SPAN: January 1961 by SPAN magazine

!In essay by President-elect Kennedy explores the roles of courage and conscience in politics and analyzes the pressures upon the public man. Page eight.

Rabindranath Tagore opened new lines of communication between India and America during his visits to the United States. See page four.

CAPSULE India-born Dalip Singh Saund has won re-election to the U. S. House of Representatives for his third term. See page fourteen.

Sam Stokes came to India in 1904 and remained for the rest of his life. He became a disciple of Gandhi, was imprisoned as an advocate of non-eo-operation. This Yankee in khadi also brought apples to Kotgarh. See page twenty-three.

Dresden Nuclear Power Station points the way to low-cost electricity for power-short nations. See page forty-four.

This shrine was built by Sam Stokes with his own hands at his home in Kotgarh. See Yankee in Khadi, page twenty-three.

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THE Western statesmen who are called upon to formulate a Far Eastern policy ought to be required to take an examination in Tagore's Sadhana and The King of the Dark Chamber." So commented knowledgeable Hamilton W. Mabie, approaching seventy years of age with a notable record behind him as literary critic, historian and associate editor of a distinguished weekly, The Outlook, when he was penning the introduction to Basanta K. Roy's biographical study, Rabindranath Tagore-the Man and His

Poetry. The skerch of Tagore at top of page was drawn frolll life by Georges Schreiber and published in the New York Herald Tribune of November 9, 1930.

The place was New York and the time was 1915. Only three years had elapsed since the first publication in the Western world by the Chicago magazine Poetry of selections from Rabindranath Tagore's Gitanjali. In that brief period the poet had become a legend in his own country and achieved fame in the West. It was not simply that he had been awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in November, 1913, and a knighthood in June, 1915. Even before these events he was known in the United States as lecturer, poet, essayist, philosopher, educator and to not a few as a warm-hearted, inspiring friend. Five months after the 1912 publication of his poems in Poetry there had appeared in The North American Review an article by May Sinclair, who had been present at artist William Rothenstein's Hampstead house the

evening of July 7, 1912, when Yeats' reading had introduced Tagore's work to the English-speaking world. The article was widely read, communicating the sweeping intensity of the judgment she expressed to Tagore: "You have put into English which is absolutely transparent in its perfection, things it is despaired of ever seeing written in English at all or in any Western language." It was as if a great wall between West and East had suddenly fallen. Where before silence prevailed, lines of communications had opened, humming with words and new ideas. What were some of these lines of communications? During 1913 and 1914 there were published in American periodicals an average of four articles each month on Tagore. He was honored and discussed as the lyrical voice of Bengal, the soul of Bengal, the modern Bengali mystic, the Hindu of the Celtic Spirit. In 19I 5 two biographical studies appeared, one mentioned above, the other by Ernest Rhys. During the same period the American image of Tagore the poet came into progressively sharper focus as his verse collections, Gitanjali, The Gardener, and The Crescent Moon: Child Poems appeared in 1913, followed by Songs of Kabir in 1915 and Fruit-Gathering in 1916. Those who had already heard his 1912 lectures at Harvard University and others who knew of his reputation as a speaker and essayist could in 1913 read his discourses published in Sadhana-the Realization of Life. His versatility as a dramatist was substantiated with the publication in 1914 of The King of the Dark Chamber, The Post Office and Chitra and as a short story writer in 1916 by Hungry Stones and Other Stories. It was like a confluence of rushing waters and murmuring peoples: On the seashore of endless worlds children meet .... On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children. Many of these children would have better understood Tagore if they had known of his first visit to the United States. This had occurred in October, 1912, in the company of his son, Rathindranath, and his daughter-in-law, Pratima. The three of them settled down unobtrusively in a modest house at Urbana, Illinois, where Rathindranath, who had studied agriculture and animal husbandry there from 1906 to 1909, proposed somewhat tentatively to obtain his doctorate. A life more different from the one they had been living since June in London could hardly be imagined. While the son began work at the University and the young wife attempted to organize their home, the poet worked long and quietly on the manuscript of Sadhana. They had a few good friends and for Tagore there was the fascination of the quiet college town of Urbana and of the countryside so unlike his beloved Bengal yet so peaceful: "Oh! the sunshine, the beautiful sunshine even when the thermometer goes below zero, and the reflection of the sun's rays on the white snow. I love it all." Though this tranquil idyll was not to last, nevertheless, it and immediately subsequent events shaped permanently the pattern of the personal relationship between Tagore and the United States. For almost three months he was a pri vate resident in the very heart land of America. When the call was heard to leave Urbana it came from sympathetic interested associates: to lecture at Rochester, New York, for the Federation of Religious Liberals; to visit Chicago as the guest of Mrs. William Vaughan Moody, widow of the American poet, to be hosted there by Harriet

PllOlOgraphsfrom the Collection of Visva - Bharati Rabindra- Sadana

Monroe, editor of Poetry, a few weeks after his poems had appeared in that publication; to give a series of lectures at Harvard University and in New York City. In early April the Tagore family sailed for England and subsequently for India which they reached in early September. Two months later the Nobel Prize for Literature was his. "I shall never get any peace again. I shall be worried with appeals, all kinds of people will be writing to me. My heart sank .... " Never again might he have, except in the quiet of Santiniketan, the privacy he had relished at Urbana. The life he led there introduced him intimately to Americans not as a visitor nor a stranger but as a member of the family. It was a role he never relinquished; its prerogatives he exercised in all future relationships with the United States. On the seashore of endless worlds the Nobel Prize announcement broke in a surging wave. Now that the wave has well receded, we who celebrate Tagore's centenary almost a half century later, can clearly discern other forces and facts of which yesterday's children were unaware. How could they know that Tagore was not the inspired beginning but rather the long-awaited hardfought-for climax? How many of them were familiar with or indeed had even heard of the Vedas and Upanishads? How could those only dimly aware of the identity and work of Kalidasa and Kautilya be expected to have heard of the Renaissance, comparable to that in 15th-century Europe, which had taken place in Bengal during the 19th century? Names like Henry Derozio, Iswar Gupta, Madhusudan Datta, Bankimchandra Chattopadhyaya, Ram Mohun Roy had been heard only in a rare handful of American communities. That in Bengal had been created a full-fledged, prideful literature, essentially Indian in character and language but western in form and technique could not have been suspected-until perhaps the presses began to roll off what seemed an endless stream of more than forty books of all genres written in English by Tagore. Even now the riches of his works produced in Bengali, estimated at about 50 dramas, 100 books of verse containing more than 3,000 poems, about 40 works of fiction, almost 1,400 songs and 15 bOOKs-of literary, political and religious essays, remain largely unmined. The poet, then, sprang full-blown as a rare and rich phenomenon into the consciousness of the American people. Newspapers in all parts of the country carried wire reports or feature stories on him and his work. One of the first of these in The New York Times pointed out Tagore with William Durant, American philosopher-historian. A photo published ill the New York Evening Journal on December 15, 1930.

his similarity to Walt Whitman and characterized his writings in terms of their "singular beauty, strong and delicate, and carved to the minute perfection of an ivory relief." The poet's religious verse immediately found favor in many circles; in some American homes its place was next to the Bible and family manuals of religious devotion. Outside the home a popular topic of discussion for local literary societies and community clubs was Tagore's works. The stage was being set for the poet's return to the United States. This occurred almost immediately. For five months from September, 1916, to January, 1917, he toured the country, lecturing or giving readings of his works from the west coast to the east. The time was an unsettled one-three months after his departure the United States was involved in World War I. One of the main purposes of Tagore's visit was to earn by lecture fees and to collect from interested parties sufficient funds to make solvent his school at Santiniketan. As a confident member of the American family, however, and a distinguished member at that, he did not hesitate under such circumstances and in such distraught times to praise or blame as he saw fit. As one commentator from San Francisco, Bailey Millard, phrased it in the November, 1916, issue of The Bookman: "In fact it was plain from the day of his arrival in this country that our turbulent nation . . . had in Tagore not only an unappreciative observer but an unsparing critic. In his mild, ascetic way, but with deep conviction, he charges us with blind indifference to spiritual things. He accuses us of bowing down before the false god of 'that dominant intellectual abstraction which you call a nation,' and stigmatizes our political system . . . . " Serious charges indeed. Yet Americans were psychologically capable of recoiling in righteous self-defense; with the next stroke of his pen Bailey Millard writes: "A gentler soul than that of Tagore one might search the world over and fail to find and yet one feels, even at a first meeting, that here is a potential force and one does not wonder that it has swayed . . . India and has reached across the sea to us . . . . " All men stand in constant need of being refreshed or of refreshing themselves from the many fountainheads of God. So deep is our need that habitually we shamefacedly admit poverty of spirit. In the retrospect of almost half a century, however, we may be permitted to wonder, as Bailey Millard did not, whether Tagore gravely erred in estimating the spiritual gravity and resources of the American people. What did he know, we may wonder,

of the spiritual vigor of the men who founded the American republic, of the rich tradition, living, expanding, adapting, capable equally of action and tranquillity, which has developed from them? America's unfortunate ignorance of Tagore's background seems to have been matched by an equal lapse on his part, the telling difference being, however, that the match is one against millions. Yet men of Tagore's stature are few and precious, the bellwethers of the world, to whom in his case may perhaps be traced the inability of India and perhaps of the entire East to weigh justly the deep spiritual resources of the American people. Yet if there was much he blamed there was even more he praised. The accolades, fittingly for a poet, were given first to other poets; to Whitman: "To me his is the highest name. . . . Through his work I know your country and I catch its heart beat." Next came Emerson: "In his work one finds much that is of India. In truth he made the teachings of our spiritual leaders and philosophers a part of his life." He could not be expected to speak about or perhaps even to know of the agony of Emerson's self-allotted pilgrimage, the refining of his spirit, terrifying, poignant, inexpressible unless expressed by Tagore himself: "When I go from hence let this be my parting word My whole that what I have seen is unsurpassable .... body and my limbs have thrilled with his t0uch who is beyond touch; and if the end comes here, let it comelet this be my parting word." Less than a month later Tagore was in New York. His visit there was reported by the editor of The Outlook, Lyman Abbott. The opening words reveal the distance traveled by the world in the four years since Tagore's works had first become known in the West. "The West can never duplicate the East nor the East the West .... Why should they? There is room on God's earth for both. . . . But they can try to understand each other and they can respect each other, and each can learn something from the other." In this pattern of mutually respectful exchange Tagore led the way. On arriving in New York he had stated: "America has the figure of youth and all that is best in Western civilizati0n will eventually find lodgment here." The key word here is eventually. The poet reserved his right of judgment and exercised it, again as a member of the American family, during subsequent visits to the United States. Three more of these occurred, ff0m the autumn of 1920 to the spring of 1921, again briefly in the spring of 1929, and finally in the closing months of

.sN -3 {3/ Helen Keller, blind and deaf, heard Tagore read /rom his poems by pressing ireI'sensitive finger tips to his lips.

