SPAN: July 1966 by SPAN magazine

u.s. Secretary

of State DEAN RUSK

advocate of quiet diplomacy:

SPAN Creative Federalism by Max

Ju!y

Ways

An Equal Chance

hy l'remala Matthen

Jefferson's

Agrarian

Democracy

by A. Whitney Griswold

Sad, Angry, Joyful, Old-New Music

Dean Rusk: Advocate of Quiet Diplomacy

by V. S. Nanda

Summer White House

by Robert B. Semple Jr.

Grocery Chain Brings Food to Market

by Richard Montague

Can Asia Grow Enough Rice?

by Dr. Felix Ponllamperuma

Front Cover Portrayed against flags of many nations, which symbolize his international role, is U.S. Secretary of State Dean Rusk, the President's chief adviser on foreign affairs. See article beginning on page 28.

Back Cover A four-armed drummer? Not quite. This unusual photograph by Ed Stein was taken at the precise moment when a drummer and a cymbalist behind him were poised for the down beat.

W. D. Miller, Publisher; Dean Brown, Editor; V. S.

anda, Mg. Editor.

Editorial Staff: Carmen Kagal, Avinash Pasricha, Nirmal K. Sharma, K. G. Gabrani. Art Staff: B. Roy Choudhury, Nand K. Katyal. Productioll Staff: Awtar S. Marwaha, Mammen Philip. Photographic Services: USIS Photo Lab. Published by the United States Information Service, Bahawalpur House, Sikandra Road, New Delhi-), on behalf of the American Embassy, New Delhi. Printed by Arun K. Mehta at Vakil & Sons Pvt. Ltd., Narandas Building, Sprott Road, 18 Ballard Estate, Bombay-I. Manuscripts and photographs sent for publication must be accompanied by stamped, self-addressed envelope for return. SPAN is not responsible for any loss in transit. Use of SPAN articles in other publications is encouraged except when they are copyrighted. For details, write to the Editor. • Subscription: One year, rupees five; single copy, fifty paise .• For change of address, send old address to A. K. Mitra, Circulation Manager. Allow six weeks for change of address to become effective .•

SPAN OF EVENTS Another important step towards landing a man on the moon in this defade was taken last month when Surveyor, a one-ton American spacecraft, soft-landed on the moon in its first attempt. Thousands of "clear and sharp" photographs such as the one at left of Surveyor on the moon's surface show that the "Sea of Storms" is a dry plain apparently suitable for manned landing. Other major events in a busy month of space activity included a two-hour-and-eight-minute walk in space by Astronaut Eugene Cernan from Gemini 9, and the launching of an Orbiting Geophysical Observatory to study interaction of solar energy streams and other space radiation with the earth's magnetosphere.

CREATIVE FEDERALISM: AS THE huge programme enacted by Congress in 1965 moves into action, America is making a major turn from the politics of issues to the politics of problems, from an emphasis on need to an emphasis on opportunity, from struggle over the redistribution of what we have to the less crude and more intricate decisions about what we might become. Salient features of the new package include aid to education, medicare and expanded Federal activities in the health field, urban renewal and scores of other efforts to improve the physical environment. Since many This article by Max Ways has been abridged and reprinted with special permissionfrom Fortune magazine. Copyright 1965 Time Incorporated.

of these topics have a long and embattled past in p~iDlic discussion, some observers try to force the present programmes into the mould of yesterday's debates. They see the new programmes simply as another surge in the drive begun thirty years ago to expand the Federal Government's power in order to right social wrongs. But they fail to recognize that a fundamental break with the welfare-state trend occurred when this society made a different assessment of its own vigour. A new confidence in opportunity began to be reflected in politics fifteen years ago. John F. Kennedy's 1960 campaign included appeals to the older kind of politics, but his statements and policies as President seldom moved back

new approach to social welfare towards the assumptions about U.S. society that characterized the Democratic party's dominance between 1933 and 1952. Lyndon Johnson even more explicitly has founded his Administration on the premise that U.S. society in general is exceedingly lively, increasing its rate of innovation and expanding its range of opportunity. Along with the new assumptions of vigour in U.S. society has come a new way of organizing Federal programmes. At Ann Arbor, Michigan, and on five public occasions since then, President Johnson has used a phrase, "creative federalism," that has not received the attention it deserves. Federalism means a relation, cooperative and competitive, between a limited central

power and other powers that are essentially independent of it. In the long American dialogue over states' rights, it has been tacitly assumed that the total amount of power was constant and, therefore, any increase in Federal power diminished the power of the states and/or "the people." Creative federalism starts from the contrary \ belief that total power-private and public, individual and organizational-is expanding very rapidly. As the range of conscious choice widens, it is possible to think of vast increases of Federal Government power that do not encroach upon or diminish any other power. Simultaneously, the power of states and local governments continued

The leaders at right are often partners in efforts to define problems and seek solutions within the expanding framework of creative federalism.

Dynamic mayor of Detroit, Jerry Cavanagh, will increase; the power of private organizations, including businesses, will increase; and the power of individuals will increase. Creative federalism as it is now developing emphasizes relationships between Washington and many other independent centres of decision in State and local government, in new public bodies, in universities, in professional organizations, and in business. As an example of this changing emphasis, take the programme of medical care for the aged. Medicare, when it was first seriously debated in the 1940's, was presented with an emphasis on what the young owed to the old and, especially, on what the fortunate owed to the unfortunate. Today the viewpoint has shifted. It is now re.cognized that this society as a whole has a problem of paying for the greatly enlarged medical services now available to the aged; medicare is put forward as a device to deal with the problem. Similarly, the programmes to improve education, clean up rivers, beautify highways, and reduce air pollution are not struggles between broad social groups. And they are not ideological issues. They are efforts to deal with problems by a society that is becoming increasingly confident of its problem-solving ability. "Creative federalism" includes a deliberate policy of encouraging the growth of institutions that will be independent of and, in part, antagonistic to the Federal Government power. Almost every part of every new programme .transfers Federal funds to some outside agency. Nothing will be achieved if the recipients-universities, State and local educational authorities, hospitals, medical schools, and poverty-programme councils-merely become subservient arms directed by the central Federal power. Tension between Washington and other independent centres is required by the whole body of experience out of which the notion of "creative federalism" comes. Many Great Society programmes are marked by an emphasis on "cost effectiveness." The Appalachia programme is an example. The act of Congress creating the programme contains a remarkable clause: within Appalachia, Federal funds are to be "concentrated in areas where there is a significant potential for future growth,

37, is leading practitioner of creative federalism on municipal level. He attacked causes of poverty, disease, slum housing and other social ills, relies heavily on Federal funds. Detroit now has 21 urban-renewal projects under way, also anti-poverty programmes, public works schemes and other plans. Cavanagh has succeeded in enlisting aid of industry and labour.

Governor of New York State, Nelson Rockefeller might be called architect of creative federalism. In career spanning 30 years, he has served in public and private endeavours to stimulate social revolution both in U.S. and abroad. Rockefeller has expanded services of state government, worked closely with Federal authorities, philanthropic foundations, other leaders to improve social welfare programmes.

and where the expected return on public dollars invested will be the greatest." This method of allocation rW1Scounter both to the old Congressional pork-barrel system and to the welfarist system that allocated funds on the basis of "need." Appalachia's "need" is such that the S1.1 billion authorized by Congress would be frittered away if it were concentrated on the neediest hollows, the deadest hamlets, and the most eroded hillsides. By making the greatest investment potential its basic criterion, the Appalachian Act directs the programme to / concentrate in another way. Within Appalachia there are, right now, a number of economically vigorous towns that may be stimulated to greater growth. There are other areas where local initiative and private enterprise can make a case for a high potential return on investment. The new criterion of public spending leads the men in the Appalachian programme to talk in busi-

nesslike terms rather than in terms of social work. John L. Sweeney, Federal co-chairman of the Appalachian Regional Commission, does not make his case with statistics of beriberi and illiteracy in Appalachia. Instead, he points out that Appalachia, lying between the two great markets of the United States-the eastern seaboard and the Great Lakes complex-may have a glittering economic future. But how will concentration on the growth counties of Appalachia help the people of the back hollows? In answer, Sweeney turns to a map. A large proportion of Federal funds for Appalachia will be spent to aid the construction of a road network that would allow the hill dwellers to live in the land they love and commute by bus or car to jobs in the growing centres of the region. Motorized transit offers the possibility of large labour pools without a megalopolis. The key power centre is not Sweeney's office but a commission made up of the governors of the twelve Appalachian states. States, counties, towns, colleges, and private businesses have already been stimulated to compete in presenting to the commission proposals based upon the test of "greatest potential." If this local initiative continues to wax, Federal co-ordinating functions will be a small part of the total activity. If the local initiative subsides, there won't be anything worth co-ordinating and the Appalachian programme will be a clear-cut failure. In neither case will Washington have increased its "control" of Appalachia. The same organizational principles can be seen at work in the government's relations with one of the most advanced sectors of United States life, higher education. John W. Gardner, the recently appointed Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare, did much shrewd and unconventional thinking about this subject when he was head of the Carnegie Corporation of New York. Over a year ago in a speech to university people he took aim at the familiar charge that the flow of Federal money to universities represents a dangerous increase in Federal power and a threat to academic independence. "To the old-line Federal official, used to a world in which government funds were spent for purposes defined by government and administered by hierarchically

Philanthropic

organizations are active in the U.S. social welfare structure. Ford Foundation, for example, with annual expenditure of Rs. 190 crores, seeks to identify problems and underwrite efforts, mainly of educational nature, towards their solution. Urban and regional problems are high among Ford priorities. New head of the Ford Foundation is McGeorge Bundy, former Presidential Assistant.

organized departments under complete government control, the new trend looks like a grievous loss of government power," he said. "Wherever he looks, he sees lay advisory bodies recommending how government money shall be spent, and he sees non-governmental organizations spending it." A government agency, because it is accountable to Congress and the taxpayer, wants to define quite pre: cisely what is to be done with public money that it hands over to a university research project. The university, accustomed to the notion that science works best when it is free of externally imposed conditions, resists the definitions, restrictions, and reviews insisted upon by the agency. Gardner has urged university people to give more sympathetic understanding to the government view, and he has urged government officials to see the university view. But he does not believe-and this is the important point-that the tension between them will or should disappear. "Actually, there is some advantage to th~ public interest in keeping a certain adversary quality in the relationship." "Creative federalism" is also conspicuous in the hugely expanded Federal programme of aid to primary and secondary education. Two main motives have converged to increase Federal aid to schools. The first is the widespread belief that the next thirty years will see a rapidly increasing national need for better educated men and women. The second idea, held by many educators, continued

Over the last twenty years, as the problems of cities have become more formidable, there has been a change in how we think about these problems.

is that techniques of teaching now stand on the verge of a major breakthrough into greater efficiency and improved quality. The Federal Government has no solutions to educational problems-and no particular competence in finding solutions. It has no set educational philosophy or policy to sell, and does not expect to develop such a policy. The official expectation is that a heavy infusion of Federal funds entering the educational scene will further stimulate innovation and improvement at those points-nearly all outside the Federal Governmentwhere educational innovation can actually be made. A very large measure of control over the spending of Federal funds will be in the hands of State departments of education and local school boards. The U.S. Officeof Education won't do any research into education and it won't be able, even if it so wished, to exercise a tight control over research. Scholars and scientists will insist that they be given a rather free hand. Moreover, when any piece of research is finished, its conclusions are not going to be put into practice unless local administrators and school boards are impressed. Some proposals will be tried out in one State, some in another. Federal aid can help create a livelier network of professional information and evaluation in which the relative merits of educational innovations can compete more actively. Health, including medicare, is the largest single category of increased Federal spending projected by the 1965 legislative programme. The fact that there is now a huge and increasing population over sixty-five years old represents medical triumphs in saving lives at all age levels. For the aged, especially, there are now many opportunities for treatment (e.g., the removal of eye pupils in cataract cases) that did not exist a generation ago. Once such treatment becomes medically feasible, society raises its standards of what it considers essential. Lack of money, it says, must not be allowed to stand between an aged person and a chance to preserve his eyesight. Even though private health insurance, pension plans, and individual savings have expanded rapidly, they lagged behind the new standards of minimum medical service to the aged. In a problem-solving

President of the International Business Machines Corp., Thomas J. Watson Jr., 52, works closely with leading business organizations and government at all levels. He realizes his responsibilities run far beyond his company, believes dynamic alliance between new machines and men can help create a richer life for all. Watson says problem of technological unemployment must be solved and ungrounded fears dispelled.

Highest ranking Negro executive in the U.S., Robert C. Weaver, 59, is Secretary of the new Department of Housing and Urban Development. A chief practitioner of creative federalism at the Federal Government level, Weaver works closely with state and local governments. Responsible for major new urban programmes, he faces a big task of "bringing the full measure of the Great Society to our urban areas."

society medicare was seen as a way of closing a gap that medical progress had opened up. Meanwhile, there may be opportunities to increase further the productivity and quality of medical services. To explore some of these opportunities a Presidential commission headed by Dr. Michael E. De Bakey of Baylor University proposed Federal aid for an elaborate system of regional centres for the treatment of heart, stroke, and cancer cases. Congressmen, sitting down with American, Medical Association leaders and Federal officials, greatly modified Dr. De Bakey's pl;m into a setup that many doctors believe will work. Federal funds will be used to strengthen the professional networks that now run between practising doctors and the great centres of medical research. In order to take advantage of the best medical knowledge, a patient in a small town will not have to be transported to a great teaching hospital; relevant information can be brought to his bedside by closer, quicker connections between existing research centres and local hospitals. In 1965 the Federal Government acquired a new Cabinet-level department-Housing and Urban Development. Over the last twenty years, as the problems of cities have become more formidable, there has been a change in how we think about these problems. A generation ago, "slum" had a simple, physical meaning. It signified a group of buildings that were overage, over-populated, and under-equipped. That simple meaning implied a remedy, which is now understood to be inadequate; "slum clearance" and "public housing" would replace bad buildings with better buildings. "Slum" today signifies a complex in which such elements as the quality of education and the morale of inhabitants are more important than the buildings themselves. Moreover, a slum is not thought of as an isolated "blighted area" that can be quarantined and dealt with independently of the rest of the city. We are now aware of "gray areas," which may be degenerating into slums faster than bulldozers can level old slums. From this and similar observations we have come to look upon the city as a complex of many variables to be improved, not a single entity to be altered.

