My head hit the ground at a pretty rapid speed. Everything around me didn’t’ seem to comprehend into reality. Finally, I forced myself up and looked at my current surroundings. I had a feeling that Kansas was far, far away.
I was a new reporter for the Miami Herald. Just seconds ago, I was on Lincoln Road, having some ice coffee and waffle fries, thinking of a good idea for a story. This was only my second day on the job and I really didn’t want to mess things up, that was for sure.
I started walking around and then I fell into a hole. I could tell that Miami was far away but, I knew from just looking around, I was in a very big city. I looked up, New York.
People passed me by as they swayed along in their weird clothes. Not to strange for I could have sworn I had seen them before in a book. Except they were in black and white. While pondering what time era this was, I wasn’t paying any attention to where I was going, and BOOM!
I fell to the ground. The scary thing is that I wasn’t alone. I had collided with another woman. We looked straight at one another.
I couldn’t believe it. I knew by this woman’s smile that she was Marguerite Higgins, a famous war reporter from the 1940s and 1950s. But how could this be possible? I was a reporter from Miami in the 21st century! I just didn’t understand anything that was going on. But I didn’t care, I was staring at Higgins, that was my only thought.
“I’m ever so sorry!” Higgins said to me, offering me her hand as she gracefully got up.
I accepted. Still in complete shock, I finally spoke. “What year is this?”
Higgins gave me a quizzical look. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I am not from this period.”
“Period?”
“Yes! This time period.”
“How can that be possible?”
“Just tell me what year this is please!”
At last, Higgins spoke with the answer I had long to hear.
“1960”
I was in the year 1950 and I really couldn’t’ believe that the hole I fell into was a time portal. Don’t those things only happen in movies? Maybe life is just one big movie with twisted roots?
Oh well…
Still, I had to remember my duties and try to find a good …story?
HIGGINS! Marguerite Higgins! I mean, she was standing in front of my very own eyes. It’s not everyday you get to interview someone like Higgins.
Finally, my golden ticket was being handed to me. This was my chance to prove something to myself, even more so to the Herald!
“Excuse me, Ms. Higgins?”
“How did you know my name?”
“Long story”
“Anyways, it’s Mrs. Higgins Hall. I am married to Lieutenant General William Hall, United States Air Force.”
“Oh…okay, I’m sorry, but may I ask you of a favor?”
Higgins stared “What kind of favor?”
I took out my pen and clicked it a couple of times.
Higgins looked at the pen and a smirk crept up her lips “Traveling through some time portal and you still want an interview.” She smiled and started to walk away “There is a coffee house a couple of blocks up 6th avenue. Let’s go have a cup of java”
I followed.
As we sipped away our coffee, I was thinking of a million and one things to ask her. Sure, I have done this whole interview bit and all that jazz a couple of times but this was the Marguerite Higgins Hall.
“Mrs. Hall?”
“Call me Marguerite.”
First name basis, I liked that kind of environment.
“So Marguerite, where and when were you born?”
“Somewhere in Hong Kong on the 3rd of September, 1920”
“What about your childhood?”
“Well, for three years, I lived in Hong Kong with my family.”
“Do you remember anything about Hong Kong?”
“Well no, I was very young at the time”
We both laughed, then she got serious again.
“But, I do remember that when I was three, my father, Lawrence Higgins, moved us back to the United States.”
“What did you father do for a living?”
“He worked at a shipping company.”
This was great! I was getting more and more into who she was. The really cool part about the whole thing was that she was telling me…in person!
“Marguerite, what about schooling? Did you have a good education?”
“Yes actually. I went to the University of California where I worked on a student news paper.”
“Really? What was this paper called?”
“The Daily Californian”
“What year did you graduate in?”
“Class of 1941.”
“Anything after that?”
“Well, I moved to New York and went to school at Columbia University where I got my master degree in journalism.”
I was going deeper and deeper into the mind of this great journalist! This was only a dream come true interview.
Higgins continued to look at me, her brownish-blondish hair settled well along her slim face. She was awaiting her next question.
“While you were studying in New York, what kind of jobs, tasks, missions did you encounter?”
“That’s quite a question!”
I blushed, I was trying to get every and any piece of information from Higgins.
“Well, let me think.”
She thought
“Oh yes! In 1942, The New York Tribune hired me.”
“What did you cover while being an employer there?”
“Well, there was a war in Europe at the time”
“World War II.”
“Yes, so anyways, I wanted to report the war.”
“Did you get to?”
“Yes, in 1944 my editor agreed to send me to London and I was able to start reporting the war in Europe!”
“That’s great. Did you go anywhere besides London?”
