Monday, Sep. 28, 1953

Air travel is often the only method a correspondent has of getting to the scene of a story. Since TIME correspondents so far this year have logged an impressive total of more than 660,000 air miles, I asked them to tell us something about their use of the airplane in covering the news.

Here are the replies from some of our airborne reporters:

The Washington bureau holds the TIME speed record. Members of the bureau covered 46,571 air miles this year, and two staffers traveled faster than sound. The speed dash was done by Bureau Chief Jim Shepley and Pentagon Reporter Clay Blair over Eglin Air Force Base, Florida, each riding in a Lockheed F-94C. At 40,000 ft., the pilots went into a power dive. They broke through the sonic barrier, then pulled out of the dive at 20,000 ft. and 5 1/2 Gs.

Chicago did the most flying (165,000 miles), more than any other U.S. or foreign bureau. Says Bob Schulman: "The general theme of the Chicago bureau's relationships with the airlines is one of odd-hour flights, mad dashes and coverage of massive areas to get the regional understanding so necessary for TIME reporting."

London Bureau Chief Andre Laguerre, just back in England from a visit to New York, notes that this trip marked his 29th transatlantic flight on business for TIME. Each staff member in the Bonn bureau averages about 30,000 miles a year, "taking planes the way most people take taxis," flying to Berlin, Belgrade, Vienna, Munich or Hamburg. Says Bonn's Frank White: "This is just our 'commuting mileage,' not including flights on military planes or the deliriously rare flight home." And the Paris bureau observes : "Air travel here is like taking the bus."

From Johannesburg, South Africa, Correspondent Alexander Campbell reports that of the 15,000 miles he has flown this year, the strangest trip was from the Gold Coast capital Accra to the Nigerian capital Lagos: "I flew by West African Airways, whose emblem is a flying elephant. The passengers were mostly natives. The men wore fezzes and flowing robes, or sun helmets and white shirts hanging outside their pants. The women wore print dresses, with the luggage balanced on their heads and babies slung on their backs. The plane was also packed with freight, including crates of squawking chickens. This packed freight-passenger plane which lumbers weekly over lonely sandbars and tropical lagoons is appropriately called 'The Pregnant Cow.' "

From Beirut, Jim Bell reports that he made 37 separate flights (17,525 miles) covering Middle East news in 1953, and ends his cable: "When I vacationed this year, I went to Italy by boat, repeat boat." The New Delhi bureau racked up 20,825 miles, cables Correspondent Joe David Brown, who recalls that his most memorable flight was from Srinagar, Kashmir to New Delhi in an old Dakota which was "not equipped to fly over the lofty Himalayan foothills." The course: "Dodging in between the all-too-solid looking peaks, a process which made nervous passengers think of a near-sighted man trying to thread a needle."

The Tokyo bureau, with its commuting runs to the Korean front, flew an estimated 60,000 miles in just about every type of craft out there, with one exception. Says Bu1 reau Chief Dwight' Martin:"I am hopeful that the bureau's budget for next year will include funds for a number of one-man helicopters. No foreign correspondent should be without one." Adds Senior Editor John Osborne (20,000 miles), who is a veteran Far East reporter: "I'd rather fly 5,000 miles over water with a reliable airline than walk five blocks through midtown Tokyo's incredibly crowded, noisy, freewheeling traffic."

Jack Dowling, TIME'S one-man bureau working out of Singapore, covered 27,000 miles in Southeast Asia this year, collected a bulging passport of 140 pages. It is not unusual, he says, to see smoke pouring through an air vent into the cabin from some source or other. "You notice the steward coming slowly down the aisle distributing candy. He keeps a worried eye on the vent as he comes abreast of it and closes it with the theatrical air of a conspirator. You join the conspiracy in an airplane whisper: 'Do you think the plane is on fire, old boy?' 'I hope not, Mijnheer,' says he. 'Will you have a lemon drop?' In this part of the world, everyone has a better air story when you start to tell yours. You begin to feel, rather unhappily, that you'll have to get killed to make any dent in the conversation."

Cordially yours,

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