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THE WORLD

ring bluntly to "U.S. imperialists and their running dogs" have been replaced by blander remarks about "the unity of the world's peoples." In some cases, however, it is impossible to tell whether the bustle is caused solely by the impending visit. Since Nixon will reach Peking only six days after the start of China's New Year, a traditional cleanup time, much of the activity is undoubtedly in honor of the Year of the Rat.

Despite the enormous publicity buildup for the Peking summit, both sides have cautioned against expecting too much to come from it. Practically speaking, the White House hopes to achieve a few small substantive gains and does not expect anything large or sensational. The central objective is to establish a permanent channel for communications between Peking and Washington. An exchange of ambassadors is not likely until there is a solution of the Taiwan problem. But perhaps a hot line similar to the one that links Moscow and Washington might

be installed between the two capitals.

During his two earlier visits to Peking, Kissinger worked out an agenda with Premier Chou En-lai for the talks, which will be held in secret. The meetings, probably daily ones with Chou and at least one with Mao, will cover a wide variety of topics, including the release of the remaining three American prisoners in China (likely, but later), an exchange of artists, athletes and journalists (almost certain), increases in trade (very likely, but limited) and landing rights for U.S. commercial airlines in China (maybe later). There will also be talks (probably inconclusive) about divided Korea, Sino-Soviet relations and the future relationships between the U.S. and China in Asia. Still another subject for discussion is the future of Taiwan. The U.S. will not, of

course, abandon its treaty agreements with the island republic. But Washington has finally accepted Peking's position that the future of Taiwan is essentially an internal Chinese problem, to be worked out by Peking and Taipei. Peking seems to accept the logic of the U.S. position that it cannot sever its commitment to Taiwan until Peking and Taipei work out a settlement.

**Big Impact.** Repeatedly, Nixon and Kissinger have stressed that no deals affecting third countries will be made in Peking. That applies only in a limited sense. To be sure, the Indochina war will not be settled in Peking. China lacks both the inclination and the influence to force a settlement on Hanoi. In a broader sense, however, a Sino-American understanding about the future of the war and of Southeast

THE FORBIDDEN CITY

INTERFOTO MTI

TRAFFIC ON PEKING STREET

TAIWAN

Peking: City of Power

CHINA'S capital (pop. 7,000,000) was already an ancient city when Genghis Khan's hordes descended upon it in 1211. Its chief industry, now as in the past, is the struggle for and exercise of power. The gardens and yellow-roofed pavilions of the fabled Forbidden City recall the might of Peking's earlier proprietors, the Mings and the Chings. The Communists have added their own monuments: tree-lined boulevards, the hundred-acre Tienanmen Square and the white-pillared Great Hall of the People, where the Nixons will likely be welcomed in a banquet room that seats 5,000 and rivals the old Imperial Palace in size.

The President will probably see the classic Ming tombs and the Great Wall. Pat is expected to tour a children's hospital, a school, a factory, the Summer Palace and Peking's shops. But off-limits, as they have been for more than 20 years even to most Chinese, will be some of the most scenic areas, among them the idyllic Central-South Lakes, where Mao Tse-tung lives in a one-story house.

Today, Peking teems without being vital. Much of its brooding medieval beauty was lost when the Red regime in the 1950s took down major sections of the massive red gates and walls that once overlooked the Forbidden City. Scenically if not strategically, the vast underground air raid shelter system that was completed in 1970 has been a poor substitute.

28

TIME, FEBRUARY 21, 1972

Asia would have great impact. If, for example, Washington and Peking threw their support behind Malaysia's call for the neutralization of Southeast Asia, they might conceivably become the joint guarantors of the area's security against potential Soviet incursions.

Offsetting the harm done to U.S. alliances, most notably with Japan, is the fact that the opening to Peking undercuts what was a Soviet advantage in world politics. In the past, the Soviets profited from an unequal arrangement whereby they were dealing with Washington and Peking but neither of those capitals was in contact with the other. The lack of communication with Peking had denied the U.S. the option of supporting China, if it wished, and thus checkmating the Soviet Union. By the same token, the lack of a Peking-to-

Washington leg in the triangular relationship gave the Soviets an advantage over China, which lacks a nuclear arsenal large enough to make its own military strength credible against Moscow's overpowering array of strategic weapons.

**Cultural Shock.** It was a deep fear of the Soviet Union that caused China to make the drastic diplomatic shift that has made a Peking summit possible. As China began to recover from the xenophobic frenzy of the 1966-69 Cultural Revolution, Chou and other Chinese leaders, mindful of Moscow's 1968 actions in Czechoslovakia, were deeply alarmed by the threats of a Soviet pre-emptive nuclear strike and Russia's million-man buildup on China's northern border.

The Chinese leaders were equally

alarmed that many countries, frightened by China's internal convulsions and irrational behavior, might indeed have regarded a Russian intervention as a laudable public service. Under Chou's leadership (see following story) China began to reassert the image of sane and responsible world power. Chinese embassies, which had ceased to function during the Cultural Revolution, were restaffed, and China began to search for alignments that would offset the Soviet threat.

During that search the Chinese became intrigued by the diplomatic potentialities created by Richard Nixon's conduct of U.S. policy in Asia. As long as the U.S. had been building up its military power on the Asian mainland, Peking had regarded the U.S. as a dangerous threat. But the Nixon Doctrine,

TORONTO GLOBE AND MAIL

SNOW REMOVAL IN CHINA'S CAPITAL

TOPPING—RAPHO GUILLUMETTE

CANAL IN DOWNTOWN SHANGHAI

ALLIOS—GAMMA

HANGCHOW LAKESIDE PAVILION

HAWAII

## Hangchow: Resort of Leaders

ALIGHTHEARTED, relaxed garden town studded with classic temples and pagodas and elegant villas, Hangchow (pop. 800,000) is China's Florence. Famous for its silks and teas, Hangchow is a favorite resort of China's leaders. Mao Tse-tung frequently retires to his retreat on mist-shrouded West Lake, sometimes merely to escape the rigors of the capital, sometimes to hold informal, substantive meetings with foreign visitors after the Peking formalities are out of the way.

West Lake, ringed by hills of transcendental beauty, is the centerpiece of a city redolent with memories of imperial history. Marco Polo, who saw Hangchow in the 13th century before it was savaged by Mongol invaders, found it "the most splendid city in the world." Its streets were "as smooth as the floor of a ballroom," its waters were rippled by "an endless procession of barges," its courtiers were "intent upon nothing but bodily pleasure and the delights of society."

The Nixons, who will probably stay as do most Western VIPs at a government guest house overlooking West Lake, will find the ambience somewhat different. In 1921, a group of young intellectuals from Shanghai met secretly on a sampan on nearby South Lake to organize the Chinese Communist Party. Today, the only people in Hangchow visibly intent on bodily pleasure are the shadowboxers who materialize in the lakeside parks to exercise every morning.

