Faint Praise

The New York Times's gangling, 36-year-old Frank L. Kluckhohn is regarded by his colleagues as an energetic but sometimes foot-in-mouth reporter. Last week in the Southwest Pacific, Correspondent Kluckhohn gave them another example of his style: a close-up of the U.S. "Ace of Aces"--stocky, 23-year-old Major Richard Ira Bong (TIME, April 24). Correspondent Kluckhohn doubtless meant his story to be warm, sympathetic, Ernie Pyle-like. If so, he missed his target by a wide margin. Wrote he:

"Asked . . how it felt to have shot down more planes officially than any other American--27--Major Bong replied he felt just the same as before except that he had a 'gripe' . . . 'you guys for one thing.'

"[Bong] likes to get into his Lightning and to fly. Every time he did he came in off the sea at ten feet or so, pulled his plane up a bit and went over our camp ... Each time there was a whoosh! as the palm trees bent at a hurricane angle and the breeze raised the tent top. . . .

"Last night in a poker session Major Bong arrived with his .32-caliber revolver, wordlessly laid it on the table, then added insult to injury by calmly beating some self-designated 'experts'. . . . 'Half the fun of a poker game is griping,' the ace commented, laying down a full house.

"For a while we thought we had another Lindbergh in Major Bong, because it apparently hurt him to talk. . . . This lad is naturally modest to the point almost of shyness while having deep confidence in his ability to do his job.

"Most youngsters his age would be bubbling over if they were in his position. But [he] takes it in his stride. He has an inherent sense of balance and proportion on the ground as well as in the air which this correspondent believes is so well rooted nothing will upset it. ... He has a touch of iciness ... of truly Arctic proportions. . . . But this kid is a 'speed demon'. . . . Numerous white hairs have been caused by his jeep-driving. . . . [He] apparently has a notion that cars were made to travel on two wheels.

". . . I am not sorry to see him go. Last midnight I was chatting with several correspondents and officers. . . . Major Bong was sleepy, climbed into the cot and pulled down the mosquito netting. 'Get the hell out. I am going to sleep,' he remarked pointedly. Obviously he is no respecter of the 'power of the press.' "

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