THE GREAT GATTI

Dear diary, today I did something both awful and wonderful. I'd read in the morning paper that Commander Gatti, the famous African explorer, had just returned from his 12th expedition. As I was passing near 66 Park Avenue, I recalled that's where he was staying. I thought how wonderful it would be if I could interview him for our school paper. Somehow my feet seemed determined to take me straight into that building, while distress signals from my mind kicked up an awful fuss. I know that people don't just go barging in on celebrities that way, but my feet must have won the argument, but there I was presenting, or rather misrepresenting myself as a reporter from the Times. I didn't tell the doorman which Times, but ours has only four sheets and comes out once a month, when we're lucky. My name, oh yes, my name. I gave him my real name, but with such an extra lot of dignity, I hardly recognized it myself. I still don't believe it all ever happened, but Commander Gatti said he would see me. The elevator that carried me to his seventh-floor suite seemed like a magic carpet sweeping me off to a new world. When I wrapped at his door, I think my knees knocked harder than the knocker. A voice said, "Come in." Opening the door, I saw a man, a big man, but not quite as big as Tarzan, talking on the telephone. He motioned me to a chair. I sat on the edge of it, I think. Oh, dear diary, is it really true? Little me face-to-face with a real, honest-to-goodness explorer like that. His phone call was a long one, so I had a good chance to look around and think up some questions. There they were, a side wall filled with Attilio Gatti's books. All those wonderful, wonderful books he's written about Africa that I've seen in our library, even. I became so intent just reading the titles that I didn't see Commander Gatti approach. He tapped me upon the shoulder, and I fear I jumped as if a tiger's paw had reached out from the pages. But his manner was so gentle and kind that, strange as it may seem, I suddenly didn't feel nervous about anything anymore. Without even having to ask, he started to tell me all about his latest expedition. Then he took me to another end of the room, where there were a lot of steel filing cabinets, entirely filled with photographs he made during his 12 African expeditions. 53,000 pictures, I think he said. All indexed and captioned. There were pictures of lions and cheetahs, and there were monkeys, flamingos, cranes, ostriches, giraffes, natives, and and well, there was just simply everything there. I was nearly thrilled to death, and I told him so. "Now, if all this were only in movies," I started to say, "It is," Commander Gatti assured me. "Would you like to see some film?" "What I?" I cried, then decided I'd better tone down a bit, or he'd suspect that I wasn't a big newspaper woman. So I just paged on. I was especially interested in the views of Commander Gatti tracking down wild animals, and in others that included Mrs. Gatti. Right then, I suddenly knew what I wanted in life. I'm going to be an explorer's wife. Commander Gatti had left my side to answer the telephone. Although he spoke very low, I heard him say, "Okay, I'll be right down. No, no, that's quite all right. Just a youngster here from a school paper." Can you imagine that? There he'd known all the while that I was an impostor. Kind of. But he was nice right to the end. Even though he had to leave in a hurry, he remembered what I had said about wanting to see some of his movies. He introduced me to his assistant. Mr. Jackson, he said, was in charge of his films and would be most happy to run off some of them for a lady of the press. That's the last I saw of Commander Gatti in person. Mr. Jackson said he'd run off a preview reel of miscellaneous shots that would be in some of Commander Gatti's big television subjects. I simply tingled with a feeling of importance. A special screening of Attilio Gatti's films for me. Mr. Jackson started the projector, doused the lights, and there was Commander Gatti on the screen, just as true to life, petting the cutest little lion cub. Then he was shown receiving a visit from some awful Masai warriors. "They were friendly with him," Mr. Jackson said, "but they're just about the fiercest in all Africa when they go on the warpath." I asked why they hopped so, and was told that it was their ceremonial way of walking. Africa isn't all jungle the way I imagined. Commander Gatti, in fact, traveled most everywhere in motorcars. When they climbed mountains like Ruwenzori Peak, 18,000 ft high, I think that's how high he said, the trucks were left on the plains below, and natives took over the hauling of supplies. Whenever Commander Gatti had to stay in camp to look after things, he sent a trained guide in his stead. Do you know how many trucks and trailers he had in his safari? There were 14 of them, enough to carry all his tons of equipment across that great open country, over broiling sandy plain, and along narrow goat paths that climbed to chilly altitudes. Big game dotted the roadside everywhere. One of Commander Gatti's main reasons for going to Africa was to get animal pictures for the books he writes. His films had some awfully cute close-ups of comic ostriches taken with a telephoto "This lens," Mr. Jackson explained, "is to a camera what a telescope is to our eyes." And you should have seen the close-ups he got of the flamingos in the waters of Lake Nakuru. But I believe the most beautiful of all were the silver-crested cranes. I just got a glimpse of them before a horrible cobra frightened them away. The most amazing of all these close-ups were the graceful and beautiful giraffes that can stretch their necks 18 ft to munch their lunch off the treetops. The most photogenic of all the animals was a herd of zebras that went dashing off like escaping convicts. Commander Gatti's purpose was never to deliberately harm animals. He did most of his shooting with a camera. One time though, Mr. Jackson said they were terribly short of food and some real shooting had to be done. So, Commander Gatti loaded his .375 magnum, which is special for big game. Finally, they found an animal that would make good food, an eland, the cutest thing. "Oh, what a shame," I cried. Mr. Jackson said these were the very words Commander Gatti used when he took aim. But their desperate food situation left him no other choice but to shoot. Oh, dear diary, this has been such a wonderful, wonderful day. I feel exactly as if I had been on a safari with Commander Gatti. Please though, call off the wild animals now, for it's past my bedtime and I'd like very much just to count sheep.