## Shanghai: Town of Merchants

THE half-caste child of East and West, Shanghai was built mainly by 19th century European merchants. It has become—in perhaps too many ways—China's New York. It is the nation's largest city (10 million people) and the busiest port in the Communist world, with China's most extensive industry and, consequently, its thickest smog. It also has one of China's largest slums. The hunger and diseases that used to snuff out the lives of thousands of infants annually during the 1930s have gone. But so have the sin and the aura of intrigue and the giddy opulence. The once-imposing semicircle of banks and commercial houses along the Hwang Pu River only dimly reflects the day when Western tycoons lounged in the lobby of the Cathay (now Peace) Hotel or wheeled around in bulletproof cars.

But the old vitality persists. The crowds in Shanghai are noticeably better dressed than in any other Chinese city. The Nanking Road shops are far snappier than anything in Peking. The Communists have been diligently de-Westernizing the city (one street name that has unaccountably survived is Ko An, named for Morris ["Two Gun"] Cohen, a London-born freebooter who was one of Sun Yat-sen's bodyguards). But if Nixon tours the industrial fair during his one-day stay in the city, he might well have a sense of *déjà vu* while inspecting the locally made automobiles. Those Shanghai se-dans look remarkably like Chinese Checkers.

TIME, FEBRUARY 21, 1972

29

THE WORLD

with its emphasis on U.S. disengagement in Asia, as well as the President's efforts to wind down the war, made an opening to Washington an attractive line of action for Peking.

For the U.S., the shaping of a new relationship with Peking also made eminent good sense. In seeking to extricate the U.S. from the war, Nixon became convinced that the old strategy of applying U.S. force to resist Communist inroads at all points no longer was a wise or feasible policy. If nothing else, the Sino-Soviet split had made Communist aggression far less likely in Asia. If the U.S. no longer felt compelled to combat Communism at every point, it followed that there was little sense in treating China as an enemy or in denying it a legitimate sphere of interest in Asia. And so the dialogue began.

**Renewed Concern.** The beginning of that dialogue has stirred up all sorts of hopes and interests about China among Americans. Some of the interest is pure fad—the fascination with baggy peasant suits and spicy Szechwan cooking, for instance. But the fact is that the last 23 years of ill will and hatred represent an aberration in the history of Sino-American relations, and the renewed concern about China is a restoration of normalcy. America's attachment to China dates back to the mid-19th century, when the U.S. derived considerable moral satisfaction from befriending the helpless, prostrate country and exerting its diplomacy to limit the exploitation by other Western powers. In the ensuing decades, China became the prime beneficiary of the U.S. missionary movement, which along with Christianity brought education, health services, and a political philosophy that helped spark China's first democratic revolution in 1911.

In a historic tumble of events, the missionary movement was swept aside by a larger, more militant native movement, which combined raw terror with a renascent Chinese nationalism. In the process, China has been transformed into a new society whose ideology and structure would defy reconciliation with the U.S.—unless the U.S. too became a Maoist-style revolutionary society. Still, the old legacy of American friendship toward China, combined with a large measure of Yankee curiosity, undoubtedly helped account for the overwhelming approval with which the American people welcomed Nixon's new policy toward Peking.

# Chou: The Man in Charge

**P**EKING looms as a summit greased in mystery and uncertainty—and not only because no one can predict its outcome with any certainty. China is still emerging from the throes of the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, and muffled convulsions continue in the highest reaches of the regime. Who, in fact, rules China? So far as is known, there is no vertical hierarchy, no line of succession. There is Chairman Mao, 78, the Chinese revolution's ever more remote deity. Then there is Premier Chou En-lai, 73, the government's chief—and almost only—public presence.

President Nixon thus pursues his negotiations with a two-man gerontocracy whose days must be numbered, actuarially if not necessarily in political terms. The passing of either man from the scene could mean an explosive end to China's fragile surface stability—not to mention any understandings that Nixon might bring back from the Communist capital.

Nixon will be greeted by Mao in Peking, and at the end of the trip may see him again in Hangchow, the Chairman's usual retreat from the icy Mongolian winds that sweep down on the capital in February. But the man who will deal with the President on the issues is Chou, a brilliant, subtle, ruthless and endlessly flexible statesman who is at the apex of his extraordinary career.

At least in the world's eyes, Chou was already the commanding figure in China when the Nixon trip was announced seven months ago. Since then his role in the country's affairs has grown

even more decisive. The reason is the power struggle that came to a climax last September in a violent purge of hundreds of officials allied with Defense Minister Lin Piao, Mao's designated successor as party chairman and the No. 2 man in the hierarchy.

**Bonapartism.** Lin's fall and Chou's move to the forefront is the latest turn in the long and often murky history of political combat in Peking. The regime reached its peak of strength and unity in the years just following the 1949 takeover. But in the mid-1950s, Mao began launching his doomed experiments: the brief Hundred Flowers liberalization, which resulted in persistent "indiscipline" in the party ranks, and the Great Leap Forward, which was an economic fiasco. Mao's mistakes opened the way for challenges to his power by ambitious or disenchanted rivals. After the Great Leap stumbled in the late 1950s, Mao was rudely shouldered out of China's presidency by his own protégé, Liu Shao-chi, who championed work incentives and other "revisionist" economic innovations that were anathema to Mao. Isolated in the party chairmanship, Mao looked for a means of regaining power—and found the army. With Lin Piao, the army chief, he planned the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, which would use the exuberance of the youthful, radical Red Guards to shake up the party—and shake out Liu and his group.

Mao was not entirely successful. Liu fell, but control of the party still eluded Mao's grasp. It passed instead to Lin Piao's now highly politicized army, which eagerly stepped in to take charge of the country when Red Guard rampages began to threaten total chaos.

Some China watchers speculate that Lin's downfall last September was at least partly related to the Nixon trip; according to this view, Lin bitterly opposed a rapprochement with the U.S. and argued instead for an accommodation with the Soviets. More likely, however, Lin was a casualty of what China Expert A. Doak Barnett describes as "Mao's strong impulse to build up a successor—and then turn on him, because he becomes too much of a competitor." Mao found key support among many unhappy army professionals. Under Lin, China's troops became postmen, plant managers, police-men—almost anything but soldiers. By last summer, says Washington Sinologist Ralph Powell, the Lin faction's grip on the country was so comprehensive that it seemed "China was on the verge of what in Marxist terms is known as Bonapartism." It was then that Mao struck back.

Enter Chou En-lai. As foreign diplomats in Peking have lately heard the story, Mao summoned

RED GUARD YOUTH (1966)

30

TIME, FEBRUARY 21, 1972

THE WORLD

Chou at the height of the crisis. He asked Chou to take over complete direction of the country—party, army, economy and domestic affairs, as well as Chou's current preoccupation, foreign policy. Chou agreed on condition that he be given a free hand to move China as quickly as possible toward a more stable collective leadership—in effect, a post-Mao regime.

It is characteristic, when events run awry, for Mao to beat a brooding, temporary retreat—and to call in Chou, his confidant, fixer and chief executive officer, to set things in order. This time Chou had a formidable task before him. The Lin purge, it is now apparent, had virtually gutted China's central government. Of the 21 Politburo members elected in 1969, only eleven are in evidence. Fourteen of 15 vice premierships are vacant. Something like 200 of the army's most senior officers have disappeared; Lin's once powerful cabal within the party's military affairs commission, which was the key to his growing power, has been virtually obliterated. No replacements have been named for the purged chiefs of the army, air force and navy. At times, the now ubiquitous Chou appears to be something like the lone fellow on the battlements who runs from portal to portal, firing all the guns to make it look as if he had a full complement of troops behind him.

