The Pittsburgh Press from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania • Page 21

I' EDITORIALS Next Page The Pittsburgh Press Tuesday, May II. 1971 pag9 2 THEATERS Inside On The Jher Sidle Off' The War (Continued from Poj vl Philippines In Ferment turned, almost Intolerable fllillpi I 1 mmmmm im Militants Challenge Old System Second of a Series By JAMES FOSTER Scripps-Howard Staff Writer MANILA "July 4, 1946 was a day of deception. The Filipino flag was raised. The other piece of cloth, the stars and stripes, was lowered. The U.

S. military bases and corporations meanwhile fortified their beachhead on Philippine soil." now. We no longer were sweating and Heang refused to get up. We waited and were about to move when the artillery started again. Too close.

We huddled against a huge-tree and I took, more photographs. I tried to tell Jimmy that when you can hear they shells it means they are going overhead and everything 1 okay. My mouth was too dry and I ') said Confrontation We moved what seemed like a quarter-mile and came almost face to face with three of They did not see us and we ran, back the way we had come. But how we were face to face with a young Vietnamese soldier who ran straight into us, "Ranasei, Ranasei" (Cambodian Liberation Front)," said W'' The soldier hesitated, then said "Didi," the1 Vietnamese expression for We went. Return Typical Of Kate's Style United Prtu International It was typical of Catherine M.

"Kate" Webb to turn up safe and sound two weeks after she was given up for dead. A couple of years ago she was freed from her news duties in Saigon to take one of the periodic "rest and recuperation" leaves UPI reporters are given. Spent Rest Period In Vietnamese Province Instead of taking the customary trip to Hong Kong or Bangkok, Miss Webb traveled to Quang Tri Province in the northern part of South Vietnam where she spent 10 days with South Vietnamese troops to see how they performed in action. Another time during the Tet offensive In Saigon In early 1968 she was caught in a Communist barrage on a school-house where South Vietnamese colonels were holding a strategy meeting. Several officers were killed but Miss Webb survived, brushing off debris to write one of the more dramatic stories of the day.

Kate Webb she dislikes being called Catherine is soft-spoken, friendly and gentle but underneath she is a tough news competitor who believes that the way to write a story is to be there to see what happens. A colleague, in writing what he thought was Miss Webb's obituary, in April, said, "She appeared as a waif, plodding the Saigon streets in a striped dress and sandals, her feet almost as dirty as the sidewalks. Combat Fatigues Didn't Hide Wait Manner "The waif manner never disappeared even when she donned green fatigues and awkward combat boots for trips to the field. Her helmet usually slipped off at inopportune moments and in a heavy flak jacket, she was almost hidden cards. We'll make the road before dark, we reassured one another.

Northeast, parallel to the road, watch the sun and then cut back to the road. There will be reinforcements coming. scrambled and ran as best we could through the thick jungle, thorns ripping our clothes and bodies. the thirst. We licked the perspiration from our arms and faces.

ficope Try Artillery barrages began to fall around us and we tried to move closer to the road, stumbling into a network of Viet Cong bunkers joined by telephone wire. vThe Viet Cong apparently, did not see or hear us although we did not look back as we edged around the bunkers. Suzuki ripped off his white shirt and fashioned a sling to hold his camera. Heang's wounds were smarting and I took his cameras. Vorn removed his shirt and I ripped the white binding from the neck of my blouse.

There is not much one can do in a bombing or artillery strike. We lay against the of trees, pressed against one another and tried to burrow into the ground. The artillery got heavier and some wanted to move back. Those who wanted to continue moving forward won out. We were heading into the artillery but also toward Cambodian lines.

Desperate Thirst Dusk fell and we estimated We. had covered about three miles but still the sounds of battle echoed through the jungle. We desperately needed water but found only a dry creek bed which the Viet Cong Used as a medical evacuation route. Even they had been digging for water there without luck. Their footprints were clear and fresh field dressings were strewn on the sand.

I tried to erase bur prints with a tree branch. Night began to fall and the Viet Cong began to appear in large numbers around us. We lay frozen In silence, watching uniformed 'men and women moving in columns only yards away. We knew from the uniforms -We -ran until we dropped. The young soldier must have been doing the double take of his It- was almost 11:30 a.

m. Heang, who only one week ago was in a hospital being treated ior a wound in his shoulder, refused to move. -UPI Telephoto Miss Webb on in Hons notel She interrupted her Indochina career for a stint as a member of the UPI staff in Pittsburgh in 1969, and returned 1 A 1 i turn ill It had been almost 24 hours to Asia late in 1970. She became manaeer of the UPI bureau trom view. "She was not fearless but she was brave.

