A youngish reporter is, to his joy, sent on his first foreign assignment.
”By questioning men in the office who had been around, I pieced together an idea of what I needed and what I must do. It’s wonderful how the secret lore of journalism, the practical knowledge beyond journalism schools, is transferred from generation to generation. During the next few days, I learned that it was essential to take a Hermes portable typewriter and a spare ribbon, copy paper, carbon paper, pencils, a penknife (with an attachment for opening bottles), Roget’s Thesaurus, Webster’s Dictionary, bilingual dictionaries and phrase books of the countries through which I would be travelling. Fowler’s English Usage, Mencken’s American Language (all of it), relevant issues of the National Geographic Magazine and maps, a dinner jacket, golf shoes and swimming trunks, a tape recorder (“vital for proving the veracity of quotations in case of being sued”), a miniature camera for photographing secret documents, credit cards for the world’s major cable companies and airlines, an international medical certificate (bearing up-to-date stamps indicating the receipt of shots for smallpox, diphtheria, yellow fever, beriberi, sleeping sickness, black-water fever, and yaws), letters of introduction to government leaders and diplomatic representatives in all appropriate foreign countries, a first-aid kit (including among other things, sleeping tablets, stay-awake pills, prophylactic ointments and lethal capsules for use when threatened with torture by secret police), a small automatic pistol, a money belt, a pocket compass, an American flag, an assortment of gaudy trinkets with which to appease aboriginal savages, a box of K rations, a box of Kleenex, and a bottle of Maryland rye whiskey.”
Another foreign correspondent is more succinct.
”As long as you know what country you are in and what day it is you’ve got it made. It’s the dateline that’s important.” (Better than Working, Patrick Skene Catling, 1960)
William Boot’s requirements for his assignment to Ishmaelia are modest in comparison.
“A well-, perhaps rather over-, furnished tent, three months’ rations, a collapsible canoe, a jointed flagstaff and Union Jack, a hand-pump and sterilizing plant, an astrolabe, six suits of tropical linen and a sou’-wester, a camp operating table and set of surgical instruments, a portable humidor, guaranteed to preserve cigars in condition in the Red Sea, and a Christmas hamper complete with Santa Claus costume and a tripod mistletoe stand, and a cane for whacking snakes. … at the last moment he added a coil of rope and a sheet of tin.” And, of course six polo sticks and six hockey sticks cloven to order. (Scoop, Evelyn Waugh, 1938)
Bless you for this late evening music, I will be simply dressed for my Irish visit, and blown by the wind whilst in that paradise .
Y
Of course American printers produce bulkier books than English printers do. But it seems to me that a full American Language (with supplements, that is) would take up a couple of feet on one’s shelf. At that point, why skimp on the typewriter, and not bring along an IBM Selectric and a generator to run it?