As yet, Western observers have no way of confirming the fantastic stories being circulated in Peking to explain the Lin purge—namely, that Lin had made attempts on Mao's life, and then tried to flee the country, only to be killed, along with his wife and son, when his British-built Trident jetliner crashed in Mongolia on the night of Sept. 12. Last week French legislators back from a Peking visit reported being told by Chinese officials that Lin was alive but “politically eliminated.”

**With the Tide.** Preoccupied mainly with foreign policy and economic matters, Chou has hardly begun to try to put Mao's regime back together. He has brought some old, trusted comrades out of retirement, among them former Marshal Yeh Chien-ying, a Long March veteran, who was abruptly trotted up to the No. 4 position in the Politburo and has been on hand at Henry Kissinger's visits. Out in the provinces, where Mao was trying to put civilians back into key party positions (following his dictum that “the gun must never be allowed to control the party”), Chou has compromised. The soldiers are under pressure to “modestly learn from the people,” as one slogan puts it, but they have not been levered out of the party committees, where they still hold sway over the civilians.

Chou's task is complicated by the fact that he has no political following, no power base other than his close, 40-year relationship with Mao Tse-tung. In the past, those have been assets. Chou has been on the Politburo for 42

years, longer (by three years) than Mao; this durability reflects his skill at avoiding passionate commitments to policies or dogma. In that sense, Chou is utterly unlike Mao. “Chou is a conformist,” says Rand Corp. Sinologist Thomas Robinson. “He often swims with the tide. Mao wants to cause—and, if necessary, reverse—the tide.”

“Time to Stop.” Chou found the currents he wanted to swim with early in his life. Sun Yat-sen's democratic revolution against the crumbling Manchu dynasty was just getting under way when Chou (pronounced Joe) was born into a family of impecunious gentry in

Chekiang, a rural province south of Shanghai. As a teen-ager, young Chou organized a student society called Ching-yeh lo-ch'ün (meaning “Respect Work and Enjoy Group Life”). He studied Marxism in Japan, founded Chinese Communist youth groups in France and Germany. By the time he was 30, Chou was a full-fledged member of the Politburo. During the harsh Long March, Chou established his lasting relationship with Mao. When Mao swept into Peking in 1949, Chou was ready with plans for China's new Communist government. On more than one occasion during the early struggles with Chiang Kai-shek's Kuomintang, Chou personally ordered the execution of

Communist operatives—and sometimes their families, relatives and friends—who had collaborated with the Nationalists.

Americans have seen Chou most often as the regime's suave spokesman and negotiator. He was an instant hit with the American liaison team that went to Yenan in 1944 to coordinate war efforts against the Japanese. One member of the team, John Emerson, recalls that Chou was a charming regular at the ersatz Saturday-night dances. “The orchestra was a strange combination of a violin and Chinese instruments, and the senior officials would shuffle around with their wives on a makeshift dance floor. Chou always participated with great enthusiasm and skill in these performances.”

At times, however, Chou's Mandarin sense of decorum would assert itself. During cocktails at Emerson's house one evening, some of the Americans began to loosen up, and the call went out for more liquor to replenish Emerson's dwindling stock. “It was the only time I saw Chou a little bit annoyed,” Emerson says. “He then began whispering to me that now was the time to stop.”

Frail-looking and elegantly tailored, Chou seems sedate and almost epicene by comparison with the earthy, hard-living ex-soldiers who were his colleagues in building Red China. Mao, for instance, is married to his fourth wife, Chiang Ching. Chou, despite his silken sex appeal, has married only once. Small, soft-spoken Teng Ying-chao, whom Chou met in Tientsin in 1919 during a street demonstration,

is often at Chou's side when he hosts foreign dignitaries.

Chou is at his best in face-to-face negotiations, where his personal magnetism and his wit—low-key, ironic and topical—comes into full play. Those who have talked with him marvel at his ability to sit motionless for hours—often till dawn—moving only his head and his hands. In the *Atlantic*, Australian Scholar Ross Terrill described Chou in conversation: “Sitting back in a wicker chair, wrists flapping over the chair's arms, he seems so relaxed as to be without bones, poured into the chair, almost part of it, as persons seem part of their surroundings in old Chinese paintings.” When Chou

PREMIER CHOU EN-LAI IN PEKING (1971)

Wit, charm and ruthlessness.

RIBOUD-MAGNUM

TIME, FEBRUARY 21, 1972

31

THE WORLD

stands up, his visitors are often start-
tled to find that he is about as tall
and broad as, say, Dick Cavett. One
American diplomat who recently saw
him for the first time in years says:
"It is really staggering how he has
shriveled physically. He is 73. But for
a Chinese he looks much older." Still,
Chou works an 18- to 20-hour day,
sleeps mostly in catnaps.

Outside China, there are few Chou haters. One U.S. diplomat who dealt with him in the 1940s says that he was "the smoothest liar I ever met. Whether what he told you was the straight truth or an out-and-out lie, he always projected total sincerity. And yet he was impossible to dislike." Chou's recent visitors have invariably found him immensely civilized, reasonably cosmopolitan and statesmanlike. Henry Kissinger, an unabashed admirer, says that "he is not a petty man. He has large views." To France's peerless man of all letters, André Malraux, the Chinese Premier is "neither truculent nor jovial: faultlessly urbane and as reticent as a cat."

"Good Job." Now that he is at the center of policy, domestic as well as foreign, Chou is politically exposed as he has never been before. The question is: Can his wit, charm and sheer ruthlessness hold China together? Should Mao die before him, Chou could probably administer, but would be unable to rule. Conversely, if Chou should die first, the aging Chairman would be a ruler without administrative power. Right now, Doak Barnett argues, Chou "has the advantage of being the only truly top survivor. He will probably make it, and do a good job of it."

Other experts concur, although they point out that Chou currently has plenty of built-in instability to deal with. On the present eleven-man Politburo, where he currently ranks No. 2, he can count on the backing of two other moderates—Yeh Chien-ying and Deputy Premier Li Hsien-nien. Trouble, though, is always present in the person of the relentlessly radical Chiang Ching (No. 3 in the hierarchy), who is backed by two loyal leftists. Mao, who is the remaining active member (the others are either very old or based far from Peking), can throw the balance either way. Western observers know the names—but not the inclinations or loyalties—of some younger men who appear to be rising through the party ranks toward the Politburo.

As a result, sinologists forecast a
lengthy period of uncertainty for Chi-
na, perhaps followed by a period of fur-
ther regionalization. Even now, many
large areas of the country are virtually
autonomous. Eventually, some of the
regional strongholds—Szechwan, say,
or Manchuria—could produce leaders
with claims to national power. All that
is certain now is that the men at the
center will not be Mao and Chou, but
some other figures yet unknown.

Life in the Middle Kingdom

The common people of China are
a strong, hardy race, patient, industri-
ous and much given to traffic and all
the arts of gain, cheerful and loqua-
cious under the severest labor.