1930. To the very end he challenged the American people to achieve that greatness of spirit which he felt was in accord with what he knew of the country's history and what he anticipated of its future. In the course of his last stay he was received by President Hoover at the White House in a visit which he described as "a delightful one and one that will live in my memory." His last public appearance was in New York during a program given at the Broadway Theater, featuring a joint presentation of poetry and the dance by Tagore and the illustrious American dancer, Ruth St. Denis. In the final number Tagore was surrounded on the stage by groups of dancers, most of them children, who garlanded him in the traditional Indian fashion. The question may justly be asked of any ambassador: have you well and truly represented the interests of your country, supported and fostered them in the trust which has been committed to you by your government and people? As ambassador extraordinary to the American people, Rabindranath Tagore so acted over a period of almost twenty years that he well and nobly fulfilled the mandate he had assumed after the world was made conscious through the Nobel Prize award of all he represented. Yet there is another question which each ambassador will want to ask of himself: have I in the execution of my accepted position and duties permitted no violence to be done to my innermost, hard-earned convictions, to myself as an individual playing my brief but vital role on the diplomatic stage? The full story of Tagore's unofficial ambassadorship to the United States at every

turn reveals the habitual integrity of his high purpose, the unerring individualness of his judgments, the resiliency of his reactions and the final capacity for synthesis. The latter at length amounted almost to a sense of prophecy. It reached its culminating expression after he had finished his five odysseys in the United States and back home at Santiniketan in 1931, ten years before his death, addressed, signed and delivered to his American family a testament to all its members: "Spiritual ends of life are pursued with a keenness in America not found anywhere else in the modern world 路 . . the production of wealth instead of hampering her inner vision has emancipated a creative democracy 路 .. the freedom of human spirit This spiritual adventure ... will find ever-renewing avenues of self-expression 路 .. will exploit her material resources for the well-being路 of humanity, conquering disease ... and offer ... benefits which will spread far beyond her geographical limits. The quest of spiritual realization which distinguishes America today ... is sure to reveal itself in a new civilization in which Europe will be reborn, freed of its discordant inhibitions and heritages of dead past ... the vitality of a forward marching idealism will find its perfection assimilating the true gifts of the East as well as the West in the unity of the human spirit." If these high hopes are fulfilled-the time is now and the fulfillment already appears-the peoples of the world may one day make pilgrimage to America's heart land in Urbana, Illinois, where Tagore first began to understand in 1912 the different thing that is America.

of those 'who take the easier road-and more appreciative of those still able to follow the path of courage. The first pressure to be mentioned is a form of pressure rarely recognized by the general public. Americans want to be liked-and Senators are no exception. They are by nature-and of necessity-social animals. We enjoy the comradeship and approval of our friends and colleagues. We prefer praise to abuse, popularity to contempt. Realizing that the path of the conscientious insurgent must frequently be a lonely one, we are anxious to get along with our fellow legislators, our fellow members of the club, to abide by the club-house rules and patterns, not to pursue a unique and independent course which would embarrass or irritate the other members. We realize, moreover, that our influence in the club-and the extent to which we can accomplish our objectives and those of our constituents-are dependent in some measure on the esteem with which we are regarded by other Senators. "The way to get along," I was told when I entered Congress, "is to go along."

AM not so sure, after nearly ten years of living and working in the midst of "successful democratic politicians," that they are all "insecure and intimidated men." I am convinced that the complication of public business and the competition for the public's attention have obscured innumerable acts of political couragelarge and small-performed almost daily in the Senate Chamber. I am convinced that the decline-if there has been a decline-has been less in the Senate than in the public's appreciation of the art of politics, of the nature and necessity for compromise and balance, and of the nature of the Senate as a legislative chamber. And, finally, I am convinced that we have cri,ticized those who have followed the crowd-and at the same time criticized those who have defied it-because we have not fully understood the responsibility of a Senator to his constituents or recognized the difficulty facing a politician conscientiously desiring, in Webster's words, "to push [his] skiff from the shore alone" into a hostile and turbulent sea. Perhaps if the American people more fully comprehended the terrible pressures which discourage acts of political courage, which drive a Senator to abandon or subdue his conscience, then they might be less critical

Going along means more than just good fellowshipit includes the use of compromise, the sense of things possible. We should not be too hasty in condemning all compromise as bad morals. For politics and legislation are not matters for inflexible principles or unattainable ideals. Politics, as John Morley has acutely observed, "is a field where action is one long second best, and where the choice constantly lies between two blunders"; and legislation, under the democratic way of life and the Federal system of Government, requires compromise between the desires of each individual and group and those around them. Henry Clay, who should have known, said compromise was the cement that held the Union together: All legislation . . . is founded upon the principles of mutual concession. . . . Let him who elevates himself above humanity, above its weaknesses, its infirmities, its wants, its necessities, say, if he pleases, "I never will compromise"; but let no one who is not above the frailties of our common nature disdain compromise. It is compromise that prevents each set of reformers -the wets and the drys, the one-worlders and the isolationists, the vivisectionists and the antivivisectiorusts-from crushing the group on the extreme opposite end of the political spectrum. The fanatics and extremists and even those conscientiously devoted to hard and fast principles are always disappointed at the failure of their Government to rush to implement all of their principles and to denounce those of their opponents. But the legislator has some responsibility to conciliate those opposing forces within his state and party and to represent them in the larger clash of interests on the national level; and he alone knows that there are few if any issues where all the truth and all the right and all the angels are on one side.

Some of my colleagues who are criticized today for lack of forthright principles-or who are looked upon with scornful eyes as compromising" politicians "-are simply engaged in the fine art of conciliating, balancing and interpreting the forces and factions of pu1?licopinion, an art essential to keeping our nation united and enabling our Government to function. Their consciences may direct them from time to time to take a more rigid stand for principle-but their intellects tell them that a fair or poor bill is better than no bill at all, and that only through the give-and-take of compromise will any bill receive the successive approval of the Senate, the House, the President, and the nation. But the with whom. concessions, conflicts but

question is how we will compromise and For it is easy to seize upon unnecessary not as means of legitimately resolving as methods of " going along. "

There were further implications in the warning that I should" go along "-implications of the rewards that would follow fulfillment of my obligation to follow the party leadership whom I had helped select. All of us in the Congress are made fully aware of the importance of party unity (what sins have been committed in that name !) and the adverse effect upon our party's chances in the next election which any rebellious conduct might bring. Moreover, in these days of Civil Service, the loaves and fishes of patronage available to the legislator-for distribution to those earnest campaigners whose efforts were inspired by something more than mere convictionare comparatively few; and he who breaks the party's ranks may find that there are suddenly none at all. Even the success of legislation in which he is interested depends in part on the extent to which his support of his party's programs has won him the assistance of his party's leaders. It is thinking of that next campaign-the desire to be re-elected-that provides the second pressure on the conscientious Senator. It should not automatically be assumed that this is a wholly selfish motive-although it is not unnatural that those who have chosen politics as their profession should seck to continue their careers-for Senators who go down to defeat in a vain defense of a single principle will not be on hand to fight for that or any other principle in the future. Defeat, moreover, is not only a setback for the Senator himself-he is also obligated to consider the effect upon the party he supports, upon the friends and supporters who have .â&#x20AC;˘â&#x20AC;˘gone out on a limb" for him, and even upon the wife and children wh05e happiness and security-often depending at least in part upon his success in office-may mean more to him than anything else. Where else, in a non-totalitarian country, but in the political profession is the individual expected to

This brief analysis of the components of conscience and courage in politics is excerpted from the President-Elect's book, Profiles in Courage, a study of decisive moments in the lives of eight great United States Senators. The book was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for biography in 1957.

sacrifice all-including his own career-for the national good? In private life, as in industry, we expect the individual to advance his own enlightened self-interest -within the limitations of the law-in order to achieve over-all progress. But in public life we expect individuals to sacrifice their private interests to permit the national good to progress. In no other occupation but politics is it expected that a man will sacrifice honors, prestige and his chosen career on a single issue. Lawyers, businessmen, teachers, doctors, all face difficult personal decisions involving their integrity-but few, if any, face them in the glare of the spotlight as do those in public office. Few, if any, face the same dread finality of decision that confronts a Senator facing an important call of the roll. He may want more time for his decision-he may believe there is something to be said for both sides-he may feel that a when slight amendment could remove all difficulties-but that roll is called he cannot hide, he cannot equivocate, he cannot delay-and he senses that his constituency, like the Raven in Poe's poem, is perched there on his Senate desk, croaking "Nevermore" as he casts the vote that stakes his political future. Few Senators "retire to Pocatello" by choice. The prospect of forced retirement, the possibilities of giving up the interesting work, and the impressive prerogatives of Congressional office, can cause even the most courageous politician serious loss of sleep. Thus, perhaps without realizing it, some Senators tend to take the easier, less troublesome path to harmonize or rationalize what at first appears to be a conflict between their conscience-or the result of their deliberations-and the majority opinion of their constituents. Such Senators are not political cowards-they have simply developed the habit of sincerely reaching conclusions inevitably in accordance with popular opinion. Still other Senators have not developed that habit -they have neither conditioned nor subdued their consciences-but they feel, sincerely and without cynicism, that they must leave considerations of conscience aside if they are to be effective. The profession of politics, they would agree, is not immoral, simply non-moral. Not all Senators would agree-but few would deny that the desire to be re-elected exercises a strong brake on independent courage. The third and most significant source of pressures which discourage political courage in the conscientious Senator or Congressman-and practically all of the problems described here apply equally to members of both Houses-is the pressure of his constituency, the interest groups, the organized letter writers, the economic blocs, and even the average voter. To cope with such pressures, to defy them or even to satisfy them, is a formidable task. All of us occasionally have the urge to follow the example of Congressman John Steven McGroarty of California, who wrote a constituent in 1934:

One of the countless drawbacks of being in Congress is that I am compelled to receive impertinent letters from

a jackass like you in which you say I promised to have the Sierra Madre mountains reforested and I have been in Congress two months and haven't done it. Will you please take t\Vo running jumps and go to hell. Fortunately or unfortunately, few follow that urgebut the provocation is there - not only from unreasonable letters and impossible requests, but also from

hopelessly inconsistent fied grievances.

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In my office today, for example, was a delegation representing New England textile mills, an industry essential to our prosperity. They want the tariff lowered on the imported wool they buy from Australia and they want the tariff raised on the finished woolen goods imported from England with which they must compete. One of my Southern colleagues told me that a similar group visited him not long ago with the same requests-but further urging that he take steps to (1) end the low-wage competition from Japan and (2) prevent the Congress from ending-through a higher minimum wage-the low-wage advantage they themselves enjoy to the dismay of my constituents. Only yesterday two groups called me off the Senate floor-the first was a group of businessmen seeking to have a local Government activity closed as unfair competition for private enterprise; and the other was a group representing the men who work in the Government installation and who are worried about their jobs. All of us in the Senate meet endless examples of such conflicting pressures, which only reflect the inconsistencies inevitable in our complex economy. If we tell our constituents frankly that we can do nothing, they feel we are unsympathetic or inadequate. If we meeting a counteraction from other try and fail-usually Senators representing other interests-they say we are like all the rest of the politicians. All we can do is retreat into the cloakroom and weep on the shoulder of a sympathetic colleague-or go home and snarl at our wives. We may tell ourselves that these pressure groups and letter writers represent only a small percentage of the voters-and this is true. But they are the articulate few whose views cannot be ignored and who constitute the greater part of our contacts with the public at large, whose opinions we cannot know, whose vote we must obtain and yet who in all probability have a limited idea of what we are trying to do. One Senator, since retired, said that he voted with the special interests on every issue, hoping that by election time all of them added together would constitute nearly a majority that would remember him favorably, while the other members of the public would never know about-much less remember-his vote against their welfare. It is reassuring to know that this seemingly unbeatable formula did not work in his case. These, then, are some of the pressures which confront a man of conscience. He cannot ignore the pressure groups, his constituents, his party, the comradeship of his colleagues, the needs of his family, his own pride in office, the necessity for compromise, and the importance of remaining in office. He must judge for himself which path to choose, which step will most help or hinder the ideals to which he is committed. He realizes that once he begins to weigh each issue in terms of his chances for re-election, once he begins to compromise away his principles on one issue after another for fear that to do otherwise would halt his career and prevent future fights for principle, then he has lost the very freedom of conscience which justifies his continuance in office. But to decide at which point and on which issue he will risk his career is a difficult and soul-searching decision.

PICK

PICTURES

Fhre American photographers choose favorites from their own work.

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The dignity of little children facing their first day at schoo/the first day away from home on their own responsibility, was caught here by Suzanne Szasz who began her career photographing babies and children for such magazines as Parents, Ladies Home Journal, Good Housekeeping.

For any person, the choice of a favorite picture is influenced by a number of factors, including emotional impact, composition, human interest, humor and the information imparted ... Or, it may be something of special personal significance which the picture tells. The five outstanding U.S. magazine photographers who are represented here had no simple, ready answer as to why the photo each selected was the favorite among the many he had shot.

The moment of success recorded as Leonard Bernstein, composer of the musical play West Side Story, came out of the theater for a breath of air on opening night. Photographer Robert Phillips, who covers Washington, D.C., {or Time and Life magazines was there with a camera.

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Jerry Cooke, another Life and Time photographer, snapped this picture from high on a blast furnace of a steel plant, as workmen below painted the smoke-stack .

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Robert Frost, lower center, one of America's great poets, was principal speaker at the graduation exercises of a girls' college when Susan Greenberg, Sports II1ustrated photographer, snapped him surrounded by singers of the college choral group.

Bradley Smith, Holiday magazine photographer, prizes this portrait of former President Harry S. Truman and his wife for the story-telling qualities of the picturethe expressions of the subjects, the time-worn porch floor, the ornate architectural decorations typical of early 20th century midwestern homes, the old-fashioned screen door and the weather-beaten street number overhead. This is the Trumans' home in Independence, Missouri.

