It's written by Ben Hecht(1894-1964), an American journalist, playwright and screenwriter. It's an excerpt from his column titled Testament of a Reporter found in The Penguin Books of Columnists.
I saw (the boxer) Jack Dempsey knock out of the ring in Atlantic City and come back to win.
I saw Chris Happerty of the Association Press (AP) climb an icy telegraph pole in the Dayton flood, tap out his last message: “Dayton, Ohio – AP everywhere”, and slide unconscious to the earth.
I heard Hugo Haase stand up in the first National German Assembly at Weimar and proclaim: “I am a German who believes the might of guns will only win for us an ignoble place in the human family. If this is treason, kill me.” They killed him on the Reichstag steps in Berlin.
I saw Lou Gehrig bat out his last homer with his spine in a knot.
I saw Jesus Maria Lopez, before the firing squad in Chihuahua in 1928, smoke his last cigarette, grin at the leveled rifles, and say: “Your bullets, my friends, will have no effect on the thoughts in my humble head. They will continue in other humble heads.”
I saw Ben Welch, blind as a bat, come prancing out on the Palace Theatre stage and crack jokes that convulsed his audience.
I saw George Gershwin writing his last tunes for the Goldwyn Follies with a brain tumour driving an ice pick through his skull.
I saw a survivor of the Titanic, a servant girl from Galway, who told me how her friends in the steerage had died. Unable to find places in the lifeboats, they had crowded into the forbidden but now deserted precincts of the first-cabin saloon, taken possession of the elegant piano, and played and sung Irish tunes as the ship went down, themselves with it.
I saw an American Expeditionary Force soldier on the hospital cot, with both legs off and a fake jaw riveted to where his face had been, move his mouth stiffly and squeak like a mama doll: “We won.”
I’ve seen these and many things like them.
Along with the endless saga of misfortune that hits the eye of the reporter, he gets to see the queer stamina of little people in big troubles.
He is given a privileged look at the undaunted moments that are the soul of human history.
He sees a lot of disaster and wreckage, but if he keeps his eyes open, he usually gets a look at the flag of man still flapping away above some corner of the shambles.
I’ve seen this flag a hundred times where it never belonged. I’ve seen it come out of the many big and little hells in the hearts of people and straighten up in victory.