—Lord Macartney, 1794

T
HAT shrewd comment by Eng-
land's first envoy to Imperial China
remains accurate to this day. China has
long been compared, invidiously, to a
colony of human ants. The fact is that
the devotion to hard labor noted by
Macartney is still the nation's most con-
spicuous characteristic. If the thoughts
of Chairman Mao Tse-tung could ever
be boiled down to two words, they
might plausibly be "work harder."

EASTFOTO

GUARDS ON TIBETAN FRONTIER VISITING VILLAGERS

The emphasis on the work ethic points up one of the key realities of life in the land of Mao. Despite the social upheaval created by the revolution, there still is much of the old Middle Kingdom in China today. Although Mandarin is established as the official language, the nation's 50 major dialects and more than 1,000 variants persist in daily use. The Chinese have lost nothing in their devotion to the pleasure of the table; most foreign visitors return home several pounds heavier, spouting memories of exquisite meals. Women have been officially liberated, and are equal before the law with men; yet some marriages are still formally arranged. Young people as well as old visit burial places in rites of homage to their ancestors.

Westerners who remember the pre-
1949 China, however, have been almost
euphorically impressed by the transfor-
mation that Communism has achieved.
The people, visitors note, appear hap-
py, relaxed and well fed. Markets and
department stores are well stocked, al-
though the prices of luxury items are al-

most prohibitive: a good camera, for
example, costs $80. City streets are
clean and orderly, and traffic jams are
created by bicycles rather than cars.
There is no litter, no beggars, no pros-
titution, no drug addiction, no alcohol-
ism. Almost everyone wears drab,
heavy-duty work clothes—children,
however, are gaily and colorfully
dressed—but there is no sense of utter
poverty. Instead, workers and peasants
alike beamingly tell Western visitors of
their faith in Mao and his works, and,
convey a sense of happy participation
in their society. Prof. Victor Sidel, of
the Albert Einstein College of Medi-
cine in New York, was favorably im-
pressed by the quality of Chinese med-

icine on his trip last September: "I'm
tempted to say, 'I've seen the future
and it works.'"

However pleasing its surface ap-
pears, China's "future" is one that most
Americans would find intolerable. Par-
ty control of thought and intellectual
life is total. Virtually everyone works
an average ten hours a day, six days a
week, and sometimes the seventh day
is taken up with obligatory lectures and
self-study sessions. Until last Decem-
ber, not a single new literary work of
any kind other than a few poems or
short stories eulogizing Mao had been
published in China for nearly five years.
Operas, films and drama are all pro-
paganda pieces of socialist realism. Life
in China may be stable and secure—but
it is also, from a Western viewpoint, al-
most unbearably confined and boring.

**On the Land.** China under Mao has made rapid strides toward industrialization—not just in its ability to make weapons of war but in the production of trucks, railroad rolling stock and farm machinery. (Last year, China produced an estimated 21 million tons

32

TIME, FEBRUARY 21, 1972

WOMAN STREET CLEANER

worker probably would have to save
two years for it, while thousands of
Americans could buy it on a day's pay.

In his vivid *Atlantic* account of life
in China, Journalist Ross Terrill sug-
gested that the foundation of its rev-
olution rests on what he refers to as a
"Blessed Trinity": the peasant, the
worker and the soldier. A descriptive
summary of their routine lives says
much about what China is like today:

THE PEASANT. A worker at the Ma Chang Commune in Honan will rise at dawn, come rain or shine. Before a breakfast of corn dumpling soup and tea, he will spend two hours plowing the stony earth while his wife cleans their two-room hut, then joins him in the fields. A member of a 300-man production team—one of six on the commune—he will then have to face three hours in the field before a brief lunch of millet, sorghum and tea. Then it is back to the fields until sundown. Before supper—occasionally it may include meat, chicken or some other delicacy—there may be time for the peasant to work on his private plot of land, on which he grows vegetables to vary the family diet and for extra cash.

On this particular commune, the
pay of a peasant is 30 yuan a month
—roughly $12. But the farmer pays
only 1 yuan a month in rent, 6¢ to 8¢
for cigarettes and, as likely as not, noth-

RIBOUD-MAGNUM

PEASANTS USE OXEN TO PLOW TERRACED LAND IN COMMUNE

Routine working lives for the "Blessed Trinity."

of steel, compared with the U.S. total
of 120 million tons.) Nonetheless, eight
of every ten Chinese still live and work
on the land. Vast rural communes,
some with a work force of more than
50,000 peasants, dominate the land-
scape. One of Mao's principal goals has
been the equalization of life in the cit-
ies and life on the farms. That he has
not yet achieved. In general, housing
and wages are considerably better in
the cities, but in comparison with, say,
the U.S., even the urban worker comes
off badly. A new bicycle, for instance,
costs $70 to $85, but a Chinese factory

ing at all for books or magazines; de-
spite the massive literacy campaigns,
the majority of peasants are still func-
tionally illiterate. The farmer's chil-
dren, though, attend the commune
school, where elementary math is
taught in concrete, even ominous terms.
A typical question: "How many guns
have four militiamen each armed with
two guns?"

The basic foodstuffs—rice, noodles
and breadstuffs—are obtained by the
peasant as his share of the production
of his commune, which is run by a rev-
olutionary committee. Medical care is

free, thanks to the "barefoot doctors"
—medical technicians who are as-
signed to all communes. Television on
the commune is, of course, unheard-of.
Many families have radios, though, and
from time to time entertainment is pro-
vided by touring companies of actors
and musicians.

There is a dulling sameness to the
peasant's life. Still, most commune
dwellers are grateful to have seen the
end of the bad old days before the rev-
olution. Then there was an eternal debt
that could never be paid, abuse from a
landlord whose word was law, wander-
ing soldiers who stole and confiscated.

THE WORKER. To a factory work-
er in Detroit or even Moscow, the life
of his counterpart in Shanghai or Pe-
king would appear uncomfortably lack-
luster. But as the peasant in Honan sees
it, his comrade assigned to an engine
plant or machine shop is blessed with
unimaginable luxury. Not only are
wages higher than on the farms, but
there are the attractions of city life
—cinemas, stores, parks, athletic events
—that provide some brightness to Chi-
na's overall blue-gray drabness.

If a worker is single, he may share
a flat with a factory colleague, and pay
perhaps 5 yuan a month in rent. The
apartment will be heated with a coal
stove, if at all; the privy is outside. If
he has a wife and child, a worker is el-
igible to move into one of the vast
new government-built apartment com-
plexes, complete with gardens and
nearby day nurseries. Largely because
the government controls migration to
the cities, China does not have an acute
urban housing shortage. A newly mar-
ried couple, for example, can obtain a
place to live in three or four weeks.