Cong7.M1-man {'tom

CHHAJALWADI The career

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THE HONORABLE

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The Saund family ill their California home. Seated between Congressman and Mrs. Saund is D. S. Saund Jr. Behind them are daughters Ellie, left, and Mrs. Julie Fisher. Standing are daughter-in-law Mrs. Saund Jr. and son-in-law Fred Fisher.

Situ.~D

America

November 8, 1960, Da1ip Singh Saund was re-e1ected to the United States House of Representatives for his third term. Democratic candidate Saund defeated the Republican candidate by a margin of 18,342 votes. Addressing the Indian Parliament three years ago, Dalip Singh Saund declared, "I am a living example of American democracy!"

Congressman Saund inspects the Bautista Creek Flood Control project, which has been one of his major interests in the federal public works program.

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Prior to that time, not many people in India had heard of Saund, who had been born in 1899 in the village of Chhajalwadi in the Amritsar District of the Punjab. He revisited his native land in 1957 as United States Congressman Saund, elected Representative from California's 29th Congressional District. It had been almost thirty-eight years since Dalip Singh Saund had left India, at the age of twenty, to enroll in the graduate school of the University of California. He had graduated with honors from the Punjab University in 1919 and enrolled for agricultural studies in California with the expectation of returning to India to introduce new farming methods and, particularly, new food preservation techniques. At the University of California, Saund added his major field of interest, mathematics, to his agricultural studies and received his Doctorate in 1924. While a student in India he was much influenced by Mahatma Gandhi's moral and political idealism and became an ardent nationalist. His contact with America also strengthened his belief in democratic principles, as well as his respect and admiration for some of the great figures of American political life-Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson. Referring to America's great attraction for him, Dr. Saund wrote in his recently published autobiography, Congressman from India:

"From my contacts at the university my fondness and affection for American institutions had extended to the American people as well. Even though life for me did not seem very easy, it had become impossible to think of life separated from the United States."

He decided to remain in America and in 1924 settled down as a market-gardener in California's Imperial Valley. After lecturing in the Hollywood Unitarian Church one Sunday in 1928, he was invited home for

dinner by a young American artist, Emil Kosa. Shortly afterward he was married to Marian Kosa, the artist's pretty sister. The Saunds reared a family of three children and are now grandparents. Their son, D. S. Saund Jr., is a student at the California Institute of Technology. Their elder daughter, Julie, is married to Physicist Fred Fisher. Their younger daughter, Ellie, is a student at the University of California, where she is majoring in elementary education. Saund worked hard and experienced many ups and downs before he eventually became a prosperous agriculturist. In the Depression of the 1930's he went broke and was advised to go into bankruptcy. But, he persevered and, after struggling for seven years, paid all his debts. Coupled with his integrity, Saund possessed a dynamism and sociability which enabled him to combat obstacles and grasp those opportunities open to him. Also a businessman and an agriculturist, Congressman Saund supplies chemical liquid fertilizer to farmers in the Imperial Valley. Here he inspects one of the tanks in which the fertilizer is transported.

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He pursued his hobbies of reading about U.S. history and government and of public speaking, joined a current events club and made many friends. "My social life may have been full and rewarding," he wrote, "but the political desire in me was sorely frustrated. And I wanted to be a part of all American life, both social and political." In 1942 he helped organize and became the president of the India Association of America. This group successfully promoted legislation, passed by the Congress and signed by President Truman in 1946, which eliminated citizenship restrictions against persons of Asian birth. ENTRY INTO POLITICS Saund's active political life began after he acquired American citizenship, December 16, 1949. His first political recognition came when he was elected a member of his county's Central Democratic Committee. In 1950, he ran for the office of Judge of the Justice Court. He ()0

'7Cf 6 There was a happy reunion for the Saunds when they landed at Dum Dum airport in 1957. They were greeted by Mr. Karnail Singh, younger brother of the Congressman and now Chairman of the Indian Railway Board, and his daughter-in-law, Mrs. Anup Singh. In Delhi the visiting Congressman from Chhajalwadi and California addressed the Indian Parliament. Mr. Ananthasayanam Ayyangar, Speaker of the Lok Sabha, presided.

House of Representati ves. He was familiar with the duties of a Congressman and had a good knowledge of the workings of a congressional office. This background plus his leadership won him the office in 1956, again in 1958 and again in 1960. In 1954 Saund was elected Chairman of the Imperial County Democratic Central Committee and named Chairman by his fellow members. When he stood as a Democraticcandidate for the Congress from the 29th California district in 1956, political prophets foretold his defeat. His party had never won a Congressional seat from that district and he was pitted against a formidable rival, the world-famous aviatrix Jacqueline Cochran OdIum. The prophets were, however, confounded. Saund won the election by a majority of 4,000 votes. OOD

received more votes than his opponent, bu t lost the election on a legal technicality-the requirement of one year's citizenship. Undaunted, Saund ran again in 1952 and this time was elected by an overwhelming majority. When Saund was approached by Democratic leaders . in the twenty-ninth district of California to run for the office of United States Representative in 1956, he had served four years as Judge and had already managed the campaign of a Democratic candidate for the U.S. Upon their arrival in Delhi, Congressman and Mrs. Saund, with their daughter Ellie, paid homage at Rajghat to a man whose principles deeply influenced Saund when he was a young Punjabi student. Opposite, the Saunds are shown being greeted by Prime Minister Nehru.

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the U.S. foreign aid program in Asia and came to India as an unofficial ambassador of goodwill. In the course of his visit he met Prime Minister Nehru and other Indian leaders, addressed the Indian Parliament and Sikh religious congregations and visited his native village. And there was a welcome reunion with his younger brother Sardar Karnail Singh, now Chairman of the Indian Railway Board. His wife and his daughter Ellie accompanied him.

On behalf of the Sikh community, Congressman Saund was garlanded by the President of the Gurudwara Bara Sikh Sangat in Calcutta.

Alluding to the victory he remarked, "Mrs. Odium was a national figure, a colorful personality with a Cinderella-like success story, while I was a native of India, seeking a high office no one of my race had ever held ... I believe that many people just thought it was an opportunity to demonstrate that they believed in democracy and fairplay." Saund's record as a Congressman has been an outstanding one. During his first term he was assigned to the House of Representatives Foreign Affairs Committee-a rare honor for a freshman Congressmanand it was in this capacity that he was asked to survey Saund visited many villages during his trip to India in 1957. Here he speaks with the vj[[agers of Jindpur near Delhi.

WELCOME HOME At Saund's native village of Chhajalwadi, the people thronged the road for four miles out to welcome the man who had left their village to become an American Congressman. "In my boyhood," Dr. Saund wrote in describing his return home, "some of us had scrawled a poem on a well with blue paint. Tears came as I read the faded words: Consider the sitting together and companionship offriends as God's blessings while they last.... " Besides his interest in international affairs, Congressman Saund has served since 1959 on the Interior and Insular Affairs Committee. He was selected in 1958 as a U.S. delegate to the first Interparliamentary Union Conference held behind the Iron Curtain-in Warsaw, Poland. Last year he participated, as the only member of Congress invited by then Secretary of State Herter, in a Harvard conference on international cultural relations. Following his re-election on November 8, Dr. Saund commented that, "Inasmuch as I am a member of the majority party and a personal friend of our newly elected President, John F. Kennedy, I feel my work will be even more productive and effective." Dalip Singh Saund is certain to continue his active interest in his native land and both India and America may well be proud of his achievements.

the floW" of the river by Loren Eiseley

there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water. Its least stir even, as now in a rain pond on a flat roof opposite my office, is enough to bring me searching to the window. A wind ripple may be translating itself into life. I have a constant feeling that some time I may witness that momentous miracle on a city roof, see life veritably and suddenly boiling out of a heap of rusted pipes and old television aerials. I marvel at how suddenly a water beetle has come and is submarining there in a spatter of green algae. Thin vapors, rust, wet tar and sun are an alembic remarkably like the mind; they throw off odorous shadows that threaten to take real shape when no one is looking. Once in a lifetime, if one is lucky, one so merges with sunlight and air and running water that whole eons, the eons that mountains and deserts know, might pass in a single afternoon without discomfort. The mind has sunk away into its beginnings among old roots and the obscure tricklings and movings that stir inanimate things. Like the charmed fairy circle into which a man once stepped, and upon emergence learned that a whole century had passed in a single night, one can never quite define this secret; but it has something to do, I am sure, with common water. Its substance reaches everywhere; it touches the past and prepares the future; it moves under the poles and wanders thinly in the heights of air. It can assume forms of exquisite perfection in a snowflake, or strip the living to a single shining bone cast up by the sea. Many years ago, in the course of some scientific investigations in a remote western country, I experienced, by chance, precisely the sort of curious absorption by water-the extension of shape by esmosis-at which I have been hinting. You have probably never experienced in yourself the meandering roots of a whole watershed or felt your outstretched fingers touching, by some kind of clairvoyant extension, the brooks of snow-line glaciers at the same time that you were flowing toward the Gulf over the eroded debris of worn-down mountains. A poet, MacKnight Black, has spoken of being "limbed ... with waters gripping pole and pole." He had the idea, all right, and it is obvious that these sensations are not unique, but they are hard to come by; and the sort of extension of the senses that people will accept when they put their ear against a sea shell, they will smile at in the confessions of a bookish professor. What makes it worse is the fact that because of a traumatic experience in childhood, I am not a swimmer, and am inclined to be timid before any large body of water. Perhaps it was just this, in a way, that contributed to my experience. As it leaves the Rockies and moves downward over the high plains toward the Missouri, the Platte River is a curious stream. In the spring Floods, on occasion, it can be a mile-wide roaring torrent of destruction, gulping farms and bridges. Normally, however, it is a rambling, dispersed series of streamlets flowing erratically over great sand and gravel fans that are, in part, the remnants of a mightier Ice Age stream bed. Quicksands and shifting islands haunt its waters. Over it the prairie suns beat mercilessly throughout the summer. The Platte, "a mile wide and an inch deep," is a refuge for any

heat-weary pilgrim along its shores. This is particularly true on the high plains before its long march by the cities begins. The reason that I came upon it when I did, breaking through a willow thicket and stumbling out through ankle-deep water to a dune in the shade, is of no concern to this narrative. On various purposes of science I have ranged over. a good bit of that country. on foot, and I know the kinds of bones that come gurglmg up through the gravel pumps, and the arrowheads of shining chalcedony that occasionally spill out of waterloosened sand. On that day, however, the sight of sky and willows and the weaving net of water murmuring a little in the shallows on its way to the Gulf stirred me, parched as I was with miles of walking, with a new idea: I was going to float. I was going to undergo a tremendous adventure. The notion came to me, I suppose, by degrees. I had shed my clothes and was floundering pleasantly in a hole among some reeds when a great desire to stretch out and go with this gently insistent water began to pluck at me. Now to this bronzed, bold, modern generation,. the struggle I waged with timidity while standing there m knee-d~ep water can only seem farcical; yet actually for me It was not so. A near-drowning accident in childhood had scarred my reactions; in addition to the fact that I was nonswimmer, this "inch-deep river" was treacherous with holes and quicksands. Death was not precisely infrequent along its wandering and illusory channels. Like all broad wastes of this kind, where neither water nor land quite prevails, its thickets were lonely and untraversed. A man in trouble would cry out in vain. I thought of all this, standing quietly in the water feeling the sand shifting away under my toes. Then I lay back in the floating position that left my face to the sky, and showed off. The sky wheeled over me. For an instant as I bobbed into the main channel, I had the sensatio~ of sliding down the vast tilted face of the continent. It was then t~at I felt the cold needles of the alpine springs at my fingertIps, and the warmth of the Gulf pulling me southward. Moving with me, leaving its taste upon my mouth and spouting under me in dancing springs of sand, was the immense body of the continent itself, flowing like the river was flowing, grain by grain, mountain by mountain, down to the sea. I was streaming over ancient sea beds thrust aloft where giant reptiles had once sported; I was wearing down the face of time and trundling cloud-wreathed ranges into oblivion. I touched my margins with the delicacy of a crayfish's antennae, and felt great fishes glide about their work. I drifted by stranded timber cut by heaver in mountain fastnesses; I slid over shallows that had buried the broken axles of prairie schooners and the mired bones of mammoth. I was streaming alive through the hot and working ferment of the sun, or oozing secretively through shady thickets. I was water and the unspeakable alchemies that gestate and take shape in water, the slimy jellies that under the enormous magnification of the sun writhe and whip upward as great barbeled fish mouths, or sink indistinctly back into the murk out of which they arose. Turtle and fish and the pinpoint chirpings of individual frogs are all watery projections, concentrations-as man himself is a concentration-'-:'of that indescribable and liquid brew which is compounded in varying proportions of salt and sun and time. It has appearances, but at its heart lies water, and as I was finally edged gently against a sand bar and dropped like any log, I tottered as I rose. I knew once more the body's revolt against emergence into the harsh and unsupporting air, its reluctance to break contact with that mother