She went through mortar and rocket attacks, landings in disabled helicopters and the common battlefield dangers of bullets and shrapnel and would emerge shaken but determined." Miss Webb was born in Christchurch, New Zealand, in 1943 and educated in Australia where she won a degree in philosophy at Melbourne University. She worked for the Sydney Daily Mirror before joining UPI in Saigon in 1967. in Phnom Penh, capital of Cambodia, following the death of Frank Frosch, who was slain with UPI photographer Kyoichi Sawada in October, 1970. 1 On April 7 she disappeared while covering a drive by Cambodian troops on Highway 4 and two weeks later a body identified at the time as hers was found in the vicinity. On May 1, however, she telephoned the UPI bureau in Phnom Penh from an outlying town to announce she was free after having been released by the Communists.

CARLOS ROMULO No hurry for change. who has direct responsibility for the military bases agree-ment, is in no hurry to change things. t' "The Philippines," Romulo 1: likes to point out, "is the United States' staunchest ally in Asia." He well knows the 1' converse also is true. Other agreements are expir- -ing. The Laurel-Langley Act giving preferential treatment to American firms doing busi- ness here will end July 4, 1974.

On that date U. S. business-men will be required to sell equity and hand over majority control of their firms to local investors. Many are reluctant to do -this and there has been; a dropoff of new foreign invest- ment here when it is badly needed. Filipino officials say this Is -no cause for worry because lots of local money is available and willing to step in.

-They know whereof they speak. Virtually all power and wealth in the Philippines is concentrated in the hands of no more than 50 families, which include most holders of high office, 'Slickest' Presirfent Marcos is in broadcasting and publishing and is consid- iwwwwwmtMMM.m Mtm wjinmumsi communication naa Ditten off the filter I swore at myself. So says Manuel Martinez who was a 2-week-old baby on what he calls that "day of deception" 25 years ago. Today he is a delegate to the June 1 constitutional convention called in an effort to make the Filipino government more responsive to popular needs. Oid Ties Don't Matter Martinez obviously couldn't care less about the pre-inde-pendence relationship between the United States and the Philippines, which began in 1898 when the United States, at the close of the Spanish-American War, acquired (for $20 million) the 7.100-island archipelago from Spain.

Americans have poured millions of dollars into business investments and maintained a large military presence. Both 'are. sore points in current U. relations. Martinez is militant: "We reject the present system, the present leadership, the present dogmas, the present times." The key question is how Martinez and the other young Turks he's one of 30 convention delegates under 30 years of age will exert their considerable and growing influence toward shaping tomorrow.

They are type-cast in that schizoid scenario so common abroad these days. Nationalism vs. Dollars It pits anti-American factions against those facing loss of jobs and dollars as the U. S. military pulls out and U.

S. business leaves or is pushed out. Here the programmed phasing out of preferential import duties and parities for Filipino goods entering the U. S. market, set up to get this country back on its feet after World War II, has local extremists demanding tougher restrictions on American investment.

The number of authorized time we turned toward, the road, we came across the knotted grass and telltale telephone wires. The first grey light of dawn found us huddled between three dead trees and a tangled mass of vine. Our faces and bodies were streaked with dirt and scratches. Heang's trousers were, ripped to shreds and he had strung his shirt around his waist. I had lost Heang's camera during an artillery strike.

We gauged direction east by looking at the way the light reflected off our cameras and started moving again. With the sunrise thirst re- since the first shots rang out and we were exhausted. With dry mouths, we argued. Heang lay on his back and said he couldn't move. The rest of us argued that we must.

Heang said he wanted to head back and we told him he must be mad. We again avoided one another's eyes with the knowledge that none of us could move much farther without water. We hauled Heang on his feet and moved toward the road. We were on a Viet Cong trail and we knew it. Rifles Trained Two AK47 rifle muzzles were in our faces and we stared Vacantly.

Our hands went up automatically. I looked at my left wrist beside, my face. It was 11:30. "Bao Chi, ba chi (press)," we croaked. "Nuoc nuoc (water)." The two young Vietnamese troops looked at us, then one another.

They conversed in Vietnamese, their rifles trained at our heads. Our hands 'ent higher. Heang lay on the ground and pointed at one of their canteens. "Nuoc," he rasped. "Nuoc." The soldiers began talking again, then pointed at me.

"My? (American)," they asked. "Anglaise, Anglaise (English)," the Cambodians replied. They motioned at Suzuki. "Japonaise, Nippon," he said. One of the soldiers reached a decision.

Herding us together, motioning with his AK47, he left the other to guard us and disappeared up a trail. He returned, not with water, but with ropes in his hands. We were captured. TOMORROW: The North Vietnamese "hosts." network were interspersed with the jungle vines that grabbed our throats and limbs. We found a pool of brackish, slimy water and drank without hesitation.