The problems are, city by city, so unique that local co-ordination and local initiative must be the determining elements. Experience bears this out. Philadelphia, New Haven, Boston, are cities where urban renewal is making huge strides because bubbling local initiative and increasing professional competence make effective the spending of Federal and other urban renewal money. Today the scope of Federal action cannot be specifically defined by categories (e.g., defence and foreign affairs). The Federal Government may have a proper function in almost any field of action. This change raises a question: can a central government that has massive roles in business, agriculture, schools, health, and even, perhaps, garbage collection, truly be described as a "limited" federal government? The answer, oddly, is yes. The new limits on Federal power have been imposed by political practicality. Ironically, the popular hunger for progress that seemed to generate a threat to limited government has come to the rescue of limited government. An electorate that began to expect real results pressed political leaders towards more effective modes of action. These modes turned out to put a heavy practical emphasis on State and local government, on business freedom, on the market as a way of making economic decisions. The old public sector versus private sector argument is giving ground before a rising interest in good management, both government and private. All through the postwar period, partisan political debate has lagged behind the radical change, generated outside politics, that has been sweeping through U.S. society. This accelerating rate of change, which appears to be a permanent condition, posed a challenge to the fundamental American political institutions. We are now emerging-successfully-from this period of challenge. In a way that was hardly conceivable twenty-five years ago, U.S. democratic institutions have proved flexible and adaptable and are becoming, once again, the objects of envy and admiration by discerning men in other countries. The American political genius is moving through creative federalism towards new ways of expanding individual choice while maintaining social cohesion. END

Unquestionably one of the great artist-teachers of our time, seventy-eight-year-old Josef Albers is still brimming with invention, energy and youth. With more than 100 one-man shows throughout the Western world, he has gained fame for his series Homage to the Square. At a recent New York exhibition, his forty paintings showed only squares-three or four within one canvas, precisely adjusted in shade, surface and dimension, the colours receding or coming forward. Albers' mammoth book, The Interaction of Colour, studies the mutual influence of hues. Says the master painter, "We are learningfinally at the middle of the twentieth centurythat tradition in art is to create, not to revive. That tradition is to look forward, not backward, to look inward instead of outward .... "

As shock is wearing off and familiarity is setting in, two facts are apparent about the art movement called Pop. First, Jasper Johns has become recognized as one of its founders, and second, Pop has become the most copied U.S. art movement abroad since Abstract Expressionism. In his first one-man show in 1957, Johns' paintings produced an immediate impact; today his work is in demand the world over. Disregarding perspective, his images are flat, twodimensional. His interest is in the surface of the canvas and in putting instantly recognizable symbols-American flags, maps, numbersthrough rigorous alterations. "I am concerned with a thing's not being what it was," says the thirty-six-year-old artist, and viewers delight in this fresh approach to ['objet ordinaire.

Sure, personal, sometimes tender, often incisive -these adjectives describe the poetry of Robert Lowell. He has been called "perhaps the greatest poet now writing in English." He is surely one of the most appreciated, holding many honours including the coveted Pulitzer Prize. Lowell's most recent volume of poetry, For the Union Dead, appeared in the fall of 1964 and was hailed as an important literary event. Critics cheered his first verse play, The Old Glory, based on Melville's story of a meeting between two American seamen and people on a Spanish slave ship. Fame is no stranger to the forty-nine-yearold poet, currently a visiting professor at Harvard. Among his noted forebears are two wellknown poets, an astronomer and a president of Harvard University.

The morose look of the young playwright above belies the emotional turbulence that characterizes his,plays. Audiences leave the theatre in a state of shock, their emotions wrung out by something they do not always understand, do not always like, but cannot dismiss. It all began in 1958 with The Zoo Story, a brief but gripping two-character story which was followed by other one-acters. In his full-length plays-Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, The Balladof the Sad Cafe, Tiny Alice-his characters continue to humiliate and cajole one another, to strip away illusions like layers of skin. And with each new effort, Edward Albee, now thirty-eight, convinces theatre critics even more that he is the most compelling American playwright since Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller.

The musical life of composer Alan Hovhaness has been a gradual pilgrimage from West to East. In New England where he was born, he discovered communities of Kurds and Armenians which still preserved archaic songs and dances. He learned the songs and wrote several himself which were added to their folk repertory. Later, he went abroad to study firsthand the Asian musical cultures. One of his newest compositions, Floating World, is a twelve-minute opus using unusual orchestral effects such as bells, gongs and drums. Another new work, Fantasy on Japanese Wood Prints, was written for xylophone and orchestra. Both sparkle with spontaneity and add further proof that fifty-five-year-old Alan Hovhaness is truly one of America's unique and distinguished men of music.

"An artist is never ahead of his time but most people are far behind theirs." With a firm grip on this belief, eighty-year-old Edgard Varese has become one of the first to envision a new music for an electronic age. With his gongs, sirens, whistles, wood blocks, chains and other "instruments," Varese records sounds on tape. Then, with the aid of electronic equipment, he breaks the sounds apart, amplifies and filters them. An orchestra usually accompanies them, but in one work, Poeme Electronique, there is a complete absence of conventional musical instruments. Convinced that electronic music is here to stay, Varese nevertheless doesn't expect it to make classical composition obsolete: "Just because there are other ways of getting there, you do not kill the horse," he says.

EQUAL CHANCE TEXT BY PREMALA MATTHEN PHOTOGRAPHS BY C. S. GOPAL

The Bombay School of Social Work is helping children like Vimla, left, and many others to broaden their opportunities for a better life.

A LONELY CHILD stares out of a window, disconsolate and hungry; a potter's son suffers from a strange disease he cannot name; a small boy begs on the streets because he has never known a home; a young man, f1amescarred and disfigured, seeks new employment. All these people who are condemned to misery through chance or accident of birth need not only help but sympathy and encouragement. They need not only opportunity but also the recognition of their right to human dignity. They need someone to help them help themselves. When Mary Charanghat was fourteen, she had already made up her mind to train as a social worker. This was a field, she felt, where talented people were urgently needed. A brilliant student who had been advised to make science a career, she argued: "Social work is also a science!" While in college, where she graduated in sociology and political science, Mary took an active interest in all the social welfare programmes of her university. "But," she says reflectively, "it was not until I joined the School of Social Work in Bombay to take my post-graduate course, that I came to realize the tremendous difference in approach be-

will always be remembered by Mary, for they were reiterated and emphasized throughout her training. Mary found the course at the School of Social Work exacting and rigorous, demanding discipline and dedication. She recalls that in her first year, fourteen of the thirty-one students left. If at times she felt discouraged, her flagging spirits were immediately revived by the school's dedicated faculty. Miss Dorothy Baker, the American director of the school, comments: "It is interesting to see how students make the adjustment from a fairly easy college existence to this. When they go out they have to take a dry lunch, and travel on trains, meet strange people, go to places that are not very pleasant, solve problems and try to do really effective social work. But most of them settle down quickly." The course consists of two parts-classroom training and field work. Both go on concurrently. At the Institute the students are required to attend classes three days in the week where they are given a thorough grounding in the fundamental theories of social work. They are taught psychiatry, psychology, economics, statistics, sociology, philosophy and other peripheral sciences. Three days in the week are spent in the field gaining practical experience in various welfare agencies like hospitals, child guidance and mental health clinics, social welfare institutions, or even schools and colleges where correctional counselling is necessary. "Field work," Miss Baker says emphatically, "is as important as classroom lectures, because it is

required to help patients adjust themselves to their afflictions, and make them continue with the prescribed treatment. Financing the supply of artificial limbs for some patients and finding jobs for some others were just two aspects of her work. Mary's first case, she recalls, was a difficult one. "He was a young boy who was undergoing complicated surgical treatment. He was dispirited and morose and would not respond to people. I could see his trouble was deeper than the ugly wound on his leg. I discovered his greatest ambition was to learn English, and by trying to teach him to read and draw pictures, I gradually gained his confidence. He told me his mother left him when he was a child, but after his accident she sent for him and had him admitted to a hospital in Bombay. We contacted the mother and brought them together. He is now living with her and I think a better relationship has been established." In all the cases Mary dealt with, she was required to keep detailed records and to consult with her supervisor every week. Miss Zaheeda Noorani, a member of the faculty who obtained her Master's degree at Columbia University, New York, stresses the importance of the guidance given at these weekly supervisory conferences. "The purpose of this supervision," she says, "is to ensure that the student uses her knowledge and applies social work techniques in a detached manner, divorcing herself from her prejudices and viewing the problem in perspective." For instance, in a case of marital discord, Miss Noorani adds,

tween the professional

"a student applying her own standards may

and the volunteer

in the field that the student is able to apply the

worker. I learned to work with people rather

principles of social work learned in the class-

suggest separation, feeling that certain condi-

than for them. I learned to give with a view

room. It is in the field that theory and practice

tions are unbearable. In our conferences it is

to making the recipient independent. I was taught to encourage the initiative and desire for self-improvement that lies in everyone." These guidelines, stressed by the Institute,

are integrated." For field experience, Mary Charanghat was placed as a medical social worker in the orthopaedic section of a hospital. There she was

often found that a reconciliation is possible if the partners are advised to accept realities." In her second year Mary was placed with the Family Service Centre, a welfare organizacontinued

After many anxious moments and months of patient waiting, a happy mother, right, receives her adopted baby from social worker Mary Charanghat. Infant placement comes after a period of careful scrutiny.

"Today's social workers are the 'enablers.' They can no longer remain merely 'doers' like social workers of the past."

tion run under the auspices of the Institute, which provides direct service to clients and also serves as a training ground for students. At the Centre Mary, who had advanced theoretically into deeper studies of human behaviour and more complicated social work theories, was confronted with a wide variety of problems. She began to realize that even with the same type of problem the approach had to be different because the needs of each and every person varied. She learned to look beyond present difficulties to future requirements. Mary dealt with cases of economic distress, marital conflict, child delinquency, adult personality adjustments, and rehabilitation of the handicapped. She dealt with the many requests for employment and help received by the agency. At the end of the second year, Mary left the classroom and worked for six weeks in a community development project in the heart of urban Bombay. This project, entrusted to the Schoolof Social Work, is financed by a grant ofRs. 64,000from the Department of Health, Education and Welfare of the United States Government. There she participated in many of the pilot projects being started to improve community life as a whole, and was able to witness first hand the efforts being made to heighten the spirit of civic unity. After taking her diploma from the School of SocialWork, Mary Charanghat joined the staff of the Family Service Centre where she had trained during her course. Here, she takes particular interest in the child adoption pro-

gramme sponsored by the Centre, and its pioneer project started recently, the foster care programme. This scheme was initiated to meet the many requests received by the agency for temporary placement of children. If is the conviction of the agency that a foster home which closely approximates family life can better meet a child's total needs than the impersonal atmosphere of an institution. The child does not go into a large alien world but into the warmth of a home where he will be treated as a member of the family. At the Family Service Centre, Mary's day starts early and a queue of people await her. She may have to consider a case of adoption which she knows will entail many months of close study and scrutiny. Or it may be a case of marriage counselling or family guidance, or a case of job placement, because the Centre also runs an employment bureau, a family guidance bureau and a Work-cum-Training and Production Centre which currently gives work to twenty-four women and two men. Mary handles the cases with competence and calm, drawing on her training and past experience. Mary has the sensitive gentleness so vitally needed in social work. Miss Baker, outlining the ideal temperament required in a social worker, says, "There is an expectation of a certain type of personality. For instance, a social worker must be one who can accept people of all castes and creeds. Also those people whose behaviour is not approved by the norms of our society, like criminals, alcoholics or juvenile delinquents. The social worker must be flexible in his approach to people, he must maintain a judicious attitude, and he must not be unduly prejudiced in his reactions. Above all, the social worker must regard every person as a human being, respect his dignity and his right to receive." Commenting on the modern concept of

Students gain teaching experience in potters' community, left. Below, Mary Charanghat, left, and colleague review work with Miss Dorothy Baker, director of Bombay School of Social Work since 1958.

social work, Miss Baker says, "Today's social workers are the 'enablers,' they are the 'mobilizers.' They can no longer remain merely 'doers' like the social workers of the past. Projects have been known to fail because everybody had schemes except the people who were supposed to benefit. We cannot run parallel to the community. We must get the people involved. So in the School of Social Work we teach the dynamics of personality development and how to motivate people towards self-help." Miss Baker was invited to India as a consultant for one year-"The schools are young in this country and they needed someone old like me" -but that was eight years ago. What made her stay? "I have stayed because it has been the most enriching experience of my life to work with Indian students and to participate in the challenge there is in a rapidly developing country like India." "When I first arrived I went to a potter's colony," relates Miss Baker, "and I think from that day I've never had the feeling I wasn't at home. They knew my limitations. The spokesman said to me in his Gujarati, his Kutchi Gujarati, 'If you want to help my people you must become a potter.' Of course all he was trying to convey was that in order to help I must understand his way of life. I agreed with him. This is social work." Understanding, of course, is an essential requirement for social workers. But equally important is the idealism that motivates their work, the kind of idealism that made Gandhi say, "All humanity is one undivided and indivisible family and each one of us is responsible for the misdeeds of the other." And at another time in another land Abraham Lincoln gave expression to the same idealism when he said, "In due time the weights should be lifted from the shoulders of all men, and all should have an equal chance." END

.A , bOI and, his 'bird'

While friends and competitors watch closely, young rocketeer Charles Duelfer conducts a successful blast-off under expert guidance.

