Secret Assignment

Last week the story of how the U.S. press was let in on North Africa was told. First inkling that something was afoot came to U.S. correspondents in London early in September when Brigadier General Robert McClure, Lieut. General Dwight Eisenhower's lean, polo-playing public relations aide, met with the executive committee of the Association of American Correspondents. Newsmen were informed that there was to be an expedition "somewhere." The Army wanted better arrangements, better coverage, better, secrecy than it got in the Commando raid on Dieppe.

The lucky correspondents who were to accompany the expedition were chosen from a list of all U.S. reporters in London. The United Press got five men, International News Service and Associated Press four each, the New York Times two, other U.S. newspapers, magazines and radio chains one apiece.

All knew they were going "somewhere"; tried to guess. West Pointer McClure's able sidekick, Major Joseph B. Phillips, left a Russian dictionary in plain view in his apartment. Most newsmen took the bait. Timesman Frank Kluckholn, guessing that an invasion of Norway and an offensive against the Germans in north Russia was in the offing, outfitted himself with woollies and a heavy overcoat. Apparently all the newsmen had the same idea: all departed (for North Africa) wearing winter uniforms. None took shorts.

Even when it came time to go the reporters were told merely to report to a London address, were whisked on from there to embarkation points. LIFE'S Lincoln Barnett loaded his duffel into a taxi, told the driver to "Head on down Piccadilly," lest even his friends hear the address of the rendezvous. The New York Herald Tribune's William W. White shoved off without explanation, leaving a large, tweedy wardrobe in the apartment of bewildered friends. Chicago Daily Newsman William Stoneman, just returned to London from a long vacation, wired his boss abruptly: "Taking long vacation." After A.P. Cameraman Harrison B. Roberts had departed, his boss got worried, called Army headquarters. The best the Army could say was: "Patience."

The most intricate job of public relations in the Army's history paid dividends. Coverage of the African invasion was smooth, with all reporters pooling their efforts, moving their stories from North Africa to London (whence they are cabled to the U.S.) without delays, without repetition.

For this, U.S. newspapers can thank the fact that Army men are learning to appreciate correspondents' problems. Now that they have shown they can cooperate, keep secrets, U.S. reporters may get additional breaks. Slowly, surely the rough edges are being polished off Army-press relationships.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.