In the days before loo paper, when outside toilets had squares of newspaper stuck on a spike, a young newly-wed reporter was cutting his teeth in Europe. Living in Paris, Ernest Hemingway, found himself corresponding from various European cities in Spain, Italy, Germany, Switzerland and Turkey. Getting the “scoop” story and an original angle was a challenge to which Hemingway rose like the trout he liked to get caught on the end of a hook.
In a dispatch from 19 September 1922, entitled “German Inflation”, he began:
KEHL, GERMANY – The boy in a Strasbourg motor agency where we went to make some enquiries about crossing the frontier, said, “Oh yes. It is easy to get over into Germany. All you have to do is go across the bridge.”
“Don’t you need any visa?” I said.
“No. Just a permit stamp to go from the French.” He took his passport out of his pocket and showed the back covered with rubber stamps. “See? I live there now because it is so much cheaper. It’s the way to make money.”
This was Germany four years after its defeat at the hands of the “Great Powers”. Already reparations and sanctions imposed made the very existence for Germans miserable. Hemingway captured the differences between unarmed ‘discouraged’ German soldiers leaning against a wall and their French counterparts with ‘fixed bayonets’, ‘full equipment and steel helmets’ while the Germans made do with ‘high peaked, peace-time caps’.
The future Nobel laureate captured the plight of an old German who could not afford the inflated prices while the French ‘exchange pirates’ drove motor cars across the border in pursuit of financial gain and cheap dinners. He captured the nonchalant German girl in a ‘pink dress, silk stockings, with a pretty, weak face and pearl earrings’ rushed off her feet taking their orders for ‘fruit and vanilla ices”.
It was writing of an informative nature. It did not mock. It did not pass judgment. It just reported in an honest manner the way Hemingway saw things for people across the Atlantic to read. This was back in the days when reporters and editors were mavericks who stuck to the motto: “Publish and be damned.”
Today the motto comes from the media owners and there is no press freedom. “You will damn well publish this. Or else.” So-called journalists and editors today are no longer worthy of the titles and no longer have a free hand in what goes into any newspaper. They have become stenographers and presstitutes who churn out narratives dictated from agencies. Digression from the dictate is not permitted.
From the feisty and observant reporting of Hemingway in the nineteen twenties the Toronto Star content has deteriorated over the years until it transformed itself into a cesspool of filth and detritus backing up from the mainstream media open sewage system. You’ve got it. It’s shit. Take a look at this supplied me by Dr. Trozzi, one of a growing number of Canadian doctors who are alert to what is really happening in Canada.
This vitriolic gobbet of gobbledygook is spat out at those of us sensible enough not to take the untested gene therapies with a vengeance.
Dr Trozzi’s report sums it up in these few words above. The Toronto Star today is not even fit to be torn into squares for an outside toilet. There is absolutely no way Hemingway would have stooped to write for a crass paper like this were he alive today. It is shit!
The image at the top is a book and cover for the first Hemingway complete biography in Russian.