SPAN: September 1965

SPAN OF

EVENTS In defining his concept of the Great Society, President Johnson has stated that it should "open for all Americans the opportunities now enjoyed by most." Important steps towards this goal are the Voting Rights Bill and Medicare Bill, recently passed by the U.S. Congress.

RESIDENT JOHNSON'Svision of the Great Society, free from social injustice and resting on abundance and liberty for all, gets clearer with each advance towards his cherished goal.

On August 6, 1965, he signed into law the historic Voting Rights Bill which he described as "a triumph¡ for freedom as huge as any victory that has ever been won on any battlefield." The measure abolishes literary tests and other local obstacles which have in the past prevented Negro Americans from exercising their right of franchise, and provides for Federal examiners to take over the supervision of registration of voters in the event of discrimination continuing in any State.

At the signing ceremony which took place in the Capitol, Washington, the President pledged that the Federal Government would not "delay or hesitate or turn aside until Americans of every race and colour and origin have the same right as all others to share in the process of democracy."

Exactly a week earlier, on July 30, 1965, the President signed the Health-Care Bill covering a Federal programme of medical care and expanded social security benefits for elderly citizens, which had been

P

CONTENTS SEPTEMBER

FOR 1965

VOLUME

VI

NUMBER

STONE AGE PAINTING IN INDIA

by Vishnu S. Wakankar ·and Robert R. R. Brooks

DRAMA AND THE CHURCH

9 2

11

by Walter Sorell

ART THAT PULSES, QUIVERS AND FASCINATES

18

by John Canaday

PORTRAIT FROM HISTORY: WILL ROGERS

24

by Mary Margaret Lawrence

ANATOMY OF A COMMUNICATIONS GIANT

26

by Lawrence Galton

COLLECTIVE BARGAINING IN AMERICA

35

by Gilbert M. Cross

DR. SPOCK: THIRD PARENT IN THE NURSERY

39

by V. S. Nanda

DECADE OF FUN IN THE MAGIC LAND

44

by Jalabala Ramachandran FRONTCOVER:Entitled Knowledge and Disappearance, the painting by the subject of prolonged controversy. The measure represents the most comprehensive revision and extension of the Social Security system since the original Act was passed in 1935. For signing this legislation, President Johnson flew to Independence, Missouri, as a gesture of regard for eighty-one-year-old former President Harry Truman, who sent a similar medicare programme to the U.S. Congress some twenty years ago.

These two pieces of legislation are only part of the President's ambitious, all-embracing programme for reshaping the social and economic structure of American life and improving its quality. Among other far-reaching, radical measures either already approved by Congress or now on the legislative anvil are: the Appalachia Act designed to help people in an economically backward area; Federal aid to primary education; Federal subsidies for housing for lowincome groups; immigration legislation to abolish the national quotas system; large-scale expansion of research and development plans for turning salt water into fresh; establishment of a national Art Foundation; a series of tax reductions which are having a beneficial effect on consumer spending, business profits and Federal revenues. END

Richard J. Anuskiewicz is a typical specimen of optical art. For a review of this new art form which emphasizes visual experience, turn to page 18.

BACKCOVER:Dr. Benjamin Spock, eminent paediatrician, is famous as the author of Baby and Child Care, a book which has been read by an estimated forty

million parents

around the world. See story beginning on page 39.

W. H. WEATHERSBY, Publisher; DEANBROWN, Editor; V. S. NANDA, Mg. Editor.

EDITORIAL STAFF:Avinash Pasricha, Nirmal Kumar Sharma, K. G. Gabrani. ART STAFF:B. Roy Choudhury, Nand K. Katyal. Photographic Services: USIS Photo Lab. Production Manager: Awtar S. Marwaha. Published by United States Information Service, Bahawalpur House, Sikandra Road, New Delhi-I, on behalf of The American Embassy, New Delhi. Printed by Arun K. Mehta at Vakil & Sons Private 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. SPANis not responsible for any loss in transit. Use of SPANarticles in other publications is encouraged except where copyrighted. For details, write to the ,Editor, SPAN. • Subscription: One year, Rs. 4; Single copy, 50 Paise. • For change of address, send old address from recent SPANenvelope along with new address to A. K. Mitra, Circulation Manager. Allow six weeks for change to become effective. •

STONE AGE

PAINTING

IN

INDIA

The illustrations on these pages are the first colour photographs of Indian rock shelter pamtmgs to be published anywhere in the world. The archaeological significance of the paintings-dating from about 6000 B.C. to 400 A.D.-was first recognized by Mitra Carlyle in the early 1870's. His work was followed by that of 1. Cockburn, F. Fawcett, M. N. Ghosh, Col. D. H. Gordon, S. K. Pande, 1. Gupta and others who discovered and described paintings in the red sandstone regions of Central India. But the most comprehensive survey has been undertaken by V. S. Wakankar, co-author of the article beginning on the next page, who has discovered more than 400 painted rock shelters and analysed many of them by all the means available to modern archaeology, including carbon dating. With the help of his students in Bharati Kala Bhawan of Ujjain where he is principal, Wakankar has surveyed and copied the paintings of nearly all the rock shelters since submerged by the Gandhi Sagar Dam on the Chambal River. He has also studied prehistoric art in France and Spain, lectured in Paris, Rome and Frankfurt on his own paintings of Indian rock shelter paintings and is currently at work on a book describing the archaeological significance of these ancient works of prehistoric man. The photographs were made by Dr. Robert R. R. Brooks, former Dean of Williams College and now Cultural Affairs Officer of USIS, New Delhi, India.

BY VISHNU

S. W AKANKAR AND

ROBERT

R.

R.

BROOKS

Archaeologists try to answer the questions-Who were these people?

What more can we learn about them?

~"

Drawing of antelope is from a little known site near Bhopal, once Stone Age hunting grounds.

E

THOUSAND years ago, on a night darkened by the heavy clouds of the approaching monsoon, four stone-age men moved silently down from overhanging cliffs into the headwaters of the Chambal. In the meagre shelter where they had left their sleeping women and children the final embers of a fire cast a faint glow on the tawny rock above. Below them the slope of crumbling stone and fallen boulders disappeared into the darkened plain.

When they reached the thorny scrub on level ground, their bare feet were soundless in the dust unmarked by rain for many months. Finding the edge of the river, they made their way to a low bank above a pool where a few inches of water remained. Here they waited for the antelope whose thirst would compel them to risk the gauntlet of carnivores lying in wait.

All four men carried weapons: wooden spears with stone points; long wooden bows with gut strings for barbed arrows.

Just before the first faint grey of dawn, the antelope came-shadows moving towards the wraiths of mist on the drinking pool. The men crouched and drew their bows, aiming at slender throats showing dark against the pool's reflection of the sky. At an unspoken signal all four arrows flew at once. Four animals, two does and two fawns, reared with gurgling screams .as blood from the barbs clotted their windpipes. Leaping from the bank the four naked men drove their spears into the hearts of the struggling creatures.

The buck escaped, bounding from the riverbed and crashing into the forest of thorns.

Late that afternoon, the beautiful beasts had been skinned and their hides staked out to cure. The flesh was cut into thin strips to dry and store against the coming of the monsoon when the strategy of the drinking pool would no longer work. Knives of bone set with chalcedony flakes for a cutting edge had finished their task. Bones had been cracked with stone axes. The marrow of the bones was already frizzling briskly on a hot stone at the edge of the fire. Men, women, and children, unencumbered by clothing in the humid heat, hunkered down on the rock floor ready for the feast.

While the others gorged or threw stones at the jackals whosephaeel betrayed the baleful presence of a tiger, a young man crippled with a humpback and twisted leg, prepared a paste of red rock dust and water. With this pigment and a brush made from the frayed end of a shaft of fresh thornwood he recorded on the ceiling of the shelter the triumph of the day. Eighty centuries later, his petrified painting still glows in the afternoon light.

This imaginary story suggests one possible explanation of the motivation for the thousands of later Middle Stone Age or early Neolithic rock shelter paintings which have been found and surveyed in Central India.

But the recording of an important event is not the only possible explanation for the paintings. Perhaps the animals were painted IGHT

first and hunted afterwards, the painting being a preliminary invocation of success. Or perhaps the tigers, leopards, elephants and nowextinct rhinoceros could not be captured, and were so much feared that the paintings represent permanent propitiation of. everpresent danger.

Or perhaps they had become conventionalized into objects of generalized worship, like the jaguar in Central America or the cobra in early Buddhism. Or perhaps they reflect only the creative impulse of simple people who had acquired a sufficient economic surplus to afford aesthetic indulgence.

The answer or answers to this and other equally important questions can be had only by much more detailed, extensive and painstaking work than has thus far been possible in India. Who were these people? When did they live? What more can we know of their lives beyond that which is specifically shown in the paintings?

The standard techniques of archaeology are not easily applicable to rock shelters. The sloping rock floors under narrow overhanging ceilings do not always invite the accumulation of dirt and debris in which one might expect to find successive layers of artifacts, bones, ashes, shards, broken tools and other elements of the language in which archaeologists read pre-history.

The talus slopes of red sandstone fragments below the shelters are often littered with immense rocks which have fallen away from the cliff at times later than the paintings.

Without the help of power cranes, they cannot easily be moved. Even where these boulders do not obstruct archaeological trenching in search for clues which may have been thrown down from the shelters, the eroded rock rubble is so coarse as to make difficult the delicate techniques of modern archaeology.

Nevertheless, the case is by no means hopeless. A combination of the ingenuity of Sherlock Holmes, careful trenching, the meticulous peeling off of layers, carbon dating, pollen sampling, soil analysis, unlimited imagination and limited funds may produce rewarding results.

The more precise the work, the greater the hope of not destroying a single clue. For example, a row of microliths found lying in a tight semi-circle would suggest that they had originally been set in a curved wooden piece to form the blade of a sickle. From this it might follow that the people who made it had reached the stage of growing or at least gathering grain.

The more extensive the work the greater the hope of. finding clues at one place which may be applicable at many other places where they may throw additional light upon the original find. The successful dating of a picture at one location would assist in dating drawings at all other locations where a similar style, or pigment, or subject matter was used.

One aspect of these decorated rock shelters provides special possibilities. In many locations there are several layers of paintings CONTINUED

This buffalo, like the rhinoceros above, is a detail from larger painting of hunted animals.