His heroes and idols are rocket experts and astronauts. Left, Charles asks Willy Ley, an ace rocketeer, for permission to take his picture. With brim pinned back so he can look straight up after the blast-off, Charles, right, makes final adjustment on his prize-winning rocket.

READYING

HIS BIRD for the countdown,

do-it-yourself

rocketeer

Duelfer is a true son of the space age. His eyes are turned skywards, are astronauts,

and like countless

other youngsters

across America,

Charles his heroes he builds

model rockets that actually fly. At eleven, Charles was the youngest competitor in last year's annual National

Association

of Rocketry

meet at Wallops

Island, Virginia. His entry cost only ten rupees to_build and soared 600 feet straight up. Charles and his fellow rocketeers As members of the National follow its standards,

Association

buy safe, ready-made

are more than tinkerers.

of Rocketry,

they scrupulously

fuels, and hold their meets under

the guidance of adult supervisors

and space experts. They take great pride

and pleasure in their hobby-and

their enthusiasm

Charles built his first "bird," Photographs

is contagious.

his father got so interested

by Robert W. Kelley from Life.

When

he joined too.

The U.S. Declaration of Independence,adoptedon July 4,1776, was written by Thomas Jefferson of Monticello, Virginia, who later became the first Secretary of State and third President of the United States. Throughout his life, one of Jefferson's primary interests was agriculture. In this article the late A. Whitney Griswold, president of Yale University, discusses in detail Jefferson's philosophy of agrarianism and how he modified his views under changing conditions.

IF THE PAST detennines or in any way influences the present; the present invariably reverses the process. One of the more striking instances of this rule has been the recent apotheosis of Thomas Jefferson as a national hero equal in stature to Washington and Lincoln. In an atmosphere of industrialism, urban living, and strong, impersonal national government that tradition might lead us to suppose would kill it, the Jefferson legend has blossomed and put forth new shoots. The legendary Jefferson was an agrarian; and even as modern scholars were finding in his writings political preceptsfor an industrial age, the farmers of the United States were recognizing him as the founder of American agriculture and adopting him as their patron saint. Jefferson was not an agrarian fundamentalist; he did move with his times. No doubt the highly moral nature of his interest in public affairs and his pragmatic attitude would have led him, in the modern setting, to seek his end by modern means. Yet he started and ended life an agrarian at heart, and it was against an. agrarian background that he saw his ideal of American democracy most clearly. The agrarian tradition has thrived on the legend and vice versa; "witness the ceremonies attending the two hundredth anniversary of Jefferson's birth, in 1943. In that critical war year, with the democracy he helped to found engaged in a struggle for its life, the whole American agricultural community paid tribute to him "as a man of abiding passion for human liberty and the sacred rights of the common people, and as one who, throughout his entire career, remained pre-eminently and above all a farmer." Jefferson was not the only founding father to practise farming, George Washington ran a model farm and corresponded with the British agricultural writer Arthur Young 'concerning its management. "Agriculture has ever been amongst the most favourite amusements of my life," he wrote Young in 1786, modestly deprecating his skill in the art. James Madison served as president of the Albemarle Agricultural Society, founded at Charlottesville in 1817. But only Jeffers'on combined agrarian and democratic ideals in a working philosophy so deliberately, and with such lasting effect. The article is abridged with permission from American Political Science Review. ÂŠ 1946 by American Political Science Association.

The ideals stand out most clearly in his social pattern of American agriculture. This, he believed, should consist of a community of small farmers, freemen unencumbered either by feudal obligations to a distant sovereign or by archaic practices of primogeniture or entail among themselves. One of his earliest political acts was to abolish these practices in Virginia. How did Jefferson come by these ideas, so germinal to our democracy and so influential in its history? In a sense, it is not necessary to seek the answer beyond his own temperament and times. He was born to farming, as were most of his countrymen. He loved the land,trying again and again to escape to it from "the hated occupations of politics." His years at Monticello were unquestionably his happiest. "I return to farming with an ardour which I scarcely knew in my youth," he wrote Adams in 1794; and in later years: I have often thought that if heaven had given me choice of my position and calling, it should have been on a rich spot of earth, well watered, and near a good market for the productions of the garden. No occupation is so delightful to m~ as the culture of the earth .... These were no idle sentiments. As his correspondence and notebooks show, his interest in farming was sincere and consistent throughout his life. They also reveal him as an experimental agriculturist of distinction. His observations and adaptations of European crops, livestock, and methods of farming put him in the vanguard of his contemporaries. He introduced the threshing machine in America and was one of the first importers of Merino sheep from Spain. His improved mould-board plough won him international awards. The agricultural societies he founded and encouraged and his plan to include scientific agriculture in the curriculum of the University of Virginia foreshadowed our whole nationaJ system of agricultural education. Instead of patenting his innovations and improve~~nts, moreover, he gave them freely to the public, and instead of profiting from them, he ended his years in virtual bankruptcy. This he attributed to the "disgusting dish of politics" which had lured him from his chosen vocation and cost him his proficiency in it. But his personal loss was the fanners' gain. It justifies his fame in agricultural circles, and it vividly bespea.!<s his personal interest in farming. His political concern for agriculture was equally obvious. He had espoused the cause of the common man. At that time in our history, the common man was a farmer. Ninety per cent of all Americans, common or uncommon, were farmers. To champion the people, therefore, was to champion agriculture, a political theorem no politician could deny, however lofty or disinterested his purposes. The character of these people and their geographical s':!rroundings might have determined their economic life without benefit of political theory. Lack of capital and a wilderness that yielded only to hard, slow, manual labour made small-scale family farming the rule before Jefferson continued

"Cultivators of the earth are the most valuable citizens. They are the most vigorous, the most independent, the most virtuous, and they are tied to their country, and wedded to its liberty and interests by the most lasting bonds.... Our governments will remain virtuous for many centuries; as long as they are chiefly agricultural."

whose ideas he borrowed and adapted. In a political sense, he must share it with Franklin, Adams, Washington, Hamilton, Madison, Marshall, and the other founders, some of whom history may judge more effective and practical than he. But for his definition of those institutions, his expression of them in letter and spirit in the critical period of their infancy, history judges him to have represented them more completely than any of his colleagues.

became its advocate. The tobacco, rice, and cotton plantations of his Southern compatriots were exceptions to the rule. It would be possible to ascribe his solicitude for the small landholders to an astute rationalization of things as they were among the largest and, to him, most sympathetic group of voters. But Jefferson was more than a farmer and a politician. He was a serious student of philosophy. The diligence with which he applied himself to his philosophical studies, to a search for moral guidance and for counsels oflaw and government, is collateral for the sincerity of his political and economic ideas. We know from his letters and commonplace books the time and thought he devoted to the Greek and Latin classics, to Locke, Bolingbroke, Hume, Montesquieu, Adam Smith, Destutt de Tracy, and many another English and French writer represented on the shelves of his library. We know from the Declaration of Independence, his principal.state paper, the degree to which he had steeped himself in the natural rights philosophy of John Locke. What is of interest to us in all this intellectual trafficking is not the genealogy of Jefferson's ideas, at best a speculative theme, but their substance, the elements of which they were composed, the process of composition. Many of his ideas he translated into policy and handed down as tradition, among them that "continuing major objective" of agricultural policy-a land tenure pattern characterized by efficient family-size owner-operated farms. A tradition is best explained by its origin. It is not often that a founder of tradition lets us look so deeply into his first principles and purposes as does Jefferson in his scholarly notes and correspondence. How, then, did he relate agrarianism to democracy in the meaning of our present inquiry? As to his democratic convictions and labours, his record, beginning with his enumeration of "unalienable rights" in the Declaration of Independence and concl uding with the philosophical reflections of his old age, speaks for itself. In all his works he was the champion of those basic civil liberties and methods of popular government by which democracy enabled people to rule themselves and express themselves as individuals. There is scarcely an item in our national Bill of Rights, the first ten amendments to the Constitution, that is not directly traceable to his precept or example. Jefferson was not an original thinker, but a representative one. His sensitive mind was a conductor for all the intellectual currents of his age. In a theoretical sense, he must share the credit for founding our democratic institutions with the philosophers

His general views on agriculture may require no more complicated explanation than; as already suggested, that they were perfectly logical deductions from his own tastes Undoubtedly he found moral support and environment. for them in his reading, especially in the classics. But the character of the views, their obviousness, generality, and fundamental simplicity, discourages a search for more specific doctrina I influences. One fundamental difference between Jefferson and the Physiocrats, who saw agriculture as the sole source ofweaIth and a single tax upon its net product the sole method of public finance, brings out his own views on agriculture in sharp relief. The Physiocrats stood for large-scale farming and great estates, in conscious emulation of the British aristocracy. They represented a group of prosperous magistrates and bureaucrats then rising in French society, seeking (and gaining) titles, and determined, like the British, to make their newly-acquired estates pay. They believed in scientific estate farming, which they called lagrande culture; and their single tax, which ensured the owner a comfortable margin of profit, was conceived in its interest. The welfare of the peasants was to them of minor consideration, save in so far as all would gain from a simplification of the prevailing tax system. They favoured, in other words, the interests of new and prosperous recruits to the landed aristocracy, and proposed ?etailed methods of furthering those interests. Jefferson from the outset cast his lot with poor, frontier farmers and never, even in their interest, conceived of economic measures so complex in detail or specific in purpose as those of the Physiocrats. To him, agriculture was not primarily a source of wealth, but of human virtues and traits most congenial to popular self-government. It had a sociological rather than an economic value. This is the dominant note in all his writings on the subject. There is a recurrent theme in much of Jefferson's writing: "Cultivators of the earth are the most valuable citizens. They are the most vigorous, the most independant [sic], the most virtuous, & they are tied to their country, & wedded to it's liberty & interests by the most lasting bonds .... I consider the class of artificers as the panders of vice & the instruments by which the liberties of a country are generally overturned." Again: "I think our governments will remain virtuous for many centuries; as long as they are chiefly agricultural; and this will be as long as there shall be vacant lands in any part of America. When they get piled upon one another in large cities, as in Europe, they will become corrupt as in E~rope."

Jefferson never changed these views, though he never permitted them or any other theoretical consideration to obscure his sense of the practical. He displays here that pragmatic empiricism which has governed Anglo-American political thought and action through history. While Du Pont de Nemours, logical Frenchman, wanted things planned, ordered, consistent, directed from the top down, having no more faith than Hamilton in the capacity of the common people to know their own best interests, Jefferson's faith in the people was complete. He considered it "a duty in those entrusted with the administration of their affairs, to conform themselves to the decided choice of their constituents." And towards the end of their long correspondence he admonished Du Pont: "We both consider the people as our children, and love them with parental affection. But you love them as infants whom you are afraid to trust without nurses, and I as adults, whom I freely leave to self-government." A quarter century later, Jefferson had moved so far with the times as to prescribe an "equilibrium of agriculture, manufactures and commerce." Several features of his conversion are of interest. In the first place, it was incomplete. The farthest he would go was to approve a balanced, selfsufficient economy in which he expected agriculture to occupy the most important position. Secondly, it was reluctant: he attributed it to the "depravity" of the times. Thirdly, it was decided not on the merits of the question but by international politics and war. The Napoleonic wars were not the first in which American domestic issues had been confused by the whims and ambitions of foreign powers, nor would they be the last. Nevertheless, the dominant role they played in the conversion of Jefferson, if we may call it such, shows the extent to which the conversion was one of expediency rather than of principle. The world war in which the young America became a belligerent in 1812 forced him to forego as statesman and patriot views which, as farmer and philosopher, he never formally renounced. To the end of his days, agriculture remained the occupation nearest his heart, his ideal of a good society, a society of farmers. We should say, as he did, a society of small farmers, for as we have seen, he considered these "the most precious part of a state." Assuming democracy to have been his summum bonum and agriculture its sociological (and economic) foundation, the composite political value that Jefferson expected agriculture to yield was individualism; and this was best cultivated on a small farm. For it was preeminently on a small farm that those qualities of independence and self-reliance, of "looking up to heaven, to their own soil and industry," that were most readily convertible into enlightened self-government were most thoroughly developed in men. Political independence depended upon social equality and economic security, all best provided by a small farm, in the modern phrase, a small, owner-operated, family-size farm. The tiller of another man's fields could never feel the

sense of economic security nor the pride of possession of the independent farmer; still less could those deI1endent upon "casualties and caprice of customers ... or twirling a distaff." Democracy meant self-government. Who would govern himself must own his soul. To own his soul, he must own property, the means of economic security. Private property was therefore a corollary to democracy, and land that produced the means of subsistence was the typical and most valuable form of private property. Thus we find in Jefferson's construction of the property right another link between his general principles of agrarianism and democracy. A search for the basis of this construction leads back to John Locke. "The earth is given as a common stock for man to labour and live on," Jefferson had written from Paris in 1785. The "right to labour the earth" was "fundamental." And in 1816, in a detailed summary of his political creed, he stated his belief "that a right to property is founded in our natural wants, in the means with which we were endowed to satisfy those wants, and the right to what we acquire by those means without violating the similar rights of other sensible beings." A century and a quarter earlier, Locke had written: God, who hath given the world to men in common, hath also given them reason to make use of it to the best advantage of life and convenience. The earth and all that is therein is given to men for the support and comfort of their being. And though all the fruits it naturally produces, and beasts it feeds, belong to mankind in common, as they are produced by the spontaneous hand of Nature, and nobody has originally a private dominion exclusive of the rest of mankind in any of them, as they are thus in their natural state, yet being given for the use of men, there must of necessity be a means to appropriate them some way or other before they can be of any use, or at all beneficial, to any particular men. Even the phrasing sounds like Jefferson's, and both echo the psalm Locke quotes as his authority: "The heaven, even the heavens, are the Lord's: but the earth hath he given to the children of men." Whether consciously or indirectly and unconSciously borrowed from Locke, Jefferson's theory of property was essentially Locke's. And what was Locke's in essence had' evolved out of pre-Christian custom, Roman Law, and mediaeval doctrine to find philosophical definition at Locke's hands and to be transmitted by him to most political philosophers of the eighteenth, and many of the nineteenth, centuries. By the time when Locke's ideas on property reached Jefferson, many tributaries had flowed into the stream, broad as it was even in Locke's day. The texts Jefferson studied at William and Mary, the authorities he consulted as a law student, the more specific writings, such as Kames' Historical Law Tracts, that he extracted in his commonplace book, all reflected the general sanction civilized society had continued

