of reasons as understood at the time. If on the other hand any single one of the actors on that stage at that time were indeed of the sort against whom Hotspur made his protest, in his own time, then he deserves that same protest, as well. Here Gielgud delivers it, from Henry IV, Part I, I:3.

Memorial Day 2016

" . . . Our echoes roll from soul to soul

And grow for ever and for ever . . . "

These forget-me-nots grow on the lawn here in Argyle.

Mom and Dad brought them from Marilla

one time when they visited here.

The lines are Tennyson, from The Princess.

Here is a bigger excerpt:

The splendor falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O, sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field or river;
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.

Gene's M-1. The Power and the Transmission of Memory.

Some things were seen; many were not seen. Some few things were known; many more were not known. In the end, one day, my brother shone a light in the darkness.

A certain leather strap was always in the same spot at one end of Dad’s closet. To the right of his shirts, hard by his tie rack, directly above the shoeshine kit, it hung on a spindly wire hanger.  Worn, oddly folded, and bearing odd buckles, it was part of our childhood landscape but we did not mess with it.  We also did not ask about it; somehow we knew it were better not to probe.

A clunky scrapbook, with forty-odd pages of photographic prints pasted in in the crazy-quilt style fashionable in the 1940s, was also part of our home. We looked, and we inquired, but the answers, though kind, were brief. Yes, I was in China. We rode ponies into China and when mine went lame I found saddle sores; there was nothing I could do for my pony.

We taught the Chinese to blow up bridges. We blacked our faces, swam out at night, and attached the explosives. When a train came over carrying Japanese soldiers, we blew up the bridge.

A few bits of backstory came to our ears indirectly. From an uncle: There was hand-to-hand. From our mother: He told them he knew English, Polish, Latin, and French, so they taught him Japanese, and then they sent him to China! At the dinner table, talking with my future father-in-law: Ha! Yes, we were flown back over the Hump in late ’45 and the Japanese were still shooting up at us. From the eulogy delivered by the uncle: He jumped out of that plane snapping pictures on the way down, so the planners would have an idea of the terrain for the land invasion they had to prepare.

And we knew from our mother that in his nightmares he would cry out, Hey, Frenchie, look out! Look out, Frenchie!

Yet when we grew up and asked for details, he would just smile and say, There was a lot of running.

Dad died with his boots on, as he had frequently proclaimed he would. Mom kept his bathrobe on her pillow for a few months, then followed him. My brother and I emptied our childhood home; on clearing their closets I took up that strap as though on autopilot, silently packing it for the trip to my office where a collection of Dad-related items began to grow.

On the last day, alone in the house by the woods, alone in the empty house, my brother felt that his job was not done. Not everything was safe. Question marks still hovered in the air. Something made him climb yet again into the big, low attic, turn on the flashlight, and slowly crawl all around looking for answers.

There, jammed way under the eaves, silent and generally invisible, were two grey packages. He took them out from their waiting place. From one he drew photo logs, hand-drawn maps, and a Bronze Star citation related to OSS Detachment 202 Team JACKAL. Out of the other came an Army money belt, from which tumbled medals, ribbons, a field compass, and Chinese coins.

The entire trove is here with me now; I am partway through a proper study and have made some progress. Scanned photos reveal a lot. I figured out who Frenchie was, for which my relatives will forever be grateful. Still, the papers from under the eaves refer to events prior to and after the big mission, in the same way that the scrapbook contains no photos of the big mission, and little information beyond what is offered in the Saturday Evening Post article of March 23,1946, which is pasted right in there. He took home what they let him take home, just as he spoke only of what they let him speak. His handwritten mission journal is in Box 862 of something called “OSS Personnel Files – RG 226 Entry 224” in an OSS/CIA stronghold – maybe the Hoover. Some day I would like to hold that journal in my hands.

The strap is the sling from his M1. The earliest photo of his rifle is from A.S.T.P. training at the University of Chicago.

By the time he shipped out, he had been training with this rifle for a year and a half. As far as I can tell, the rifle is a version of a .30 Caliber M1 carbine.