V. S. Wakankar, inspecting Hathi Tal Shelter, has discovered more than 400 rock shelter paintings.

Jig-saw picture of prehistoric Indian culture

superimposed on each other. A trained eye can discern the sequence. A date for any painting fixes the others as being earlier or later and may help to be even more precise.

The subject matter itself may provide evidence. The picture of a homed rhinoceros would help date a painting and all others of the same style, though in different subjects, if we knew exactly when this beast became extinct in western Madhya Pradesh. A picture of a humped cow or a horse would set a time limit if we knew when humped cows and horses first arrived in Central India. The drawing of a man with a sword in a scabbard slung from his belt marks one picture as being very late-perhaps 600 A.D. These are samples of the bits and pieces which may add significantly to the jig-saw picture of prehistoric Indian culture. Vigorous research in this field of ancient Indian culture

IS

pieced- qilt of such cave paintings, tools and shards.

may well yield results comparable with those obtained from the work on cave paintings in the South of France, Northern Spain or North Africa, or the systematic excavation of caves in the U.S. State of Alabama.

A map has been published, and is reproduced here, showing areas in which there is a high concentration of rock shelter paintings in India. A clue to their whereabouts is often provided by the presence of chalcedony microliths brightly visible against the red sandstone dust of talus slopes below the shelters.

Local people often know of the existence of the paintings, hold them in reverence, and ascribe various mythological origins to them.

One set of paintings is attributed to Rama who is said to have spent a while with Sita on a comfortable nearby rock now called Rama's Throne.

But¡ it seems doubtful whether their exact locations should be exactly described in view of the universal compulsion to superimpose contemporary data on ancient objects. One can easily imagine a fine sixth millennium hunting scene obscured by the slogan "Batu Loves Indra" near a picture of Kama aiming a curved bow. Irremedial losses from this source may be diminished when. most of the caves have been exhaustively photographed and the most accessible have been assigned guardians.

Until then, it is hoped that armchair archaeologists will extract from the accompanying pictures some of the excitement and wonder which these fossilized paintings inspire when viewed for the first time in the face of a red sandstone cliff overlooking the thorn forests in the headwater valleys of the Betwa and the ChambaJ. END

Map locates Central Indian hunting grounds of paleolithic. meso lithic and neolithic men who painted vigorous pictures of their prey.

Line-shaded portions indicate sandstone areas, dots indicate groups of rock shelters where various tools of all these ages have a/so been found. r-

DATELINE CAPE KENNEDY Hundreds of newsmen from all over the world are assigned to Cape Kennedy, Florida, to witness and report on the United States space flights, undertaken in the full glare of world publicity.

APE KENNEDY,a sixty-six-square-kilometre sandy peninsula in the southeastern State of Florida, is the space capital of the United States. Since 1950 well Qver 1,000 missiles and rockets have started their much-publicized journeys into space from the rows of enormous launching towers lining its Atlantic Ocean beaches.

Some 23,000 scientists, engineers, technicians, craftsmen, airmen and astronauts man its facilities. But Cape Kennedy is well

C

known to many more persons than just these space-age workers. For Cape Kennedy also is a famous dateline, a news "beat," a prime assignment for journalists whose audience is the world.

Because of the flood of pictures and factual information on America's space ventures that pours from the typewriters and microphones and cameras of these newsmen, "the Cape" is familiar to millions around the globe.

As a news centre it has no counterpart at CONTINUED SPAN

September 1965 7

No longer dogmatic, modern religious plays have universal meaning and probe human problems from moral, social and psychological viewpoints.

DRAMA AND THE CHURCH HE TREND IN the American theatre towards what is loosely called the religious play is growing steadily and can be explained in many ways. There were the shattering experiences of the last world struggle, there is man's awareness of the awesome responsibility and the moral implications behind the fact that he now holds the power in his own hands to destroy himself and, finally, there is renewed interest among all denominations-Catholic, Protestaqt and Jewishin the drama. All these factors and, of course, many others have combined in the last fifteen years to spark unprecedented interest in religious themes, even in New York's commercial Broadway theatres.

Religious drama, however, is not new. The theatre of antiquity emerged from the Dionysian rituals, and the theatre of modern man developed from mediaeval mystery and morality plays which were religious in inspiration. But our modern religious plays are no longer dogmatic and doctrinally motivated. They have universal meaning and probe man's problems from various moral, social and psychological viewpoints. Church drama in former eras had a pat answer to all questions but religious themes in today's theatre. are not concerned with instruction and moral teaching based upon dogma. Instead, they 'l'ose questions rather than provide answers.

The dramatist no longer writes about acceptance of life as it is or of redemption in the life that follows life on earth. The dramatist's quest is now aimed at man's integrity, his role in society and his awareness. The modern playwright often chooses a Biblical theme, or a dilemma confronting church figures during periods of the pasttopics that are rendered contemporaneous by the way they are approached and treated, in character and feeling. Religious plays no longer use the stage as a pulpit for sermons, but as a platform for the discussion of problems, vital to our existence. One recent example is a highly controversial Broadway production, The Deputy-a contemporary German playwright's attack on the Catholic hierarchy for inaction during the Nazi era.

The most dramatic question of all time remains the one of man's

T

Walter Sorelr comments on religious drama with the authority of one who has himself contributed to this genre. His Everyman Today, produced uiuier the auspices of the Union Theological Seminary, is the tale of an ordinary man called to account for his sins. /t was described by the critic of The New York Times as "a moving morality drama written by a man of taste, principle llnd theatre knowledge." Mr. Sorell is a dance and theatre critic for The Providence Journal, author 01 a book on modern dance, and contributor to many magazines.

tortured conscience and, consequently, of his need to inquire about the meaning and meaningfulness of life. In general, what most seriousminded¡ dramatists try to present is a heightened poetic vision of life. When 'FOlstoi contended in his essay on "Shakespeare and the Drama" that there is no drama without a vision of life which is realistic, moral and ultimately religious, he saw the drama as essentially serving the exploration and elucidation of man's religious consciousness. In a way, every great drama--every great work of art for that matter-tries to come closer to the mystery of life and to the understanding of our being. Our battle for self-realiziition in the midst of the forces of light and darkness leads, of necessity, to the I'discovery of the central meaning of existence.

The response of some American dramatists to challenge of these questions of finality has created a rewarding harvest of dramatic literature. Of course, not all the plays which may safely be considered religious dramas have been successful in their presentation or public appeal. But with full awareness of the disquiet of our time, all these playwrights have tried to find the truth.

The Broadway theatre to which we turn first is not interested in producing or promoting the religious play per se. But, through the years, it shows a vast and 'lll-embracing canvas. Thus, it presented T. S. Eliot's Cocktail Party and Confidential Clerk, two-we could say-militantly religious plays of this American-born writer who was one of the first in our era to use the stage as a platform to spread the gospel. His concepts are those of orthodox Catholicism, but his approach to his themes is as modern as his views are conservative.

He did not even shy away from using a psychoanalyst as stand-in for or symbol of God. It was mainly Eliot's influence that helped usher in the poetic play, which has been strongly identified with religious notions.

A good recent example-and only one of many-of a>poetic play with religious background is Archibald MacLeish's drl!ma J.B. As Job in the Old Testament is unable to find an answer to his fate, to the many injustices he must suffer, neither can J.B., who flees into an obsession of guilt: "We have no choice but to be guilty.

God i; unthinkable if we are innocent."

Job is just, and his enduring faith is tested. But MacLeish's J.B. is no¡ longer innocent. In modern times, the question of collective guilt cannot be pushed aside. When. we see huddled humanity, deprived and depraved as it is, on stage in contrast to the wealth and happiness J.B. has accumulated, then his trials and tribulations gain a new

Edward Albee's The Zoo StQry vividly portrays the conflict of two generations and two worlds. dimension, another aspect than the Biblical punishment of a righteous man; they have a modern connotation. How modern MacLeish's approach is can be seen in the fact that the three comforters of the Biblical version appear in his playas the unfrocked priests of Christ, Freud and Marx. It is a play within a play, with two circus vendors taking up masks and with them the majesty of God and Satan, respectively, and in playing their parts they evoke the fate of a modern Job, of whom the world is full, in Archibald MacLeish's opinion.

PaddyChayef~ky is famous for characters taken from the lower . middle class, such as his butcher Marty. Their pulsebeat and vernacular are close to the playwright's. In his Tenth Man he went to a synagogue in a poor neighbourhood and re-created a modernized Dybbuk story. In Gideon, a play with a Biblical background, he humanized and dramatized the story of simple-minded Gideon through w!lom God performed miracles. Chayefsky made Gideon appear as the little man who stubbornly resents having to accept fate as willed

by God. He dares to argue with God, who wants to be loved unequivocally. Here, Chayefsky succeeded in creating the eternal father-andson conflict on a higher plane, as well as moder!1 man's frantic seflrch for his identity. "Rigid orthodoxy," wrote the drama critic of The New York Times, "may demand unquestioning, total obedience to the last syllable of dogma.It is Gideon's fate, in Mr. Chayefsky's view, to stumble on through darkness and error. But he makes the decision to do so by himself and in full awareness of the dangers and the responsibility. Therein rests his stature as a man."

We inust not imagine, of course, that a dramatist sits down with the explicit intention of writing a religious drama. (Sometimes he may be commissioned to do so, but this is the exception.) However, we may well imagine that out or' haunting images of life, out of a vicarious experience or moral indignation the writing may grow beyond the confines of a thesis or message play, and ultimately deal with questions of faith and morals of the highest order, even though questions may remain in the context of contemporary life.

As an example we choose one of America's youngest, and now internationally known playwright, Edward Albee. In his one-act play, The Zoo Story, the despair of the young generation is contrasted with the satiated world of middle class solidity. Two generations and two different worlds collide. The seemingly innocent man, who only tries to mind his own business, is forced to become the murderer of the desperate youth, and one of the first Biblical themes is touched upon: "Am I my brother's keeper?" Meanwhile, Mr. Albee has written more successful plays; bu.t emerging from his social conscience, this short play (the first one he wrote) has remained his most probing and disturbing contribution to the American theatre.