Like the peasant, the city worker
rises early—usually by 6:30. More of-
ten than not, he lives within a few min-
utes' bicycle ride of his factory. The
workday begins at 7:30, not at the as-
sembly line but in the factory recre-
ation hall, with a study session on Mao-
ist thought. Working conditions are ad-
equate: safety regulations spell out the
proper procedures for operating ma-
chinery, for instance, but set down few
guidelines for personal safety. Facto-
ries pay compensation, however, for
job-caused injuries or death. Foremen
tend to be chosen mainly for their job
expertise, though political correctness
remains important too, and the ablest
serve on the factory's all-powerful
revolutionary committee. Even large
Western-style factories with assembly
lines are not air-conditioned or heat-
ed; workers sweat in hot weather, shiv-
er in the cold. The actual work hours
are from 8:30 till noon and from 1 to
4:30; the pace, by American standards,
is fairly relaxed. Unless an afternoon
study session is scheduled, the worker
is then free to go home.

Shopping is not a major problem.
Many big stores stay open for business
until late in the evening; some are open

TIME, FEBRUARY 21, 1972

33

NEW CHINESE SEDANS ON DISPLAY IN SHANGHAI

The wages are low, the markets are well stocked, the luxuries are expensive.

HOSA WILLIAMS—CAMERA

WESTERN-STYLE CLOTHING IN WINDOW OF PEKING STORE

all night. As a rule, a worker's first lux-
ury purchase after the necessary bicy-
cle is a radio (218 yuan, or $92), per-
haps a wristwatch ($34).

THE SOLDIER. A few million homes across China are privileged to display two red banners. One says: THE PEOPLE MUST LEARN FROM THE P.L.A., AND THE P.L.A. MUST LEARN FROM THE PEOPLE. The other reads: WHEN A MAN JOINS THE P.L.A., HIS WHOLE FAMILY IS HONORED. The posters are awarded to parents whose sons pass the stiff medical and political examinations —90% of applicants fail—for entry into the all-volunteer, 3,000,000-man People's Liberation Army.

In China's distant past, a soldier be-
longed to the bottom level of society;
these days, military service is consid-
ered an honor and a privilege. Al-
though ready for war, the P.L.A., prac-
tically speaking, is a peacetime army.
It has not been involved in any large-
scale fighting since the brief Sino-In-
dian conflict of 1962, but some units
engaged in sharp combat against Rus-
sian forces on the northern frontier in
1969 and there were several pitched
battles with the Red Guards in the late
'60s. In the wake of the Cultural Rev-
olution, soldiers have been employed
by Chou as civil administrators, and
they run everything from post offices
to railroads, factories and communes.

After a recruit has passed the exam,
he spends six months in basic training
(mostly drill, field exercises without live
ammunition, and political indoctrina-
tion) before being assigned to a reg-
ular army unit. Except for the heavy
emphasis on politics, the daily routine
of a Chinese soldier is much like that
of a private in any army. Reveille is
shortly after 5 a.m., followed by ex-
ercises, a political discussion, breakfast
at 7:30, then two or three more hours
of discussion before lunch. Drill is usu-
ally in the afternoon. After supper
(5:30) there are two hours of farm
work, followed by yet another polit-
ical study session. Lights are out at

9:30. Officers and men wear almost
identical gray-green uniforms.

Compared with peasants or even
workers, soldiers are well fed. While on
leave they are permitted to buy unlim-
ited amounts of rationed food and
cloth. Base salary is only 6 yuan a
month, but there are allowances for
families and a special food ration of
50 lbs. of rice a month during the
spring and autumn harvests. The nor-
mal enlistment period is three years,
and can be extended for one-year
terms. After his service is over, a sol-
dier is assigned to a "rehabilitation reg-
iment" to prepare for civilian life. Once
discharged, the veteran has little trou-
ble finding a job, either as a security of-
ficer or, if he has received technical
training, in some related field. The ex-
soldier automatically becomes a mem-
ber of the local militia and must return
to service if called. His reward for his
tour of duty: a month's extra pay for
every year of service, a discharge
certificate and two uniforms.

The ongoing Communist revolution
in China is conceivably the most am-
bitious—one might even say the most
arrogant—in human history. Its goal is
not merely to transform the institutions
of society but, in the words of St. Paul,
to “put on the new man”—to reshape
the soul and spirit of an entire people.
By material standards, the achieve-
ments of this revolution are already
considerable: China, for nearly a cen-
tury the sick man of Asia, is now a
feared and respected world power.

Like all revolutions, Mao's single-
minded struggle to transform China has
been achieved at a terrible cost. No one
knows for sure how many people died
in the aftermath of the Communist con-
quest in 1949, or even in the consid-
erably smaller-scale clashes of the Cul-
tural Revolution. Beyond that, the re-
volution has cruelly stultified a proud in-
tellectual heritage that was forged
almost 1,000 years before Confucius
and Lao Tze. All art, music, theater and
poetry that is not of and by the people

-that is, a large number of the mas-
terpieces in China's cultural history
—has been destroyed or declared “cor-
rupt” and “decadent.” Intellectuals,
along with landlords and survivors of
the bourgeoisie, have been the chief
victims of China's purges. The worst
excesses of the Cultural Revolution are
now over; the universities, closed for
four years, have now been re-opened.
But who is left to teach, and what to
learn? Under Mao, China has taken the
daring gamble that a great nation can
survive without a free-ranging life of
the mind.

There are great risks inherent in so
bold an effort to create a perfect, ho-
mogeneous society. One is that the
dream will fail, or succeed only to the
point that it reinforces the social phe-
nomenon so well described by Karl
Marx, alienation. There are signs of
such alienation in the Soviet Union, in
the form of youth gangs who find sur-
cease not in doctrine but in alcohol and
crime. And for all the glowing reports
from shielded Western travelers, there
is at least some alienation and crime in
China as well: factory cities of the
north are plagued by the so-called hei
jen (black persons)—youngsters who
have run away from the communes and
eke out an illegal existence on the
streets.

The Soviet Union, although still a
totalitarian society, has mellowed con-
siderably since Stalin's death. China,
too, may relax and loosen after its pres-
ent leaders are gone, but the process of
doing so may prove traumatic. There is
risk to a would-be seamless society
when its people are exposed to other
ways of life, other modes of liberty. The
Chinese are the most self-confident of
peoples. A greater experience of West-
ern ways may convince them that, apart
from advancements in technology,
there is nothing to learn or emulate. On
the other hand, the human contacts that
will presumably follow Richard Nix-
on's historic Peking venture may also
raise more doubts that the road of Mao
is not necessarily the road to paradise.

34

TIME, FEBRUARY 21, 1972

Praises Kissinger

Peace Offer Rejected
By Chou, Time Reports

NEW YORK (AP) — Chinese Premier Chou En-lai says it will not be possible to end the war in Southeast Asia, particularly in Vietnam, on the basis of the eight points offered by President Nixon.

Reporting this Monday, Time magazine added that Chou told a group of visiting American scholars last week: "If the American government continues to back President Nixon's eight points, then it will not be possible to end the war, particularly in Vietnam. Then the popular movement against American aggression will and should continue."

Chou added that he also had other differences with Nixon on the big powers' conduct and obvious disagreements with Soviet Russia. But he admired Henry Kissinger, Nixon's diplomatic adviser, saying: "How is it possible to have another Metternich (19th-century Austrian statesman) appear at this present day?

