Behind the Front
by
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I arrived in Thibar and discovered that the reporters had set up camp in an orchard that was bounded on the north by a monastery and on the south by a British Army evacuation hospital. The reporters included Scripps-Howard Newspapers’ famed Ernie Pyle, Reuters’ Dave Brown, AP’s Hal Boyle, INS’ Graham Hovey and Movietone Newsreel cameraman Jack Barnett. That evening we were all seated in one of the perambulator tents eating dinner (or chow, as we used to say) prepared by British cooks. The rotund Boyle, the jolliest of the press clan, had just finished suggesting that we all retire early and get a good night’s rest when a young British sergeant stuck his head through the tent flaps and, in a calm and matter-of-fact tone, announced: "Gentlemen, would you mind extinguishing the lamp? Jerry is overhead dropping flares and we expect a bomb at any moment." With that the sergeant was gone--but the effect of his words lingered. Ten seconds elapsed before the import of his unique warning was grasped by the tense occupants, but when it was, the reaction set in as quickly as that of a GI hotfoot. An army public relations man, Captain Jack LeVien, placed his arms on the laps of the two correspondents seated at his right and left and said: "don’t get excited!" He received a slug on the jaw as the men jumped up and started for the door of the tent. Two others leaped for the light and four hands and 20 fingers fumbled nervously with the switch. Within 20 seconds the tent was cleared and as the last of the occupants left, the first bombs struck the monastery, approximately 250 yards away. The correspondents dove head first to the only available "protection" -- the trees. Antipersonnel bombs rained down on all sides of the orchard and shrapnel pelted the press corps’ helmets as Jerry leveled off and circled, preparing for his next run over the target. With both wing cannons firing hatefully at the massive Red Cross flag staked to the ground just south of the orchard, the German pilot dropped his second bomb, this one about 300 yards south of the camp. Again the pilot circled. The correspondents groaned. One bombed to the north. One bombed to the south. Would they-- in the middle-- be next? This thought prompted them to stay rooted to the ground. While waiting for Jerry to make his next run we heard Jack Barnett calling: "Dick, c’mon over here. I found a ditch." We started over to the ditch at about 90 miles an hour only to be brought up short with another nose dive under a tree as antipersonnel bombs popped off like a string of fire crackers. Once again the Nazi headed over the orchard and the newsmen put their arms over their heads awaiting -- they knew not what. Seconds passed. The roar of the plane’s motor grew louder and louder as hot lead began a steady tattoo from the muzzles of the wing cannon. Seconds turned into minutes and minutes into hours as the Nazi zoomed less than 300 feet from the ground where the correspondents waited breathlessly. Seconds later he was gone. A gentle hush had settled over the countryside and the newsmen slowly got up and listened intently. The only sound that broke the stillness of the night was the faint buzzing of the plane as it headed off into the darkness and the noise of antipersonnel bombs still going off in neighboring fields. Not all of the bombs had exploded and the next morning a British suicide squad went into the fields to detonate the bombs. As one of the British officers stooped over one of the bombs it went off and blew him into little pieces. An arm here, a leg there. Other members of the squad picked up what they could find, placed them on a stretcher and carried it by the wide-eye American correspondents standing nearby. We were all more than a little sick. Pyle’s face was as white as a sheet. But the plucky little correspondent’s first thought was to ask everyone else how they were doing. Later I gained a new insight into the real Ernie Pyle. That evening I became very ill in the stomach. Because of Capt. LeVien’s interpretation of Army regulations, I was not permitted to sleep in the same tents with the civilian correspondents. The Army classified them as simulated officers. As an enlisted man I had to pitch my pup tent a diplomatic distance away. (To be honest, I was really happy to be closer to the latrine!) I will never forget Ernie that night. At about 1 a.m., I was still awake. My stomach was doing flip-flops. Suddenly I heard footsteps approaching my tent. I was startled at first, but relaxed when I heard Pyle’s voice asking, "Dick, are you awake?" When I told him I was very much awake, he stuck his head in the tent and asked anxiously: "Do you feel any better? Do you have enough blankets? Is there anything I can get for you?" Now I ask you. Is there any way you can’t help loving that guy?
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About the Book
Film producer David Brown describes the author this way: "When I met Richard Bruner . . . during World War II, I was instantly impressed by his journalistic savvy and extraordinary background in war and peace. He covered the war for the Armed Forces newspaper, Stars and Stripes, with distinction, grace and wit." Dick’s memoir has just about everything – humor, passion, intrigue, pathos, horror, compassion and a lot of insight. In Behind the Front, Dick takes readers through his first-hand experiences as a correspondent with the Army newspaper during the Nazi blitz in London and the Tunisian campaign in North Africa. In London, Dick met famed author and correspondent Quentin Reynolds and also interviewed screen gangster Edward G. Robinson. In Glasgow, he met his first lesbians. In Tunisia, Dick got what some claimed was the first interview with a German prisoner of war. He was also under direct fire along with American war correspondents including the beloved Ernie Pyle. As the "Yank About Town" columnist and broadcaster on the Armed Forces radio station, Dick takes readers through a fascinating press conference by General George C. Marshall. He also interviewed Bob Hope, John Garfield, Humphrey Bogart, George Raft, Ann Sheridan, Frederic March and Al Jolson.
About the Author
W. Richard Bruner, known as Dick Bruner, was drafted in 1941 and in early 1942 sailed in a convoy to London, arriving during the Nazi blitz. That December, Bruner joined the staff of the Army newspaper, The Stars and Stripes, in London and later, in North Africa.
Four years later, after discharge, his former Colonel at S&S, Egbert White, recommended Dick for a job in New York at Printers' Ink Magazine, a weekly, covering the advertising business. Bruner served on the editorial staff of P.I. for twenty-three years, the last eight as Executive Editor.
During that period, Dick co-edited two books along with David Brown, the famous motion picture producer. I Can Tell it Now and How I Got That Story, were anthologies featuring the derring-do of famous journalists. Bruner authored chapters in both books.
After leaving P.I., Bruner founded and served as Executive Director of the Better Business Bureau, serving six New York counties: Westchester, Putnam, Dutchess, Orange, Ulster and Sullivan. Twenty years later he retired to Florida.