A dramatization of Herman Melville's famous novel of the sea,

Billy Budd, by Louis O. Coxe and Robert Chapman, who both served in the U.S. Navy during World War II, Jwas first produced in 1949. It is a poetic morality play whose action takes place on a British vessel against a late eighteenth century background. The authors saw the story in the light of its philosophical idea that absolutes of good and evil cannot survive in the world. In this allegorical conflict between good and evil an innocent sailor is persecuted by a sadistic superior, is grossly maligned and, by inadvertently righting his wrong, falls victim to the inhuman machine of a totalitarian law. For this case of legal injustice contrasted with moral justice, Herman Melville had written the best explanation in three short lines: Yea and NayEach hath his say; But God, He ~eeps the middle way.

Billy Budd was published with other religious plays in a threevolume collection of some of the best dramas keyed to or inspired by religious themes, and some of them merit mention. The Last Word is a longer one-act play by James Broughton who belongs with the Jazz' poets of San Francisco. There, in 1958, his play was produced along with two of his other one-act plays. The Last Word deals with the last few minutes before final world destruction by the bomb. A husband and wife, realizing the end of their existence, see their real faces for the first time. As Reverend Marvin Halverson, the editor of these volumes, remarks in his introduction: "The litanies.in the play invoking the gods and heroes of our day reveal more sharply and poignantly than do sermons or theological essays how contemporary man has invested new symbols with religious meaning as the old symbols of Christianity have been emptied of their powers."

The great American poet e.e. cummings (as he customarily wrote his name) is represented in these volumes by a morality play, called Santa Claus in which the central figure wants to give to a world that does not want to receive, and Death-a figure no morality play can do without-wishes to take without finding anyone willing to give. Cummings' play is spiced with satirical overtones, but its basic theme is love-which alone has eternal power and helps man to find himself.

James Schevill is .another American poet whose play, The Bloody Tenet was also published in one of these three volumes. Mr. Schevill's drama deals with a figure of early American history, Roger Williams, whose name has become a symbol of the fight for religious freedom.

The historic incident in which he was involved would have reduced the play to the conflict of Williams' conscience and the established authorities. It would have remained a historic play whose central figure was a religious man. But by shifting the main theme to the inner conflict between Williams' pride and God's will, the play assumed another dimension and greater depth. Since this "inner" struggle of his led to

An inspiring example of the success achieved in small-scale farming in India by good leadership, backed by technical guidance and hard work.

SUCCESS IN MUDHOL s THE NEXT Kharifseason approaches, the farmers of Mudhol, in Mysore State, are ready to harvest another bumper crop of maize and to take another step forward along the road to progress and plenty.

It is widely believed that modern agriculture involves largescale operations, the use of elaborate, expensive machinery and big outlays of capital. But, as has been demonstrated many times, modern agricultural techniques may be applied with remarkable success to small-scale farming: they entail little extra expenditure and call only for right guidance in such essentials as soil testing, use of good seeds and correct methods of irrigation, application of fertilizers and plant protection.

The Mudhol project is an interesting example of how good leadership, backed by technical assistance and farmers' enthusiasm, can result in more than doubling grain production in a particular area. Morc than 3,000 acres of land and thirty villages are involved in this effort at agricultural self-help and improvement which is now producing yields up to forty-two quintals per acre against the previous figure of fifteen to twenty quintals.

It all began in 1961 when members of the privately organized Mudhol Farmers Committee invited U.S. technician George Knierm to give them a demonstration of contour border strip layout on one of their farms. The demonstration made such an impact that the contour method of farming was rapidly adopted throughout Mudhol district, and with government co-operation, 1,300 acres of land were soon contoured.

The contour strip method, which alone raised agricultural yields in the area by as much as twenty-five to fifty per cent, is of course only one factor in better farming. Its success has inspired the Mudhol farmers with confidence in the other techniques recommended by

A

Amerimll t~chniCillllยง. Th@y hllve reali;J:ed the advantageg of goil survey and soil testing and effective use of fertilizers. In particular they have benefited from the introduction of hybrid maize, now grown extensively in the district.

The contour method of farming, illustrated on the next page, is employed extensively in the southeastern part of the United States and proved to be a major element in the successful results achieved in Mudhol. "Contouring," to quote an authority on the subject, "refers to any tillage practice ... applied across the slope on the level, that is on the contour. ... Contour cultivation disregards field boundaries and straight lines completely, following curved lines whenever necessary to stay on the level." In regions of low rainfall the primary purpose is to provide maximum conservation and distribution.

Realizing importance of soil analysis, these village workers prepare soil samples for test by mobile laboratory in truck at rear of picture.

Villagers eat with obvious relish "chapatis" made by their womenfolk from hybrid maize. New grain has found ready acceptance by consumers. of crop is linked with its acceptance by the consumer, an essential part of the Mudhol experiment in hybrid maize was introducing it into the diet of the people. The women's contribution in popularizing hybrid maize was valuable. At specially arranged demonstrations they crushed the grain and made "chapatis" from it. On one occasion "chapatis" were prepared and served, with cooked vegetables, to some 200 people on the spot, in no more than ten minutes. These people relished the "chapatis" and asked for more. Further demonstrations followed and it was not long before hybrid maize became a regular part of farm families' menu.

The success of this agricultural project is reflected not only in increased yields and greater income for the Mudhol farmers but, what is perhaps even more important, the greater self-confidence and self-reliance which have come in its wake. The average net farming income in the area has risen to Rs. 1,300 per acre and many farmers are now able to invest in additional facilities such as irrigation pumping sets, without any government or outside financial assistance.

The demand for Mudhol maize is growing: it is accounted for not only by increased consumption as human food and poultry feed but also by industrial uses, notably the manufacture of starch. And this is having a beneficial effect on the whole economy of the district.

Several important commercial houses have opened agencies or stationed their representatives in the area to obtain the farmers' custom in agricultural equipment, fertilizers or other products. END

Anuskiewicz, 34, young master of Op Art, is a former pupil of Josef Albers, founder of new form.

PRIMARY

Courtesy

by Richard Anuskiewicz Sydney Janis Gallery, New York.

HUE

here we have the world's record aesthetic standing broad jumpthe artist's job is to deal with the eye only. This in no sense means that his job is to create something that we used to call "pleasing to the eye." Rather, painting must assault the retina, belabour it, fool it, exercise it, confuse it, tease it, stimulate it by every purely visual device possible. Some optical paintings are so successful in this retinal attack that they seem designed to produce the kind of astigmatism we customarily correct by wearing glasses.

The weakness in the argument that art is a purely visual experience is, simply, that art is not a purely visual experience. It is an intellectual, emotional and philosophical experience-or at least it always has been. The eye, until optical art said no, has been only the intermediate receptor of the colours, lines and forms that describe or express the various thoughts, beliefs, sensations or moods that artists have thought worth interpreting or crystallizing. Art has never stopped at the retina, but has gone right on through to the brain and, via that route, to the heart.

But the optical artist counters this rebuttal with one of his own.

Times have changed, he says, and optical art has its own parallels to the new philosophies we live by, whether we know wo do or not.

The now-you-see-it-now-you-don't aspect of some optical art parallels the ambivalence of human nature, jibing with the modern realization that nothing is what it appears to be, that surfaces are not expressive of the energies that lie beneath them. Science has shown us that time, matter, space and even such a dependable stand-by as light are actually in a state of eternal flux in a universe that we have only begun to explore. The job of art is to give form to this new and impersonal universe that stretches from the atom to the cosmos.

This idea of art may not be a comfortable one for the person

who has thought of art as a kind of reassurance that certain objects and certain beliefs and certain standards are stable. But art, the argument would go, should not be an opiate. In order to be up to the minute, or even up to the century, art must reflect the new values that science is creating, values forming the basis of a philosophy that must wipe out all others. A new relationship must be established between the observer and the work of art, and this relationship must be established through science, not through sentiment.

Optical art is an elementary affair compared with those sciences, especially physics, that are creating the new world. But at least optical art is doggedly scientific in intention as well as in implication. It is certainly as impersonal as art can get, and more impersonal than anyone until now has thought art needed to get. Optical artists abhor the quick, free brushstroke that is literally the personal touch in painting. The surfaces of the new paintings usually look as smooth and machine-made as the artists can make them.

An optical artist has a personal style only to the extent that a style is imposed by the problems he settles on as his area of experiment. The experiments themselves are no more personal than the experiments of a physicist who has chosen a certain problem for his Ph.D. dissertation.

Of course it will be his Ph.D., which is something, and he may feel an affection for the problem, but his way of working it out is not personal in the sense that "personal" means an immediate reflection of a set of emotional responses individual to the experimenter.

Emotion is out.

Since art movements are not born by parthenogenesis, optical art has a family tree in spite of its denial of art's traditional philosophical basis. Among its most obvious relatives are the familiar

T

The telephone

story

Evolution of the telephone instrument from its invention by Alexander Graham Bell in 1875 to present is shown in current advertisement.

AT&T is parent company of Bell System, Western Electric is manufacturing unit, Bell Telephone Laboratories conduct fundamental research.

ANATOMY OF A COMMUNICATIONS GIANT Basic research is truly basic in success of American Telephone and Telegraph Company. It has revolutionized communications with such discoveries as optical gas maser, transistor, radio, astronomy.

10, 1962-the day a seventy-six and one-half kilogram spherical satellite called Telstar, a kind of "switchboard in the sky," was shot into orbit from Cape Kennedy, Florida-may well go down in history as marking the start of a new era in

private communications firm, one of the most fabulous business organizations in the United States, had broken new ground. From AT&T has come pioneering work on a whole string of precedent-shattering developments-including sound motion pictures, the solar

corporations or groups of people-such as insurance companies, banks, hospitals, schools, churches, charitable groups, labour unions.

There are now 84,000,000 telephones in the United States-more than the combined total of the rest of the world. Sixty-nine

world-wide communications. By its sixth orbit, Telstar was carrying the first live television across the Atlantic Ocean, relaying telephone calls, and demonstrating the feasibility of providing international communication via satellite.

Although launched by the U.s. Government's National Aeronautics and Space Administration, Telstar actually was developed, and its launching was paid for, by the American Telephone and Telegraph Company (A.T.&T.). And it was not the first time this

battery, radio astronomy, the transistor, and the optical gas maser that can send vast amounts of information over a light beam.

Also popularly known as the Bell System, AT&T is the world's largest private enterprise.

Valued at more than $30,000,000,000, it has almost three-quarters of a million employees.