Of Nixon, Chou told his

American visitors: "Your President has said neither too much nor too little (about his prospective China visit). Who knows but he may alter his views? He may change them, he may not. It does not matter. All of us should make efforts ... but from past experience, we in China place immense hopes on the American people — a very great people with many different beliefs and races but, we believe, common aspiration. Their potential and prospects are boundless."

Chou's brief comment on the Russians concerned China's statement at the United Nations that China is not a superpower and would never attempt to be one. One superpower (the Soviet Union), Chou said, laughed and said China could not exist without a nuclear umbrella. "As our Chinese proverb has it," Chou said, "that fellow 'does not know how high the sky is, or how deep the earth.'"

Value-Added Rebate
Blunts a Complaint

WASHINGTON (NYT) — The Nixon administration's tentative plan for a value-added tax includes a unique feature that would provide rebates of at least part of the tax not just to poor families but to those well into the upper-middle-income category — for example, a family of four with an income of $20,000 a year.

The rebate plan has been designed to blunt one of the main arguments made by opponents of the tax. This is that a value-added tax, which is a type of national sales tax, costs the poor proportionately more than the middle class and the middle class more than the rich.

The rebate plan is contained in the draft version of the value-added tax that President Nixon has submitted for study to the Advisory Commission on Intergovernmental Relations, an organization of government officials from the federal, state and local levels.

### At Every Step

Other features of the draft plan that have not previously been disclosed to the public include the following.

wide property tax would be limited to a tax on industrial and commercial property. Residential property could not be covered.

The plan to rebate all of the value-added tax to the poor and part of it to most of the middle class would greatly reduce the amount of revenue that would be raised by the tax.

The administration has estimated that a 3 per cent value-added tax would raise $18 billion, without the rebate, given the current size of the American economy. A $16 billion figure that was publicized earlier was based on 1970 levels of economic activity.

The rebate provisions would reduce the revenue yield of the tax by an estimated $5 billion, thus leaving about $13 billion as the net yield of the tax.

Despite its heavy cost in lost revenue, the administration sees the rebate plan as essential if it is going to attempt to get a value-added tax through Congress — which promises to be a difficult matter even with the rebate plan included.

STARS + STRIPES

JAN 31, 72

# QB Nixon Called Kissinger's Paris Runs

WASHINGTON (UPI) —

President Nixon was "quarterback" for Henry A. Kissinger's dozen secret trips and flashed messages to him even during the progress of negotiations with the North Vietnamese, an authoritative White House source disclosed Saturday.

Nixon's code name, in fact, was "Quarterback."

The President kept in close touch with the movements of Kissinger, his national security affairs adviser, the source said, and held lengthy huddles with him before and after each mission.

Nixon revealed the Kissinger secret diplomatic role during his report to the nation on Vietnam last Tuesday evening. The source Saturday gave more details.

The source said that while the talks were going on, usually at hideaway spots in the lower-middle class suburbs of Paris, Kissinger would be given messages from "Quarterback."

Coded messages would be relayed from Kissinger while negotiations were going on and

would be taken immediately to Nixon by Brig. Gen. Alexander M. Haig, Kissinger's deputy.

The President would study the message and make his response, perhaps with new strategy.

Before a rendezvous with the Communists, the source said, the President would go over Kissinger's briefing documents line by line, calling the shots and making changes. He also would personally review Kissinger's opening remarks for each of the meetings and would work out his responses

to the other side.

The President also involved himself in detail on arrangements for Kissinger's flights to Paris aboard military aircraft.

Haig would be informed of the exact moment of Kissinger's arrival at a Paris hideaway and also would be told that Kissinger had not been detected.

On the flight back from the Paris meetings — each of which would last about two days and frequently fell during a Sunday-Monday period —

Kissinger would dictate a 10-to 12-page report to the President. As soon as he landed he would go directly to the White House to brief Nixon on developments.

These meetings often lasted until the early morning hours, with Nixon asking exhaustive questions.

After he had his reports from Kissinger, Nixon would call in Secretary of State William P. Rogers, give him a progress report and ask for a State Department analysis.

(Editor's Note: Mike Royko is a Chicago Daily News columnist and author of a book about Mayor Richard J. Daley, "Boss.")

By **MIKE ROYKO**

CHICAGO (CDN) — I've always enjoyed reading Town and Country magazine because it concerns itself with the way the rich and well-born travel, play and tan their wrinkles.

It contains reports about why top executives get drunk, where to buy an Italian villa for only $600,000 and how to hoist a sagging bosom.

You can flip its pages and vicariously drift from the beaches of Jamaica to the ski lodges of the Swiss Alps. And you go by Rolls-Royce.

Now the magazine has taken on a much earthier subject to study. Chicago. One of its editors, Ted Burke, recently flew here from New York to report how we live. I don't know why. Maybe Town and Country fears that the jet set will be hijacked to Chicago and wants to be prepared.

She confessed to her husband.
ral honey with the honeycombs, especially before making love. That is what athletes take before a big game."

Burke also spoke with Mrs. Pussy Paepcke, a wealthy patron of the arts who belongs to the best clubs. She explained why she loves Chicago:

"I love Chicago but hate the suburbs. The amusing people all live in town." (How true. Sometimes I drive along skid row, chuckling at the amusing sights, and trying to avoid running them over.)

Burke does not limit his observations to life among the rich. To the contrary, most of his findings concern the rest of us. He has concluded that life for the masses in Chicago is almost too good to bear.

Naturally, he gives most of the credit to — who else? — Mayor Richard J. Daley. (Burke, a clever phrasemaker, often refers to Daley as boss.)

Burke is specific about Chicago's

behind a 19-car truck accident and my radiator cap burst, I could not help but exclaim: Commuting is a joy.

Burke also noted the ease with which one hails a cab here. "Cabs in Chicago don't play hide and seek."

In New York you might have to wait two or three minutes on a curb before getting a cab. But in Chicago you never have to wait more than an hour, unless you phone from your house, in which case you are better off ordering a hearse.

Burke also looks at housing in Chicago.

"Housing, a chronic problem in all cities, is improving (in Chicago). City Hall is in the midst of an ambitious urban renewal program."

Our housing has improved so much that it has been three years since the last unit of public housing was put up. The federal government is so impressed it has withdrawn tens of million of dollars in funds.

The streets are probably the best in the land ... ghetto streets without classless.

The editors should take a close look at his travel receipts. The man has gone the wrong way and Copenhagen by mistake.

Only a year when the number of crimes in the U.S. rose 11 per Chicago's rate dropped 3 per thanks to an effective police

units most of all to an effective rating of crime statistics. You can cut your throat slit in Chicago and be as a shaving mishap.

STARS + STRIPES

FEB 1, 1972

# Newsweek Says Kissinger May Retire in a Year

NEW YORK (AP) — Henry Kissinger, secret agent of diplomacy for President Nixon, loves his job, but may retire in a year even if Nixon wins a second term in 1972, according to Washington insiders quoted Sunday by Newsweek.

Kissinger himself was quoted by the magazine as saying: "Everyone assumes I am determined to go on and on, but that is not my goal ... I'm getting to be so central a figure."