I tried to fill my binocular case with the bitter fluid but it leaked out. Wotin Game We lay sprawled on the ground, exhausted, and it must have been 30 minutes before anyone spoke. "We cannot get back on the road before dawn," I said needlessly. We all knew that to move out of the jungle at night would be to invite fire from the "friendlies." Flares lighted the sky over the road, which was so close we were forced to move back to avoid the light. Das Ranch or, our destination, was under attack.

We waited and a lying there and averting our eyes from each other. I began thinking. My office in Phnom Penh by now would know we were missing. I thought of the other journalists who had been at the forward C. P.

and I began to shake and could not stop. I wasn't shivering; it was as if my bones were trying to rattle apart. I lighted a cigarette and dropped it twice, then found I "We have to keep going," I said. "We have to get beyond Das Kanchor and we have to be there before dawn. Then at dawn we can go onto the road." Wo started walking again but an hour later found ourselves back in the same place, going in circles.

Our mouths were dry and our minds deadened. We had to rest again. Heang, weak from his wounds, stretched out and went to sleep. Incredibly, he started to snore loudly. I kicked him.

We argued over the directions. The flares were lighting two sections of the area now and the sounds of fighting continued. The nightmare was stretching to the breaking point. Without further discussion we all tried to sleep. My shaking started again and I contented myself with kicking Moonface whenever he snored.

Moved1 Again It was about 3 a. m. when we moved again, rested but proceeding more slowly. We reached a trail the Cambodians identified as the Old Kirirom Road we were yards from the turnoff to Das Kanchor. The jungle had fallen silent, so silent we were afraid of the and helmets they were North Vietnamese.

The scream of a jet was followed by the deafening explosion of bombs. When we rose to move, the NVA did the same. There was no hope of reaching the road before dark. Nightfall brought the "spooky" gunships, the reconverted C47 transports whose miniguns spit out streams of fire. Their searchlights seek you out, terrified in a patch of thin jungle.

But darkness also brought relief from the heat arid we seemed to make better time. The North Vietnamese seemed to have stopped moving. Telephone lines the ered. one of the slickest presi- dqnts. ever in realizing potential of his office.

His vice president and arch -enemy from the liberal party, Fernando Lopez, is in sugar, mining and communications. Lopez generators supply Ma- nila with electric power. Conditions obviously are ripe -for change. They have been for a long time. But until now no one has seemed ready to challenge the system.

Alfredo Salanga, 22, an or- ganizer for the militant, re- form-minded National Union 1 of Students, believes it can be :2 challenged today with some hope of success. The key, he is with "a mass party, aligning all young people, farmers and labor- ers." "We're not picking on -this particular system or adminis- tration or even Marcos," Sal- anga declares. "We aim at Marcos just because he happens to be on top of the whole rotten mess." TOMORROW: The Filipino way. sound of our stumbling. We made a turn to the east.

"Tank!" Charoon, who was in the lead, scrambled backward and with the strength of fear we fled back with him, falling over one another. The tank, Charoon reported, had its guns trained on Das Kanchor and was guarded by NVA. I was incredulous. "Stop," I said. "That must be Sarath, who had been second in line and collided with Charoon, pushed me ft I "Run," he whispered, frantically.

"They are awake." We walked more slowly and the stops were longer. Every 'Bad Boy7 Of Chess Faces Test VANCOUVER, B. C. (UPI) Bobby Fischer, the "bad boy" of world chess competition, faces what might be the most crucial period of his young career this week. Fischer, the U.S.

Grandmaster, meets the Soviet Union's MarkTaimanov Thursday at the University of British Columbia in one of four quarterfinal matches being played throughout the world. The quarterfinals lead to the candidate matches to determine who meets world champion Boris Spassky of the U.S.S.R. in Moscow in 1972. Fischer wants the title and experts give him a good chance. In other quarterfinal matches, Denmark's Bent Larsen plays Wolfgang Uhlmann of East Germany in Las Palmas, Spain; former world champion Tigran Petrojan takes on Hans Huebner of West Germany in Milan, Italy; and Victor Korchnoi and Efraim Geller, both Soviets, match wits in Sotji, Georgia, in the U.S.S.R.

