Radio Mirror (Nov 1936-Apr 1937)

RADIO MIRROR granted Floyd's request, thinking that the Gringo could never stand the pace. Floyd was routed out of his bunk unexpectedly one morning at three o'clock and informed that the army was ready to start. Then followed nearly twenty-four hours in which Villa's army covered ninety-four miles on horseback and ended up with a successful surprise attack upon a village called Ramones which had been held by Carranza forces. Ninety-four miles at top speed through rocky, arid country, under a blazing sun and in pitch darkness. Exhausted horses were discarded, left to shift for themselves, or die, at the trackside. Any man unable to keep going would have been left to a similar fate. Floyd came through it all, although for the next few weeks he ate his meals standing up — a small price, after all, to pay for Pancho Villa's respect. FOR several months during the spring and summer of 1915 Floyd traveled with Villa. After that first mad ride, most of the traveling was done by train. Villa simply commandeered strings of cars, loaded his men, their families and their possessions, on them, and used them as movable headquarters. Sometimes Floyd slept by the campfire, in the circle of Villa's Dorados — his "golden ones" whom he trusted most, or as much as he trusted anyone. Unable to read or write, Villa realized that he was at the mercy of any one of his lieutenants who might feel disposed to write a false message in his name, or mis-read an incoming message to him, and this made him suspicious of everyone. And because he was suspicious of everyone, Floyd himself was in constant danger. If there had been an unexplained treachery, whom would Villa have suspected first? The American, the inquisitive Gringo whose nose for news was into everyone's business. And as Floyd knew very well, the penalty for even suspected treachery was a few minutes' work for the firing-squad. One day he watched Villa, in a fit of temper, shoot down a beautiful horse for no other reason than that it had refused to let him mount it. Yet there was a kind of brutal logic in Villa's explanation. "That horse was a traitor," he said. "He never learned discipline. Some day he might cost me a battle." Through the first weeks of early summer Villa's forces stationed themselves at Aguascalientes. They seemed to be waiting, piling up reserves of strength and ammunition for a major drive. At first, Floyd lived in a brewery on the outskirts of town. It was safe enough there, theoretically, because it was a Canadian-owned brewery, and the British flag was one thing both Villa and his enemies respected. But its situation at the edge of town made the space in back of it particularly handy as an execution spot, and at dawn every morning prisoners were lined up outside Floyd's bedroom wall and shot. In answer to Floyd's request, Villa allowed him to fit up a box-car as his private office and home. On its side Villa even ordered his men to paint "Oficina Particular del Corresponsal Especial, La Tribuna, U. S. A." — private office of the special correspondent, the Tribune, U. S. A. It was from here that Floyd sent many of his dispatches, returning to it after short field trips with Villa. The Villista armies were consolidating. At last everything was ready. Villa advanced, and met the Carranza army, under General Obregon, near Leon. The battle was disastrous for Villa, resulting in a complete rout for him. Even before it had ended, Floyd realized that Villa's brief reign of glory was over. He was no longer the possible defender of the peon, but a defeated bandit chief. Floyd pushed his way past the retreating armies to Juarez and across the border to General Pershing's headquarters in Texas. There he reported that if America would propose and negotiate a truce between Villa and Carranza, Villa would accept it and peace in Mexico would be restored. But by the time the truce had been offered it was too late to help Villa. The Carranzistas needed no truce. Villa's men had been broken up into small groups and driven into the mountains. With his reputation as a foreign correspondent greater by far than when he left, Floyd returned to Chicago, where he remained for slightly more than a year. Then the Tribune decided to send him to London as its correspondent there. On February 17, 1917, Floyd sailed from New York. The German government had just drawn a blockade zone around the waters of the British Isles and the coast of France, and had announced to all the world that its submarines would sink without warning any ship, of any nation, that tried to penetrate those waters. Floyd's ship was the ill-fated Cunard liner Laconia. War guns rumbling dangerously all over the world, forecasting another bloody conflict, have brought back vivid memories to Floyd Gibbons of the last fierce days of the World War, his trips to the front, and the loss of his eye. More memories — into Russia after the revolution in the days of the great famine — across scorching deserts into the strange, weird land of Timbuctoo. All these, a thrill a sentence, are yours in the next instalment of the life story of the most famous reporter in the world. Don't miss it. In the March issue, on sale, January 22. I HAVEN'T SEEN BOB FOR WEEKS AND WE WERE SO HAPPY LISTEN BABS, WW DON'T YOU TRY WINX? IT WORKS] WONDERS I IT'S AMAZING THE WAY WINX BLENDS SO NATURALLY I DO HOPE WENDY IS RIGHT ?*' SA/ BABS HOW ABOUT MY DANCE TONIGHT? 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