"It's a fact that at some point I have to disassociate myself before the centrality of my role becomes an issue in foreign policy. I haven't decided when, but I am not playing games on this ... First of all, it depends on how much has been accomplished ... But I have to get out before this becomes too personal a job ..."

Meanwhile, Time magazine reported that French President Georges Pompidou cooperated so completely with Nixon in arranging Kissinger's secret talks on Vietnam in Paris that he ordered "government-owned national television and radio networks to play down American involvement in Vietnam as the talks proceeded."

party
stem

would have had a very strong
in Oakland and Berkeley in par-
ty in the country if we had stuck to
strategy," Newton said.

This is a revolutionary party because
port the system. When the people
rated, when they can't get any-
within the context of the system,
all for a whole new principle to
But this is always the climax of

itself does not symbolize a rev-
scists also carry guns. In order to
ution you must participate."

oppeals would be made soon to
businesses which do the bulk of
s with blacks or in black com-

pr-registration drive, he said, the
ot officially align itself with any
op but will "encourage people to
lidates who are interested in our
rams, such as the George Jackson
"

mediately took the infor-
to his superior, Powell.

He is further quoted as say-
ing that Powell prohibited him
and his investigators from pur-
suing the inquiry into the stock

Searchers Dis-
Atlanta Girl?

MARIETTA, Ga. (UPI)—A
search in which more than one
thousand volunteers fanned out
over this Atlanta suburb look-
ing for a missing nine-year-old
girl ended Saturday when the
child’s bloodied body was
found in a woods.

Deborah Lynn Randall, a
third-grader who had been
missing from near her home
for over two weeks, was dis-
covered by two Southern Tech
students participating in the
rain-soaked search.

The girl's body was taken to

MAX LERNER

STARS+STRIPES FEB 6, 72

'Henry the K'
Extends Sway

THE IMPRESSIVE fact that has emerged from the whole business about the secret American peace proposals is the bulky, brilliant, omniscient, omnipresent and very professional fact of Henry Kissinger. Subtract him from the Nixon equation in the White House and you subtract the China policy, the Vietnam withdrawal and Vietnamization policy, the element of strategic secrecy and surprise, the intellectual scrutiny that has been brought to bear on the total diplomatic package.

There have been brain trust advisers to Presidents like Harry Hopkins, and technician-theorists like Adm. Mahan, and shadowy behind-the-scenes figures like Col. House. The Kissinger mixture is like nothing before him. As a public figure, he combines all the disabilities — intellectual, Harvard, divorced, a German-born Jew, often photographed with pretty girls, a confidant of the President. What more fatal combination could one ask for?

Yet there is something else, which carries all this off. It is Kissinger's clear and cool ability, the grasp of problems, the mastery of material, the

historical perspective, the sheer professionalism. For a moment the Anderson papers struck a blow at this image, showing Kissinger in his most dubious role as he rode herd on the bureaucracy to carry out Nixon's willful and ill-fated Pakistan policy.

If we needed anything to confirm Kissinger's professionalism, a reading of his press conference remarks and answers about his secret Paris meeting would do it. They are precise, subtle and responsible without being stuffy.

The combination of President Nixon's speech, with its lawerlike brief for the defense, along with Kissinger's dialogue with reporters, gives us a tolerably clear view of what still prevents peace. It is not the Administration's stubborn insistence on a military solution, nor any refusal to discuss a political solution. It is quite simply the reluctance in Hanoi to accept a political solution short of their own, which is the overthrow — direct or indirect — of the Thieu regime in Saigon. "We are not prepared," said Kissinger, "to end this war by turning over the government of South Vietnam as part of a political deal."

That is a good rock to stand on. It is healthy to have the crucial question of the nature of a political — not a military — settlement finally clear enough for debate.

More or less affectionate political nicknames are endemic to the American scene. Roosevelt had his "Sammy the Rose" and his "Tommy the Cork." Now Nixon has his "Henry the K." Despite his secret agent mystique, he is very much out in the open now, which is all to the good. I wish I knew whom Muskie, Humphrey, Lindsay, McCarthy, McGovern, Jackson, Chisholm or Yorty has who would do what Kissinger is doing. In fact, if I were a Democratic candidate now I should announce that the one man I would carry over from Nixon would be Henry the K.

(c) Los Angeles Times

<table><tr><td>Clark</td><td></td><td></td></tr><tr><td>Cluett Pea</td><td>23.3</td><td>23.4</td></tr><tr><td>Coca-Cola</td><td>120.6</td><td>120</td></tr><tr><td>Colg Palm</td><td>59.3</td><td>60</td></tr><tr><td>Collins Rad</td><td>14.5</td><td>14.7</td></tr><tr><td>Colt Ind</td><td>16.7</td><td>18</td></tr><tr><td>CBS</td><td>41.2</td><td>47.1</td></tr><tr><td>Comnw Ed</td><td>40.1</td><td>39.1</td></tr><tr><td>Comsat</td><td>63.7</td><td>63</td></tr><tr><td>Con Edison</td><td>29.7</td><td>26.6</td></tr><tr><td>Con Nat</td><td>31.4</td><td>30.3</td></tr><tr><td>Cont Can</td><td>31.4</td><td>28.4</td></tr><tr><td>Cont Oil</td><td>28.5</td><td>—</td></tr><tr><td>Cont Data</td><td>45.2</td><td>46.3</td></tr><tr><td>Corn Glass</td><td>184.2</td><td>187.4</td></tr><tr><td>CPC Int</td><td>33</td><td>33.4</td></tr><tr><td>Crane</td><td>43.5</td><td>44.1</td></tr><tr><td>Crown Zell</td><td>33.3</td><td>33.1</td></tr><tr><td>Curtiss Wr</td><td>14.5</td><td>15.4</td></tr><tr><td>Cutler-Ham</td><td>40.5</td><td>41.2</td></tr><tr><td>Dart Ind</td><td>42.4</td><td>47.7</td></tr><tr><td>Deere Co</td><td>51</td><td>50.5</td></tr><tr><td>Dictaphon</td><td>7.7</td><td>8</td></tr><tr><td>Disney</td><td>136.7</td><td>135</td></tr><tr><td>Dist Seagr</td><td>34.4</td><td>34.4</td></tr></table>

<table><tr><td>Kraftco</td><td>42.2</td><td>45.6</td></tr><tr><td>Libbey-Owe</td><td>48.6</td><td>49.4</td></tr><tr><td>Libbey, McN</td><td>7.2</td><td>7.4</td></tr><tr><td>Ling-Temco</td><td>11.5</td><td>11.6</td></tr><tr><td>Litton</td><td>22.4</td><td>23.6</td></tr><tr><td>Lockheed</td><td>11.3</td><td>11.5</td></tr><tr><td>Louis. Land</td><td>50.2</td><td>51.3</td></tr><tr><td>Lukens Stl</td><td>17</td><td>17.4</td></tr><tr><td>Macy</td><td>47</td><td>46.7</td></tr><tr><td>Marathon</td><td>32.2</td><td>31.6</td></tr><tr><td>Marcot Inc</td><td>29.4</td><td>29</td></tr><tr><td>Martin Mar</td><td>21.3</td><td>21.5</td></tr><tr><td>May Depart</td><td>51.3</td><td>52.2</td></tr><tr><td>McDonnell D</td><td>36.4</td><td>38</td></tr><tr><td>McGraw Hill</td><td>19.4</td><td>20.2</td></tr><tr><td>Merck</td><td>128</td><td>129.4</td></tr><tr><td>MGM</td><td>18.6</td><td>18.6</td></tr><tr><td>Minn M&amp;M</td><td>133.4</td><td>133.1</td></tr><tr><td>Mobil Oil</td><td>54.2</td><td>54.6</td></tr><tr><td>Monsanto</td><td>48.7</td><td>49.3</td></tr><tr><td>Nat Airl</td><td>33</td><td>33.6</td></tr><tr><td>Nat Bisc</td><td>57.4</td><td>—</td></tr><tr><td>Nat Cash R</td><td>29.3</td><td>30.5</td></tr><tr><td>Nat Dist</td><td>15.6</td><td>15.7</td></tr></table>