Thomas Jefferson dreamt of a society of small farmers. But "the dream of a rural republic, isolated from the commercialism and industrialism of Europe and composed entirely of self-governing farmers, had begun to fade before it was full-blown. The unpent genie of industrialism was moving about the world and had visited America."

long since placed upon the institution of private property. The colonists had brought this sanction with them to America. The Protestant churches, to which most of them belonged, had improved upon it with the doctrine of the calling, according to which material possessions were a proof of virtue and a sign of heavenly grace. Taxation without representation, the cause celebre of the Revolution, had made every American acutely conscious of the property right and its relation to government. The first resolution of the Declaration and Resolves of the First Continental Congress, October 14, 1774, proclaimed the right "to life, liberty and property." Jefferson's own draft of the Declaration on Taking up Arms, July 6, 1775, declared: "The political institutions of America, its various soils and climates opening ,certain resources to the unfortunate and to the enterprising of every country and ensured to them the acquisition and possession of property." The first resolution of the famous Virginia Bill of Rights, written by George Mason, adopted June 12, 1776, and honoured by imitation in both America and France, read: That all men are by nature equally free and independent, and have certain inherent rights, of which, when they enter into a state of society, they cannot by any compact deprive or divest their posterity; namely, the enjoyment of life and liberty, with the means of acquiring and possessing property, and pursuing happiness and safety. The right to private property was taken for granted, ,and the duty of the government to protect it assumed, by Jefferson when he sat down to compose the Declaration of Independence. His substitution of the more euphemistic "pursuit of happiness" for the word "property" in that document proved his skill as a propagandist rather than any deviation from these principles. That much, at least, is clear from his provisions for the appropriation of small landholdings "in full and absolute dominion" in the draft constitution he had submitted to the Virginia legislature before coming to Philadelphia, and from his law abolishing entails in October of the same year. Locke was to Jefferson what Jefferson is to the modern proponents of the family farm. Both summed up and expressed in undying form the political and social philosophies of their times and environments. It is true that in England Locke's ideas on property were construed in the interest of the rich as well as the poor. But to Jefferson they provided the moral basis for his pattern of small landowners. The substance of these ideas was

that the right to private property existed in the state of nature that preceded formal government. Although the earth and its fruits were given to mankind in common, a man's person and his labour were his and his alone. "Whatsoever, then, he removes out of the state that Nature hath provided and left it in, he hath mixed his labour with it, and joined to it something that is his own, and thereby makes ithis property." By picking up fruit, or tilling a field, or filling his pitcher at a fountain, a man appropriated exclusively to himself what was given by nature to all men equally and in common, with two important qualifications. There must be "enough, and as good left in common for others." And no one must take more than he can use. Applied to land, which Locke called "the chief matter of property," this meant "as much land as a man tills, plants, improves, cultivates, and can use the product of." Thus defined and qualified, the natural right to private property must be recognized and protected by government as a basic condition of the social order. While Locke was more interested in establishing the right to private property than in promoting its equal division, to Jefferson both were important. Like Locke, he wished to make the strongest possible political case for the principle, as Locke put it, that "the supreme power cannot take from any man any part of his property without his own consent." On the other hand, he was more concerned with the principles of democracy than Locke and strove'more conscientiously to extend them into the economic realm. Locke's limitation on landowning-that it should not exceed what a man could put to his own use-reappears implicitly in Jefferson's laws abolishing primogeniture and entail and almost literally in his explanation of those laws. So vital did he consider them that he obtained leave from Congress soon after the adoption of the Declaration of Independence to return to the Virginia legislature and see that they were carried out in his own State. Jefferson was too shrewd a politician, however, to believe that a perfectly equal division of the land was possible. It was another of those ideals that he tried to realize pragmatically, as practical politics and human nature would permit. Yet it was an ideal. Jefferson's dream of a rural republic, isolated from the commercialism and industrialism of Europe and composed entirely of self-governing fanners, had begun to fade before it was full-blown. The unpent genie of industrialism was moving about the world and had visited America. By 1791, Hamilton could say with confidence, in his Report on Manufactures: "The expediency of encouraging manufactures in the United States, which was not long since deemed very questionable, appears at this time to be pretty generally admitted." So it came to be, even by Thomas Jefferson. But the principles Jefferson borrowed from Locke and paid back, as it were, with the accumulated interest of his name and fame, have lived on, to inspire the framers of modern agricultural policy and colour the thoughts of Americans , when they turn their minds to rural life. END

John Hurt, who .first learned his music as a poor Mississippi tenant farmer's child, now performs in concert halls. Hurt is a folk music "authentic"-with a rural background and a repertoire of country songs.

Sad angry joYful old-ne-w.

IDUSle '('he hopes and feaI's of a whole g'eneI'ation of young' ."-meI'icans aI'e being' expI'essed thI'oug'h the nl01l1'nful, stI'ident, lilting' stI'ains of folk music.

THE FOLK-SONG revival presently sweeping across the United States is being described variously in words like "fever," "frenzy" and even "hysteria." And surveyors of the American musical scene report that there has never been anything like it before in depth or in magnitude. Suddenly folk music has caught the fancy of a whole generation of young Americans, and the twang of more than six million guitars is being heard all over the land. Not only are they singing and playing it themselves, they are listening to it on radio, television and phonograph records, and they are flocking by the thousands to folk festivals held in U.S. colleges. The campus unquestionably provides the largest and most vocal audience for folk material. As a perplexed member of the older generation remarked, "Once they went to college for higher education; now they go to join a folk-singing group." The campus is also the source of most of the new "protest" songs through which young America is expressing its dissatisfaction with the world in general. This new trend, also inexplicable to those on the outside, led one observer to comment: "They have to be against something, anything or, even better, everything." Much of the folk music of America is part of a heritage from the four corners of the earth. All the peoples who helped create the New World brought their own music from the old; and this vastly enriched the music being created in the growth of the new country. Today's folk songs, therefore, run the gamut from French love ballads to Irish rebel songs, country blues to Appalachian mountain tunes. Imported or indigenous, old or new, folk music speaks in a voice the young respond to. It speaks of love and hate, birth and death, joy and grief. Many of the songs are sad or angry, but even more of them are full of a joyous, hopeful spirit-the kind expressed in what has come to be known as the folk singer's anthem: "This land is your land-this land is my land ... This land was made for you and me."

Though many of the songs are old, the singers are mostly new. A few of them are authentic-they originally came from the hills and learned their songs at their mother's knee. But today more and more of them are neither rural nor representatives of centuries-old family and regional traditions. They are often city-bred converts to the folk style and many of them possess college degrees. Though their programmes usually include traditional numbers, many are now writing and performing their own songs out of their own concerns and preoccupations. The most successful individual folk singers today, and those whom the restless young regard as their pre-eminent spokesmen, are Joan Baez and Bob Dylan, both twenty-five years old. Among the successful groups are the Chad Mitchell Trio, the Kingston Trio, and the group known as Peter, Paul and Mary, who call themselves "urban folk singers." According to a recent article in Harper's magazine, the current folksong revival is the third since the end of World War I. The first occurred in the twenties and was the era of the great collectors-John A. Lomax, John Jacob Niles and the poet Carl Sandburg-who collected indigenous American songs of the prairie and the mountains. The second revival in the late thirties and early forties had as its outstanding figures the performers Josh White, Burl Ives and Huddie Ledbetter, perhaps better known as Leadbelly. The present craze is often traced directly to 1958, when a group of ex-collegians recorded a ditty of a returning Civil War veteran hanged for the murder of his sweetheart. The ditty, "Tom Dooley," sold over two million records and is said to have ignited the folk-song powder keg. Though no one disputes the fascination of folk music for the young, musicologists, sociologists and a host of others are busy trying to find out

exactly where its appeal lies. Some say it is an outlet for teen-agers to discharge their feelings of conflict with the older generation and to seek new values through folk music. Look magazine attributes the rise of folk music to the dearth of good musical comedy tunes and the diffused and somewhat ethereal character of contemporary jazz. Others say its popularity can be explained in terms of participation: in the "hootenanny"-the folk music version of the jazz jam session-4:verybody knows the songs, and everybody sings. One critic said, "The elemental truth is identification. It's music that's not beyond people. It's an artless medium-as Chaplin is seemingly artless-and the audience feels right at home." Part of folk music's undoubted appeal, as explained by a Harvard fan, is that "it's honest. A folk song tells the truth; it says real things about real life." And this is reflected in the high seriousness and dedication of the folk artist, and the folk audience's concern with canons of integrity and genuine feeling. Whatever the reasons for the revival, it seems clear that folk music answers some deep need in young people for basic, fundamental values, while at the same time expressing their restless search for new and positive ideas. Compared to previous generations, it seems to reflect an affirmative change away from cool spectatorism to active involvement. The folk frenzy can probably never be explained in clear, easily-defined terms. At best, its meaning becomes a little clearer through the words of its exponents-as for example, when Joan Baez says, "I can be driving along and suddenly it hits me. The whole insanity of the world lands full on my head. T feel a mixture of terror, sorrow and then great joy."

Jessie ((Lone Cat" Fuller, at left, plays several musical instruments at once, serving as a one-man band for a Los Angeles coffee house. Another "authentic," he never had any formal lessons in the ((country blues" that he picked up in his early childhood.

"Urban folk singers" The tremendous success of the folksinging trio at right-called Peter, Paul and Mary-is a measure of the prevailing hunger for their kind of music. Eager fans pack everyone of their concerts and they have sold over tlVO million records. All three are New Yorkers who like to describe themselves as ((urban folk singers."

Balladeel's Young singers like Hedy West, right, and Judy Collins, below, make a speciality of romantic ballads. Miss West features songs of her birthplace in the Southern hill country of Georgia where her family has lived since the eighteenth century.

Evel'ybody sings Part of the popularity of folk music can be explained in terms of participation, as is clear from the picture above where patrons of a New York cafe whole-heartedly join in the singing. Seated fifth Fom right, foreground, is the famous Negro singer Odetta.

Impro,'ised illstrllluents Impromptu quality of folk music has always extended to the instruments played. At left, 'this "jug band" gets sounds out of hubcaps, washboards and an empty jug, which makes an accompaniment for the. guitar and the banjo.

First lady Joan Baez, right, often regarded as the first lady of folk music, sings many of the new topical songs in a voice of haunting eloquence and purity. For many of her admirers, her open, honest manner and her courage symbolize a cool island of integrity.

Touth's ~pokesman The most influential of today's folk singers is Bob Dylan) above, who is a writer of songs as well as a performer. Explaining his hold over the young) Joan Baez says, "Bobby is expressing what I-and many other young people-feel, what we want to say. His ~ songs are powerful as poetry and powerful as music."

Love's old sweet sonr: Songs of doomed lovers and unrequited love are part of folk music all over Ihe world. These are the old familiar melodies favoured by Carolyn Hester) right) though she occasionally sings the new protest songs.

An artless medium, folk music is nevertheless an art form for its creators and performers, and comes to the classroom as art for music students. Above, at the University of California, Los Angeles, guitarist Elizabeth Cotton, extreme leli, demonstrates her distinctive style.

tJitadel The campus is the citadel of folk music and the place where it finds its most enthusiastic response. At right, a trio of folk singers performs before an open-air audience on a college campus in California.