Its next photographic appearance is somewhere near Kunming, where his buddy snapped a shot of Gene demonstrating how the OSS looks for bad guys in caves.

And there we see the leather carbine sling. We see the pistol in the holster, either a US M3 fighting knife or US M4 bayonet with hilt visible behind the holster, and a magazine pouch mounted on the stock. A 15-round magazine is visible just below the sight.

A true gent named David Fletcher at Iton’s Cave explained to me that “the vertical thing in the carbine stock is a strap well.” Further, “. . .the string arrangement under the pistol holster is a leg tie string, which was often braided if the holster was not secured to the leg at the bottom. . . There was a special method for braiding them, at least in the USA.” Thank you, David Fletcher.

The photo below of a US Army paratrooper’s kit is from the 1938 edition of Philip B. Sharp’s The Rifle in America. The paratrooper’s M1 is a little shorter than the standard rifle that ground troops would carry, according to the text. It does not look exactly the same: the strap well on the stock looks different. It is an “M11903A1.” But look, you can see very well how the strap attaches to the rifle.

A person looking through the China section of the scrapbook thus far, with almost touristic scenes of the rural area near Kunming, would conclude they were just fooling around, wasting film. Actually, they were working. From end-May through early August, 1945, they made multiple sorties north to sabotage things critical to Japanese transport, while preparing for their big mission. 

George C. Chalou edited the 1992 National Archives and Records Administration’s book The Secrets War: The Office of Strategic Services in World War II.From page 95:

          "Vital to Japan’s control of the Chinese interior was the mile-long bridge that crossed the Hwang-Ho (Yellow) River near Kaifeng. This double-track bridge was the thread that joined the Japanese armies of north and south China. Against all odds, Jed veterans and a brave band of Chinese guerillas under the command of Col. Frank Mills and Maj. Paul Cyr mined the great Hwang-Ho bridge. On August 9, 1945, the day Nagasaki was bombed, [in fact over the night of 8-9 August] SO Mission Jackal blew away two large spans in the bridge just as a Japanese troop train was passing over. The entire train, carrying some 2,000 Japanese soldiers, was dragged to the bottom of the Hwang-Ho."

Frank Mills, et. al., published in 2002 OSS Special Operations in China. Chapter 3 discusses the Hwang-Ho Bridges mission, relying on the mission journal. From pages 84-85, Gene:

          . . . was Field Photo trained and . . . [kept] the day-by-day Team Log all the time JACKAL was in the field. Zdrojewski was young, about twenty I guess, [he was 22] but he had been parachute-trained in Kunming and I believe this was his first combat assignment. He was impressionable and his language in the Team Log reveals thoughts that most of us had but never expressed . . . The Team Log was always guarded and placed in a separate container with incendiary grenades that could be ignited immediately if capture was imminent . . .I don’t know of any other operational teams in China that kept a log with this detail. The standard issue blue-lined paper from letter-size writing pads is now getting yellow and ragged with age, but Zdrojewski’s handwritten entries in pencil script are clear.I can picture him, sitting in one of the mud huts or in the rooms they had later in the walled compounds, writing down the day’s events as they unfolded during the months to follow, probably just before climbing into his sleeping bag to grab a little sleep with his.45 pistol and grenades by his side and a lantern or candle or an Army issue flashlight lighting up the scene."

The trove waits for me to resume study, as it had to be set aside for a while. But now I can start again. And I have been keeping that strap oiled.

To the right of his shirts, hard by his tie rack, directly above the shoeshine kit, Gene’s rifle strap was never farther than 12 feet from his hand, every night since he came home in 1946.

(An earlier version of this photoessay appeared on the Member Feed at Ricochet.com)

Uncle Dick Refinishes the Clock

John Zdrojewski, our JPZ, built this grandfather clock in his family home, completing some detail work on the kitchen table on the day his son Eugene was born.  From 1923 to 1982 it looked like this, with the dark stain and shiny varnish:

More photos and details of this clock have been posted as "Grandfather Clock, Then and Now," as well as at "Gene and the Grandfather Clock," "Wartime," and "More on Wartime."  Now some photos have turned up from its time in the professional workshop of Richard Mazurowski.