It is the most widely owned company; its shareholders number 2,200,OOO-ninety-two per cent of them individual people from every walk of life in all fifty States and more than 100 foreign countries. The other shareholders are

million of these are in the Bell System network. The others are serviced by 2,600 independent telephone companies, many of them small and locally owned, whose lines are linked into the Bell System for longdistance calls. Use of the telephone in the United States has been growing at a tremendous rate. In 1940, there was a ratio of 165.1 telephones per 1,000 population. Today, the ratio is 435 per 1,000 population; eight out of ten households have telephone service; and new installations are running at the rate 'of

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Valued at $30,000,000,000 AT & T, popularly known as Bell System, is world's largest private enterprise. substantially modified since 1950. It has major manufacturing works in thirteen cities as well as numerous tributary plants and shops.

Each year Western Electric purchases more than $1,250,000,000 worth of materials and supplies from more than 40,000 outside companies, nine out of ten of them small companies employing fewer than 500 people.

It also operates a nation-wide chain of thirty-five distributing houses which furnish supplies and equipment to operating companies and repair service-worn telephone items. These houses are geared to rushing great quantities of materials needed to repair communications lines, in case of a severe storm or other disaster.

The research and development arm of the Bell System, the Bell Telephone Laboratories, is one of the largest industrial laboratories in the world. It employs 14,500 men and women in twenty locations in twelve States. Among its scientists and engineers are many with international reputations. Their work falls into three general areas: research and fundamental development; systems engineering; and specific development and design.

The research and fundamental development programme provides basic knowledge essential to the creation of new communications systems. Scientists carryon continuous research in those areas of physical science that may contribute to communications and electronic technology-mathematics, physics, chemistry, metallurgy, acoustics, and many others.

Systems engineers study and analyse the technical needs of operating telephone companies and apply advanced technology in planning improvements and new systems.

Extensions helped Bell boost sales, invest proceeds in research projects.

Development and design engineers create new designs for systems and components and bring them to a point where they can be turned over to the Western Electric Company for manufacture.

Bell Laboratories has a long history of pioneering accomplishments. Work done there has resulted in many honours and awardsincluding two Nobel Prizes in Physics won by Bell scientists, one in 1937 for the discovery of electron diffraction and wave properties of electrons, and the second in 1956 for work on semi-conductors and the discovery of the transistor effect.

Top scientists at Bell Laboratories, as their colleagues elsewhere, owe their fundamental allegiance to the world of science. To attract and hold people of highest calibre at the Laboratories, scientists are free to pursue whatever interests them. There is only one restriction on their research: it must be .relevant to communication. But that' area is so broad, and there are so many devious ways to wring secrets out of nature, that this is hardly a restriction at all.

The case of Karl Jansky is one example. In 1928, at the age of twenty-two, Jansky came to Bell Laboratories with a degree in physics from the University of Wisconsin. In any good industrial laboratory he would have made solid technical contributions of the type that fill the world's engineering journals but never raise the world's temperature. At Bell Lab'" oratories, Karl Jansky was handed a passkey to the stars.

His assignment was to find the sources of noise (static) in the then-new transatlantic radio-telephone service which had been

Phones in America are considered essential, have saved lives, prevented many tragedies.

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initiated by the Bell System. The noise was making overseas communications difficult; if it could be identified, it might be eliminated.

Jansky found early in his project that most of the noise was due to lightning; the heat of the radio-receiving equipment also accounted for some interference. But Jansky's thirtymetre antenna picked up a third noise-a loud, long hiss. It came night after night, and Jansky noticed that each night it reached his antenna four minutes earlier than the preceding evening. The precision of the difference led him to discount almost everything earthly.

Jansky's imagination compelled him to look to the skies and his curiosity led him to a textbook on astronomy. He learned that, because of the earth's revolution around the sun, stars rise and set each day four minutes earlier than the preceding day. Jansky had the beginning of an answer, and went on to pinpoint the source as the centre of the Milky Way, 30,000 light years away. He discovered that some stars emit radio signals.

The field of radio astronomy, ushered in by Jansky's discovery, has furnished today's astronomers with a new and impressive tool.

Radio telescopes have greatly expanded man's knowledge of the universe. The stars and planets which emit radio signals give astronomers information about their size, composition, and behaviour.

Jansky was perhaps the first Bell Laboratories ~c:ientist to look towards outer space in connection with his duties. Twenty-five years later another Laboratories scientist, John R. Pierce, took a second look. It began with an engineering problem: How to meet the growing demand upon transatlantic cables.

For servantless homes extensions are a boon, offering service throughout house at low cost.

More cables could be laid, of course, but an entire new communications path, one with broad-band capabilities, would provide diversity and versatility.

In 1954, there was much talk of rockets and planned earth satellites. Pierce wondered, "Why can't we use these satellites for communications?" He went on to show the possibility of space communications in a technical paper three years before the first artificial satellite went into orbit, and his work led to Bell's development of Telstar.

With freedom to use their imaginations and to experiment along many different lines, Bell Telephone Laboratories scientists have made dozens of exciting discoveries. One day in 1940, one of them hooked a lump of raw silicon to a voltmeter and aimed a flashlight at the silicon. A voltage reading on the meter showed that the silicon had converted light into electrical energy. Eight years later, the Laboratories announced an end result of that experiment-the transistor-and electronics took a giant step forward. Most satellite systems would probably still be on the drawing boards, were it not for the transistor and the family of semiconductor devices.

For centuries, scientists have known that the sun releases vast amounts of energy. The earth alone receives an amount equal to a thousand trillion kilowatt hours each day.

This is about as much energy as is stored in all the earth's reserves of coal, oil,. and natural gas.

In April 1954, Bell Laboratories announced the invention of the Bell Solar Battery, ma~'s first successful device to convert the sun's energy directly and efficiently into useful amounts of electricity. Its efficiency had then reached six per cent, and later was raised to eleven per cent making the solar battery

comparable in efficiency to the best gasoline and steam engines.

Currently, scientists in the Laboratories are making progress towards the realization of a radically new form of telephone transmission system. This is a "time-division" type system in which a single "conversation path" in the central office accommodates a large number of simultaneous conversations.

As an indication of the pace of work in the Laboratories: in 1962, its scientists invented new optical masers that can generate and amplify light at many different wave lengths.

In another field, they used crystals of a new material, yttrium iron garnet, to convert radio waves into ultrasonic waves, and they also succeeded in amplifying ultrasonic waves in .certain solids; these accomplishments may lead to newer and simpler forms of electronic' equipment. They also devised an extremely sensitive microphone employing a silicon transistor and produced an improved wire insulation of foamed polypropylene that will reduce the cost of telephone cable.

While the system is nation-wide in extent, it is decentralized in management to meet regional and local conditions. Each operating company is a separate entity with its own president and staff of top executives. Similarly, Western Electric Company and the Bell Telephone Laboratories each has its own president and chief administrative officers.

At the top of the management structure is Frederick Russell Kappel, chairman of the board and chief executive officer of American Telephone & Telegraph, the parent company of the Bell System.

A solid, square-cut man, Fred Kappel began his telephone career in 1924 by digging holes for telephone poles. He was born in Albert Lea, Minnesota, January 14, 1902.

Classified section-" Yellow Pages" -in phone directories is promoted in Bell advertising, sclfs service to both advertisers and consumers. Section lists some 14,000,000 shops, services.

et your fingers do the walking! Shop the town the Yellow Pages Via'lght at homa Read the ads fOf facts. Phone the dealer .you've chos~m.

You save steps, time, trouble when yQO".~Mop the Yellow Page$ way!

His parents were both natives of Minnesota.

His father ran a local cigar store and barber shop. Like so many other leaders in American business, Kappel put in a stint as a newspaper boy. All through high school he swept and kept clean a block of stores in his home town.

At the University of Minnesota, he earned his way by waiting on tables and playing the drums in dance bands for university parties.

As far back as he can remember, he wanted to be an electrica I engineer. He received his degree, a Bachelor of Science in Engineering in 1924. The summer after graduation, he got a job with the Northwestern Bell Telephone Company in Mirmesota digging post holes.

Soon he moved into an equipment and building engineering job. By 1937, Kappel had become plant operations supervisor.

In 1949, Kappel was brought to the New York headquarters of AT&T to become vice president in charge of Long Lines and subsequently vice president in charge of operation and engineering. In 1953, he was elected president of Western Electric Company. He became AT&T president in 1956, and held that position until 1961 when he was elected Chairman of the Board of Directors.

He has a simple philosophy about running so large a business: "In an enterprise as big and varied as this one, no one person can know all the answers. Certainly I don't.

Working together, though, we can collectively come up with the best answers to the problems that confront us. The answers lie in peoplein their working together co-operatively and creatively. It's my job to foster an atmosphere in which that can happen."

The Bell System's relations with employees are excellent. In 1962, when its 730,000 men and women workers earned $4,538,000,000, an additional $509,000,000 was paid by the

Regular advertising in scores of magazines and newspapers reminds users of phone service's value.

company into pension trust funds, old age and disability insurance, and other employee benefits. Benefits vary from one company to another within the system, on the basis of contracts established between the individual companies and unions in their area, but always include retirement pay, a group life insurance plan, and hospital and surgical insurance.

In case of sickness or accidental injury, an employee receives full or part pay depending upon the length of his service.

The Bell System has provided solid proof that the personnel problems of automation can be handled well. As previously noted, it has had to be a pioneer in automation because of the growing volume of telephone use and today is the most highly automated of all U.S. industries. But the result of automation has been that people in the telephone business are working at better jobs today, as machines have taken over routine tasks.

The Bell System takes the responsibility for retraining employees given new assignments because of automation. The retraining is part of the System's over-all training programme which is designed to enable employees to carry out their assignments efficiently and is given at all levels-from clerks to skilled craftsmen and on up to management. It is of two kinds: on-the-job, provided by the individual worker's supervisor; and off-the-job, provided in classrooms by instructors.

One department alone, the plant department, has more than 200 schools throughout the country providing classroom facilities for off-the-job training of installers, linemen, repairmen and other craftsmen who construct, install and maintain the many different kinds

Although use is encouraged, subscribers pay flat monthly rate, not for each call.

of telephone plant. The plant school programme is the equivalent of a trade school with a full time enrolment of 5,000 students.

Since classroom work is usually followed by on-the-job training by the individual's immediate supervisor, it is important that the supervisor be well qualified to give maxirrium assistance. For this purpose, training is given supervisors in new methods and on new tools and new equipment as they are introduced.

In addition, in a year over 335,000 man-days are spent in courses designed to help supervisors improve their skills in dealing with their employees, and their ability to meet employee problems.

