Shell Shocked by Eric Walters Page A

to be honest,” he said, “I wasn’t crazy about this whole idea to begin with. Matter of fact, I told them it was downright stupid … not to mention insulting.”
    â€œInsulting?”
    â€œYeah. Every darn fool who can hold a pen and knows the alphabet thinks he can write. Here I am trying to put out a professional publication, and they think that any school kid can help write it.”
    â€œI’m sorry … I didn’t mean to—”
    â€œIt’s not you, kid,” he said, cutting me off. “You’ve been nothing but respectful. I think you could make a fine reporter one day.”
    â€œThat’s what I’m hoping for,” I said.
    He looked surprised. “You are?”
    â€œYes, sir. Telling the truth is one of the best ways to support democracy and fight Fascism.”
    Now he looked even more surprised. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
    â€œI know that one of the first things Hitler did was shut down the newspapers,” I added. “He was afraid of the truth, and that’s what a newspaper report is there to do, report the truth.”
    â€œWhen I hear you talking like that, it’s no wonder you won that contest.”
    â€œThanks,” I mumbled. I still felt a little guilty because I knew the contest had been fixed. If William Shakespeare had entered an essay he would have finished second to me.
    â€œI’d really like to see the story you wrote to win the contest.”
    So would I , I thought. Over seventy students had written entries, but I wasn’t one of them.
    â€œI think my principal, Mr. McGregor, has it.”
    â€œPerhaps you can get it from him.”
    â€œI’ll try to remember to ask.”
    â€œThis story is exactly what we need to write,” Mr. Chalmers said, as he tapped a finger against the article. “Letting people know who your father is. You must be very proud of him.”
    â€œI am.” Although, the father I wrote about in the article was a pilot in Europe, not a soldier in Africa—all part of keeping my cover intact. So much for my big talk about“the truth.” I guess it was like Little Bill said, “Truth is the first casualty of war.”
    â€œOne of the missions of this newspaper is to use truth to build morale and increase production. You talked about your father, but what you were doing was reminding people that our fighting men are people’s fathers and brothers and husbands. And by working harder on the line, taking pride in the ammunition they’re making, they’re keeping our fighting men safe and helping to win the war.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œSo how long have you wanted to be a reporter?”
    â€œSince I was young.”
    He laughed. “As opposed to the old man you are now?”
    â€œWell ...”
    â€œNothing wrong with being young … although it’s so long ago that I was young that I can hardly remember.”
    â€œYou’re not that old,” I said.
    â€œYou’re not that good a liar. If I wasn’t old I’d be over there fighting instead of here writing about the fighting.”
    â€œEverybody is fighting in a different way,” I said. “You’re doing your part by writing the newspaper and driving up production.”
    He smiled. “Speaking of which, I think it’s time for me to go out and do my part. I’m going off-site to do an interview. Pull the door closed when you leave the office.”
    â€œYes, sir. I’m going in a minute myself, to have lunch at the cafeteria. Maybe I can eat with my brother … he’s working today.”
    He looked at his watch. “It’s twenty to twelve.”
    â€œI’d better get going, I lost track of the time.”
    â€œThat happens to me when I’m in the middle of a story. You’d better hurry out.”
    The cafeteria was in one of the buildings in the middle of the grounds, and