element which still, at this late point in time, shelters and brings into being nine-tenths of everything alive. As for men, those myriad little detached ponds with their own swarming corpuscular life, what were they but a way that water has of going about beyond the reach of rivers? I, too, was a microcosm of pouring rivulets and floating driftwood gnawed by the mysterious animalcules of my own creation. I was three-fourths water, rising and subsiding according to the hollow knocking in my veins : a minute pulse like the eternal pulse that lifts Himalayas and which, in the following systole, will carry them away. Thoreau, peering at the emerald pickerel in Walden Pond, called them "animalized water" in one of his moments of strange insight. If he had been possessed of the geological knowledge so laboriously accumulated since his time, he might have gone further and amusedly detected in the planetary rumblings and eructations which so delighted him in the gross habits of certain frogs, signs of that dark interior stress which has reared sea bottoms up to mountainous heights. He might have on Cretaceous beaches where now the wheat of Kansas rolls. In any case, he would have seen as the long trail of life was unfolded by the fossil hunters, that his animalized water had changed its shapes eon by eon to the beating of the earth's dark millennial heart. In the swamps of the low continents, the amphibians had flourished and had their way; and as the long skyward swing-the isostatic response of the crust-had come about, the era of the cooling grasslands and mammalian life had come into being. A few winters ago, clothed heavily against the weather, I wandered several miles along one of the tributaries of that same Platte I had floated down years before. The land was stark and ice-locked. The rivulets were frozen, and over the marshlands the willow thickets made such an array of vertical lines against the snow that tramping through them produced strange optical illusions and dizziness. On the edge of a frozen backwater, I stopped and rubbed my eyes. At my feet a raw prairie wind had swept the ice clean of snow. A peculiar green object caught my eye; there was no mistaking it. Staring up at me with all his barbels spread patheticall~'..frozen solidly in the wind-ruffled ice, was a huge famIlIar face. It was one of those catfish of the twisting channels, those dwellers in the yellow murk, who had been about me and beneath me on the day of my great voyage. Whatever sunny dream had kept him paddling there while the mercury plummeted downward and that Cheshire smile froze slowly, it would be hard to say. Or perhaps he was trapped in a blocked channel and had simply kept swimming until the ice contracted around him. At any rate, there he would lie till the spring thaw. At that moment I started to turn away, but something in the bleak, whiskered face reproached me, or perhaps it was the river calling to her children. I termed it science however----convenient rational phrase I reserve for such occasions-and decided that I would cut the fish out of the ice and take him home. I had no intention of eating him. I was merely struck by a sudden impulse to test the survival qualities of high-plains fishes, particularly fishes of this type who get themselves immured in oxygenless ponds or in cut-off oxbows buried in winter drifts. I blocked him out as gently as possible and dropped him, ice and all, into a collecting can in the car. Then we set out for home. Unfortunately, the first stages of what was to prove a remarkable resurrection escaped me. Cold and tired after a long drive, I deposited the can with its melting water

and ice in the basement. The accompanying corpse I anticipated I would either dispose of or dissect on the following day. A hurried glance had revealed no signs of life. To my astonishment, however, upon descending into the basement several hours later, I heard stirrings in the receptacle and peered in. The ice had melted. A vast pouting mouth ringed with sensitive feelers confronted me, and the creature's gills labored slowly. A thin stream of silver bubbles rose to the surface and popped. A fishy eye gazed up at me protestingly. "A tank," it said. This was no Walden pickerel. This was a yellow-green, mud-grubbing, evil-tempered inhabitant of floods and droughts and cyclones. It was the selective product of the high continent and the waters that pour across it. It had outlasted prairie blizzards that left cattle standing frozen upright in the drifts. "I'll get the tank," I said respectfully. He lived with me all that winter, and his departure was totally in keeping with his sturdy, independent character. In the spring a migratory impulse or perhaps sheer boredom struck him. Maybe, in some little lost corner of his brain, he felt, far off, the pouring of the mountain waters through the sandy coverts of the Platte. Anyhow, something called to him, and he went. One night when no one was about, he simply jumped out of his tank. I found him dead on the floor next morning. He had made his gamble like a man-or, I should say, a fish. In the proper place it would not have been a fool's gamble. Fishes in the drying shallows of intermittent prairie streams who feel their confinement and have the impulse to leap while there is yet time may regain the main channel and survive. A million ancestral years had gone into that jump, I thought as I looked at him, a million years of climbing through prairie sunflowers and twining in and out through the pillared legs of drinking mammoth. "Some of your close relatives have been experimenting with air breathing," I remarked, apropos of nothing, as I gathered him up. "Suppose we meet again up there in the cottonwoods in a million years or so." I missed him a little as I said it. He had for me the kind of lost archaic glory that comes from the water brotherhood. We were both projections out of that timeless ferment and locked as well in some greater unity that lay incalculably beyond us. In many a fin and reptile foot I have seen myself passing by-some part of myself, that is, some part that lies unrealized in the momentary shape I inhabit. People have occasionally written me harsh letters and castigated me for a lack of faith in man when I have ventured to speak of this matter in print. They distrust, it would seem, all shapes and thoughts but their own. They would bring God into the compass of a shopkeeper's understanding and confine Him to those limits, lest He proceed to some unimaginable and shocking act-create perhaps, as a casual afterthought, a being more beautiful than man. As for me, I believe nature capable of this, and having been part of the flow of the river, I feel no envy any more than the frog envies the reptile or an ancestral ape should envy man. Every spring in the wet meadows and ditches I hear a little shrilling chorus which sounds for all the world like an endlessly reiterated "We're here, we're here, we're here." And so they are, as frogs, of course. Confident little fellows. I suspect that to some greater ear than ours, man's optimistic pronouncements about his role and destiny may make a similar little ringing sound that travels a small way out into the night. It is only its nearness

that is offensive. From the heights of a mountain, or a marsh at evening, it blends, not too badly, with all the other sleepy voices that, in croaks or chirrups, are saying the same thing. After a while the skilled listener can distinguish man's noise from the katydid's rhythmic assertion, allow for the offbeat of a rabbit's thumping, pick up the autumnal monotone of crickets, and find in all of them a grave pleasure without admitting any to a place of pre-eminence in his thoughts. It is when all these voices cease and the waters are still, when along the frozen river nothing cries, screams or howls, that the enormous mindlessness of space settles down upon the soul. Somewhere out in that waste of crushed ice and reflected stars, the black waters may be running without life toward a destiny in which the whole of space may be locked in sOple silvery winter of dispersed raaiation. It is then, when the wind comes straitly across the barren marshes and the snow rises and beats in endless waves against the traveler, that I remember best, by some trick of the imagination, my summer voyage on the river. I remember my green extensions, my catfish nuzzlings and minnow wrigglings, my gelatinous materializations out of the mother ooze. And as I walk on through the white smother, it is the magic of water that leav~ me a final sign. Men talk ~ch of matter and energy, of the struggle for existence tha~ molds the shape of life. These things exist, it is true; but more delicate, elusive, quicker than the fins in water, is that mysterious principle known as "organization," which leaves all other mysteries concerned .with life stale and insignificant by comparison. For that without organization life does not persist is obvious. Yet this organization itself is not strictly the product of life, nor of selection. Like some dark and passing shadow within matter, it cups out the eyes' small windows or spaces the notes of a meadow lark's song in the interior of a mottled egg. That principle-I am beginning to suspect-was there before the living in the deeps of water. The temperature has risen. The little stinging needles have given way to huge flakes floating in like white leaves blown from some great tree in open space. In the car, switching on the lights, I examine one intricate crystal on my sleeve before it melts. No utilitarian philosophy explains a snow crystal, no doctrine of use or disuse. Water has merely leapt out of vapor and thin nothingness in the night sky to array itself in form. There is no logical reason for the existence of a snowflake any more than there is for evolution. It is an apparition from that mysterious shadow world beyond nature, that final world which contains-if anything contains-the explanation of men and catfish and green leaves. Loren Eiseley was born in Lincoln, Nebraska. His first contact with nature was in the ponds around Lincoln and in the old red brick museum on the campus of the University of Nebraska where, among other things, a store of mammoth bones was hoarded. After receiving his A.B. degree at Nebraska, he completed graduate work in anthropology at the University of Pennsylvania. He taught at the University of Kansas, later became head of the Department of Sociology and Anthropology at Oberlin College in Ohio, and returned to the University of Pennsylvania in 1947 to head the Department of Anthropology. He is also Curator of Early Man in the University Museum. Dr. Eiseley has lectured at a number of universities and is past president of the American Institute of Human Paleontology. This essay is from a collection of his articles published as a volume entitled The Immense Journey. It is reprinted here with the permission of Victor Gollancz, Ltd., London.

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HE courtroom in Lahore, Punjab capital of undivided India, was chill. It was December 12, 1921. Tension in the court was as keen as the cold. "I have been arrested upon the ground that my recent speeches and writings have been of a nature to bring about a breach of the peace." The prisoner in the dock wore a homespun coat. His face was fair and very gentle. The small moustache he wore failed to age the youthful appearance of his face, although he was thirty-nine. The District Magistrate, Major M. C. Ferrar, followed the prisoner's written statement in obvious distress. "I am charged with so speaking and writing that the people of India are thereby incited to hatred for the present Government." Major Ferrar knew Samuel Evans Stokes. He was familiar with Stokes' love for his adopted country. He remembered how Stokes had volunteered in the BritishIndian Army during the World War and had held a captaincy, had offered the use of his estate in Kotgarh to the Government. The statement of the prisoner continued. "I have not shrunk from telling the truth as I see it. I have used every effort of late to persuade the people of this land to strengthen by their support and obedience, the great leader who has been granted to India a.t this time of crisis. And yet I have lost no opportullity of making the people feel that their most sacred duty was to start the work of reformation in their own hearts by cleansing them of hatred and violence." The Magistrate dropped his eyes from the prisoner's face as he wrestled with the judgment that he knew lay ahead. "The last paragraph of my book entitled National Self-Realization, written in 1920, expresses my position clearly: Not by hatred, not with anger, can we gain our end, if our end be worth the gaining. These are of Ahankar, and lead to darkness. "Speaking of The True Non-Co-operator and what his attitude towards his opponents should be, I wrote: It is not by low council that any Swarajya will be won

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{Sam Stokes arrived in india in January 1904 at the age of twenty-two.

which is worth the having. If, we fight with the ignoble weapons of pride and'hate and prejudice, we are undone even if we win a sort of unmoral victory. If wefight in the spirit of true nobility, God and Eterna? Justice fight for us and the victory is certain. "I have not the slightest hesitation in saying that this has been what I have said to the people constantly in my lectures." There could be little argument with such sentiments, Major Ferrar conceded in his thoughts. And he had seen the writings of Samuel Stokes in various newspapers, in Gandhiji's Young India. But he was troubled by the charge made against Stokes by the District InspectorGeneral of Police. "On the night of Friday, the second December," the Inspector-General had related, "I received a letter brought me by special messenger informing me that Mr. Stokes was travelling up to Lahore and was reported to be conveying instructions from the Central Congress Committee to Lala Lajpat Rai in regard to civildJsobedience, directing him to resort to such disobedience and to hold a mass meeting in Lahore in contravention of the Seditious Meetings Act. "Mr. Stokes was arrested on the morning of the third December and taken to the District Police Lines," the Inspector-General had concluded. The prisoner had stated at the outset that he would not defend himself. "My object is not to evade imprisonment, for which, as a non-eo-operator, I am prepared." His purpose in addressing the court, Stokes contended, was "to deny categorically the charge that I have ever given a lecture or written an article that tended to provoke hatred upon the part of the hearer or reader." Major Ferrar frowned. He could not deny to himself that he was persuaded of the real nobility of this man's purpose and of the sincerity of his claims for the methods he had employed. But there was the charge of conspiracy lodged against Stokes. Was conspiracy a gentle weapon? Or was conspiracy, on the other hand, necessarily a seditious act? At that very time a book was being prepared for publication in Madras. In the introduction, written two months earlier on October 15, Stokes had revealed: While at my house in Kotgarh I had promised a book to Messrs. Ganesh & Co. I had hoped to give them something