DEAN RUSK

advocate of quiet diplomacy

INDIA is not a satellite of ours, and we are not a satellite of India," U.S. Secretary of State Dean Rusk once said in a television interview. "We will disagree on certain subjects; there is no reason why we shouldn't. We are great countries with vital interests all' over the world. So we will have our differences. But we also have great common commitments that are important." This excerpt from Rusk's TV interview is a significant expression of one aspect of American foreign policy as it has developed over the last decade. ft is a logical projection of a basic concept of democracy-the right of nations as well as individuals to freedom of opinion and action. Unlike the diplomats of old-whether Chanakya in fourth-century (B.C.) India or Bismarck and Metternich in nineteenth-century Europe-the statesmen of the free world today realize that the interests of diplomacy cannot be served by any kind of coercion or imposition of opinions on other peoples. They recognize that differences of views on even crucial subjects need Duringdeparture ceremonies in Washington Mrs. Gandhi and Secretary Rusk stand at attention as national anthems are played.

not be inconsistent with friendship between nations; and, indeed, can often be useful. Dean Rusk, at fifty-seven, seems admirably suited by temperament and training for this new diplomacy and the quiet, tolerant, patient effort aimed at peaceful solution of complicated international problems. Such effort is far from spectacular and is often carried on behind the scenes. It may be protracted and tedious but, according to Rusk, "Tedium has an immeasurably important role to play in diplomacy; peace is to be sought by continuing, quiet, apparently pointless but enduring conversation." An approach of this kind is apt to be unpopular and misunderstood, and it is not surprising that it provides ammunition to Dean Rusk's critics: they find his methods pedestrian, his personality colourless and his actions lacking in decisiveness and vigour. But even critics concede his many positive qualities-his great diligence, his mastery of technical details of world problems, his skill at lucid exposition, his

unfailing courtesy and imperturbability under trying conditions, his happy relationship with Congress and other branches of the U.S. Administration. In a democratic society such as the United States, where the conduct of those in authority is ever subject to public appraisal, it is perhaps inevitable that the Secretary of State should be a controversial figure. In fact almost every Secretary since the days of Thomas Jefferson-who was the first holder of the office in George Washington's Cabinet from 1790 to 1793has been subjected to criticism for some sin of commission or omission. 'Jefferson was drawn into domestic controversy with Hamilton on the issue of individual freedom versus orderly government and the means to achieve both these ends. The differing political philosophy of these two great national leaders led to the formation of the Democrat and Federalist parties. William Henry Seward, Secretary of State in Abraham Lincoln's Administration, who skilfully handled the country's foreign relations during the continued

Civil War, was criticized for negotiating the treaty with Russia for the cession of Alaska to the United States. In later times Cordell Hull, who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, Dean Acheson and Foster Dulles, have all been targets of severe criticism. Next only to the President, the Secretary of State of the United States has almost limitless responsibilities undefined in scope but graphically described by one commentator as extending to "the escalation of problems which range from Hong Kong's garment exports to the possible annihilation of the human race." The seniormost member of the Cabinet and the President's foremost counsellor on foreign affairs, he must keep the chief executive posted regarding

day-to-day-or sometimes hour-tohour-international developments and advise him on subtle shifts of policy or posture which may make all the difference between peace and war, between national success or glory and possible failure or disaster. To equip himself for this onerous and awesome responsibility, he must have as accurate a picture as possible of the constantly changing international scene and of the forces and counter-forces which bring about change. The State Department has, of course, expanded beyond recognition since Jefferson's days when he ran it with five clerks in Washington and a dozen diplomatic representatives abroad. Today the U.S. Secretary of State has a large staff-6,500 employees in Wash-

ington and 16,500 overseas-and numerous well-organized channels of information and communication which help him form his kaleidoscopic picture of the world. Even on a normal day thousands of messages from the 117 U.S. embassies and missions in all corners of the globe are received and tapped out by the battery of teletype machines in the State Department Building, and the number swells when "things are bubbling." Besides these cabled messages the're is a ceaseless flow by mail of communications of all kinds, some purporting to shed light on a dark or confused issue and others merely conforming to the Department's prescribed routine of periodical reports and returns.

This mass of information has to be patiently sifted and analysed by the Secretary of State's staff and its substance digested by him in between almost unending rounds of meetings and conferences. In addition to Cabinet meetings and discussions with the President, he attends Congressional sessions when necessary and confers with visiting Ambassadors and heads of other U.S. departments and agencies. To fulfil his responsibilities of representation and negotiation with foreign powers, he must undertake frequent tours abroad. He sits at international conferences when held outside the United States and represents his country on ceremonial occasions, gay or sombre, abroad. (Dean Rusk attended the funerals of the late Prime

Ministers Nehru and Shastri in Delhi.) And by virtue of his office, he must of course participate in a host of domestic public activities ranging from receptions for foreign dignitaries to youth forums and ceremonies for renaming of streets. Dean Rusk has borne the burdens of his high office cheerfully and gracefully. Born in genteel poverty and reared on a tenant farm in the southern State of Georgia, he made his way by a combination of ability and perseverance through Davidson College in North Carolina and then to Oxford, England, as a Rhodes scholar. His scholarship, maturity and sobriety were presumably also responsible for his appointment at the early age of twenty-nine as Dean of Faculty at

Mills College, a girls' college in Oakland, California. Dean Dean Rusk was popular with the students, including Virginia Foisie of Seattle, whom he married in 1937. Transformed from a professor of political science into an army captain in 1942, Dean Rusk adapted himself readily to the needs and exigencies of World War II. He rose to the rank of colonel and deputy chief of staff in General Joseph Stillwell's ChinaBurma-India International Command, and had his headquarters from 1943to 1945in the Imperial Hotel, New Delhi. His performance in this job won the recognition of his superiors and in 1945 he was transferred to Washington as a Pentagon expert in international relations.

Then followed aÂˇ number of subcabinet assignments in the State Department, the last being that of Assistant Secretary of State for Far Eastern Affairs under Secretary of State Dean Acheson during the Truman Administration. He left the Department in 1952 to become president of the internationally known Rockefeller Foundation. Dean Rusk thus brought to his present office an impressive academic background, extensive experience in military and civil positions of responsibility and wide cultural contacts both in and outside the United States. Taking up his new appointment at a time when the United States no longer enjoyed an atomic monopoly, he soon found himself in the midst of successive crises-Berlin, Soviet missiles in Cuba, the Congo, Vietnam-any of which could have led to a nuclear war and "the burning up of the Northern Hemisphere," to quote Rusk's own words. That mankind has escaped such adisastrous fate so far may be attributed at least in part to the perseverance, restraint and wisdom of statesmen like Dean Rusk who passionately believe in peace and seek the smallest opportunity of improving international relations. As .he visualizes the United States' and his own role in the context of the current international situation, it is, quite simply, to lead the "forces of consent" against the "forces of coercion." Stressing prudence, caution and restraint and believing in transformation rather than innovation, he shuns dogmatic assertion and flamboyant tactics; he is especially critical of slogans and "policy making by phrase." With a horror of such phrases as "massive retaliation" and "agonizing reappraisal," used by one of his predecessors, Rusk combines a sturdy faith in the basic soundness and continuity of American foreign policy. Essential elements of this policy are: recognition and encouragement of the forces of democracy everywhere; an endeavour to see the world develop into a community of independent States, settling their disputes by peaceful means and co-operating in common interest, as envisioned by the U.N. Charter; and, lastly, awareness

of the impact of the American social and economic experience on the rest of the world. Holding that the American experience is "the most powerful revolutionary force in the world today," Dean Rusk is convinced that this revolution, rooted in freedom and justice, cannot fail. The Secretary of State's quiet, modest, unruffled demeanour, his reticence and reserve, his deliberate preference of the prosaic and patient approach over the dramatic, have earned him such sobriquets as "The Quiet American," "The Silent Secretary," "The Just-a-Minute Man." While some of Dean Rusk's critics interpret these labels as pointers to irresolution or weakness, others look upon them as tributes to his personality and character. Everyone is agreed on his remarkable capacity for self-control. Says Max Frankel of the New York Times: "The Secretary of State of the United States simply does not get mad or rattled, and he does not argue, least of all for himself." The same writer also refers to Dean Rusk's "sturdy backbone" and the veiled strength which impresses those who come into close contact with him. This latent strength is best revealed at times of grave crisis. The morning after Moscow had been challenged to pull its missiles out of Cuba, he commented with rare nonchalance:'Well, we're stHI here." Again, on learning that Soviet missile-carrying ships for Cuba had turned back in mid-ocean, he made a remark which seems destined to become immortal: "We're eyeball to eyeball and I think the other fellow just blinked." A more recent example of firmness is the U.S. State Department's statement following Communist China's third nuclear test. It reaffirmed the United States' defence commitments in Asia and the assurances already given of strong support to nations who do not seek national nuclear weapons and feel threatened by nuclear blackmail. Much furore was caused by Arthur M. Schlesinger Jr.'s "revelation" in his recently published book, A Thousand Days, that President Kennedy's

growing impatience with the slow tempo of the State Department had made him decide to seek a new Secretary of State after the 1964 elections. Dean R'Usk has not chosen to comment on this statement beyond remarking that his own memoirs, when published, would be characterized by discretion, and a~sociates dealing with him on the basis of confidence would find their confidence respected. Assuming the authenticity of the statement, its implications must await the judgment of history and against it must be set President Kennedy's appreciation of Dean Rusk in these significant words: "He's got guts. And his judgement is good .... [ wouldn't want to make a final decision on a vital matter regarding our security until I'd heard his views. He sits on my right" President Johnson's appraisal of the Secretary of State is even more forthright. "He's got courage," remarked the President, " ... He's Number One in the Cabinet, not only in protocol but in the heart of his President." Behind Dean Rusk's desk in his office hangs a portrait of President Johnson by Norman Rockwell inscribed by L.BJ.: "To Dean Rusk, my wise counsellor." Few public figures are immune from the changing winds of controversy, and Dean Rusk is certainly not one of these few. But when history records its verdict on him, it will doubtless give him credit for the quiet, unostentatious but highly effective work he has done as Secretary of State and for the new concept of diplomacy he has preached and practised. "One of the purposes of diplomacy," he has said, "is to exclude from great affairs of state the many irrelevancies which spring from human frailty." He would reduce the personal element in international relations, even to the point of self-effacement, for goodwill among nations has to be based on enduring values and interests "far beyond the idiosyncrasies of holders of public offices." A critic has referred, perhaps a trifle slightingly, to Dean Rusk's "Buddha-like face and half-smile." One wonders if a little more of the Buddha's wisdom and serenity is not. what our troubled world sorely needs at present.

Above: No stranger to Delhi, Secretary Rusk calls on President Radhakrishnan at Rashtrapati Bhawan. At right is Mrs. Rusk.

Below: The Secretary of State relaxes with his family at home. Left to right: David, Mr. and Mrs. Rusk, Peggy and Richard.

Those graceful gliders

For many centuries man attempted to fly, but it was not until the early nineteenth century that scientific theories of flight were developed. Still, the airplane might never have gotten off the ground without the glider. A glider is an airplane without an engine; it is capable of two kinds of flight: gliding and soaring. In gliding, the craft loses altitude continuously and never rises above its starting point. In soaring, the glider "rides" on rising air currents, often reaches altitudes high above its point of departure. In 1896, Octave Chanute made the first glider flight in the U.S., but it was the Wright brothers who added vertical and horizontal rudders to make gliders more reliable. Late in 1902 they

made more than 1,000 flights, some for distances of 600 feet. The next year they added an engine and achieved man's first powered flight. Gliding remains a popular sport in the U.S. and enjoys growing interest in India. These photos were made at the recent annual show of the Delhi Gliding Club-one of some twenty in Indiawhose sixty active members make nearly 10,000 flights each year. Prime Minister Gandhi, below, was chief guest. Last month the Club began a research programme to explore "standing waves" in the Himalayan Ranges. It is hoped that these waves will make soaring possible at extreme <).ltitudes. END

SUMMER WHITE HOUSE on the Pedernales

When Lyndon Johnson purchased land for the LBJ ranch in 1951, its soil was thin, obdurate and unproductive. First, he dammed the PedernaJesto prevent erosion, then terraced the fields and dug ponds to conserve water for irrigation. These and other improvements have made farming profitable at the ranch, now famous as the nation's "Summer White House." It affords the President relief, says the author, from the sticky Washington summer.

MILLIONS OF years ago, in central Texas, the crust of the earth split like an old pair of pants. The result was the Balcones Escarpment, a massive geological fracture running from the Rio Grande near Del Rio, in the south, to a little place called Georgetown, in the north-a distance of about 250 miles. On the eastern side of the fault, the land went down; on its western side, the land went up-and to Lyndon Baines Johnson, thirtysixth President of the United States, that has made all the difference. To the east are the coastal plains. There the farms are thick with cotton and grain sorghums and the soil is rich and black and deep. To the west,where the land went up, is the hill countrya narrow strip that begins in Austin and extends westward at right angles to the fault to Fredericksburg, seventy-five miles away. There the soil is thin, obdurate, unproductive, and the limestone hills low and chalky. The trees that grow best are those with roots strong enough to rip through rock to find their own moisture; the good grass grows unnaturally, with immense doses of fertilizer.Here the blacklands disappear, and the land is given over to cattle, sheep and goats. This is Lyndon Johnson country. Thisis where hewas born and schooled and tested; this is where he won his first race for Congress in 1937; this is where he returned following his Presidential triumph in 1964; this is where he chose to spend several weeks of convalescence following major surgery late that year. And when both temperature and humidity soar during the sticky Washington summer, this is where Lyndon Johnson seeks solace and relief from the heatand the problems. The land itself seems to give him nourishment. It is hard land, and not particularly beauttful in the picture-postcard sense of the term. The Grand Canyon is more spectacular, the Maine coast more elemental, the foothills of the Blue Ridge in Virginia greener and healthier and prettier. But there is something overpowering about this land, and anyone who drives from Austin to Fredericksburg-passing, along the way, the Johnson (LBJ) ranch near Johnson City-cannot escape its power. It is brooding, scarred and curiously melancholy, as if man and nature, having fought many wars, had at long last reached a sullen and uneasy truce. The President, a man of great regional pride, This article has been condensed and reprinted with special permission from the New York Times Magazine. Copyright 1965 by the New York Times Co.

loves these hard-scrabble hills, and during the early stages of his Presidency he yearned for them openly. "All my life," he once said, "I have drawn substance from the rivers and from the hills of my native State. I do not see them so often any more these days, and I am lonesome for them almost constantly." In recent months, however, the President has been returning to his native hills with increasing frequency. The burdens of the Presidency have become no less onerous, but he has learned that he can bear them just as easily away from the capital. Like the Merovingian kings who travelled from country to country in Europe, Lyndon Johnson has discovered that power is portable. Coupled with this discovery is his growing and understandable distaste for Washington. He is not fully comfortable there-as few other Presidents have been-and he feels that the ceremonial baggage of the Presidency prevents him from functioning efficiently. The planes on their approach to National Airport fly right over the White House and disturb his sleep. The tourists disrupt his mornings; the incessant White House conferences play havoc with his afternoons. "I feel like I'm in the middle of an air raid," he once told reporters. "Then at 8 a.m., when I'm trying to read a report, all the tourists are going by right under my bed. And in the afternoon, when I'm trying to take a nap, Lady Bird is in the next room with eighty ladies talking about the daffodils on Pennsylvania Avenue." "It is not," he remarked about the White House, "the kind of place you would pick to live in." Nor is it a good place to work. On a Saturday in Texas, the President told newsmen, he can clear away in a few hours a deskful of work that would normally have kept him busy until late at night. Mr. Johnson's delayed capitulation to one of the Presidency's most familiar occupational diseases, geographical schizophrenia, manifests itself in many small ways. In Texas the President wears tan twill or khaki instead of a blue business suit; he does his walking on the LBJ's 438 managed acres rather than on the eighteen manicured acres of the White House grounds; he swims more in the gourd-shaped pool outside his bedroom door in Texas than he does in the dark rectangular tank in the White House basement; his speech grows earthier and the lines around his eyes begin to soften. Texas is Mr. Johnson's Key West, his Palm Beach, his Hyannis Port, his Augusta, and while it may make little substantive difference to the reporter who has to file from Johnson City or