Occasionally some employees affected by automation are, for various reasons, unable to accept retraining and a transfer to other work. In these cases, which are relatively few, severance pay plans provide for lump-sum payments varying in accordance with length of service and wage rates.

In 1963, United States operators began to dial calls straight through to Great Britain, Germany, France and Australia. This has been done for some time over the cables to Hawaii, Alaska, Puerto Rico and Bermuda, producing a marked speed-up in service.

But there is a great deal more to be expected, too. Predicts Fred Kappel, Bell's top official: "Looking at the future generally and at fairly long range, it seems to me the opportunities for communications progress are bursting out all over. For convenience, some of the likely developments might be put in two broad categories.

"First is complete mobility for personal communications. This means telephones in

millions of vehicles, for example, instead of the relatively few thousand that are so equipped today. A telephone for the car would be commonplace. Further, for those people who might some day want to carry a personal telephone in pocket or handbag-I think it altogether possible that they will have them, though I couldn't give you the date.

"The second category is even broader.

Today most people use telephones only for talking. But Data-Phones (which transmit computer information) are beginning to add a second dimension. When the picturephone becomes widely available it will add a third.

The problem here is simply the cost.

"Businessmen will be able to see, talk with, and exchange written material with their associates, without everybody going to the same place. Of course, people will always be on the move. But traffic jams and commuting problems will be greatly reduced. Periodicals and even newspapers may be delivered over telephone lines, to be printed on reproducing machines in homes and offices."

Mr. Kappel is convinced that world-wide television is not many years off. "One of its great values," he believes, "may well be in speeding the progress of education in the developing new nations of the world. Who is to say that medical students in the Congo will never watch a surgeon in New York?"

It could be that man's survival depends in great part on his ability to communicate. Now that, for the first time in history, man has the total power to destroy himself, he may also be able to save himself because total, instantaneous communications for virtually the entire human race will be technically feasible. END

Institutional ad sholVS diversity of AT&T operations, including undersea cable laying, improved instrument design, communications satellites, extension of microwave routes. fundamental research.

f row many roles will your teleP.hone .Play today?

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Made in 1911, this study by Hine of a small girl in a Carolina knitting mill aroused America to children's plight and led to child labour legislation.

By their candid, sympathetic studies of living conditions in U.S. at the turn of the century Jacob Riis and Lewis Hine became pioneers in use of photography as a powerful instrument of social reform.

THE CAMERA AS CONSCIENCE ....

TIS IDGHLY improbable that the early pioneers of photography, gazing upon their primitive new creation, realized that they had produced an instrument of social significance. In its infancy, the new technique was regarded generally as a somewhat soulless extension of conventional illustration; an intriguing scientific discovery. There were some who caused raised eyebrows by calling it an art form. But there was little reason to believe that pictures made by this new medium could exert any more noticeable an influence on society than those

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This article is reprinted with permission of EastmanKodak's Kodak International Review.

wrought with pallet and brush.

The infant, it transpired, was underestimated. Pictures have not only registered but altered the march of events in many fields, not least of which is the sociological.

At the turn of the century there emerged in America two photographers in whose hands the camera became a powerful social instrument. They were Jacob A. Riis and Lewis Hine.

Riis was a Danish-born carpenter and sometime writer who, after many geographic and occupational wanderings, gravitated first into newspaper reporting and then became America's first photo journalist in the decade of the 1880's.

As a police reporter, his work led him into the seething twilight world of the New York slums, into which huge masses of newlyarrived immigrants were jammed.

His subjects were derelicts and criminals; his settings the indescribable but vividly pictureable squalor of rotting tenement buildings and improvised city-dump dwellings.

Progressive in his techniques, Riis was one of the first American photographers to use flash lighting. The contraption he used to fire his mixture of powdered magnesium and potassium chlorate looked remarkably like a pistol, and his wary subjects, who were wellconditioned to react appropriately in such situations, often drew guns on him. Prudently, CoNTINUED SPAN

September 1965 31

Their pictures, free of subjectivity and immune to charges of distortion, roused social consciousness.

"Under The Dump" was the title of this picture by Riis, taken in 1890 to dramatize predicament of the poor.

Hine photographs from Museum of Modern Art. Riis photographs from Jacob A. Riis Collection, Museum of the City of New York.

Hine made this compassionate study of a foreign mother and child awaiting immigration clearance at Ellis Island in 1905.

Class in Essex Market School, New York City, was photographed by Riis in the early 1890's.

Pictures like this helped improve the education facilities for New York children.

An immigrant mother cradles her child in this picture by Riis, made about 1889. Riis hoped that his pictures "would ... suggest the direction in which much good might be done."

Incubatorof crime was "The Mulberry Bend" a pestilential neighbourhood photographedby Riis around 1888. Because of his pictures, the Bend was later razed.

Candid, truthful, realistic pictures by the two pioneers produced an immediate reaction in the community and rapidly led to measures against such social evils as slums and child labour.

Riis exchanged his equipment for something less ominous in appearance-a firing device that resembled a frying pan.

How he made flashlight pictures was described in a New York paper, The Sun of February] 2, 1888: " ... their way illuminated by spasmodic flashes ... a mysterious party has lately been startling the town 0' night. Sonmolent policemen on the street, denizens of dives in all their dens, tramps and bummers in their socalled lodgings, and all the people of the wild and wonderful variety of New York night life have in their turn marvelled and been frightened by the phenomenon. What they

With Riis, camera was a powerful tool and like pamphlets of Voltaire his pictures "helped to start a revolution." Courtesy Jacob A. Riis Collection, Museum of the City of New York. saw was three or four figures in the gloom, a ghostly tripod, some weird and uncanny movements, the blinding flash and then heard the patter of retreating footsteps and the mysterious strangers were gone .... " The story took note of Riis, the group's leader, who hoped even then that his pictures "would call attention to the needs of the situation and suggest the direction in which

much good might be done."

To the credit of New York's more fortunate citizens, the unblinkingly candid pictures by Riis produced an almost immediate reaction.

Theodore Roosevelt, then New York's police commissioner, and later America's 26th President, abolished the horrendous police lodging houses which had been a malignant feature of slum life. Rear tenement construction was halted; labour laws were amended; and it was decreed that henceforth each school child should be provided with a desk. Riis' most signal triumph was the demolition of Mulberry Bend, a tenement hovel of satanic squalor which served, among other unsavoury purposes, as a repository for the effluence of New York's underworld.

On the cleansed site of the civic sore rose a mission and a park named in Riis' honour.

Today the name of Jacob Riis on housing projects, school parks and playgrounds all over the United States attests to the influence of his work. One authority, Peter Pollack, has written, "Like the pamphlets of Voltaire, the photographs of Jacob A. Riis helped to start a revolution."

But the work of a reformer is never permanently done, and a generation later another photographer used the camera to lighten the social darkness of his time. Lewis W. Hine, a trained sociologist and schoolteacher, abandoned his profession in 1903 to become a full-time photographer. His clearly-defined objective was to use photography to the end of social communication, to bring to the awareness of his fellow Americans the problems of the poor.

To Hine, who had worked his way to a master's degree by labouring for thirteen hours a day in a furniture factory, these problems were very real. This was the era of America's peak immigration. During the century's first decade, ten million people entered the country-most of them through the port of New York. A goodly proportion of this human wave had backed up in the city itself. Hine pictured the uprooted newcomers as they waited at the immigration centre on Ellis Island in their first confused and lonely hours in the New World. Then he followed them to the teeming slums in which they worked and lived. His studies were widely published, and did as much to make the native population conscious of New York's current social problems as Riis had for an earlier generation.

His tour de force, though, came in the salvation of the young. In 1911, as staff photographer for the National Child Labour Committee, Hine made 5,000 pictures of children, some only eight years old, working in cotton mills, in dangerous mining jobs and at other forms of onerous labour. A completely honest photographer, Hine recorded these scenes without any attempt at impressionism. He showed reality, and relied on the innate decency of people to do the rest.

His faith was justified. The public was not so much unfeeling as unknowing, and Hine had let them see the truth. A c1amour was heard throughout the land for legislation to end child labour. Laws were rapidly passed, 'anuQne more social evil faded from the scene.

Lewis Hine recorded his scenes without any attempt at impressionism and let pÂŁ'ople see the truth through his widely published studies.

With the work of these two pioneers, photography was marked as much more than another illustrative technique. Here was a new range of vision for the vast sprawling organism called modern society; one free of subjectivity, immune to charges of distortion. All that was required to put it at society's service was the skill and conscience of men of vision.

These qualities were supplied by Riis and Hine. END

¡Labour Day, observed in the U.S. on the first Monday in Sept,ember, commemorates American labour's success in winning the' rights to organize and to negotiate collectively with employers. This article traces the growth of unions in the U.S. and describes collective bargaining in action.

COLLECTIVE BARGAINING IN AMERICA: A CLOSE-UP VIEW HETIMEIsa Wednesday morning in the spring of 1964. The scene is Suite 3B in the City Square Motel in New York City, in a sjtting room gaudy in crimson and cream, and dank with the stale tobacco smoke that gathers in long, intense debate.

At the centre of attention is George Miller, a lean, dark-haired man in¡ his late 40's, surprisingly tall when he unwinds from his chair, with the marks of hard work on his face. Miller is the "Regional Director" of the Communications Workers of America, a labour union, whose members are chiefly telephone company employees. It is his job to supervise the collective bargaining and other union business for 50,000 union members in eight States, including New York.

Confronting Miller is a group of five other men, drawn and pale, tense and exhaustedlooking. These men are the presidents of five New York "locals"-the basic organizational unit of the union.' They are also members of the New York City area bargaining committee, which has been meeting for more than a month in wearying and not always friendly talks with representatives of the New York Telephone Company. The two sides have been discussing terms of a new labour contract that is to set wages, working conditions and many other terms of employment over the next three years for 24,000 employees of the

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company serving the New York area.

Ambitious to impress upon the rank and file their abilities as negotiators, the members of the negotiating committee began with high hopes for large accomplishments. But now the talks are deadlocked. Weary, discouraged, angry at the company, their pride heavily committed, the bargainers now want to go to the general membership and ask them¡ to vote for a strike. But under the union constitution a strike vote may not be conducted without the permission of the 'national union, of which George Miller is the representative.

