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RANDOM HOUSE
As a 24-year-old combat journalist, Denby Fawcett shared with soldiers the hardships of the field and the horrors of combat.




War stories

In the Vietnam War, female reporters
such as Denby Fawcett were rare
exceptions, but they held their own
on the scary fields of battle


By Burl Burlingame
bburlingame@starbulletin.com

On the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month -- today's date -- the guns ceased firing on the Western Front. The "War to End All Wars" was over. Armistice Day was created on this date to remember the horror and sacrifice; it became Veterans Day -- and the memories of war are not dim and long ago.

They are fresh and newly minted. The world has remained a place of conflict. For KITV reporter Denby Fawcett, like male combat veterans, the time she spent under fire is the most vivid of her life, but one that is kept under wraps. Fawcett was a female journalist, armed only with notepad and camera, and women field reporters were rare in Vietnam. It was lonely and crazy. After returning from Vietnam, she rarely spoke of her experiences, although they shaped her.


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That changed a couple of years ago when the journalism department at West Virginia University held a symposium devoted to the experiences of women reporters covering Vietnam. Although only seven attended, including Fawcett, the experience broke open the gates of repressed memory and emotion.

Vietnam, says Fawcett, was the "singular experience of my life. I've never been through anything like it and never will again."

A book emerged, "War Torn -- Stories of War from the Women Reporters Who Covered Vietnam," with chapters written by nine veterans, including Fawcett.

After two months the book is already in its second printing, and Hollywood, smelling the juice, is already sniffing around the property. Cameron Diaz is supposedly interested.

It would be difficult to boil down. The reminiscences of the nine women are highly individualistic and emotionally complex. There was nothing simple about Vietnam. Opposition came not just from a shadowy enemy that fired from the tree lines, but from American men appalled at the thought of women at the front lines.

In 1966, Fawcett was a 24-year-old cub reporter for the Honolulu Star-Bulletin, shadowing the great Lois Taylor on what was called the "women's page" -- an endless round of society parties and recipes and footwear discussions. "I was getting serious about being a journalist and more devoted to the craft. My boyfriend Bob Jones at the Advertiser was sent to Vietnam, and I asked the Star-Bulletin editors to send me, too. They thought it was hilarious. I quit! I was getting ready to go to Vietnam on my own and seek work as a stringer when the Advertiser called -- (editor Buck) Buchwach offered me $35 per feature story I could file, and in return, they would accreditate me. I still had to pay my own way there. But I could get by on $85 a week, and if I filed three stories a week, I came out ahead!"

Fawcett's freelance writing, mostly from within the endless hustle of Saigon, lasted only a couple of months. Jones was offered a job with KGMB, the Honolulu CBS affiliate, and left Vietnam. Fawcett became the Advertiser's "girl on the scene," as they called her, with a regular salary and expenses.

With that came the opportunity and the responsibility of covering the front lines. Although a journalism professional for a daily newspaper and having full access accreditation, the "unit commanders would look at me and say, 'Nope, you remind me of my daughter. You can't go with the troops,'" said Fawcett. "That was so frustrating. They would never give an excuse like that to a man."

Her first combat encounters were "terrifying." Dropping into a hot landing zone, Fawcett "stepped out of the helicopter, and there were bodies everywhere. They started slinging them onto the helicopter. I'd never seen so much blood. But the really scary thing was that the soldiers were terrified, too. It was catching."

Media portrayals of the complexity of Vietnam combat fall short. "I thought 'Platoon' was pretty close, based on my experiences. And there's a single scene in 'Apocalypse Now' -- at night, while a unit is being overrun -- that I think comes close to showing how frightening it could be in combat."

Fawcett was convinced she'd have her face shot off in a firefight and hugged the ground in battle, keeping her helmet on tight. It restricted the view.

Once, she peeked around the edges of the helmet liner and saw extraordinarily beautiful butterflies dancing in the sunshine while tracer rounds rippled overhead.

Another movie, "Good Morning Vietnam," had the "real feel of what it was like in Saigon. The music was so important to us. Even today, hearing Aretha takes me back."

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RANDOM HOUSE
Denby Fawcett rode a captured Viet Cong bicycle as she approached an M60 tank in Vietnam in the late 1960s. Women were allowed on the front lines, although some commanders were at first reluctant, Fawcett says. Reporters as a whole were given access that allowed them to report the truth, something the military has not allowed since.




The "5 o'clock follies" daily press briefing lampooned in the movie was actually useful: "You could find out what other journalists were in town and go out and have a drink after."

"War Torn" is a straightforward recounting of the ways journalists coped with the craziness, often with booze, drugs and quick sex, Fawcett included.

The cover of the book shows a serious profile of her. "Just a coincidence," she shrugs. "The publishers needed a serious photo, and most people smile when their picture is taken, even in combat."

Although all the women in the book kept working in the business, their outlook was shaped by their moments under fire.

"The experience of being in the field gave me more confidence as a person, which gave me more confidence as a reporter -- which gave the commanders more confidence in allowing me access to the front lines. The difference in Vietnam was that women reporters were allowed access to the front lines, and we showed we could handle it as well as the men."

The concern by officers, Fawcett recalls, was that men in combat would be distracted by a woman and try to help her when they had more important things to do. Fawcett and others proved they could go it alone, and Fawcett said that the soldiers in the field were glad to have someone different to talk to. "War can be boring, too."

Women in the field didn't complain, however, when they were allowed use of a general's outhouse. It beat squatting in a rice paddy under a poncho.

One of Fawcett's toughest memories is of the aftermath of a bloody firefight in which there were dozens of American casualties. She made her way over to the captain in charge, stepping over shattered corpses, and expected him to freak out when he saw a woman there.

"I thought he'd be furious, but no. He said, 'Oh, hi, Denby,' and began chatting like we were at a cocktail party. And I did it, too. We were surrounded by horror, and our minds were blacking it out.

"Then they brought over a Vietnamese prisoner, and the upset soldiers were screaming at him. They were so angry that the captain put him in a real deep foxhole to keep him out of sight. I looked down on him and he was shaking in fear. He thought we were going to bury him alive. He looked about 14.

"Your mind has to deal with these memories, even years later."

By accident, Fawcett sparked an incident known as the Westmoreland Edict.

The general visited a fire base that had just come under heavy fire and, while pep-talking the filthy, bloody troops, noticed a petite girl in twin ponytails among the soldiers. Worse, he knew her -- the Westmorelands and the Fawcetts were neighbors in Honolulu. The commander promptly forbade female correspondents from the front.

A protest was organized by Ann Bryan of the Overseas Weekly, and the Army eventually backed down.

"Even though the Army wished us to always present an optimistic picture, there hasn't been a conflict since in which the media had the kind of access to the soldiers -- and the truth -- that we had in Vietnam. Press coverage of Vietnam is not why we lost the war there, but there are people who still prefer to think so. It makes them feel better, I suppose."

Female war correspondents were a fairly select group. Fawcett figures there were fewer than a dozen or so in Vietnam. "There were press accreditations issued to hundreds of women, but these were often the wives of male reporters, or a book author or magazine writer in-country for a week or so. Some were novelists.

"We were a very exclusive club and can take no new members."


Book signings

Denby Fawcett will sign "War Torn" at these locations:

Nov. 30, 11 a.m.: BookEnds, Kailua
Dec. 7, noon: Borders Books & Music, Waikele
Dec. 14, noon: Borders, Ward Centre
Dec. 20, 12:30 p.m.: Bestsellers, downtown Honolulu




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