Austin instead of Washington, or to the embattled bureaucrat on the other end of the Presidential telephone, it makes a lot of difference to Mr. Johnson's state of mind and probably a considerthis means able difference to his health-and something to the world. Unlike life at the Washington White House, which is cluttered but rigidly systematic, life at the Texas White House is uncluttered but deliberately disorganized. One weekend, for example, the President invited five guests for what was advertised as a brief tour of the ranch. They ended up staying for lunch, a boatride and dinner as well. However, it is possible to draw a rough outline of the President's day. He begins it at 6:30 with a swim in the pool, eats breakfast and then works until noon in his office. After lunch he takes a nap or tours the ranch. Then he goes boating. He eats dinner either at the lake where the boats are kept or at home, watches the 11 p.m. news, then goes to bed. Occasionally, he will take a walk around the place after dinner; then again, he may not. One of the nice things about Texas is that he can do what he likes. He does most of his paperwork and telephoning at a massive mahogany desk in a large pinepannelled office that forms the left wing of the house. The desk, which was used by Arthur Vandenberg in the Senate during the 1930's, has a map of North America under its covering glass, and bears two multi buttoned telephone consoles and other phones. The telephone is still the President's principal means of communicating with the outside world but it is not the only one. Every morning a courier plane arrives on the landing strip behind the house, bearing ten different newspapers, intelligence data and stacks of reports. The President also receives regular teletype reports from the State Department and news from the Associated Press and United Press International. Ifnecessary, he can also communicate by shortwave radio. One day last summer he talked with six members of his staff who had stayed behind in Washington; held two long, separate conversations with Defence Secretary Robert S. McNamara and Secretary of State Dean Rusk on Vietnam; called and invited Ambassador Arthur Goldberg and his wife and son to the ranch, dictated a slew of memos, read a batch of reports and signed fifty letters. The President eats lunch either at his desk or, if there are guests, at an oval cherry table in the dining room. Although some mealtimes at the ranch can be memorable, lunch is relatively simcontinued

"This was poor land; Mr. Johnson made it good; the ranch once lost money, now it makes a little."

pIe: an immense salad, potato chips and a few vegetables, topped off with a heaping dish of peaches. This is good peach country; not all of the land is given over to limestone and clay. Afterwards, Mr. Johnson naps or moves directly to the principal business of the day: an inspection of his holdings. The LBJ is little more than what Sam Rayburn once called it-"a little old farm"-but that is not the whole story of Johnson ranching. Much has been written about the President's holdings and some of it is wrong, partly because land changes hands so fast in the hill country that the President's acquisitions are sometimes impossible to keep track of. When the question was put to him directly, he said that he owned outright some forty acres, which included the house and the land immediately adjacent to it. The rest of the LBJ ranch, roughly 398 acres, was placed in trust along with the family's other enterprises shortly after he became President. He also owns, in trust, 7,338 acres altogether and leases another thousand. Most of this land is dry and undeveloped, covered with sagebrush, mesquite and scrub cedar, a reminder of what the LBJ was like before Mr. Johnson got to it. The land on which the LBJ sits has been in the Johnson family for many years, but did not come into Mr. Johnson's possession until 1951, when he bought the place from an aunt. Mrs. Johnson, an astute businesswoman, resisted at first. "Lady Bird always takes a year to make a final decision," the President says, "and this was no exception. When I first told her I wanted the place, she said, 'You're not going to get me out there with all those bats,' and it took me a year to convince her." There were other hazards besides bats. The house was badly decayed and the land was never much, anyway. About the only thing to recommend it was its setting. It had a front-row seat on the Pedernales, one of the prettiest rivers in Texas; it was shaded by a massive live oak tree around which an enterprising homeowner could sculpture a front yard, and a man standing behind the house could see lovely old hills, worn and smoothed by time. But that was about all. Part of the house was the remnant of a stone fort built against Red Indian raids in the eighteensixties and part was frame construction added later. ("Every time they made some calves and sold some cotton crop they added onto the house," Mr. Johnson says.) The President pointed up the stone and painted the wood and kept up Above, President Johnson leads his guests down a path composed of concrete blocks on which important visitors to the ranch have inscribed their names. Below, an aerial view of the LBJ ranch.

the building tradition by adding the office wing on the left (built from much the same native stone as the fort) and a sitting room for Mrs. Johnson on the right. Before long the house began to look like the modest hill-country showplace it is today. On the ground floor are the President's office, a living room, a sitting room that doubles as a library, a dining room and two small bedrooms. Upstairs are five bedrooms. But the house was not the first thing to which the new owner turned his attention in 1951. First he dammed the Pedernales (Texans pronounce it "PUR-de-NAL-es"); then he began rejuvenating his soil. The ranch is stocked with a small flock of sheep and goats and about ten horses and ponies. The goats and sheep are not unprofitable-one shearing and a lamb will recover the cost of a sheep, and a good healthy goat, furnishing mohair at S I a pound, will earn back his original cost in one year and go on making a profit for the owner for several years after that. The dam was important, because it kept the Pedernales from jumping its banks in the springtime floods and washing away the soil. ("Tt's hard to hold on to the soil," Mrs. Johnson once said. "There used to be a ditch on the ranch deep enough to walk elephants in. Lyndon would fill it up and plant it and some rip-roaring rain would wash it away. Finally it stayed filled. That's one of Lyndon's greatest successes.") Mr. Johnson's search for ways to create water reserves, to capture and hold water in escrow for the long summer days, did not stop with the dam. Right away he began terracing the fields and digging ponds (known locally as "tanks"), and laying thousands of feet of irrigation pipes from the river far up into the pastures and fields of the ranch. The water meant more to Mr. Johnson than his constant tinkering with fertilizers (although that was important, too) and he frankly admits it. "This is not very good land," he says, "and you've got to irrigate it all the time." The constant supply of water means he can feed his livestock well. It enables him to keep nearly half his property .planted in oats, alfalfa and common Bermuda grass (the rest is in permanent pasture and river bottom) and, most important of all, it allows him to grow coastal Bermuda grass. Gov. John Connally, an old friend, brought the grass to the President's attention a couple of years ago and the President then successfullyintroduced it to the Pedernales Valley. Tough, resistant, lush, it grows back only twentyone days after the cattle have chewed it to stubble, and some ranchers in this parched country believe it has saved them. These improvements have not come cheaply. Mr. Johnson says he bought the place for $20,000 ("that includes the house") and friends estimate that he has put double that amount into it since then. The President is pleased to show his ranch to visitors and point out the improvements.

Swinging out of the carport at the rear of the house, the President heads down the airstrip at a moderate pace. A boy is digging beside the airstrip. The President explains that Mrs. Johnson has brought her nation-wide beautification programme to the ranch and has had bluebonnet seeds planted. ("Beautification begins at home," he says. "Must be twenty-five million seeds in there.") A sharp swing to the right and the car slows to a stop on top of a hill. "One of the prettiest views around here," he says, and it is. Down below is the house and past the house is the river bottom, with cows resting in the shade of the live oaks near the bank. Beyond, in a distant valley, is a gray and white church. The President's pleasure in showing off the ranch seems to derive from genuine pride and a lifelong Texas tradition of hospitality rather than from any personal conceit. Grasping the wheel of his car with one hand, waving with the other towards the irrigation pipes, expounding on the secrets of successful ranching, he resembles less a big-chested man of the plains than an amateur carpenter showing his friends the newly finished recreation room in the basement. Like the carpenter, Mr. Johnson can measure his achievements in tangible terms: This was poor land; Mr. Johnson made it good; the ranch once lost money, now it makes a little; once it took fifteen acres to support a steer; Mr. Johnson has reduced this to ten. Such measurements are not possible in Washington, which is full of caprice and chance and unpredictable men, where bills signed in one Administration may be altered out of recognition in the next, where the best-laid plans for domestic tranquillity may be ruined by a rebellion in a far-off country. Mr. Johnson's afternoons are usually spent, nowadays, on a boat. The President's favourite boat is the speedboat, capable of speeds of over forty-five knots and excellent for water skiing. All three boats are kept in a boathouse at the Haywood ranch, about forty-five miles by car from the LBJ. The ranch fronts on Lake Lyndon B. Johnson, which is public property and not really a lake at all but, rather, a fat, distended river formed by a series of power and flood control dams on the lower Colorado. There are six other "lakes" like it, and all are bustling recreation areas. The dams were built partly with funds pried from Congress by an energetic Senator named Lyndon Johnson. The President usually drives to the Haywood ranch, occasionally detouring through his other properties, although from time to time he goes by helicopter, a custom-fitted Sikorsky S-61. He changes in the ranch house, a comfortable but modest seven-room bungalow with a large brick terrace shaded by three massive live oaks. The house, set back about sixty yards from the lake, is not occupied during the President's absence; on weekends, however, it serves not only as a locker room for the Presidential party but also as a guest house for Mr. Johnson's frequent official visitors. Mr. Johnson's customary regalia consists of knee-length blue and gold bathing trunks, knee

socks, deerskin desert boots, a plaid shirt and' gold cap. Thus outfitted, he emerges and strides down to the dock, where he confers with the Secret Service on the afternoon's strategy. The lake is always crowded and because the President usually has a few guests who want to water-ski the trick is to find the path of least resistance. The President is usually accompanied by Judge A. W. Moursund, a fellow rancher. The President's boating is symbolic and tells something about the man. If the land represents his link with the past-with Sam Ealy Johnson, the great-grandfather who came west from Georgia in 1846 while the Comanches still rode the hills and later drove cattle up the trails to Abilene; with his maternal grandfather, Joseph Wilson Baines, wiped out by droughts at the turn of the century; with all the men who came and tried to scratch a living from the rocky soil and were whipsawed by the cycle of flood and drought-if the land links him with these, then the boat links him with the modern age of machines and money and power and people crowding together on a narrow lake to have a good time. Most of Texas is like this; a wild roaring blend of past and present, of plains and cities, of Populism and free enterprise, of sentiment and ambition, of clapboard houses and glass domes. It is at once old and then again it is young and vibrant and outrageously affluent. It cherishes the past yet seizes the fruits of change. And Lyndon Johnson has a foot in both these worlds. The Presidency, of course, has thrust him forward, and at the ranch the evidence is everywhere: The khaki-green quonsets and white trailers that crowd the house with their men and machines; the Army helicopters that stand ready to whisk in or out anyone from a courier to a Secretary of Defence; the enormous communications tower that rises above the cattle pens; the fleet of Air Force planes at Mr. Johnson's disposal that have made his wife's fancy twin-engine Queen-Air all but superfluous; the emptiness of Ranch Road ], which parallels the Pedernales and was closed to tourists in ]964 for security reasons. There probably would have been changes at the ranch even without the demands of the Presidency, simply as matters of improvement: The swimming pool lends a suburban look to the front yard; there is air-conditioning equipment worth several thousand dollars and a television set isbuilt into the wall of nearly every bedroom. But it is not the gadgets and conveniences that give the President his strength. When he said, during one visit to the ranch, "I've been here an hour and I feel better already," it was hardly the presence of all that paraphernalia; after all, they are also available in Washington. Rather, one suspects that whatever strength and serenity he achieves comes in no small part from reunion with old and cherished friends; reunion with the land that he fought so long and knows so well, and through this, reunion with those who preceded him in similar battle. This is where his END roots are.