“Actually yes. That following year, I moved to mainland Europe where I first reported the war from France and later in Germany.”
“Germany really? Did you see any concentration camps?”
A sad look appeared in her eyes, as if she was trying to hold back tears.
“Yes, I had to go with Allied troops when I entered the Nazi concentration camps.”
“Which ones did you go to?”
“Dachau and Buchenwald”
Seeing those camps must have left an everlasting impression on her heart and in her dreams. I could never imagined actually seeing one of those “camps” with my very own eyes. And here I was, talking with a woman who reported it to the rest of the world.
“That must have been hard to enter those camps”
She nodded. That was a good enough answer for me.
“After the war, I also covered the Nuremburg War Trials and the growing tension between west and east Europe for the New York Tribune.”
“You actually got to report those trials?”
“Yes”
That was classy.
Later on, after several cups of coffee; we stopped all useless conversation and went back to the interview.
‘Alright, got my pen and a shit load of notes in front of me’
My thoughts persisted along as her echoes reached my ear.
“In 1950...”
“The 50s?”
“Yes…the 50s”
I beckoned her to continue.
“Alright, I was had been reassigned to Japan and there is where I became The Far East bureau chief. When I was there, I saw history. During the Korean War outbreak… you know what happened during that war?”
“Honestly, I don’t”
“I saw the fall of a capital. The capital of Seoul. It was taken by Northern Korea with there forces. I was the one who got to witness history being made. The real thing.”
“The real thing.”
“But New York Tribune sent Homer Bigart.”
“Who is that?”
“It was there top reporter at the moment.”
“Well, why did they send him?”
“Because they wanted me back in Tokyo.”
“Why?”
“Maybe because I am a woman”
She grinned. I laughed
“But…I refused to go and I continued my journeys into journalism. I was always competing with Bigart for the best stories, that was quite annoying!”
“So then what happened?”
“Later this became more and more difficult for me to get to the front-line”
“Why?”
“I’ll give you a hint. We are both of the same kind”
Alright, she gets that one.
“But…”
“Yet again”
“I was not going to take that and I eventually persuaded the General to let me continue my reporting.”
“What was the General’s name?”
“General Douglas MacArthur.”
“Another thing.”
“Yes?”
“How?”
“How meaning?”
“How did you convince him?”
She laughed.
“Don’t you remember anything I tell you?”
I wanted to hear more. So much more but, I never did. I awoke warm in my bed. My head had a sore.
“Where did this come from?”
Pondering around the thoughts in my head, I came to a conclusion that it was gone.
“Higgins”
Quickly jumping out of bed, I arose by springing out into orbit.
“Computer”
The journey to the computer. I had to write about this dream, that nightmare, whatever it was. I had to know more.
“Higgins…Higgins”
I went through several web sites, searching for her.
“In 1951, her book, War in Korea, became a best-seller. That year she won the Pulitzer Prize for international reporting and was voted Woman of the Year by the Associated Press news organization.”one
I continued, searching for information about her, about who she was, not about the awards she was granted.
“She” I spoke out loud to myself, “was sent to Vietnam in 1953. There, she reported the defeat of the French Army at Dien Bein Phu. While she was there, she had been walking alongside a photographer by the name of Robert Capra. Unfortunately, Capra was killed by stepping into a land mine and Higgins barely escaped death herself.”
I couldn’t believe this. I felted like I was looking back at an old friend.
I continued to talk to myself so the rest of the world could learn about this great person, not only a great journalist.
“In 1955, she often traveled through the Russia, which was at the time under control by the Soviet Union. Because of this, she published another book, Red Plush and Black Bread. After that, another book came on its way. This time, it was about journalism. The book was called News is a Singular Thing. A restless Higgins, after her book, also covered the civil war in the Congo.”
I read on, letting my thoughts take control. She had also made many visits to Vietnam around 1965. Higgins even wrote a book about it, Our Vietnam Nightmare, which is pretty much about her concerns about the army being involved in the region.
And then, I had to say goodbye to my friend.
While her stay in Vietnam, she got leishmaniasia, a disease in the tropics.
Marguerite died on the 3rd of January, 1966.
She had been dead for years. I was still living in that world where I was talking with her. She wasn’t dead, she was alive and healthy. I learned to look up to her as a journalist, I craved to speak with her again.
I left my computer to get some cookies and milk, I still didn’t have a story and everything I was looking at got me no closer to a story.
I looked at the corn flakes, drowning into the milk.
“If only, I was a daring reporter, if only I got to see the real thing”
Everything went silent.
“The real thing”
The chair fell over yet, I was not in it. I made the chair fall with hurry.
“I got it”