As a follower of Gandhi, Stokes wore only garments made by his wife from cloth she wove herself

more constructive than the present group of essays and articles, but recent developments made me feel the necessity of returning to the plains to cast in my lot with our comrades in the .Nationalist Cause. ... the days of quiet are at an end, and in the midst of the rush and lack of privacy which the coming months must involve, it will not be possible to carry out my original purpose. lWoreover, another reason has influenced me to send what I have for publication without delay. The lives of those who are working to fulfil the Congress Program, are at present subject to the greatest uncertainty. None of us can say how long we shall be free. . . . These were the words of an anxious man, the Major thought. Furthermore, there was to be a foreword to Stokes' little book, To Awaking India. M. K. Gandhi had written the foreword in which he stated that "Mr. Stokes has not only given his argument in support of burning foreign cloth, but he has also given the economics of Swadeshi in a nutshell." In urging the necessity of burning foreign clothing, Gandhi's foreword would also say something like, " if we will but remember that destruction is as useful and necessary as construction for any organic growth .... " Major Ferrar shook his head over the puzzlement of his thoughts. Then he became aware that the prisoner's statement was dealing with the Inspector-General's charge. shows an astonishing ignonince of the constitution of the Congress and its organisation. "What is this Central Congress Committee that sends instructions to Lala Lajpat Rai? "That, however, is by the way. My object in quoting the above is to show how manifestly incorrect the information was upon which the authorities were acting. "I was reported to be bringing instructions from a Central Congress Committee. Was it assembled in Simla or Kotgarh, from which I was returning to the plains after a visit to my family? "Lala Lajpat Rai had himself just returned from the South, while I was fifty miles above Simla at my house, yet I was reported to be bringing him instructions." The eyes of Samuel Stokes were exceedingly clear and kind, the Major noted. He could detect no clue to guile in his face. "Coming down from Simla, I had reached Ambala in the evening, spent the next day quietly with a friend.

Left at five in the morning for Ludhiana where I remained all day with an old friend who is an ardent co-operator. In the evening I went out for an hour in a tonga to see a loom and took the night train for Lahore. "I was arrested on the way during the very early hours of the morning, presumably to prevent my carrying the instructions to Lahore." The gentle man in khadi had not answered the question for Major Ferrar. Had he really conspired to incite sedition? "Of course, if we may be said to create hatred for Government if we expose its defects, then I am guilty. In that extent the only alternative would be silence or sedition .... At the same time I submit that order is not the only necessity for the Indian people. A dead man is the most orderly and peaceful man possible." So the prisoner's statement continued to its conclusion-eloquent but without definitive answers for the Magistrate. In the end Major Ferrar sought to spare the uncommon man upon whom it was his duty to pass judgment and of whose genuine goodness he was deeply convinced. "I will stand surety for you myself, Stokes," the Major said, "if you will promise not to write or speak against the government in the future." There were no such promises in Samuel Stokes. He was convicted and sentenced to six months' imprisonment. Thus, the Yankee in khadi from Kotgarh preceded to jail in the non-co-operation campaign such stalwarts of India's freedom movement as Motilal Nehru, C. R. Das and Lala Lajpat Rai. II At the time of his imprisonment, Samuel Evans Stokes had lived in India for nearly eighteen years. He belonged to an old and illustrious American family. Some of his ancestors had. participated in the Boston Tea Party. A conscience which could not compromise with freedom was part of his family heritage.

Agnes Benjamin Stokes today goes by the name of Priye Devi Stokes. In Kotgarh she is called Maaji.

sN -3!?:.lj An ancestor named Ranulphus de Praers had come to Britain with William the Conqueror, was made Lord of the viI of Stok near Chester and given fifteen lordships. A descendant, Thomas Stokes of Lower Shadwell, London, married Mary, daughter of John Barnard in 1668. Being Quakers, Thomas and his wife accompanied William Penn to America in 1677 to avoid persecution. Thomas Stokes became. one of the Proprietors of Western New Jersey. Penn and his Quakers later founded the new colony of Pennsylvania, where a later Stokes built Harmony Hall in 1743 and the family came to be known as the Stokes of Harmony Hall. Samuel Evans Stokes III, who was sentenced in Major Ferrar's court in 1921, had been born in Pennsylvania on August 16, 1882. Young Samuel had felt no attraction to the pursuit of usual achievements. When his father gave him money to start in business, Sam Stokes spent it to start a poorhouse in Philadelphia. He had read about India. He had heard stories about India from friends of his father who had lived in the Orient. The anecdotes of a Dr. Carlton, who was a doctor in the leper colony at Sabathu in the Simla Hills, touched the youth so sharply that he determined to come to Sabathu with Dr. Carlton. After long persuasion, his father relented. Sam Stokes arrived in India with Dr. Carlton in January 1904. He was twenty-two years old. From that day until his death in 1946, India was his home. Sam Stokes' service to India began in the leper colony. While he worked there with the Carltons he was stricken with typhoid. He was barely recovered when a violent earthquake razed Kangra. Even so, he volunteered for relief work among the victims of the quake and was assigned to distribute dole. Money was carried into the area in six head-loads under police guard. Sam Stokes gave it out to the people and abhorred his task. "The poor victims salaamed and fawned over me," he later said. "I wouldn't face their humility again for a thousand dollars a day!" After he left Sabathu, Sam Stokes wandered about India for seven years. He lived in the cities and in the remotest villages. He mingled with dignitaries and the

humblest of peasants. He roamed from place to place offering whatever service he could render, giving to the needy, counseling the rich, nursing the diseased, caring for the weak. It was during 1904 that the young American first visited Kotgarh. There was no transport into the wild and beautiful valley with its tall pines and green rolling hills. The fifty-two miles from Simla had to be traversed afoot. Wild animals were an added hazard. The villagers of Kotgarh were exceedingly poor. Their poverty and the bleakness of their lives drew Sam Stokes back to the valley again and again, as much as did the beauty of the region. When he decided in 1912 that India would be his home for the remainder of his life, he returned to Kotgarh to settle. The people of Kotgarh welcomed him. He had

taught in their school at one time. Now he purchased the property of a Mrs. Bates and built a house which he called Harmony Hall. In the same year Sam Stokes proposed marriage to Agnes Benjamin, a beautiful young Rajput girl whose father worked in the government press in Simla. To his mother Florence, back in Pennsylvania, Stokes wrote: "I shall, as far as in me lies, become an Indian, marry an Indian girl, and if God gives me sons and daughters, bring them up absolutely as Indians in manner of life, language, dress and education." After his mother had visited him in Kotgarh and met his fiancee, she wrote to Agnes Benjamin: "I left Kotgarh very happy that you were going to marry my dear son . . . I feel sure that he will be to you a devoted husband and that your life with him will be a happy one." Sam and Agnes Stokes did have children, seven of them-four sons and three daughters. When his third son, Tara Chand, died at the age of eight years, Stokes founded a school for the children of Kotgarh and named it Tara. Their other children-Prem Chand, Pritam Chand who was born during a visit to the United States, Champavati, Savitri, Satyawati and Lal Chand-all married and live with their own children around Kotgarh. From time to time one or the other Stokes of Kotgarh visit the Stokes of Pennsylvania.

For Sam Stokes there was a unity in all religions. He was accustomed to say that "it is not what one finds in any of the scriptures, rather what the scriptures find in one's self." Near Harmony Hall he built with his own hands a temple for himself and his family. He had kept aside some gold with which to cover the temple top in keeping with Indian tradition. When a drought parched the crops of Kulu and Kangra, Stokes sold the gold and sent the proceeds;.to famine-stricken people of the area, declaring, "God will like it better that way." The temple pinnacle is copper which was to be the base for the gold. On the altar of his temple, Sam Stokes mounted five wooden panels, into each of which was carved a couplet from the Gita. " ... as a Christian farmer and landowner of Kotgarh, I shall devote the rest of my life to building up and developing communal life there," the Yankee of Kotgarh had written. He lived up to his own standard. He fought Begar until that system of forced labor was abandoned. He personally repaid many Baithu loans, releasing wretched families from the perpetual bondage in which they had been trapped by the need to borrow petty sums. Again he fought a vicious practice until it was banished.

Barru Bagh, the Stokes farm, crowns this hill near Thanedlzar in the beautiful Kotgarh District. Harmony Hall is at the right. The temple which Sam Stokes built with his own hands stands on the crest of the hill, just left of center.

The first school built by Stokes was called Tara after his son who died in childhood Now it serves for storage.

more trees each year. He distributed apple tree seedlings from America free to the villagers, so that even the poorest peasants of Kotgarh might have a future. He went to their houses and planted the trees himself. Poor as they were, the villagers were usually able to scrape two meals a day off their land. The notion of using the land and spending their ill-fed energy on a crop that might materialize in some future year failed to spark their enthusiasm. Sam Stokes understood their attitude. Patiently he persuaded them and worked beside them. He urged them to imagine the difference these trees would make in the lives of their children. The difference it has made is something of a miracle. The success of the first set of trees ended the villagers' doubts. Soon the whole land of Kotgarh was filled with apple orchards. Landowners great and small all planted apple trees. Today-forty years later-the once poverty-ridden people of Kotgarh harvest from their apple trees each year incomes totaling lakhs of rupees. There is no poverty in Kotgarh.

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Stokes took the Indian name Satyanand. He was usually without personal funds and borrowed from his friends because he constantly gave away his money to those he felt needed it more than he. His son Lal Chand recalls asking his father one day for some money to make a cake, but his father had no money. He had just sent 25,000 rupees to a Bengal famine relief fund. Satyanand distributed free medicines to the people of Kotgarh, clothing to the penniless. He went from house to house nursing the ill. His grain house was open to all peasants whose crops had failed. He took half a dozen orphaned children into his home. As his family grew and their needs increased, Sam Stokes found himself less able to help the villagers of Kotgarh. He pondered means of helping the people to become self-sufficient and to end their poverty permanently. In Tara School, he had made sure that, in addition to reading, writing and arithmetic, the children of Kotgarh would learn the dignity of manual labor. Each child spent two hours each day in the cultivation of the fields and gardens. By chance the idea of starting apple orchards in Kotgarh struck him. Sam Stokes knew nothing about orchards. He has friends in the United States, however, who had prospered as orchardists. But in the poor land around him any fruit tree was a rare sight. Nonetheless he began to correspond with orchardists in America. He ordered books. His library filled up with books about apple trees and orchards. He surveyed the climate of Kotgarh and compared it with apple-growing climates in the United States. In a couple of years he had perfected his knowledge of apple-growing. So confident of success was he that, although it would take an orchard some years to come into full production, he ordered quantities of apple tree seedlings from the United States and began to plant orchards on a commercial scale. He planted a number of varieties-Winter Banana, Jonard, Summer Queen, Golden Delicious. He planted The youngsters of Barru Bagh 'are taught the joy of tending life and the land.

Even while he devoted himself to the emancipation of Kotgarh from poverty, Satyanand also turned his full energies to the rising struggle for Indian independence. He became a member of the All India Congress Committee and a devoted follower of Gandhiji. He wrote and lectured. Early in 1921 with Pandit Madan Mohan Malviya and the Reverend C. F. Andrews, he presented the Congress' view before the Viceroy. Finally but not unexpectedly-"most of us should be in jail by the latter

part of December"-Sam Stokes, was imprisoned in December 1921 for seditious activities. In jail he declined the preferential treatment offered to him. It was a difficult experience for both his young wife in Kotgarh and for his aging mother in Germantown, Pennsylvania. But each found comfort in the other's letters. "Indeed, I know you are proud of your husband and I am too." Florence Stokes wrote to her daughter-in-law. To her son, she wrote: "I thank God, every day and every hour that He has given you not only the strength but the joy of service." Again Florence Stokes wrote from Germantown to Agnes in Kotgarh: I have talked to everyone for the past year of his sympathy with the Nationalist cause, his faith in Mahatma Gandhi and his work for Swaraj, but I did not want to talk of his arrest if it could be helped .... It may have been cowardly on my part but I hated to have it talked about by those who could not comprehend it at all .... Yet sooner or later everything gets into papers and about three weeks ago the Evening Ledger had a short paragraph about itpretty accurate and not at all objectionable. This was followed by other papers, and in a couple of days all our friends, indeed everyone, knew of it and to my amazement everyone seemed to understand it intelligently. Various people have spoken to me about it. Dear Mrs. Bradbury said, 'Oh ! how proud I would be if it were my son.' And Anne Gleason who had seen it in the papers and had read it to her husband wrote to me that he had said, 'Bully for Sam Stokes! If more of us went to jail for what we believed, the world would soon be a better place.'