Uncle Dick took the case apart, sandblasted the wood, and refinished it without dark stain, so that the grain of the wood stands out in all its glory.  He did this work in winter and spring of 1982.

Great work, Uncle Dick.

When the clock came home, Annie Zdrojewski, granddaughter of the maker, kindly posed with the revitalized grandfather clock.

And just as a couple of asides here, note on the right edge of the photo part of the Blue Boy copy, above the piano.  Then way on the left edge, hanging on the divider wall, that Chinese sword.

Chinese sword?

Green Radio, Marilla Kitchen, c1961

I had decided not to post this picture of myself, out of recoil from vanity or embarrassment; take your pick. But then some intriguing results from G&C Readership Research prompted a change of policy in this instance. Thank you for your responses, Readership Critique Team.

Wintertime is on us in Marilla, probably in 1961.  Through the kitchen window we see snow on the roof of the front porch, with bare branches of the big old cherry tree etching through the grey sky.

Indoors all is cozy, especially for whoever just made himself the whiskey sour sitting on that tray there on the cupboard. The Maraschino cherry is already in it.  Behind the tray we see the little jar of those revolting Maraschino cherries, as well as a big glass jar of something white:  powdered sugar for whiskey sours? Vitamins?  Either way, the signs point to Dad, our EJZ, as photographer.

Alors, au téléphone c'est moi, JZ, looking maybe 7 years old, which is how I date this photo.  The white blobs on my headband are ballerinas in tutus.  No doubt I am talking with cousins Deb and Sharon. 

But the important thing is the radio.

That Zenith radio was big and solid and green. It had vaccuum tubes. It was sturdy and long-lived, even though not particularly fancy, i.e. in having no short-wave band reception.  Marty and Julie worshipped this radio, as it told us when snow days were declared and we did not have to go to school. The light-colored things on either side are holy pictures, which I do not recall specifically. Still, we kids could have stuck them on there to pray for snow days!  Who knows? We were real bon vivants that way.

Below is a picture from the interwebs of a radio of the same make and model. In Marilla that dial, that big metal ring with frequency numbers, was always shiny bright.  In the photo above, I am fiddling with the handle, which is the only use the handle ever got. That radio never went anywhere.

A mere couple of years after this, men made transistor radios. Uncle Tom, our Tom Kontak, had a beautiful small red one, early on; I remember him showing it to us and we being very impressed with the coolness. Tom's was a bit like the one below, except that the dial was black and there were parallel lines of red plastic, instead of that array of holes in the plastic.  Right, Tom? Amazing, the useless things I remember.

In closing, I can only say Hello to you from 1962! You should be so cool!

The Stroinski "Ringo"

The Coot Hill Family Historical Preservation Society offices house several paintings by Buffalo artist and favorite relation Edward Stroinski. We have featured one from our North Gallery and a second from our Administrative Office early in this blog. The Militello horse that made a photographic apearance last post has inspired the Curatress to show off this example of Stroinski equine portraiture.

Ringo was my Quarter Horse gelding, a gift from Mom and Dad.  He was Palomino-and-white, with white mane and tail, and he was mellow.  Physical exertion did not interest him overmuch; speed he did not wish to attain, but he was biddable enough to wander the countryside with me for hours.  At all seasons we would take off and disappear for a while, exploring. What a friend.

I remember Uncle Eddie at a family gathering one time, walking up to Ringo's fencerail and snapping some pictures.  Later he asked my Dad to rustle up some weathered barn boards so he could fashion the frame.  Then they gave me the portrait, just like that.  Whose idea was it? Uncle Eddie's?  Or Mom and Dad's?

Look how tall Dad's pine trees had grown, from 1957 to 1967.

