Jerry A. Rose - The Journalist

Praise for The Journalist

The Journalist is unlike any other book that youve read on the Vietnam War. Jerryits main character, who clearly cared deeply about Vietnam and its peopleis driven to tell the story of Vietnam to American readers. He fights with jaded editors back home to put a face on a war that few Americans knew or cared about at the time. This prescient memoir has the suspense of a novel that anticipates all that would eventually go wrong in Vietnam.

Paul Mooney, Vietnam veteran and American journalist reporting on Asia

Jerry Rose, as a young journalist in Vietnam in the early 1960s, was an intimate witness to the beginnings of the tragedy that became Americas Vietnam War. This riveting memoir is a chronicle of ambition, war, love, and loss.

Judy Bernstein, author of They Poured Fire on Us and Disturbed in Their Nests

Two siblings. One amazing book creation. Jerry Roses news reports of the war filled American papers and magazines. His sister, Lucy Rose, crafted a page-turner of this young mans lifeall based on his journals. It is a vivid look at a world most Americans never understood, one that will captivate you.

Judith Knotts, author of You Are My Brother: Lessons Learned Embracing a Homeless Community

This memoir is a must-read for those who want to see, hear, and feel Vietnam in the turbulent and secretive 1960s.

Professor James B. Wells, Eastern Kentucky University

The inside story of an American professor in Vietnam when the war took over the country, The Journalist takes us into the dangerous career of a man who went on to write the hidden stories and risked his life in the bargain, all to bring the truth to the rest of the world.

Jack Woodville London, military historian and author of the acclaimed French Letters novels

Totally engaging from the first page, The Journalist builds on the diaries of an acclaimed reporter for major U.S. newspapers and magazines, chronicling Vietnams struggles just as the United States was becoming more engaged than most Americans knew or cared. His untimely death deprived us of a budding journalistic giant who knew Vietnam and presciently predicted that major U.S. involvement would be a tragedy for both parties. The photos add greatly to an exceptionally well-written story that fascinated me.

Neal Gendler, book reviewer, American Jewish World; former staff reporter, Minneapolis Star-Tribune

The Journalist is a compelling account of an idealistic young man reporting for major U.S. news outlets, as he resists the pressure to conform to the tidy packaging of human suffering for mass consumption. It is a hard book to put down.

Tom Weidlinger, author of The Restless Hungarian

Fischers writing style gripped me from her very first words and carried me along a page-turning journey. I held my breath until the end. This is a do-not-miss piece of literary gold. An instant classic.

Marni Freedman, Founder of the San Diego Writers Festival, author of Permission to Roar

Destined to be a Blockbuster. I have no doubt that in a few years time, we will see Jerrys life on the big screen. Its that good.

Carlos de los Rios, screenwriter and producer of Diablo and The Da Vinci Treasure

I am astonished by Jerrys story of courage and truth-telling, but even more so by his sister and author Lucy Rose Fischer, who is able to bring his story to life long after his death, in a fascinating read that keeps you turning the pages until the very end.

Elizabeth Eshoo, author of Masai in the Mirror, Winds of Kilimanjaro, in Shaking the Tree, II and III

THE
JOURNALIST

Copyright 2020 Lucy Rose Fischer

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

Published by SparkPress, a BookSparks imprint,

A division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC

Phoenix, Arizona, USA, 85007

www.gosparkpress.com

Published 2020

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-68463-065-3 pbk

ISBN: 978-1-68463-066-0 ebk

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020903374

Formatting by Kiran Spees

All company and/or product names may be trade names, logos, trademarks, and/or registered trademarks and are the property of their respective owners.

This is a work of creative nonfiction, based on the journals, letters and other writings of the late Jerry Rose. Names and other characteristics have been changed to protect the identity of certain individuals.

To Kay, Thorina, Eric, and Nancy

North and South Vietnam in the 1960s

At first, Im not sure what Im hearing. It sounds like a stack of lumber angrily lifting and falling. Then I understandits an explosion. One minute later, a second explosion punctures the air. I hurry outside and join a mass of people rushing toward the river.

Where was it? I ask a man on the street.

At the My Canh Floating Restaurant, he says, pointing toward the Saigon River.

I gasp. I feel like Im chokingas if a bone has caught in my throat. I cant breathe. I cant speak. An explosion at the My Canh Floating Restaurant? How can that be?

Less than a week ago, we were there, with our little girl, having a meal, watching the moon rise up over the river. And now .. .

I hear sirens wailing through the streets like a convoy of mourners. The evening air is hot and heavy. Though Ive just showered, my shirt is already damp with sweat.

As I approach the river, I see a tight line of police and soldiers in crisp uniforms encircling the My Canh. They try to keep the crowd back. All around me, people are yelling and shoving. The scent of smoke, blood, and sweat shimmers in the hot air.

Headlights from the ambulances illuminate bodies, heaped like mounds of wet red pulp on the gangplank leading up to the floating restaurant. I taste bile on my tongue as I recognize a waiter from the restaurantPhuong is his namehes being hefted into an ambulance. Near me, on my side of the street, a tall man lies on his back, groaning in pain.

Then I see the girl. Shes lying on the pavement, a few feet from me. Shes wearing black silky pants and a flowered blouse. Her long dark hair fans out around her head. She seems to be about ten years old. A sweet little girl.

I squat down and take her arm. My hand is shaking, my body is trembling, as I feel for her pulse .. .

C igarettes hang from our lips, and we toss Hemingways phrases back and forth like a basketball, dissecting his stark language. Franks small office is warm and were both in shirt sleeves, but Frank has on one of his signature ties, this one is Mickey Mouse. Frank Jones is my faculty advisor in the Comp Lit PhD program at the University of Washington in Seattle. He has a little of a Mickey-Mouse-as-Professor look, with large ears, smoothed-down hair, and wire-rim glasses that make his eyes look like buttons. Hes young, not even thirty, hardly older than me, so hes also my friend.