(The New York Telephone Company is a subsidiary of the American Telephone and Telegraph Company, a nation-wide concern, The telephone company's bargaining efforts are co-ordinated nationally. In order to maintain its own bargaining position, the union must be able to co-ordinate its bargaining strategy on a nation-wide basis also.) While the bargaining committee has only one thing on its mind-to "win" the negotiations in a short-term, limited sense, Miller, by contrast, is thinking of a number of things. , A generation ago, in the turbulent, strifetorn 1930's a bargaining deadlock such as this one would have been a signal for the workers to "hit the bricks," in the union jargon for going into the street on strike, with almost complete disruption of telephone

service, and a reasonably speedy s~tt1ement with a management that did not want to accept a heavy loss of business. But times have changed. Telephone companies have spent hundreds of millions of dollars installing a large amount of automatic equipment, making it possible for them to stay in operation for long periods of time using only supervisory employees, not members of unions.

This means that union leaders have to estimate hard-headedly whether the possible additional gains from a strike would adequately cover the costs in lost wages during the work stoppage.

But Miller, is thinking of other possible effects of a strike. The Communications Workers of America won the right to represent the employees of the New York Telephone Company only three years ago, after a ten-year, three-way contest with the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers and an independent local union. One of the problems of American unionism today is that as the easy-to-organize segments of industry have become rather fully unionized, various unions have competed more and more keenly with each other for the remaining workers. Miller and the national officers of the union feel it may be wise to avoid further strife for a while so that their organization can quietly build up its strength for a con-

The gains won at the bargaining table have been a major faCtor In raising the general standard of

frontation with the telephone company on a more auspicious occasion in the future.

But in any case George Miller does not believe that the¡moment of decision has quite been reached. His "feel" for negotiations tells him that the company probably has not yet made its last offer, but is holding back a few concessions as a final bargaining counter. The company has already agreed to a substantial wage increase, an average of more than $5 per forty-hour week, bringing the average weekly wages to S 146.50 for all employees. It has also yielded to the union's demand for greater "fringe benefits," the items in the contract in addition to money wages. A change in the pension plan would bring the average pension for a retired employee up to 5300 a month, $125 of this being paid by the government under the Social Security programme. An added third week of vacation would be granted annually to any employee with ten or more years of service. The average value of the new fringe benefits is almost eleven cents an hour, more than $4 a week. This, along with the technical changes in the contract, brings the value of the total "package" to approximately twenty-five cents an hour or $10 a week. It is in fact a substantial offer, one of the best in the national telephone industry for 1964.

But the company has so far refused to grant for the New York area a demand that it pays a part of each employee's hospitalization and medical insurance, a request that has been granted 'in other areas. It has refused to consider a union request that approximately 2,000 clerical workers be upgraded in pay rate, and that differences in pay for geographic areas be reduced. The bargainers are also deadlocked over the relatively minor questions of when the new contract is to take effect (negotiations had been delayed past the usual time by the struggle with the Teamsters) and how long it is to run.

ROOM FOR MANOEUVRE So Miller tells the bargaining committee he feels Feasonably certain there is still room for manoeuvre in the company's position; that the question of a strike vote is premature until they know the company's. final terms.

He suggests that the union side see what the company will offer in the next bargaining session. After that, he says, if the committee still wants to take a strike vote of the membership, he will authorize one.

Wearily and somewhat reluctantly the bargaining committee accepts Miller's suggestion.

All day Wednesday in Suite 3B the smoke gets thicker, the tempers shorter, the language stronger. Some in the room want to stand pat on a particular demand, while others feel it is not worth a strike. Finally, at 7 p.m.

Wednesday, a package of "minimum de-

mands" is agreed upon. This is passed to the management bargaining committee waiting in Suite 3F, down the hall. Now, under pressure of a possible strike vote, the management side gets busy. At 3 o'clock Thursday morning the company submits its "final offer." They have made concessions, as Miller expected, . on hospital insurance. They have yielded on the union demands for starting date and length of contract. But they will only agree to upgrade 500 of the 2,000 clerical jobs in dispute, and have refused to budge on changing wage zones.

Now in Suite 38 the moment of decision has arrived. George Miller says flatly that the company offer, in his opinion, is as generous as they are going to get, with or without a strike. It is now quite literally the best telephone contract in the country for 1964.

The company is not merely being generous.

In general, it does not like unions and opposes them. But it realizes that if another outside union gained a toe-hold, there would be a long struggle with the Communications Workers throughout the entire company that would seriously impair efficiency. Thus the company is offering a generous settlement in an effort to discourage raiding by outside unions.

But the weary union bargainers, angry because their "minimum demands" have not been met, still insist on going to the member.ship with a recommendation for a strike.

There are veiled hints, and some not so veiled, that unless he goes along with the committee, George Miller will face trouble when he comes up for re-election next year. At last, in a sort of armed truce, it is agreed that the company terms will be submitted to the membership for a vote, as Miller had promised, but there will be no recommendation at all, for or against a strike. Then George Miller sits down and writes a long letter which is sent to each of the 24,000 members in the New York area. "This vote we are taking is dead serious," the letter says. "Any concession the company might make after a strike begins would leave a big question in your minds as to the justification for sacrifices you would have to make."

When the ballots are counted, the members have voted, by a ratio of two to one, to accept the company's offer and not to strike. The new contract gives the average telephone worker in addition to $146.50 a week in money wages, an estimated $24.80 additional in various fringe benefits.

LABOUR'S UPHILL FIGHT The goings-on in the City Square Motel were only one of approximately 100,000 labour negotiations that were conducted in the United States in 19M-the vast majority of which were concluded without strikes. Not

all yielded settlements" worth $10 a week.

Not all produced strife within the union leadership-although a significant number did.

But all were products of the process of collective bargaining, which in turn has been a product of almost three centuries of gradual evolution in economics, technology and political opinion on the American continent.

In any industrializing society, as the size of shops and factories that produce the goods of commerce grows, the relative power of the individual worker to bargain for his own pay and work conditions diminishes. So the workers in most countries have joined forces to regain their bargaining strength. Out of their effort at unity comes their "union," and from their collective efforts to argue their cause comes "collective bargaining." Their ultimate lever for enforcing their will has been some means of interfering with the flow of trade and thus of profit-most commonly, the strike or the boycott, the latter being an organized campaign against the purchase of goods or service from businesses which are recalcitrant in their relation with unions.

Unions have existed in America almost from its beginnings as a civilized settlement.

At first these were only associations of craftsmen in the small cities of a predominantly agricultural nation. Then, as the cities grew, the various crafts joined together in citywide councils, to assist each other in strikes and bargaining. After the end of the American Civil War in 1865, as the railroads made it possible to do business on a national scale, the unions sought national scope in an effort to keep their bargaining power on a par with that of the companies with whom they were dealing.

But the obstacles to union growth were very formidable. Up to the early 1930's it was easy for an employer to go to court and obtain a court order-an injunction-against a strike.

Then if the strike occurred, the union leaders could be fined or sent to prison for violation of the court order. Under the antitrust laws, originally passed to combat business monopolies, unions could be sued as "labour monopolies" for "triple-damages," three times the estimated amount of business loss caused by a strike, thus effectively wiping out the union treasury. Moreover employers could require that employees sign what unions called the "yellow dog contract," under which the worker agreed, as a condition of his employment, not to join a union. In 1900 there were less than 800,000 union members. In 1933 it had increased to no more than 3,000,000.

The coming of the Depression and the New Deal saw a major revolution both in law and government attitude towards unions. The Norris-La Guardia Act of 1932, coming just before the New Deal, outlawed the labour

living of workers In America.

injunction as an anti-union weapon. The Wagner Act of 1935 protected under the law the right of employees to organize, exempted unions from the antitrust laws, and compelled employers to recognize and to bargain with a union supported by a majority of employees.

Within twenty-five years union membership was in the neighbourhood of 17,000,000, making the labour movement a major economic and political force ,in American life. The gains won at the bargaining table had been a major factor in raising the standard of living not only of union members, but ofa high proportion of other workers, whose wages often followed the pattern set by the union contracts.

In the telephone industry, independent unions ~gan sprif\ging up in the wake of the Wagner Act. But these unions were affiliated neither with 'each other nor with the union movement nationally, and thus their bargaining scope did not match that of the nationwide American Telephone and Telegraph Company. In 1939 the independent telephone unions joined in a loosely-knit national organization, the National Federation of Telephone Workers. But even this did not provide natfonally co-ordinated bargaining strength, so in 1946 the independent unions gave up their autonomy to forril the Communications Workers of America. However, in 1947 there was a seven-week strike of 450,000 workers, caused, in the union's view, by the company's determination to break up the new national organization. The aftermath of the strike was a split. A majority of the unions stayed with the CWA. Others formed the Telephone Workers Organizing Committee within the Congress of Industrial Organizations (CIO),' the national organization launched in 1935 to which most industrial unions belong.

Still others retreated to independent unionism again. In 1949 the CWA and the CIO worked out a unity agreement which brought the, union into the larger federation. Meanwhile the CWA was working hard, often in competition with the Electrical Workers, to bring the remaining independent unions into the fold. In 1950 the CWA reorganized itself to provide for more centralized direction of bargaining of the sort that George Miller provided in the New York negotiations.

But while the union movement was working to solve its internal problems, difficulties were developing outside. The "white collar" middle class, which had remained ,largely favourable to unions through the 1930's began in the late 1940's to turn against them. This was partly the result of a rash of strikes in the immediate postwar years, in which the,unions sought-often at the cost of the public's convenience-to confirm their wartime gains in wages and other benefits. It was also a reaction of fear and resentment against what was

Collective bargaining is basic elemeizt in American management and labour relations. Both sides have skilled representatives who meet for bargaining, to settle disputes and maintain a harmonious relationship. Unions hold regular classes (above) to train local officers, and at contract time, both sides .meet across the taMe (below) to reach an acceptable agreement.

Many labour contracts now include not only wage mcreases but a variety of fringe benefits.

regarded as the arrogant attitude of some union leaders.

Organized labour was no longer an exploited s~ctor of the population. It had overtaken parts of the "middle class" in income.

A professor of literature di'scovered that the plumber who came to fix his toilet was making more money than the' professor and he did not like it: A modestly paid bank clerk found that the mechanic next door was living in a better house and he did not like it. A small florist discovered that union rules would .not permit. him to drive his own delivery truck, but forced him to hire a driver to do it and he did not like it, either.