See the shading on the ventral aspect of Ringo's neck, and the shadow of his head and halter on the fencerail.  I stared at these things often instead of studying.

Picnic Supper in Marilla, 1970s

JPZ, Dad, Dziadzi.

It's the back yard picnic venue in Marilla.  Some shirt-and-tie event has taken place earlier.  Now at suppertime, even though the shadows are long, it must be kinda warm, for he has undone his tie.

Marty, did you take these pictures?

John has taken his tie clean off!  And Dad has changed into a sport shirt, since he's home and can do so. This is the first appearance of the EJZ mustache on this blog. Dad is in his Lech Wałęsa lookalike phase - although Solidarity is a decade in the future at this point. 

Sideburns!  How could you menfolk stand them?

A Militello must have come over on a Militello horse.  That's not Queenie; she had light beige mane and forelock.  Marty, do you remember this horse's name?

Dad hung onions out to dry on the front porch.

So does anyone recall what occasion this was?  Please comment on the site if you can supply any details.

Marilla Kitchen, c1957

What a nice surprise to pull this out of a box!  We look back at the scene of so much family life over the years since Gene and Clara built their home in 1957.

The brick is the back of the fireplace; no brass or iron hooks have yet been drilled into it for hanging things up.  The stove has two ovens;  I'm still envious.  She has a glass milk bottle in her right hand; what is she up to?  We see the back hall leading to the back door.

Great nightgown and bobby socks, Mom.  Dad's evidently been home a few minutes: long enough to take off "collar and hames," the shirt and tie.  The table is set for supper for two, not four; a serving bowl is being kept warm in that round glass chafing dish with a candle inside it; the little sliver of kitchen window we see is dark.  So are the kids in bed already?  Did Dad get home extra late from the office this Monday or Friday night?

To the right of the refrigerator are the binoculars that have been to China and back. He uses them now to watch birds.

Along to the right are the chafing dish and a bunch of stuff that must include that big green radio.

The kitchen table still has the glass top under that tablecloth; it will be years before I sit on it and break the glass.  It's my desk now, and those chairs are my office chairs.

Mom would wear actual clothes were there visitors.  So Dad must have set up a tripod and timer.  They stand at their kitchen hearth and look forward with confidence to their future life here.

Zdrojewski Brothers on May Street, c1950

Casimir, John, and Eugene Zdrojewski pose, no doubt with their Dad, our JPZ, as photographer, in the back yard at 175 May Street.

Since Johnny was born Christmastime 1947, and it looks like early summer, I'd guess this is 1950.  Happy days, these are, and the sartorial flair is inspiring.

Newsboy Photo Satisfactorily Dated to 11/30/1944

This is an update on my earlier post on The Newsboy: OSS CBI Photobook 7 - Further Outtakes - The Newsboy.  Our EJZ was in Washington DC in November 1944, training with Field Photo.

Below is the photo I call The Newsboy.

                      

The closeup shows us the headline and the illustration by which we try to date the photo.

"ALLIED ARMIES AT LAST BARRIER SHORT OF RHINE"
and in the photo, a man leans over to examine some smashed thing.
What is it?

Metz fell to the Americans and Allies on 11/25/44.  To the east of Metz is the Saar River, oriented north-to-south.  The next river east of the Saar is the Rhine.

So let's say the Saar is the "Barrrier" and the Armies are at it.

From Metz to the Saar is 20-25 miles.  At 10 miles a day, that would take 2 or 3 days, say 11/28/44.

On arrival, news would be sent through the censors and travel by teletype to Stateside newsrooms.  Two days?  If so, the newspaper publication date is 11/30/44.

Also, the smashed thing, the mystery object, is a V-2 rocket, probably crashed on a London street.  From the Wiki piece:

The Germans themselves finally announced the V-2 on 8 November 1944 and only then, on 10 November 1944, did Winston Churchill inform Parliament, and the world, that England had been under rocket attack “for the last few weeks."

So that November, the V-2s were a big part of the latest news stories.


Ricochet people taught me all these particulars.  I'm grateful.