Vimla SUl'kek, daughter of Stokes' daughter Champavati and Lakshmi Singh, gathers apples from the trees her grandfather brought to India. She also appears on the back cover.

In Sam Stokes Gandhiji had indeed found a dedicated and able exponent of the Nationalist cause. Like his Guru, the Yankee of Kotgarh lived what he preached. As an advocate of khadi, Stokes always dressed in garments spuIil5y ltgnes. Frequently people seeing patches on his coat and trousers would ask if he had only one coat. Stokes would smile and say, "I have only one wife and she can spin only enough for one coat at a time." Satyanand did not live to see the reality of the goal for which he labored. He died shortly before India's independence. But it does not sound strange to hear older residents of Kotgarh say today, "If Sam Stokes were alive, he would be a Minister." But Samuel Evans Stokes remained a humble and unaffected man, saying: "It is wrong when people lavish praise on me. It is like thinking of the radio set as the source of a voice. The radio set is just a medium. The really important thing is the transmitter. The voice comes from there!"

T great success of Our Town, first performed in 1938, in its 1959-60 revival off Broadway proved that HE

Thornton Wilder's play is still alive in the only way that a play can be-namely, alive in the theater, either actually or potentially. Few plays do live that long and Our Town has passed a very crucial test. It looks now as though it might live a good deal longer. Of how many other American plays can as much be said? To us who watched the first real flowering of drama in the United States during the late Teens and the Twenties, it sometimes seemed that enduring masterpieces were being produced at the rate of three or four a season. Obviously they were not, and there later came a time when it began to look as though all were already dead or dying. Certainly, few attempts were made to revive any of them, and even Eugene O'Neill, despite the prestige he had enjoyed, seemed destined to remain permanently on the shelf. Our Town is only one of a number of indications that the situation has changed again. A new generation

is finding a good deal of interest in the work of that which preceded it. Here then is one spectator's considered guess at ten twentieth-century American plays that seem to have a long life ahead of them. Only time, of course, can tell, and no one can usurp the prerogative of posterity. On the other hand, not even posterity can prove me wrong until long after I have gone where-presumablyerrors of critical judgement will not be held against me. I list my candidates alphabetically by authors, rather than chronologically or in the order of what I consider the relative strength of their claims. And except in the

Joseph Wood Krutch is a leading critic of American literature and a former professor of English and of dramatic literature at Columbia University. He is the author of a number of books, including Modernism in Modern Drama. The scene at the top of the page is from William Saroyan's compassionate panorama of life in a waterfront restaurant, The Time of Your Life.

case of O'Neill (who is allowed two) I give only one play to an author despite the fact that a second or third work by anyone of several may, in fact, have an equally good chance for immortality. I do this for the same reason that, if asked the ten plays in the English language most likely to endure for five more centuries, I would see no point in saying (true though it probably is) that they are all by William Shakespeare. The Second Man (1927) by S. N. Behrman. This is the only one of my ten which adheres completely to the pattern and tone of the classic comedy of manners. It has not yet been subjected to the test of a New York revival but some day it will be. When it is, audiences will find that, like the plays of William Congreve, "it has wit enough to keep it sweet." However much the more earnest among us may deplore the fact, worldly wisdom has a way of lasting rather better than what seemed at the time wisdom of a more worthy sort. It changes least with the passing of time and the waning of fashions. The Green Pastures (1930) by Marc Connelly. The delight which audiences have continued to take in this charming and funny fantasy is a very powerful reason for pronouncing what doctors call a favorable prognosis. Purists will object that it is not genuine "folk art," but neither are most of the other most enduring works based upon folk material. In visual as well as in other terms, it brilliantly creates a solid and consistent world of fantasy in which naivete and sophistication are mingled so successfully that they seem, for once, compatible rather than antagonistic. J. B. (1958) by Archibald MacLeish. No one of my ten can be seen in so short a perspective but none was received on its first production with greater or more nearly universal acclaim. Most spectators seem to feel J. B., a verse drama by Archibald MacLeish, paraphrases the Biblical story of Job ill a modern context.

Long Day's Journey into Night had its world premiere in February 1956 at the Royal Dramatic Theatre in Stockholm.

that here the timely and the timeless are most astonishingly combined. On the one hand, Mr. MacLeish speaks to a generation more agonizingly aware than most that, whether Man be guilty or guiltless, calamities are raining down upon him. On the other hand, the more general aspects of Job's story are timeless. Perhaps when all men have become positivists and society has made it impossible to ask any longer what positivists call "the meaningless questions," then those questions which Job and J. B. raise will be numbered among the meaningless, but they will be pertinent at least until then. Many of the best recent plays have tried in vatious ways to get poetry of some kind onto the contemporary stage. Perhaps no other has used actual verse as successfully as J. B. does. Death of a Salesman (1949) by Arthur Miller. When this play was first produced, I made very decided reservations in praising it. It seemed ploddingly prosy in a literal, Dreiserian way and I found myself also resisting what I took to be its social comment. The author put too much stress upon his all-too-common common-man hero as "the victim of social forces"; too little upon his own tragic guilt which lay in his failure to be as true to himself as society would have permitted him to be. In retrospect, I feel that I perhaps emphasized too much these reservations, but even if I did not, the fact remains that it is not my opinion but that of the public which will determine whether the play will last. And the consensus has certainly been in its favor. I choose it rather than any of the author's other works because the interest it arouses seems to me less dependent than that of the others upon themes and attitudes likely to

is the choice I do make. Few of O'Neill's other scenes are more hypnotic than either "poor old Charlie's" first-act soliloquy or the "my three men" scene later in the play.

Oklahoma! (/943) by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein 11. No other musical comedy of our time broke so sharply with established conventions as Oklahoma! But that would not assure it permanence, for the simple reason that neither novelty nor "influence" guarantees the survival of a work of art. What does make it hard to imagine a time when this work would no longer seem delightful is its confident buoyancy, its easy, bubbling exuberance. There is a sort of fresh innocence which one would hardly have expected to find on Broadway or, for that matter, in the work of two such thorough professionals as its composer and its librettist. The late Wolcott Gibbs made a precise analysis when he remarked, concerning another musical play contemporary with Oklahoma! and praised just as highly by some, that the difference was that between "ingenious contrivance and sunny inspiration." The authors have produced several subsequent works that enjoyed equal popularity and are admirable in their own way, but it probably would be too much to hope that they should be visited again by that sunny inspiration.

seem less significant after in the climate of opinion.

the next inevitable

change

Strange Interlude (1928) and Long Day's Journey Into Night (1956) by Eugene O'Neill. During the decade that followed The Iceman Cometh (1946), O'Neill's reputation seemed to be suffering a certain decline. More recent theatrical history has confirmed the earlier view that he is the most important American dramatist. At least six or eight of his plays seem likely to endure if any twentieth-century American play does, and that makes somewhat arbitrary the singling out of two. Nevertheless, so far as Long Day's Journey is concerned, my choice is at least not random. In some respects it is not really "typical" because it is more definitely than any of his other major works a domestic play, essentially realistic in method, with the attention focused consistently upon concrete individuals and, on the surface at any rate, without mystical, religious, Freudian or symbolic significance. It is untypically "straightforward." But also, and in part for this very reason, it impresses one with a stark naked power hardly to be equaled by that of any of O'Neill's other works.

Strange Interlude, on the other hand, is "typical," not because any of the other plays is similar in specific ways but because, like so many of them, it does employ an unconventional, unrealistic theatrical device. Furthermore, it develops the Freudian hypotheses which O'Neill used as a sort of dramatic myth, much as, in other plays, he used other religious or secular myths. There will be much more difference of opinion concerning its rank among his plays than about Long Day's Journey. I should not protest very strongly the suggestion that Desire Under the Elms or Mourning Becomes Electra be substituted for it. Still, since I must make a choice, Strange Interlude

The Time of Your Life (1939) by William Saroyan. No writer could possibly be less "alienated" than Mr. Saroyan. He appeared most unpredictably during the depression years to confess his faith that people are beautiful, the world a delightful place, and salvation easily available to all who will just take things easy. As a writer, his great mistake was to assume that writing is as easy as living and the result is that he has been willing to accept for himself a slackness of structure Moses and the Lord appear in this scene from Marc Connelly's Pulitzer Prize play, The Green Pastures.

just tolerable in the short story and the sketch but hardly tolerable at all in the theater. Only two of his plays, the short My Heart's in the Highlands and the full-length The Time of Your Life, are tight enough and coherent enough to stand a chance of holding a permanent place on the stage. I choose the second just because it is of conventional length, but both plays communicate so agreeably the flavor of a very individual and humorous romanticism that they will, I think, continue to be cherished. The Skin of Our Teeth (1942) by Thornton Wilder. Mr. Wilder's work, both as playwright and novelist, has been so various in method and tone that one tends to think of each play or novel as a separate entity rather than as the characteristic product of an individual talent. Yet few would deny that at least two of his plays are among the most impressive of the modern American theater-Our Town, which gives such striking expression to a peculiar combination of nostalgia and mysticism, and The Skin of Our Teeth, a symbolic parody that succeeds so improbably in making hilarious and at the same time touching both the whole blundering history of mankind and the catastrophe that now threatens it. I choose the latter play because of what seems to me its clearer outlines and less ambiguous message. A Streetcar Named Desire (1947) by Tennessee Williams. By general consent Mr. Williams and Arthur Miller are two younger playwrights prolific enough as well as powerful enough to have established themselves Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman, which received the 1949 Pulitzer Prize for drama, has been called the tragedJI of an ordinary man. Ten separate scenes were played on this single set in the original production of the play.

most firmly. Yet, though one thinks of them together, they are fundamentally different in that Mr. Miller inhabits a world far more public than that of Mr. Williams. The one is primarily a critic of society, the other obsessively concerned with the usually distorted personalities of characters whom he seems to regard as more typical examples of the human predicament than they appear to most spectators. For all that, his plays exercise a compulsive power. Indeed, it cannot be said so surely of the dramatic tales told by any of his American contemporaries that one simply "cannot choose but hear." He has to an extraordinary degree the pure dramatic gift and from the first speech of his best plays he holds the attention, even the unwilling attention, in his grip. I choose A Streetcar Named Desire because it seems to me the least affected by the constant danger that Mr. Williams' obsessive concerns will lose the sympathy of his audience. Looking back over my list, I notice two things, of which at least the second is of some importance. First, every play achieved a considerable success at its first production although, of course, many plays, now almost forgotten, won equal or greater popularity at the time. Seven of the ten received either the Pulitzer or the Critics' award, and several won both. Second, only three of them-The Second Man, Death of a Salesman and Long Day's Journey-could be called straightforwardly realistic in method. All the others manage in one way or in several to free the imagination from the bonds oftbe literal. I think this a very significant fact concerning tbe character and the meaning of the contemporary theater.

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of the most convincing proofs of the universal appeal of Gandhi's personality and philosophy is the varied international group of disciples whom he attracted like a magnet. They differed widely in their origin and professions: Romain Rolland, a world-famous French man of letters; C. F. Andrews, an English missionary; Vincent Sheean, a maverick and a highly original American journalist; Mira Behn, a proper young Englishwoman; Louis Fischer, a seasoned and sophisticated American writer who was considered a specialist on Russian affairs. The element they shared in common, I believe, was a search for simplicity and honesty in a world of conflicting and ambiguous turmoil, a search that led them inevitably to Mahatma Gandhi. In America, Gandhi and his ideals made a persuasive impression on a great many seekers after truth, who have seen him as a wise and exemplary prophet. There are many reasons why this has been true, of course, but if you examine the facts I think that you will find that an American Christian minister named John Haynes Holmes has been, more than any other person, responsible for the understanding of and reverence for Gandhi which is widespread in the United States today. Holmes was born in 1879and grew up in New England. He graduated from Harvard University and studied theology at the Harvard Divinity School. Like so many other solid New Englanders, including Ralph Waldo Emerson, he became a Unitarian minister. Unitarians, members of a Christian sect, are inclined to be serious men, not dogmatic, and full of the desire to do good work. Probably this desire led him to be one of the founders of the American Civil Liberties Union and of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, both of which have been vital liberal forces in American life. In 1919 he became independent from his fellow Unitarians and founded a non-sectarian Community Church in New York, of which he was the leader for twenty years.