The result of this shift of opinion was- the Taft-Hartley Act, passed by Congress in 1947.

This prohibited as unfair some of the tactics used by the more aggressive unions in strikes land picketing. It also set up legal machinery for delaying and if possible averting strikes in basic industries like steel and railroads, where a stoppage could seriously affect the general public interest; and it outlawed certain provisions unions had been demanding in contracts.

Then in the early 1950's, Congressional investigations disclosed corrupt practices engaged in by a few leaders of some unions along with undemocratic treatment of rank and file members. These exposures resulted in the Landrum~Griffin Act, which required tighter. accounting of union funds to assure that they were used for the benefit of union members and not for profit by union officials.

The Act also attempted to strengthen democratic . processes within unions. Altho~gh bitterly opposed by labour, these two laws did not significantly weaken the union movement. But they did slow down efforts to organize workers in the South, the leastunionized section of America.

While the unions were fighting their legislative battles, gaifls at the bargaining table continued. Now not only wage increases, but increasingly so-called "fringe benefits" began to be included in the labour contracts.

In 1949 the United Steelworkers won from employers in the steel industry the first old age pensions provided by labour contract in addition to those set up by the Social Security Act of 1935. The practice quickly spread throughout industry. Today the assets of pension funds won through collective bargaining total more than $50,000,000,000.

Next the unions won unemployment benefits from employers, weekly payments to men laid off because business is slow. These payments also are in addition to unemployment payments made by the State. Then came prepaid hospital and medical care, about which the CWA and the New York Telephone Company bargained last year. Now some

unions are talking about employer-provided dental care. In a few cases companies have shared a portion of their profits, or a part of the savings through advanced technology, with the workers under the labour contract.

But since the 1950's the world in which collective bargaining has been conducted has changed, and the bargaining with it. In the 1930's and 1940's the government could usually. be counted on to side with the unions for more pay and benefits, and if theI;.Cwas a strike the temptation to a public official was to urge the company to give the union just .a little more, in order to end the strike and get the people back to work again. But to avoid inflation as a result of rapidly.rising wages, government policy in the past decade has discouraged large pay increases. Faced with rising costs and keener competition, employers also have tended to resist more strongly large union demands. So now a number of union leaders find themselves in the position of George Miller, having to convince the rank and file members that spectacular gains are not as easy to come by as they once were. At the same time, as automation has been spreading, union members have pressed for provisions that will protect their jobs or offer retraining to fill new jobs, in addition to money increases.

A CAUSE AND A CHALLENGE George Miller, regional director of the CWA, is aware of these long-term, l,lational trends in collective barga:ining. But he does not spend much time reflecting on them. He is too busy dealing with their short-tern1, local effects. The New York negotiations were barely completed, and the ceremonial declarations and handshakes were still going on, when he caught a plane to Boston to discuss an organizing¡campaign in an electronics firm (the CWA represents workers in the electronics manufacturing as well as the telephone industry). Then he moved on to Syracuse to try to break another deadlock over a local contract. The next week he was in Washington to discuss a campaign to persuade members 'of an independent union in Rhode Island to affiliate with the CWA. Then he returned to his rather plain office in Newark, New Jersey, just across the Hudson River from New York City, to attack the mound of paperwork that never - endingly accumulates on his desk ..

Meanwhile, if only subconsciously, the future of the New York area is on his mind. He does liot anticipate another challenge in the near future to the jurisdiction of the Communications Workers there. The generous settlement this time should damp down unrest among the rank and file. But he knows there can be no relaxing, for the leaders of the competing union, without the responsibilities

he bears, are standing' by, alert to any weakopening. ness that might provide As for the next contract, which will be negotiated early in 1967, how much of a money' settlement the union will get will depend in part on general economic conditions. If the economy is prosperous and the company is . doing well, the union can ask for more than they would get in a lean year. As to fringe benefits, George Miller follows the same one-word policy advocated many years ago by a pioneer unionist, Samuel Gompers: "More." The company has begun paying one fourth of cost of hospitalization and medical insurance, and will pay one half the cost after two years. It is not hard to predict that the union will be asking for more than that at the next negotiations. The company improved pensions this time. The union doubtless will ask for further improvements next time. And glimmering in the dreams of the unionists will be a fourth week of vacation each year for an employee with fifteen or more years of service.

Doubtless the unsettled issue of the compensation of clerks will be on the bargaining table again. Whether the union will push it to the brink of a strike or beyond will depend in part on the state of the economy .and in part on the internal politics of the union. As to George Miller's own future when he stands for re-election next year: in the aftermath of his clash with the local leaders on the bargaining committee, he predicts rather calmly, "I'm sure to have opposition next time."

Some people might wonder why George Miller wants to continue on a job like the one he has. He works harder than his counterparts in business, and for much less money.

His annual salary is SI5,000. A vice president for labour relations of the Telephone Company is paid $35,000 a year, or more. George Miller stays with his job because to him it is a cause as well as a career, and because the battle of wits and will that is collective bargaining is a challenge and fascination. Moreover, while George Miller's life is by no means luxurious by the standards of private industry he has been able to give his four children advantages he himself did not enjoy. Growing up in the Depression era of the 1930's, Miller went to work as soon as he finished high school. His daughter Judy, nineteen, took a year of training after high school, is now working as a dental technician and taking college courses at night. His son Jimmy, twenty-one, the eldest, is a senior at Curry College in Boston, Massachusetts, studying business administration. Asked what he would think of it if Jimmy should decide to go' into the management of private business-the other side of the bargaining table-George Miller says, with a wry sort of smile, "That El~m would be just my luck."

an

DR. SPOCK: THIRD PARENT IN THE NURSERY Author of one of the world's best-sellers, Baby and Child Care, Dr. Benjamin Spock has made a significant contribution to modern concepts and methods of child rearmg.

I

N THE AMPHITHEATRE of Vassar College, New York, some years ago a hundred girls waited, slightly bored, to listen to what their professor had termed "a little talk by a visiting doctor." Soon the visitor arrived and his name was announced. There was a stunned, momentary hush and then the girls let out a lusty, full-throated yell of delight and welcome. For the next forty minutes they sat spellbound as the visitor talked and gesticulated, instructed and entertained them: he was one of the greatest one-man shows they had ever seen.

These girls were taking a course in child care and their distinguished visitor was Dr. Benjamin Spock, the renowned author of Baby and Child Care. This is the most popular book in the United States next to the Holy Bible-and possibly some plays of Shakespeare

-and has been read by an estimated forty million fathers and mothers around the world. It has been published in twenty-seven countries and translated into twenty-six languages including Hindi, Urdu, Tamil and Malayalam. Yet when the book was written, its author had no idea of the success which awaited it. Somewhat diffidently, he showed the script to his mother, whose comment was: "Why, Benny, it's really quite sensible." Dr. Spock says he took that as high praise and felt quite relieved.

The enormous popularity of Baby and Child Care, which was first published in 1946, has been mainly attributed to the author's common-sense approach to his subject, his detailed, exhaustive treatment of children's ailments and problems of child behaviour, his CoNTINUED SPAN

September 1965 39

By asking parents to trust their common sense, he brought them reassurance, self-confidence and cheer.

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Picked at random from Dr. Spock's bookshelves are some translations of his popular book Baby and Child Care and other publications. simple, natural style of writing and, above all, the feeling of reassurance and confidence he is able to instil into worried parents. The opening sentence of the book "You know more than you think you do" has become as famous as MelviIle's "CaIl me Ishmael" in Moby Dick.

In contrast to the rigid, stern injunctions of earlier paediatricians"Never kiss your child; never hold it on your lap"-Dr. Spock paid a tribute to "the natural loving care that kindly parents give to their children." He asked them not to be afraid to trust their own common sense and not to be overawed by what the experts said.

As an illustration of Dr. Spock's painstaking detail, here are some specimens of his carefully indexed entries: Adenoids .

Aggressiveness ... Blueness ... Weaning ... Working mothers .

Worms. Such thoroughness naturaIly arouses great respect and overwhelming trust. It is not surprising that one of his admirers commented: "If Dr. Spock doesn't cover it, it hasn't happened."

Spock's interest in paediatrics dates back to his freshman days at Yale University in the early 1920's, when he worked as a counseIlor in a summer camp for crippled children. He says: "When I saw the doctors there and what they did for children, I wanted to be like them." He completed his medical studies at Columbia University's College of Physicians and Surgeons in 1929. Two years earlier he had met and married Jane Cheney, who had been doing voluntary work in a child-guidance clinic and whose training was to prove especiaIly useful to him later in research for his monumental book.

Dr. Spock began practising in New York in 1933 and quite early became convinced of the need for drastic changes in the professional techniques for bringing up children. "There were only negative ideas around then," he recaIled recently. "The experts were teIling the mother that if she made one wrong move her baby would become neurotic.

She had lost all spontaneity, all confidence in her own judgment, and I felt we had to give it back to her." He did this in many ways: he lectured frequently on child behaviour and welfare, had discussions with teachers on emotional psychology and helped a psychiatrist in writing a pamphlet entitled Psychological Aspects of Paediatric Practice-a significant prelude to his later work.

Apart from his book Baby and Child Care, which has a place in millions of American homes and which Mrs. Jacqueline Kennedy added to the White House library, Dr. Spock's ideas have infiltrated to the people through the hundreds of doctors whom he has instructed during his tenures at the Mayo Clinic, the Universities of Minnesota and Pittsburgh and at Western Reserve University in Cleveland where CONTINUED

Dr. Spock is a sympathetic listener and many patients discuss with him such problems as rising costs of medical care and hospitalization.

In later publications Dr. Spock deals with juvenile delinquency, family rivalries and allied problems.

he has been a professor of child development since 1955. Besides teaching and lecturing he writes frequently for the press and also makes his views known through radio and television broadcasts, The immense popularity of his talks may be gauged from the fact that he is obliged to turn down some 500 speaking invitations a year.

In 1960 Dr. Spock published his second book Dr. Spack Talks With Mothers, which deals with such complex subjects as family rivalries, discipline and juvenile delinquency. These and allied themes are also covered in a still later publication Problems of Parents. Both publications follow the pattern and style of the earlier book and convey the author's suggestions in readily intelligible terms.

At sixty-two, Dr. Spock's days continue to be full of activity.