In these letters readers comment on Dear Sir: I read with pleasure Dr. Robert the article "Two Parallel Ancient R. R. Brooks' article "Two Parallel Ancient Civilizations" in the April 1966 issue of SPAN. Civilizations" by Dr. R. R. R. Brooks, The author has stated in his essay that in comwhich appeared in our April issue. paring the Middle American and Indian Medi-

Mr. Chaman Lal in his book Hindu America? According to some authors, the temple of Cuzco had one thousand virgins guarded by eunuchs. AYAR OR LEARNED MEN: Mr. Miles Poindextor, formerly U.S. Ambassador to Peru, aeval cultures the fact that the differences are in his Ayar Incas, has endeavoured to show that much greater and more significant than the simi- the Ayars of Peru, founders of Inca dynasty, are larities is often overlooked. On this subject, I Proto-Aryan emigrants from Asia to South America, as Ayar itself denotes a phonological wish to provide additional facts. If Columbus had travelled in the eastern direc- connection with the word Arya. But it is closer tion, his first acquaintance would have been with still to the Tamil word Ayyar which we find even R. R. R. Brooks' article in your April issue, "Two the Dravidians of South India instead of Red in Tolkappiyam, an early Tamil literary work. Another Tamil word Ayam is much more Parallel Ancient Civilizations," deals with an Indians of America. Red Indians, he called them, intriguing and puzzling question: What is the although they are neither red nor Indians. His appropriate than Arya. The Chola kings of connection, if any, between earlier cultures of first sight of their bodies painted over with an Tamilnad ruled their empire with the assistance of two advisory bodies, Aim-perumkulu, and India and Middle America? Professor Brooks ointment or dye prompted the label Red Indians. Several points of similarity between Red Indians En-per-Ayam. Those who held positions in such finds " ... no substantial evidence that mediaeval India and the high culture of Middle America and Dravidians of Southern India lead to the Ayams might have been called Ayar. had any contact whatsoever with each other dur- inference that Columbus did not err entirely in MORE COMMON WORDS: Mr. Poindextor, describing the aborigines of America as Indians. author of Ayar Incas, has given a list of words in ing the entire period of their cultural evolution Quechua language of the Incas which are identibetween 3000 B.C. and 1200 A.D.!" I wonder. SOLAR WORSHIP: Both Cholas of Tamilnad cal to Tamil words. 'Puti' in Quechua means a The article is beautifully illustrated, gracefully and Incas of Peru were worshippers of nature, written, and persuasive-almost. Having lived in especially the Sun. The great Tamil epic Chilap- box. In Tamil a box is Petti or Potti. Mr. Cham an Mexico and India for extended periods, I am padikaram, the main characters of which are Lal mentions the word "kon" which designates an impressed again and again by the similarities in subjects of Chola Kingdom, contains glorious ancient solar deity of Peruvian Yungas and in Dravidian (Tamil) means at once Lord, King decorative symbols and design. Of course, the hymns devoted to the Sun. possibility of parallel inventions cannot be ruled SUN DYNASTY: The Inca kings of ancient or God. out but, as yet, I am not prepared to dismiss the Peru called themselves the "Viceroys of the Sun EMPIRE MAKERS: The Cholas were ambitious similarities as "irrelevant" to the question of on earth" and "children of the Sun." They and conquered many territories. The earliest inter-cultural connection, or to simply categorize believed their dynasty had started frolT two Chola king Karikala (A.D. 100) invaded Ceylon. the differences as "significant." To begin with, as children of the Sun god 'Manco Capac' and his Rajaraja the Great (ace. 985 A.D.) extended his Dr. Brooks relates in his article, it is now generally sister. Cholas, too, belong to the Sun dynasty dominion by conquest of Deccan, Coorg. Kalinga and Ceylon and several other islands. His son accepted that the first Americans started arriving according to their edicts and inscriptions. from Asia about 25,000 years ago and they kept TEMPLE BUILDERS: Both the Incas and the Rajendra Chola I (1018-1035 A.D.) defeated Mahipala, a Pal a king of Bengal. on coming until about 1200 A.D., at which time Cholas were pioneers in building temples, partithe cultures in question were in full flower. With cularly to the Sun god. The great temple of Incas of Peru, too, were the first to found an wave after wave of migrants there came, perforce, Brahadeeswarar at Tanjore is everlasting evidence empire in South America. The Inca Empire has wave upon wave of culture bearers and intercul- of Cholas' art of temple-building. The Inca kings frequently been compared to the Roman Empire. ture contacts. With these contacts came the pos- also built huge temples everywhere in ancient After the founder Manco Capac (1250 A.D.), sibilities of borrowing and diffusion from Asia to Peru. At their capital Cuzco, they built a gigantic his successors conquered territories now known as Ecuador, Bolivia and Chile. At its zenith, the Middle America. Nor would these contacts have temple to the Sun god. Images of Surya (Sun) came to be associated Inca Empire extended to 380,000 sq. miles with had to be either frequent or continuous, the auwith Siva temples since the days of the earliest a population of ten to sixteen million. thor's implication to the contrary notwithstanding. That contacts and diffusion might have oc- Chola architecture. The Vijayalaya Choliswaram Thus the Incan Empire founded in Peru was big curred in the opposite direction-from Latin at Narthamalai (in the former Pudukottai in size and strength and it was reasonable to name America to Asia-is the theory of Thor Heyerdahl State), the earliest of Chola temples, contains a it Peru, which means in Tamil anything big. The of Kon- Tiki fame, as well as other anthropologists, sub-shrine to the Sun god. great Chola king Karikala was called Karikal though Dr. Brooks does not consider this aspect SUMMER FESTIVALS: In Cuzco in ancient Peru-valathan (Karikala with big prospects). Peru, summer was the season of the 'Sun Festival,' of the connection question. Finally we find the name of the Tamil royal Now, as to the "irrelevance" of earlier Indo- the 'Inti-raymi.' During that period they dynasty among tribes who are descendants of American similarities in decorative design, I think believed that the Sun god briefly came down and Incas, with a slight difference. "Among the better Dr. Brooks may have discounted too quickly the stayed among them. known tribes of the Aimaras (speakers of Aimara, 'Intira- Vizha,' which sounds like 'Inti-raymi,' writings of Miguel Covarrubias and of Chaman a Peruvian tongue) are the Collas, inhabiting the Lal. After all, a number of anthropologists have was celebrated at Poompuhar, capital of Tamil country east of Lake Titicaca in Peru." One of held the view that the surest similarities on which Cholas, in honour of Indra, the god of rain. The the Red Indian tribes of Peru is called "Cholos." to base historical connections are, precisely, those great twin epics in Tamil, Chilappadikaram and This list of similarities between the two culwhich they have called "irrelevant forms." And Manimekalai of second century A.D., give tures is by no means exhaustive but I hope I have bythis they mean forms and designs which are not colourful pictures of this summer festival. said enough to indicate that some of the simi"relevant" or rendered necessary by natural con- MAIDENS OF GOD: The Tamil Chola kings larities seem more than mere coincidences and ditions, or by purposes of immediate utility. were the first to introduce in the South the system the whole subject is certainly worth further Dr. Brooks has admirably opened a question of dedicating Dancing Girls or Devadasis to study and research by scholars. that deserves more attention. God. "In A.D. 1004, the great temple of Chola king Rajaraja at Tanjore had four hundred taliccheri pendugal or women of the temple. District Munsif's Court, "The American Indians had the Hindu system Ramanathapuram, of having Devadasis (maidens of gods)," writes Madras State.

Dear Sir:

Grocery Chain brings food to market

A basic problem for every country is getting food from the farmer's fields to the consumer's table. Developed countries, such as the U.S., with predominantly urban populations, have elaborate nationwide networks of supermarkets or food stores. Often operating thousands of stores, these "chains" engage in many diverse processes of collecting, packaging, preserving, transporting and marketing of hundreds of food products at low prices. This article by Richard Montague describes the activities of the Great Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company (popularly known as the A & P), the largest grocery chain in the United States, with annual sales of more than Rs. 3,750 crores. Through its 4,500 stores it sells about ten per cent of all food sold in the country-an excellent case study of a food marketing system. TODAY it is the supermarket, with large-volume, low-cost operation, and many full pages of advertisements in

bring to the housewife food that is fresher, tastier, of greater variety, easier to prepare and serve, and most

it to the members of her family. Americans who take a drive out into the country can still buy straw-

the newspapers, featuring weekly spe-

important of all, lower in price.

berries or apples or tomatoes at little

cials, that dominates the selling offood in America. The contest between companies and stores to attract the house-

The variety of the American diet does not come about automatically just because the nation's lands

stands set up by farmers by the side of the road, as their grandparents did. Some farmers also will come to town

wife's attention and win her trade is as

are fruitful and her farmers diligent

to bring fresh uggs and butter to the

fast-moving and complex as a military campaign. But it is a productive, not a destructive, campaign, as the huge grocery organizations outdo themselves to

and well-equipped. It is necessary to move the food quickly and in good condition from the fields where it is grown to the housewife who will feed

housewife's door, as many farmers did a hundred years ago. But in the last fifty years America has become primarily an urban society, continued

with the highest concentration of people in the great industrial cities on the eastern seaboard or in the Great Lakes region, and with most of the food grown hundreds or thousands of miles away. The great part of moving the food from where it is grown to where it is eaten is done by the "grocery chains"-groups of dozens or hundreds or even thousands offood stores, with each group under a single central management. The largest of all the grocery chains is the Great Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company, known to nearly everyone as the A & P. Today the A & P sells more than

Rs. 3,750 crores worth of groceries each year, about ten per cent of all food sold in America, through its nearly 4,500 stores. But the A & P is much more than simply a huge collection of retail food outlets. It is first of all a buying organization not only of national, but of international scope, that procures coffee from Brazil, meat from Nebraska, salmon from Alaska, and crab from the Chesapeake Bay. It is also a selling organization with many levels of command. The buying and selling arms of the A & P are joined together by a vast system of warehouses, packing and freezing

plants, canneries, bakeries, and fleets of trucks which collect, process, store, and distribute the food that is bought and sold. Much of the success of the A & P's effort to keep its costs low and its prices down depends on the efficiency with which these facilities operate. Volume business plus efficient operation enables A & P to thrive on a profit of only a fraction more than one per cent of sales.

Buying in Bulk The A & P's produce buying division is the largest single purchaser of

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fresh fruits and vegetables in the United States, Travelling teams of buyers follow the crops northward each season as they ripen. Each buyer is in constant touch with the company's produce buying offices via a national teletype network which enables him to report continuously fast-changing crop and price developments and to receive buy-orders almost instantly, A & P buyers are widely respected for the knowledge of the crops they buy, and for their honesty and fairness. Thus many farmers throughout the country give A & P buyers the first choice of their best quality produce,

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The A & P has also a fish buying headquarters in Boston, coffee buying offices in Colombia and Brazil, and twelve coffee roasting plants around the United States. The carefully maintained quality of A & P's brands of coffee has for many years been one of the secrets of customer loyalty, In addition the company has a manufacturing division which processes and packs Rs. 375 crores worth of "dry groceries"-canned, bottled, bagged, and packaged goods-each year. It is one of the five largest commercial bakers in the country with scores of individual bakeries located where they

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can provide fresh bread and cookies and cake for every store, It operates three cheese plants, two milk processing plants, two French fried potato plants, and a printing plant to print the labels for its bottles and cans, This vast buying and processing apparatus in turn feeds the company's sales organization which competes day-to-day and almost hour-to-hour with other food chains and groups of independent grocers in order to win and hold the favour of the housewife, A & P's closest national competitor in size and sales is Safeway, which sells about Rs. 1,875 crores worth of grocontinued

Uptodate methods of storage and distribution, and careful market research are vital elements in A & P's ability to offer quality products at low, competitive prices.

ceries a year. However, most of Safeway's stores are located west of the Mississippi River, while most of the A & P's are located to the east of it. Competition Means Better Value Grocery competition in the United States is conducted on a region-by-region-even neighbourhood-by-neighbourhood-basis. Thus in parts of Ohio and Michigan the major competitor of A & P is the Kroger Grocery Co., which has an annual volume of sales of about Rs. 1,425 crores. In the middle Atlantic area A &P faces Acme Markets and Food Fair, each with a volume of sales of more than Rs. 750 crores, Grand Union at Rs. 475 crores, and Penn Fruit with Rs. 150 crores. In Chicago and other parts of the Midwest the main chains are National Tea with a volume of Rs. 735 crares, and JewelTea at Rs. 450 crares. In New England the First National has sales of over Rs. 525 crores and Stop-andShop totals Rs. 225 crores. In the South there is the aggressive Winn- Dixie with Rs. 630 crores, followed by Colonial Stores at Rs. 340 crores. Grocery business is not confined to big chains, however. Many independently-owned markets, or small chains of two or three stores, have joined together in co-operatives or other voluntary forms of association, to obtain for themselves the economies of large-volume buying. These independent markets today are respected competitors of the big chains. The owner works right in his store, where he can give the housewife a friendly smile when she comes in, obtain the special delicacies she wants, and help carry her packages out to her automobile. He can also make sure that the vegetable display is sparkling fresh and the floors cleanly swept every hour of the day. To meet the competition, whether it be regional or local, A & P's individual stores are grouped into seven geographical divisions, with headquarters in New York, Boston, Philadelphia,

Detroit, Chicago, Pittsburgh, and Jacksonville. The major feature of each division is one or more very large warehouses, where supplies funnel in from all over the country, on their way to the stores. Each division in turn is broken down into distribution units. There are thirty-eight of these units, each one supervising sixty to 200 stores. The territory covered by a unit is ordinarily limited by the distance trucks can deliver groceries economically to the stores. It usually corresponds roughly also to the circulation area of the large metropolitan newspapers, where advertisements of the groceries are placed to induce the housewives to come into the stores. Organized for Efficiency At the New York headquarters of the A & P, messages on market conditions pour in from buying officesand the travelling buyers all over the land, and instructions flow out as to how much to buy and for what price. Here all the many manufacturing and packing operations of the company are directed. Here also representatives of other food manufacturers and packers are interviewed and agreements negotiated for the purchase price of their canned goods, jams and jellies, soap powders and breakfast cereals. The actual order for goods, however, is not placed by headq uarters as a rule. This is done by people down the line who are closer to the housewife and the stores. At headquarters are also maintained testing laboratories where each product offered for sale to A & P is analysed to insure that the quality is sufficiently high and the value fair at the price. Here is the focal point for an extremely sensitive accounting system, which can quickly detect even a slight rise in the price-level of any division, unit, or store. A & P has learned that even a tiny over-all price increase in a store will quickly send housewives shopping for bargains in other stores. Instructions and information from company headquarters flow out to the seven division headquarters, where they are modified or amplified to fit regional tastes or competitive conditions. Division headquarters also makes the important decisions on the location of new stores, taking account of population and income trends, automobile traffic flow patterns, and the location

of competitive stores. As Americans have migrated from the central cities to the suburbs, and have taken increasingly to the automobile, the location of new supermarkets has had an important bearing on the volume of sales they earn. At the several unit offices, which come under the jurisdiction of division offices, prices are set, weekly specials are chosen, the newspaper advertisements are laid out, and the day-to-day details of selling are carried on. Each day-by mail, teletype, and telephone -information on present and future prices, quality and supply of foods flows to the desk of the unit buyer. A freeze in the Florida citrus belt means to him that there will be no specials in Florida oranges for the season, for supplies will be short and prices relatively high. An impending bumper crop in Washington State provides an opportunity for a special sale in apples, with massed displays dominating the produce departments of the stores. As plans for the future evolve in unit offices and information is relayed to the stores, the store managers and unit sales heads co-ordinate their efforts and information to order the amounts and varieties of food needed in the stores. Buyers at the unit offices contact the warehouses, bakery, manufacturing divisions, outside manufacturers~.and the produce, meat and fish departments. Now another smooth-functioning facet of marketing is put into action by the supply centres. The largest individual operations are conducted at the A & P's warehouses scattered throughout the country where tons of groceries and perishable food must be kept on hand for shipping to nearby markets. The company's warehouse centre in Elmsford, New York, on the outskirts of New York City, exemplifies the modern methods and materials used for storing and handling the large quantities of food soon to be bought . and placed on family tables. It is the last, crucial link in the wholesale marketing network and can spell the difference between a satisfied and dissatisfied customer. Distribution Centre: Aim is Quality At the receiving doors of the produce warehouse in the fifty-acre Elmsford distribution centre employee