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It wa at about this~ime that he first read about pand~i i~ he ~ag~~sof a~ .\Eh~lisl:magazine. T?e Indian's 11 lhon-vlOlept re~lsta~ce ca~Ra~~ m South A~nca ~ade a ) ~/ / deep an1. lastm&; 1m.press~0,.non the Amencan lIberal. Later Holmes wrbte::.·.. 'r"" ''-. " ,.,., .

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In 1922 in vondon Holmes met Henry P~lak,Jn early:associate of Gandhi, and from him and from <fffie'i- ' fI' ',,-; h sourtes he began to learn more01thegreat Indian leader. h7 Thf ~ame .~e.~.:.he"T)rea9hed~~"frn:on, "Who ~s/lhe;i/ Greatest Mart' in the World,';; III ¥v'!l1eh~he--extolled;!~' vivtues ,..of Q\lnclhi. This~al{d SU'h~'equent~ writiI:\gs by Holmes abO"utthe saintly,qnQ'ian becltmy.,\Yide.1$ 'k'no}Vnin America. Gandhi's, aut9'biography was~,first pubfistied in America in Unity, a magazine edited ~y Dr. Hglmes. C. F. Andrews s~{i~that Holmes ;vas . "t~le,very firs;t to make the name of Gandhi known and love.tlin America. What Romain Rollan 'has done idEurope, he himselflJas accomplished in the New,World." ~ ~~ ~ Dr. Holmes did not ,meet the' ahatma in person until 1931, but, as he said, r,.~ . carried Gandh:~in his hJkrt through long periods of time. uring, is life he made,'an extensive collection of books by a· d ab[1ut Ga ~hi, rvar Univo/sity which now forms a part of t e Library. In 1947, no longer a young man, he as invited under the auspices of the WatUl p.1l Found tion 0 be Tagore Memorial Professor at Bana' as Hindu University, where he was awarded the Litt.D. aegiee~ Some 'of my readers will doubtless remember the lectUFeswhich he gave in many parts of India. During this rip he saw Gandhi for the last time'l\~", '. ~ Dr. Holmes was the auth.o;1of m~ oks ,on religion and social subjects, out l;iewill b_e>.best re1l1embered for a brief, tender volume:..(:ntWed. My Gandhi, ill which he recorded in moving language the spiritual nourishment which Gandhi gave to an American dis~iRle.

bo Âˇ~t'144o PRIME MINISTER NEHRU His preoccupations at the United Nations General Assembly Session and the many other demands on his time did not prevent Prime Minister Nehru from sampling some of the cultural attractions of New York during his last visit to the U.S. from September 25 to October 9, 1960. He found time to visit two museums and to see previews of one of the season's most widely heralded plays and a charity film premiere. At the internationally famed Metropolitan Museum of Art, a ceiling-~igh sphe.rically balanced composition of planes by RIchard LIppold elicited high praise from Mr. Nehru. "This is beaut~f~l," he said, standing before the piece. Mr. Nehru also VlSI!ed the Guggenheim Museum, a citadel of controve~sIal, modern, abstract painting and sculpture, housed m a building which has attracted world-wide attention because of its unorthodox design. The stage performance which Mr. Nehru preview~d was "Becket," an adaptation of the French dramatIst Jean Anouilh's play about the 12th century English archbishop and martyr, Thomas Becket. He also saw the film version of Don Schary's highly successful play "Sunrise at Campobello," which enjoyed a lengthy run in New York. The theme of this story is the personal struggle in the early life of the late Franklin D. Roosevelt. A crippling attack of polio threatened to end Roosevelt's promi~ing political career but, with unique courage and determmation, he rose above his permanent disability to become eventually the President of the United States.

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MR. MORARJI DESAI Among the several distinguished visitors to the Unite~ States during the latter part of 1960 was Mr. MorarJI Desai, India's Finance Minister. He attended the annual meetings in Washington of the Boards of Governors of the World Bank, International Monetary Fund, and International Finance Corporation, held at the end of September and in early October. Speaking at the World Bank's Annual Discussi?n, Mr Desai referred to the Bank's "most outstandmg achievement during the year," namely, the signing of the Indo-Pakistan treaty which settled the decade-old problem of division of the waters of the Indus River syste.m. He stated that the credit for solving this problem, WhICh threatened to jeopardize the development of both India and Pakistan must be substantially that of the World Bank. Mr. D~sai also dwelt at some length on the capital needs of the developing countries and the importance of relating international economic aid to sound schemes of long-term development. Later in an address to the Overseas Press Club in New York, Mr. Desai reviewed current economic developments in India and outlined the country's plans for the future. He stated that the basic objective of India's third Five Year Plan was to achieve an overall rate of growth of five per cent per annum. To attain this growth not only would exports have to be stepped up considerably but the country would need "the help and support of our friends abroad" for a limited period of ten years or so. He said that India had been able to overcome serious difficulties so far with the assistance received from friendly countries, "most notably from your own country."

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PROFESSORLAMIYA CHAKRA VARTY.!

For Mr. R. C. Shrivastava, Principal of the College of Agriculture at Akola (Maharashtra), a visit to the American pavilion in the World Agriculture Fair in Delhi (November 1958-February 1959) was a rewarding experience in more ways than one. Apart from seeing a demonstration of some of the newest agricultural techniques, his visit to Amriki Mela brought in its wake a trip to the United States as guest of a group of American business companies. This trip was one of the two prizes in an essay competition sponsored by the companies. While in the United States, Mr. Shrivastava spent three months observing agricultural education and research methods at Kansas State University and in the rural areas of the State. In an interview he referred to the far-reaching effects on Indian agriculture of the various joint U.S.-Indian technical cooperation projects. He cited agronomy experiments and the 1954 program on the use and storage of fertilizers as examples of programs which had made a direct impact on Indian farming. Mr. Shrivastava commented: "Some people in my country believe that America is the land of milk and honey. They often don't realize that a lot of hard work goes into making it so."

"I have politics in my blood," said Mrs. Tara Cherian, with a smile. This charming and gifted lady-ex-Mayor of Madras, a member of the Senate of Madras University, and the only woman member of the Board of Directors of AirIndia International-was being interviewed in the course of a two-month tour of the United States. Being in the U.S. at the time of the national election campaigns, she was particularly impressed by the fact that in the campaigns the stress was on the personalities of candidates and their respective approaches to issues, rather than on party affiliations. Mrs. Cherian's tour was arranged by the Women's Bureau of the U.S. Department of Labor. It started in Hawaii where she attended a University seminar on civic affairs. While in Washington, she was the guest of honor at a luncheon given by Mrs. William O. Douglas, wife of one of the Justices of the U.S. Supreme Court.

To many young American students and others who will perhaps never have the opportunity to see the East, Dr. Amiya Chakravarty, of Boston University's School of Theology, has brought a wealth of Indian philosophy through his lectures on comparative religion and literature. Dr. Chakravarty took his M.A. degree at Patna University and his doctorate at Oxford in 1937. He has been residing in the United States since 1948 and joined the teaching staff of Boston University six years ago. His last trip to India was at the end of 1959 when he met Prime Minister Nehru and helped plan some of the activities of the coming Tagore Centennial. He is on the India Committee of the Asia Society of New York and is preparing a new book of Tagore translations and biography to be released for the centennial. One of his special qualifications for this work is his association with the poet whom he served as literary secretary for about seven years and accompanied to the United States in 1930. Dr. Chakravarty participated in the Gandhi peace marches through Indian villages from 1946 to 1948. He is a personal friend of Dr. Albert Schweitzer and has given numerous lectures and radio talks about Schweitzer and his work. His Danish-born wife, a former language teacher at Santiniketan, serves as a volunteer hostess for foreign students at Boston University. The international atmosphere of Boston University, with its concentrated study centers of Asian and African cultures, attracts Dr. Chakravarty. He says: "I have never been to a more creative and artistic-and may I say more spiritually involved-educational center .... Since coming here I have seen the rise of an interest in Asia, evidenced not only by the many new books and articles on Asia every month, but also by the growth of Asian and Indian departments in many schools of this country."

One of the youngest presidents in the history of Princeton University is forty-one-year-old Dr. Robert F. Goheen.

a direct sense, mankind's progress in the future depends on the abstract thinking and analyses of scholars today. Who are these people curious enough to peer into the intellectual unknown and do the mental exploration which will produce tangible results 25, 50, or 100 years hence? Pure scientists and research scholars of this caliber are found in many scattered places, but one of the finest collections is assembled at the Institute for Advanced Study at Princeton, New Jersey. There, free of teaching assignments and administrative duties, scholars pursue their individual studies at their own pace and in their own way, without deadlines, supervision, or " production quotas." Contrary to common assumption, the institute has no connection with Princeton University, though the university library is an invaluable aid to the scholars. The institute's "campus" is a lovely expanse of welltrimmed lawn running into deep woods on the edge of Princeton. Five two-story red brick buildings clustered about the original Georgian-style Fuld Hall house the institute's activities. These six buildings have surprisingly similar interiors: no classrooms, lecture halls, or laboratories, but rather rows of offices to each side of the centra] corridor. Institute "members," as they are called, are drawn from the far corners of the globe-from Japan, Australia, Argentina, Sweden-and from many points between. All hold the Doctor of Philosophy degree or the equivalent, all are acknowledged scholars, all rate in the genius or near-genius category. Virtually all of the approximately 100 temporary members are university professors on sabbatical leave who come on fellowships granted by the-Natiomil Science Foundation or by other foundatiops 'or universities. Most of them remain for a half year or a full year, though some are invited to stay for longer periods. About 20 members constitute the "faculty," (Continued on page 40)

SOME ARE FAMOUS NAMES Although the institute is scarcely known outside of academic circles, some of its members have achieved considerable fame. Best known of all was the revered Dr. Albert Einstein, the second professor appointed after the institute was established in 1930 and a potent influence in its affairs until his passing four years ago. Dr. J. Robert Oppenheimer, present director of the institute, is well known as the man who directed the building of the atomic bomb. George F. Kennan went to the institute after important service to the United States Government as Ambassador to Moscow. He continues from his office at the institute to contribute to the discussion on foreign policy. The 1957 Nobel Prize in physics was awarded to Doctors C. N. Yang and T. D. Lee. Dr. Yang is a member of the institute faculty and Dr. Lee divides his time between Columbia University and the institute. Another Nobel Prize-winner is Dr. Niels Bohr, noted Danish physicist and faculty member.

TO ANSWER"

WHY"

The Institute for Advanced Study was first conceived by Dr. Abraham Flexner, who later became its first director. In promoting the idea of such an institution where scholars could enjoy an environment conducive to productive thinking, Dr. Flexner attracted the attention of department-store owner Louis Bamberger. Mr. Bamberger and his sister, Mrs. Felix Fuld, gave $11,000,000, and the institute was born. What do scholars do at the institute? In a word, they think. More specifically, "We are here mainly to answer the question 'why?'" explains Dr. Abraham Pais, a member of the faculty, •• not to answer the question • what for?' It is typical of our culture that we have a large appreciation for know-how. This is a good thing. But to know' why' precedes to know • how.' " Although many fields of scientific knowledge are represented at the institute, the majority of members are mathematicians and physicists. It is among these predominantly young men that the expansion of thought frontiers is most evident. Just what they are doing is nearly incomprehensible to the layman, and even at times to their learned colleagues. One institute member who can e~plajn his quest in understandable terms is Dr. 'Berigt G. Stromgren, astrophysicist who was formerly director of the University of Copenhagen observatory and is now a member of the faculty. By trying to learn the age of individual stars, he hopes to trace them back in space to their point of origin, thus determining where the stars are formed. Again, this research is in the realm of pure science. Dr. Stromgren knows of no practical application of his work. He is not even interested in speculating on what value it may possibly have some day. This is completely irrelevant to him and to the institute. Yet this is not to say that there is no "practical value" to the work of these mathematicians and physicists. One of the outstanding physicists on the faculty, Dr. Freeman J. Dyson, spent 1959 on leave with a commercial atomic establishment, exploring the feasibility of using a controlled nuclear explosion for

space travel. Others have similarly lent their talents in the field of applied science. But the prime example was that of the late Dr. John von Neumann, considered by many second only to Dr. Einstein in intellectual prowess in the history of Princeton's academic life.