While child development is his main preoccupation, in recent years he has cultivated other interests. In the 1960 Presidential elections, he supported and campaigned for John F. Kennedy. (Referring to this and to her own views on child-rearing, Mrs. Kennedy told a questioner: "Dr. Spock is for my husband and I am for Dr. Spock.")

He was one of the sponsors of the national medicare bill which was signed into law by President Johnson at the end of July. A believer in equal rights for all Americans, he has suggested that doctors and nurses should actively participate in the civil rights movement.

Dr. and Mrs. Spock have two sons and two grandsons. Writing about the family, a columnist commented: "They appear warm, relaxed and happily unsullied by the taint of absolute perfection."

This is perhaps the best tribute one could pay to Spockism-the art of child-rearing, based on common sense and love, pinning its faith in human nature and eschewing rigidity of discipline and control. END

Easy communication between the doctor and his little patient is evident from this study of Dr. Spack in his Child Rearing School.

Dr. Spack's key chain is a constant source of amusement to children. many of whom were enrolled in his school even before they were born.

To children at his Rearing School in Cleveland. Ohio, Dr. Spack is a friend and jovial companion, not an official or big medico.

DECADE OF FUN IN THE MAGIC KINGDOM Five and a half million people every year visit Disneyland, the most exciting amusement park in the world, a 65-acre kingdom where Walt Disney reigns supreme over a 'magic land' of his own creation.

ARE so MANY things to do in Disneyland you can't ever feel sleepy," a nine-year-old visitor to Walt Disney's "Magic Kingdom" reported recently. "We stayed awake right into the middle of the night."

This young lady is not alone in her admiration for the sixty-fiveacre amusement park at Anaheim, California, some fourteen kilometres southeast of Los Angeles. As Disneyland celebrates its tenth anniversary this year, more than 5,500,000 persons will have no trouble keeping awake as they visit the five major "realms" which make up the park. They may enjoy a band concert (there are several each day), ride a 1910 fire truck, or admire the "World's Most Natural Flowers NOT made by Nature" on Main Street, U.S.A., an idealized but charming version of a tum-of-the-century thoroughfare, complete with both horse-drawn and horseless carriages. Adventureland offers a Jungle Cruise past ancient Oriental ruins, bellowing elephants, crocodiles "looking for a hand-out," and two giant gorillas introduced by the guide as "King Kong and his brother Hong Kong."

T

HERE

No one has been known to fall asleep during a rocket ride to the moon in Tomorrowland or while viewing a monstrous, cross-eyed sea serpent from a submarine which carries them under the North Pole and through the Lost City of Atlantis. When they emerge from the submarine, visitors walk a few steps to the Matterhorn, a 146-foot replica of the famous peak in the Swiss Alps for a bobsled ride up, through, around and down the mountain. Children clutch their screaming mothers, fathers pray-and all have a thoroughly marvellous time as the bobsleds twist, careen, splash and lurch at speeds that feel more like 100 kilometres per hour than the actual speed of less than twenty.

Where Tomorrowland ends, Fantasyland begins and here reside Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Peter Pan and Dumbo. One sevenyear-old girl has sworn off the Mad Hatter's Tea Party, a twirling, whirling ride which makes her dizzy, but her four-year-old sister has gone round and round on King Arthur's Carousel, a gigantic merry-go-round, hundreds of times, has never suffered dizziness-

Enchanted children shake hands with Mickey MOllse, who 'happened' to be taking a walk past his own floral portrait in Fantasyland.

Sleeping Beauty's Castle, moat encircled, is the gateway to Fantasyland, it stands just off the central Plaza, hub of Disneyland's five realms.

A little girl takes a ride with her mother on Dumbo, the Flying Elephant, one of Walt Disney's most popular animated characters.

In Frontier/and, another major section of Disneyland, visitors can see an exact replica of the Columbia, the first American ship to sail round the world. On board, as she cruises on submerged tracks round Tom Sawyer's island, left, they can examine cabins and galley of historic ship.

Red Indians perform traditional tribal dances in Frontier/and's Indian Village, left, as the Mark Twain, replica of 19th century Mississippi River steamboat, passes by. Frontier log fort, right, gives boys opportunity to play in setting they have only seen in photos and films.

Park

IS

kept meticulously clean by 206 janitors who clear 310 cubic yards of rubbish every day.

and is always ready to go again. Walk through the gate of Cinderella's castle, cross the moat, turn right, and you enter Frontierland, complete with board sidewalks, "Wild West" gunfights, a mule train, and a ride on a Mississippi River steamboat, the Mark Twain.

It is all the most glorious make-believe. Visitors see not only a representation of a storybook world, but they can actually participate in its fantastic adventures. In Disney's creation of Peter Pan, the visitor rides over London in a ship and Captain Hook waves a threatening claw at them as the crocodile who swallowed a clock swims by, ticking loudly. Ten-year-old boys "fire" rifles from a nineteenth century fort in Frontierland, sighting across the river to a Red Indian war party about to attack the fort.

Much of the participation in Walt Disney's "magic land" comes from such enjoyable rides as a roller coaster or a merry-go-round, or Tomorrowland's Autopia where children can drive gasolinepowered cars on a superhighway.

But merry-go-rounds, roller coasters and miniature cars are part of every amusement park. Disneyland differs because of the authenticity of atmosphere it creates. It is a real dream world, with no erring in the subtle changes from true to false proportion, fright to laughter, that distinguish dreams from reality. Tom Sawyer's Island in Frontierland is life-size, its Red Indians threatening, its log fort

genuine, a perfect set for a western film.

This ability to present things, not as they really exist, but as they are seen so vividly in the imagination, is Walt Disney's genius.

The effects he uses to create these illusions are generally the result of painstaking design, building and reconstruction.

It is not because the buildings on the Square and along Main Street are exact replicas that they catch and hold visitors in a suspended remembrance of the past. It is the exactly calculated distortion of reality that lends life to the structures. While the ground floors of all buildings are actual size, the upper stories grow gradually smaller until the whole edifice is only two-thirds the size of its actual counterpart, receding into unreality upwards, at the fringes, like a dream.

But even children do not always succumb to the Disney magic.

A nine-year-old who spent four joy-filled days at Disneyland last summer was not frightened when a pair of hippopotami snapped their menacing jaws at each other. "They both opened their mouths at the same time," she reports, "and their jaws were just the same size."

The elephants, the hippos, birds, crocodiles-even some of the Red Indians-are all plastic creatures and operated electronically to simulate the living. They are all made in the Disneyland workshops and require meticulous maintenance. The mermaids who swim around the sunken pirate galleon seen during the submarine ride have been CONTINUED

Jungle Cruise, one of the most popular attractions in Disneyland, features boat trip through exotic rivers of the world (above, left).

Passengers are "greeted" by crocodiles (above, right), rhinos (below), bellowing and bathing elephants, African tribesmen-all mechanical.

The colourful Disneyland band parades smartly down Main Street U.S.A. twice each day, playing everything from Dixieland to romantic ballads.

Jawaharlal Nehru and Mrs. Indira Gandhi were greeted by Walt Disney durinK their 1961 visit to Disneyland which was part of official tour.

A group of children glide past Pinnochio's Village; nearby is Toad Hall and Cinderella's Castle. Vegetation is real dwarf trees, shrubs andflowers.

Mark Twain, a stern wheel paddle steamer, plies waters of Frontier/and taking visitors on a nostalgic cruise through America's exciting past.

Last year the park earned $27,000,000 or a profit of 7.5 per cent of the gross after taxes were paid. coloured in a special paint; two machinists spend three hours each morning skin diving to keep the tracks of the submarine in order.

Costumes receive the same careful attention. Some are cleaned daily, all at least once a week. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Donald Duck, Mickey Mouse and Goofy wander casually around the grounds to the great pleasure of their young fans. The storybook characters are played by Disneyland staffers, dressed in appropriate costumes.

Disneyland has 2,000 permanent employees and hires an additional 2,000 every summer-many of them college students-to cope with the summer rush which often brings 50,000 visitors a day (from April to October the park is open from 9 a.m. to midnight). These employees are "cast" rather than hired for their "roles" as friendly, enthusiastic "hosts" and "hostesses" to all Disneyland guests. Disney is firm about preserving the "family image" of the park, and to this end no alcoholic beverages are served on the grounds.

And it is for maintenance of the family image that Disney gives so much attention to cleanliness in the park. It has been estimated that no cigarette butt lies on Disneyland ground longer than twenty-five seconds, and 206 janitors sweep up 310 cubic yards of rubbish every day. Squads of painters and polishers work through the night to keep everything, including the targets in the shooting galleries, spic and span.

But huge crowds and long lines could create frustrations and

boredom among the guests as they stand in queue for the submarine ride or the Matterhorn's bobsleds. To keep everyone entertained all the time, Disney relies on mobile musicians who give impromptu performances wherever a crowd or queue has formed. A jazz ensemble. costumed in old fashioned police uniforms, plays popular tunes, and a quartet of singers pedals around on a cycle-built-for-four, stopping frequently to render nostalgic songs. Every night Tinker Bell, Peter Pan's good fairy-in real life a seventy¡two-year-old aerialist named Tiny Kline-sweeps from the Matterhorn to Sleeping Beauty's castle to set off a thirty-minute display of spectacular fireworks.

It is all part of the Disney magic, but to many businessmen the magical part of Disneyland is the amount of money it makes.

Last year it earned more than $27 million, but when Walt Disney tried to sell the idea to financiers in the early 'fifties, he found so few backers that he had to borrow on his own life insurance to make up the required $17 million investment. Since then, an additional $33 million has been spent on additions and improvements, "but for all its heavy outlay of capital, Disneyland earns nearly eight per cent profit after taxes.

Imagination and money are the two major ingredients of Disneyland's success in the business world, but to visitors, Disneyland is Cinderella's world where the Good Fairy's wand is waved for them as well. END

Small girl rides King Arthur and his Knight's Carousel, a large, gaily coloured round-about.

Pretty salted snacks vendor in appropriate costume greets visitors to an inn of old Mexico.

Wigwams line the shores of Frontier/and's lake and Red Indian braves wave greetings.

Visitors paddling 'Red Indian war canoe' pass flaming remains of settler's cabin.

Davy Crocket, wearing coon skin cap, and companion George Russell, report to General Andrew Jackson for orders in artfully reconstructed scene of early America.

DR. SPOCK TACKI,.ES A PROBLEM OF POSTURE ·AND COORDINATION