Henry Bennett quickly slashes open several watermelons picked at random from a Florida shipment to gauge the general condition of the fruit. Inside the warehouse David Philipps and his two co-workers rapidly candle thousands of eggs, testing for freshness, appearance, shell condition, and weight. On the platform of the nearby meat warehouse a Federal meat inspector waits impatiently for an incoming refrigerated truck to unload. And meanwhile in the main office staff members pore over the batches of purchase orders streaming in from the 179 stores serviced by Elmsford. Each step of the way, from the first cursory inspection to the final loading of trucks ready to rumble off to markets, the food is under the watchful eye of employees trained to preserve the tons of supplies and detect any inferior products before they are offered for sale. Chief of the 500-member staff at the three big warehouses in Elmsford is Jack McGuinness, a powerfully-built young man who started with the company as a warehouse worker about fifteen years ago. Now he is responsible for an operation that, in one phase or another, works around the clock supplying stores within a radius of about fifty miles. Every week he and his staff handle 4,000 tons of groceries, 2,000 tons of produce, and 1,200 tons of meat. They take nothing for granted. Even though a supplier or farm cooperative may have been sending in products for years, warehouse inspectors examine samples from every new consignment. In a dark corner of the produce warehouse the trio of egg candlers check 100 eggs selected from each lot varying in number from 27,000 to 54,000 eggs. Eighteen hundred eggs are examined daily, sampling lots totalling more than 500,000 eggs. The inspection is precise. Besides passing the test of appearance and freshness and shell quality, eggs must weigh a certain amount for each of three categories-medium, large, and extralarge-which means a minimum weight per dozen of twenty-one, twenty-four, and twenty-seven ounces respectively. Also the source of each lot is noted after being tested, and if a supplier is sending in sub-standard shipments, the A & P returns them to the supplier

with a warning which if ignored in the future may end with severed business relations.

Preserving the Food After the loads of watermelons, potatoes, onions and other similar foods are checked in the produce warehouse, they are stored without refrigeration. But items such as grapes, plums, and mushrooms go into the dry cooling room which keeps them fresh till they are shipped. There is also a wet cooling room for leafy vegetables like cabbage and lettuce, and root vegetables like carrots and beets. Peas also go into the wet room to prevent them from drying out. But fresh string beans go into the dry room, for too much moisture encourages rust. The heavy doors to both cooling rooms stand open so that the electrically-driven fork lift trucks can carry loads of vegetables through without stopping. But inside the temperature remains around 43 degrees Fahrenheit, as two pumps over each opening force down curtains of air which keep the cold in. The biggest of the three warehouses is the one filled with groceries whose sales constitute the largest part of A & P's business. This structure, enclosing more than 200,000 square feet of floor space, always contains several thousand tons of flour, sugar, fruit juices, canned foods, napkins, and soap, plus some 4,700 other kinds of goods. Carefully designed as an efficient two-way funnel for food to move in and out, the building is a beehive of mechanized activity. There are twentyone receiving doors for cargo from trucks and enough room to unload eight freight cars at one time. To shift goods quickly from place to place there is a 1,700-foot underfloor tow conveyor which hauls small yellow trucks around a V-shaped course. Fork lift trucks, each capable of raising a load of 2,000 pounds to a height of thirteen feet, supplement the two conveyors. Buzzing busily around the gigantic building, they stack the palleted loads either on the floor or on steel racks. When their batteries run down after about four hours of work, replacements can be found at a service centre right in the building. Complying with State and city laws creates additional steps to be

taken before items can be sent to market. Sales taxes on cigarettes are levied both by New York City and New York State. So machines in the cigarette storage room open the cartons, mark each package with tax emblems, and record the totals. Four times a year State and city officials visit the A & P general offices to check company accounts and determine whether the proper amount of taxes has been collected and turned in.

Off to Market During shipping hours, workers with sheaves of orders for the stores haunt the big grocery warehouse. As quickly as food is brought in, shipments are on the way out. Packers swiftly unhook the little trucks from the underfloor to wi ng chain, load them with canned soup, soap powder, spices, paper towels, and scores of other articles, hitch them to the towing chain again, and move on to other aisles to repeat the process. When they have filled the orders, they ride the truck to the shipping doors where fork lift trucks carry the loads into the capacious bodies of big trailer trucks. One such carrier can haul away the grocery orders of three or four stores. The normal work week at the distribution centre is forty hours, with time and a half pay for overtime. Wages range from $91.40 a week to $121.40 plus an additional fifteen cents an hour for night work and ten cents extra for working in the cold rooms. The workers also receive fringe benefits equal to approximately a third of their wages. These benefits include such things as paid hospitalization, life insurance, and vacations. More than 100 trucks-all owned either by suppliers or by haulage companies under contract to A & P-grind in and out of the Elmsford centre every twenty-four hours. For those that carry groceries, there's no hurry: they can be loaded hours in advance, because their cargoes will not quickly spoil. But the big refrigerated trucktrailers that carry produce and meat load up just in time to make most of their store deliveries after dark and before dawn. In the hard glare of the floodlights, truck after truck takes its cargo and roars away into the darkness. By 4 a.m. the last one rolls down the road on its way to the supermarket. END

BY DR. FELIX PONNAMPERUMA SOIL CHEMIST, THE INTERNATIONAL RICE RESEARCH LOS BANOS, PHILIPPINES

INSTITUTE

CAN ASIA GHOW ENOUGH HICE1

RICE is the most important thing in Asia. It is the staple food and economic mainstay of more than one thousand million people, crowded in a crescent from West Pakistan to Japan. These people eat rice morning, noon and night, and spend their lives growing rice. They produce and consume ninety-five per cent of the world's rice, and their health, wealth and happiness depend upon it. Rice rules their lives. Today, rice is grown in more than fifty countries and surpasses wheat in volume and cash value. Some of these countries have a surplus. nut it is one of the ironic facts of the 1960's that rice-which was begotten and nurtured in Asia-now comes in shiploads from the New World, often as gifts, to feed the hungry people of Asia. Rice is admirably suited to crowded Asia. It yields two or three times as much as wheat per acre, and does so over an astonishing range of soil and climatic conditions. Rice thrives in swamps under conditions that are fatal to other food plants. It can stand greater extremes of heat and cold, drought and water, light and darkness, acidity and alkalinity, than any other food plant. It is at home in the melting snows of Korea or Hok1<aidoor 1,700 metres up in the hills of Kashmir, as it is in the hot, brackish swamps of equatorial Malaya. It will grow on arid slopes with as little as twenty inches of rain annually; it is none the worse with 200 inches of rain in Assam or in seven metres of flood water in East Pakistan, Burma, Thailand and the Philippines. Rice is truly an extraordinary plant. What is the secret of this unusual behaviour of the "riceplant? It lies in the bewildering diversity of rice varieties. There ;isupland rice, lowland rice and floating rice. There is dwarf ;rice and rice that is two metres tall. There is short-day rice

and long-day rice. Some varieties mature in eighty days; others take as long as 200 days. The foliage may be green, variegated or purple; the grains â&#x20AC;˘ long, medium or short. There is white rice, brown rice and red rice; sticky rice, fluffy rice and even scented rice. There is a rice to suit every palate and environment-altogether there are more than 10,000 varieties of cultivated rice. The methods of growing these varieties of rice are as diverse as their environments and the people who cultivate them. They range from simple practices to the most efficient and highly mechanized operations ever devised for crop production. But the commonest and most extensive method, with its variations, is lowland rice culture. It is practised by nearly a thousand million persons, over millions o( acres, from Pakistan to Japan. Over the greater part of Asia, riceculture operations are little different from those used on the same land thousands of years ago. Every spring, at the start of the monsoon rains, millions of Asian farmers go out to their two or three-acre fields. Their implements are hoes and simple wooden ploughs; their sources of power, man or animal. They plough, harrow and puddle the fields from dawn to dusk. They cannot rest, for the fields must be planted before the heaviest monsoon rains hit. When the thickly-planted seed has sprouted, it must be transplanted. It is then the turn of the womenfolk. Kneedeep in the soft, black mud, backs bent in the burning sun, they plant row after row, plot after plot, acre after acre, of young rice plants. Transplanting, certainly, is no fun, as the Filipinos aptly sing: Planting rice is never fun; Bent from morn till set of sun; Cannot stand and cannot sit, Cannot rest for a little bit.

Too many people labour too hard to produce too little rice. This is Asia's biggest agricultural, economic and social problem.

It is hard work, but when the transplanting is finished, the battle with the enemies of rice begins-a ceaseless struggle against weeds, insects, birds and rats. Harvesting is a joyful time, but no easy time for the people of Asia. In the burning September sun a human arc from Pakistan to Japan goes through the same tiring, rhythmic movements: bending, cutting, binding. On and on they go until 250 million acres are reaped, bound, carried and threshed. From the threshing floor, on heads and shoulders, on bicycles and buffaloes, in boats and carts, the precious grain goes to the farmers' homes and to mills and markets to feed people who do not grow rice. The season is over. The farmers and their families have rice to eat and money to buy their clothes and their few rustic needs. They relax and make merry. But what have they got for five months of sweat and toil in the mud, rain and sun? In the cold, realistic language of the economist, only two or three U.S. cents per man-hour-a meagre return for so much hard work! Not all rice farmers are condemned to this drudgery and penury. The farmers of Japan, Korea and Taiwan are better off. Using sound cultural methods, good seed, fertilizers, and small machines they have been able to increase their earnings to ten cents per hour. But they are still a long way from the efficiency of the American commercial rice grower. The California rice farmer ploughs his I,OOO-acre farm with a battery of tractors; irrigates it at will with pumps delivering 1,000 gallons of water a minute; sows, fertilizes, sprays for weed and insect control by airplane; harvests it by combine; mills it and offers it for sale-all at a labour cost of seven man-hours per acre. The Japanese farmer spends 900 man-hours per acre. But millions of rice farmers in Asia expend more than 1,000 man-hours per acre for a fraction of the American or Japanese acre-yield. Too many people in Asia labour too hard to produce too little rice. This is Asia's biggest agricultural, economic and social problem. It is becoming worse and worse as more than twenty million persons are added each year to crowded Asia. It may lead to social and political upheavals with world-wide repercussions. There is no easy solution to this problem. Land reform, land reclamation, water control, and intensification of rice farming by the use of improved cultural practices, high yielding varieties, fertilizers and pesticides are some of the avenues for increasing rice production. The United Nations and other international agencies are working hard along these lines. But much remains to be done. How did rice get such a grip on the lives of nearly one thousand million persons in Asia? The answer to this ques-

tion may be found in the fascinating story of the origin, diffusion and cultivation of rice in Asia. No one knows for certain where in Asia rice originated. But more and more botanists are inclining to the view that it is a descendant of wild rice, of which there are so many varieties in India, Burma and the Indo-China peninsula. Somewhere in this region, they think, was the cradle of rice. Geographical considerations support this view. The land mass of Southeast Asia has two conspicuous features: the vast flood plains of the Ganges, Brahmaputra, Irrawaddy, Mekong and Yangtze Kiang; and the monsoon rains. In these swampy plains, with their bountiful supplies of wild rice, it is surmised, were some of the earliest human settlements in Asia. Favoured by a fertile soil and watered by the monsoon rains, domesticated rice thrived and multiplied to give food in abundance. So good a grain could not be left behind when the rice people were forced to migrate. Carried by the human stream, rice culture apparently moved northeast to China, westward across India and south into Malaya and Indonesia. Much of what happened in these remote times has been pieced together from archaeological and linguistic studies. But there is historical evidence of rice cultivation in China as early as 3,000 B.C. Rice was held in such high esteem at that time that, at the ceremonial spring sowing of grains, rice was reserved for the Emperor himself, resplendent in all his glory. Less exalted people sowed the other grains. By 1,000 B.C. rice was so well known in India that Susrutha Samhita, the "Materia Medica" of the time, listed varieties of rice according to their nutritional qualities. By this time rice was also well established in Java and had moved into the Philippines. The magnificent rice terraces of Northern Luzon are believed to have been made by Chinese immigrants nearly 3,000 years ago. Around 500 B.C. rice was grown under artificial irrigation in Ceylon, and by the dawn of the Christian era rice had penetrated into Japan in the east and Persia in the west. The spread of rice culture in more recent times followed conquest and commerce. The Arabs took it to Egypt and Spain. The Spaniards introduced it to Italy in the fifteenth century. From there it spread to the Balkans and France. Rice went with the Portuguese and Spaniards to South America, and with the Malays to Madagascar, which supplied the seed for the first commercial rice plantation in the United States, in 1685. Now the problem is to increase the rice yield in Asia as well as in other parts of the world. It will require the efforts, imagination and resources of many persons and institutions the first steps working together. But it can be done-and END have been taken.