Experts are predicting a military personnel will be cut to 18,500 by July 1. Affected In the cutback will be goods and services purchased for the bases, direct spending by American personnel and local civilian It amounts to perhaps $50 million, in a country where the annual per capita income is barely more than $100. While President Ferdinand Marcos pays lip service to the anti-American outcries, Foreign Secretary Carlos Romulo, "V3 Motorized Homes Gain Momentum BOBBY FISCHER Crucial meet. semifinal clash between Fischer and Larsen and an end to Soviet domination of the game. The 28-year-old native of Brooklyn, N.

is known also as the "bad boy" of the chess world for the strict restrictions he places on his matches. In Vancouver, he has stipulated that competition end at sundown Fridays and not resume until sundown Saturdays for religious reasons and that the public be excluded from the room where the match is played. Ecology Begins In The Home By Gilbert Love By Erma Bombeck "1 Off The Record Let's have another go-around on the subject of. recreational vehicles. the month since Peg Love and I returned from Florida I have been surprised by the interest shown in motor homes the all-in-one motorized units such as we drove on our trip.

of those who have asked about the Vehicle were wondering how it would be for vacation trips, but several older men said they had been seriously thinking of a motor home as retirement dwelling. They never liked the idea of pulling a trailer, but a motorized house would be something else. V-They would buy one and drift around the country for a few years before settling down somewhere, they thought. One was thinking in terms of parking somewhere down South in winter and up north in summer. "Suppose I had to pay $10,000 or $15,000 to get one large enough for my wife and me to five in comfortably," said another of these men.

"I couldn't buy a house for that. And no taxes!" He has a point, although he wouldn't be entirely free of expense after buying his motor home. Most public parks limit a visitor's stay, so he probably would have to stay in private paries at least part of the time. There he would pay at least $2 a day. Many deluxe parks charge as much as $3.

-The gentleman who was thinking of parking In" one place down South and another up North might buy a lot in one or the other region, or both, to be sure of a good place to stay. Parks where lots are owned have been common in Florida for some time, and the idea is Pittsburgh's Gulf Oil Corp. is involved in an organization called "Venture Out" which is setting up deluxe parks and offering lots on the condominium idea. So far six have been opened in the South and West. They have lawns, gardens, underground utilities, 24-hour security patrols, heated swimming pools, stores, laundries, recreation facilities.

Yes, the "trailer court" has come to that, emulating the development of the motel from early tourist cabins to Taj Mahal elegance. One national chain of campgrounds where lots are rented, Kampgrounds of America, has more than 500 places in its latest directory. The KOA campgrounds aren't as elaborate as the Venture Out plots, but all have utility hookups, free hot showers, laundries and stores. Many have pools and other recreational facilities. Some have restaurants.

Like the motel chains, KOA offers free reservation service. Campgrounds are a new booming business. The Fort Pitt Campers, National Campers and Hikers Association, recently completed a survey that found more than 80 campgrounds, public and private, within 75 milts of Pittsburgh. Few of the campgrounds lack business. Some figures that just came to my desk say production of recreation vehicles travel trailers, motor homes, truck campers and camping trailers increased more than 400 per cent in the past ten years.

More than 3,000,000 of the vacation vehicles are in use. So the people who have been asking me about motor homes are just a small part of a great big trend. I peeked into my son's bedroom a few weeks ago and found him sprawled on the floor with a pencil and notebook. "How are you going to observe Earth Week?" he asked. "Gee, I don't know," I said, "Maybe the same way I observed Jackie and Ari's wedding day by shaving my legs." "I'm serious," he charged, "Do you know what is the greatest threat to man's environment?" "This bedroom," I said, looking around in disbelief.

''People," he amended. "They're careless. I am writing a paper on ways we can "Where do you keep your bed?" I asked, bustling around. "In the middle of the floor," he isn't made because I am airing it." "You've been airing it for three years," I said. "Why have.

you been sleeping with 48 copies of Sports Illustrated, a Dixie cup, a hubcap and 18 mismated socks?" "Ecology is a personal thing," he mused, "It has to start with one person at a time. Every candy wrapper is important. Every bottle cap." "Why are my eyes watering?" I gasped. "It's the aquarium," he said, "The catfish just isn't doing his job." I looked at the polluted bowl of water with the pump that gasped and gurgled. Other than the Cuyahoga River in Cleve- land, it was possibly the only body of water -that caught fire.

"Carelessness," he continued, "I think that's what it is all about. If you could just make people aware of how they are cluttering up our countryside." "Are you saving these softdrin-k bottles for anything?" I asked. "There's a garter snake in one of them," he said offhand. "Now, where was Oh yes, -clutter. "How about, 'We must all band together and form groups to bring pressure against the Earth Hows that?" "Wonderful," I said.

"Did you know you have gym shoes under your bed that have rusted? A three years' supply of crumpled nose tissue in your sock drawer? 4 "A piece of green bread under your pillow? A pre-schooler under the clothes on your chair? A nest in your toothbrush and a towel on the floor of your closet that just spoke to me?" 3 "Mom," he sighed, "If you aren't going to help me with this paper on ecology, then quit "mumbling." I stood at the door and watched a garter snake slither over a mound of dirty underwear, and wondered what you'd get if you re-cycled kids. 'The trouble is. Doctor, that I'm too weak for my convictions.".