The single major exception to the institute's abstinence from the applied sciences occurred when Dr. von Neumann's theoretical studies led him to devise a largescale, high-speed electronic computing instrument. His digital computer, begun in 1946 and completed in 1952, was housed in a specially constructed building on the grounds. Conceived of and heavily used as a means of solving complicated mathematical problems, the computer was also the research tool in the Meteorology Project. This was an effort to forecast weather by using the computer to solve certain key equations. Methods worked out by the project were adopted by the government in 1953. While the physicists and mathematicians are preoccupied with the future, the historians, archaeologists, and others of similar background at the institute are absorbed in the past, delving into unexplored aspects of the life and thought of earlier times. Since 1931 Dr. Homer Thompson, eminent archaeologist and member of the faculty the past 13 years, has been concerned with a 25-acre plot of ground in downtown Athens. This is the site of the buried Agora, the civic center of the ancient city-state. After directing the excavating there in spring and summer, he returns each fall and winter to the institute to study his findings and report them through the scholarly journals. One result of his work is the restoration of the Stoa of Attilos, financed largely by Rockefeller grants. Books and learned articles are produced in large numbers at the institute. Mr. Kennan's writings are well known. He is presently preparing a series of lectures on the sources of Soviet foreign policy, to be delivered at Harvard University. The basic worth of the institute's program is not, however, measured in terms of writings published or findings made" useful." Dr. Oppenheimer answers the question of the institute's value this way: •• Scholars receive here in this environment substantial intellectual renewal. Of those who come here, about 90 per cent are teachers. Anything we do to inspire them is inevitably passed on to their students." Dr. Oswald Veblen, the institute's first professor and now professor emeritus, agrees, emphasizing the youth of these teachers and the large number who have had such a period of renewal. •• There is hardly an important university in the country," he states, •• which does not have on its faculty one or more mathematicians who have spent at least one year here." The same could probably be said for foreign universities, too. Through persistent and systematic application of thought to the unknown, scholars associated with the Institute for Advanced Study are steadily pushing back mental frontiers. Exactly how all this intellectual effort will influence the future cannot be foreseen. But there can be little doubt that its effect will be felt, helping to shape the world we live in for generations to come.

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Mathematics students playa game of Go-No-Ku during an afternoon recess for tea.

COMMUNITY

RINCET~N, New Jersey, a town of 18,500 people, located in the middle of a 90-mile industrial strip between New York and Philadelphia, has been called a clean, green island in a sea of smokestacks. Some of the world's outstanding scientists live or have lived in Princeton but the intellectual community there also includes leading educators, writers, musicians and composers, poets, industrial consultants, artists, and historians, who find this university town stimulating and its research facilities invaluable. Eleven Nobel Prize winners have lived in this quiet community. Princeton is the site of Princeton University, which is not one of the largest institutions of higher learning in the United States but is one of the most intellectually demanding. Among its presidents was Woodrow Wilson who headed the university prior to being elected the 28th President of the United States. The Institute for Advanced Study, not a part of the university, is an endowed institution, a clearing house for ideas and studies, and is also located in Princeton, to which it attracts eminent scholars from all parts of the world.

OF THINKERS

Princeton Professor T. Cuyler Young holds an informal discussion session with students from the Near East. Represented in the group are Jordan, Egypt, and the Sudan.

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Two of ,he most famous members of the Institute for Advanced Study, which is located at Princeton, have been the late Albert Einstein, German-born author of the theory of relativity, and Dr. Robert J. Oppenheimer, American physicist Flotedfor his research in the uses of atomic energy.

Professor Lyman Spitzer of the Princeton Observatory shares his leisure time with his daughter. Lottie, at their Princeton home.

Dr. Alexander P. Clark, curator of manuscripts at the Princeton University Library, inspects an 800-year-old medical work by Al-Razi, famous Iranian physician.

Visitors come to Princeton to participate in seminars on problems and progress in their areas. Their visits are sponsored by Town Hall, a non-profit educational institution.

Writers who have come to Princeton to live in the town's stimulating atmosphere meet regularly and informally at a local inn with university students to discuss mutual interests.

Amateur Investors 1>5>.- b

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Popularity of investment clubs is creating many new stockholders.

SURPRISE to veteran financiers today is the tremendous public interest in the stock market. The number of stockholders in the United States-13 millionnow is greater than the number of factory workers. This big jump in public interest is responsible for the growth of a new phenomenon-the investment club, perhaps as yet more important from a social, rather than an economic point of view. During the past five years the number of investment clubs in the United States has soared from about 2,000 to 25,000. The value of their stockholdings is estimated at 160 million dollars. An investment club is just what its name impliesusually a dozen friends or co-workers who meet informally once a month, each contributing a small sum of money

Thirteen Detroit, Michigan, firemen formed the Blazers Investment Club foul' years ago. Meetings are held in the station-house. Each fireman contributes $10 a month. Their chief objective as a club is to acquire knowledge of investment procedure.

( 60"-n61-) Investigate before investing is a rule followed by most investment clubs. Ruth Pryor, a club member, was assigned to report on a major automobile company. Her first step was to examine the firm's financial record with the aid of her club's broker. At home, she discussed with her husband, a businessman, what size Iwd learned and with his help studied charts comparing the records of competing companies. Detailed information on sales, production and earnings of companies is readily available to the public.

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( be to the club treasury. The total amount collected is then invested, usually in common stocks. Each member has a vote in the selection of stocks, and shares equally in the club's profits or losses. The meetings usually include some pleasant social activity as well as business and educational periods. Through the club its members can make modest investments in any of the 5,100 publicly held companies in the U.S., including such familiar corporate giants as General Motors. Many types of people form investment clubs; some are linked together by a common profession, such as the Engineers Investment Club of Rolla, Missouri; some are all employees of the same firm, such as the Stock of the Month Club of Dearborn, Michigan, composed of 20Ford Motor Company employees; some are housewives living in the same neighborhood, like the United Investment Club of South Bend, Indiana. Before investing, a club usually appoints a committee to investigate a number of firms competing ih the same industry. The committee writes to the companies, asking for financial reports and other material. In the process

INFORHATION

HEW ACCOUNTS

More Americans are interested today in capital stock investment Than ever before. They explore [he possibilities of investme11lin an intelligent and serious way. Investment clubs, which teach their members how to appraise stocks, have been partly responsible for this informed approach.

( be --/2.. 6 S ) Which stock to purchase is the question being considered by the members of this Detroit family's investment club. The sons, daughters, nephews and nieces of Howard Rowan, at right, meet around the dining room table each month. Thus far, the club has made nearly a 30 per cent annual gain on its investment, a better-than-average record.

of analyzing various companies, many enthusiastic amateur investors have become absorbed in new subjects outside of their regular interests; in one club several automobile mechanics studied the market potential of frozen foods; housewives learned a little about the problems of the oil industry; and office workers became interested in the growth of the young electronics industry. The experience of investment clubs in the United States has been that it generally takes two or three years to show a profit; clubs that have reached the five-year mark are averaging about four per cent income in dividends and about ten per cent annual growth of their capital. The investment club movement is growing rapidly in several countries. There are reported to be 6,000 clubs in Japan alone. A few years ago there were only a handful of investment clubs outside the United States and Japan. Now there are 500 in the United Kingdom, about 50 each in the Netherlands and Australia, 500 in Canada. Recently the Israeli government established an office to develop investment clubs in that country, to spread the ownership of securities.

Dresden's COII/rolrOOI11 is located in the generator building adjoilling the reactor sphere. Without moving from this room, technicians call start lip or shur down the plallt and can determine that all mechanisms ill the power station are operating correctly.

blueprint

Exacting tests were rim on the eighty-foot generator prior to switching it into operation. Steam produced from water circulating ill the atomic reactor powers the big turbine. The generator is now producillg at its 180,000 kilowatt capacity.

the future

HE world's first privately financed atomic power plant, located near Chicago, Illinois, recently attained its full 180,000-kilowatt output. It is the largest allnuclear power station in the United States. Dresden Nuclear Power Station, designed by the General Electric Corporation for the Commonwealth Edison Company of Chicago, is a pressurized water system. St@am produced by heat from its nuclear reactor powers a turbine-driven power generator. Termed "a blueprint of the future," the Dresden station is producing electric power sufficient to serve the residents, businesses, and industries of a city of 200,000 population. Dresden went critical-that is, achieved a sustained nuclear reaction-in October 1959, several months ahead of schedule. After six months of exhaustive control tests and adjustments, the station was placed in commercial production with an output of 64,000 kilowatts, a little more than one-third its capacity. Last October it was stepped up to full production, one year after fission occurred in Dresden's first fuel load, which will last for about three and a half years. During its productive life, the fuel load will generate heat equivalent to that produced by burning two million tons of coal. The Dresden station's 350-ton reactor is housed in a 190-foot steel sphere. The 80-foot-long turbine generator, auxiliary power equipment, and the control center are installed in an adjoining building. A 300-foot-high stack carries off waste gases. Other buildings for storage of fuel and for separation of radioactive wastes complete the plant. The dual-cycle boiling-water reactor is fueled with 488 elements containing zirconium-clad uranium pellets. Its full fuel load weighs 65 tons and is inserted into the reactor through a 40-foot-deep water pool. Approximately 90,000 gallons of water drawn from a nearby river circulate through the reactor, where heat from atomic fission causes it to boil. The steam from the

The Dresden Nuclear Power Station, shown here as construction neared completion, is located on the banks of the Illinois River. The 190-foot steel sphere houses Dresden's nuclear reactor. Although the boiling-water reactor is of exceptionally safe design, a huge air-lock, below, shuts off the reactor from all other areas of the station to prevellf accidental escape of radioactivity.

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boiling water operates the turbine generator, after which it condenses and is re-circulated through the reactor. The concept of the boiling-water reactor, possibly the most promising design for the production of lowcost power, was originated in the United States as part of the Atoms for Peace program. The first primitive boiling-water model reactor, the BORAX-I, was completed in 1954 and demonstrated exceptional safety factors. Danger from irradiation in handling the fuel elements is prevented, because the elements are "triggered" only after they are installed in the reactor. Improvements in design were developed through successive BORAX models. In 1957, a 5,000-kilowatt experimental model was put into operation at the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission's Argonne National Laboratory. This model proved to be approximately three times more powerful than pre-operational estimates. The plant has been altered so that excess steam can be used in Argonne's central heating system. The first large nuclear power plant in the United States, the Shippingport, Pennsylvania, Station, was undertaken jointly by the U.S. Government and private enterprise. It has been operating at 60,000-kilowatt capacity for about three years. Other large stations are under construction. The 1l0,000-kilowatt Yankee Atomic Electric Plant is located at Rowe, Massachusetts. Another Commonwealth Edison nuclear power station with an output capacity of 255,000

The 350-ton reactor vessel, forty feet high, is installed behind thick concrete shielding within the steel sphere. Steam which operates the turbine-generator is produced inside this vessel by the boiling of 90,000 gallons of water, heated by fission within the reactor.

)'1-;4'-17.3 kilowatts is under construction at Indian Point, New York, and is scheduled for completion this year. The success of the Dresden station is more than a boon to the area it serves. It is also a proving ground for a type of atomic power producer which may benefit many nations. Its design assures efficiency, safety, and economy in the production of electricity. The knowledge gained through operation of this large plant will make possible the design of boiling-water reactor plants in desired sizes and capacities. Thus, Dresden may aid power-short nations to solve the problem of low-cost electricity vitally needed for industrialization. Sealed steel cylinders, each containing two bundles of atomic fuel are unloaded, above, at the reactor. Each cylinder contains zirconium-clad uranium pellets, but may be safely handled by workmen because they are triggered only after installation in the reactor. The fuel rods are held in place in the reactor by the massive steel grid shown below. Technicians, shown on the opposite page, store uranium fuel bundles, each measuring four inches square and eleven feet eight inches in length. Each bundle contains 36 fuel rods and the reactor is powered by 488 such bundles.