<table><tr><td>Timken</td><td>44.1</td><td>44.2</td></tr><tr><td>TWA</td><td>41.1</td><td>42.1</td></tr><tr><td>Transam.</td><td>18.3</td><td>18.4</td></tr><tr><td>Travelers</td><td>37</td><td>37.2</td></tr><tr><td>Untd Airc</td><td>31</td><td>32.3</td></tr><tr><td>UMC Ind</td><td>23</td><td>23.1</td></tr><tr><td>Union Carb</td><td>42.1</td><td>42.5</td></tr><tr><td>Union Oil</td><td>33.7</td><td>35</td></tr><tr><td>Union Pac</td><td>61.4</td><td>61</td></tr><tr><td>Uniroyal</td><td>18.4</td><td>18.7</td></tr><tr><td>Unit Airl</td><td>40.6</td><td>41.7</td></tr><tr><td>Unit Brands</td><td>10.6</td><td>11.3</td></tr><tr><td>US Steel</td><td>31</td><td>32.1</td></tr><tr><td>West Union</td><td>44.5</td><td>—</td></tr><tr><td>Westinghouse</td><td>45.6</td><td>47</td></tr><tr><td>Weyerhaeus</td><td>44.5</td><td>46</td></tr><tr><td>Whittaker</td><td>10.5</td><td>10.6</td></tr><tr><td>Winn-Dixie</td><td>49.7</td><td>49.6</td></tr><tr><td>Woolworth</td><td>45.1</td><td>46</td></tr><tr><td>Xerox</td><td>124.3</td><td>125.6</td></tr><tr><td>Zenith</td><td>42.7</td><td>43.5</td></tr><tr><td>Univ Com</td><td>20.6</td><td>21.6</td></tr><tr><td>Int Chem N</td><td>24.1</td><td>25</td></tr></table>

MOSCOW (AP) — The Soviet Union's leading sports newspaper Thursday accused U.S. chess master Bobby Fischer of a mercenary attitude toward his match against Russia's Boris Spassky for the world's crown.

Sovietsky Sport charged Fischer with "anarchy" and "disrespect" because he said he would only meet Spassky in a city that offered to pay them enough.

The paper's chess comments

DAILY MAGAZINE

STARS and STRIPES

Adolf's piano

# Putzi's Concerto: H

By OTTO DOELLING, AP Staff Writer

"WHEN I played for Hitler, he would sit there like this," Ernst "Putzi" Hanfstaengl said, resting his large head in his right hand.

Turning to the keyboard, Hanfstaengl launched into a thundering rendition of Richard Wagner's "Liebestod," one of Hitler's favorite melodies.

The grand piano trembled as his fingers struck the keys with an agility surprising for a huge man who will be 84 today. He closed his eyes, tilted back his head and hummed the strains from the aria in a falsetto.

Hanfstaengl was in his element in a study cluttered with books, magazines, paintings, sculpture and mementoes from a long and colorful life of the periphery of historical events—friend of Hitler and, later, an adviser to Roosevelt.

come the dread leader and Gestapo, was a toddler and his father was Hanfstaengl's teacher.

—Hanfstaengl, an accouterter, pianist, White House when Theodore Roosevelt, a Harvard president. Other famous clluded Franklin D. Roosevelt, prior to World War II. Churchill, who was to staengl later as a great war

—Hanfstaengl twice as directly or indirectly for Hitler's life during the

—Hanfstaengl's publicly dras...ptically from foreign the Nazi party to unof to President Franklin D.

IN THE study of Hitler, recall

STARS + STRIPES

FEB 4, 72

# 5 Kissingers—
But Just 1 Jill

By ART BUCHWALD

WASHINGTON — The biggest mystery of President Nixon's speech last week was when he revealed that Henry Kissinger had made as many as 10 secret trips to Paris to negotiate with the North Vietnamese.

Most people who watched the President found it hard to believe that Mr. Kissinger could have gone to Peking twice, Paris 12 times and Hollywood 456 times.

How, the big question is, can one man do it?

The answer can now be revealed. There is not one Henry Kissinger, but five.

When President Nixon first came into the White House, he knew he was faced with problems all over the world. He also was aware that he needed a foreign affairs expert who could speak in his name. But he didn't want to spread these duties around.

So he contacted the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Md., and gave them the problem. The NIH said they were working on a project where they could turn out five people completely alike in every respect. All! they needed was a model.

The President called in Henry Kissinger, who was then a professor at Harvard, and told him what the President had on his mind. The real Kissinger, who hates to fly, agreed to go along with the plan.

He went out to NIH for a month, and the doctors got to work duplicating exact models of him (most of the volunteers were German scientists who had been laid off by the space program).

Plastic surgeons went to work on the faces. Hair specialists and make-up men were brought in. In a few cases transplants had to be made to get Kissinger's exact measurements.

By trial and error with 12 volunteers, four were finally selected who looked, talked

and appeared to be facsimiles of Kissinger. (The seven volunteers who didn't make it were buried at midnight with full military honors.)

With five Henry Kissingers to work with, President Nixon was able to go ahead with his foreign policy plans.

A special dormitory had been built in the basement of the White House where all the Henry Kissingers lived when they weren't out on a trip.

Whenever the President wanted a Kissinger for an assignment, he spoke into a special microphone attached to a loudspeaker in the dorm: "Who wants to go to Peking?" If more than one Kissinger wanted to go they would cut cards for it.

If the President needed a Kissinger for a backgrounder in the White House, he would yell down, "Will one of you guys come up to brief the press?"

Or, as in the case of the secret North Vietnamese peace talks, the President would shout, "Send someone up to go to Paris."

One Kissinger would take the duty at Key Biscayne, and another would accompany the President to San Clemente.

The most ingenious part of the strategy was when someone in the White House decided to give Kissinger the image of a swinger. "If we make him a swinger and have him photographed with beautiful women in Hollywood, New York and Washington, we will have everybody fooled. At the very moment that he's dancing with Jill St. John, one of the other Kissingers will be eating sweet and sour pork with Chou En-lai."

While all five Kissingers wanted to play the role of the swinger, it was decided to give it to the real Henry Kissinger, as a reward for lending his name and his body to the foreign policy of the United States of America.

(c) Los Angeles Times

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