New President, Old Job

After the motorcade had passed, the sad-faced peons stood in little clumps for hours, looking like bunches of dry cactus blossom in their earthy blues, reds, yellows, talking of the parade of the Senor Henry Wallace. They said that he was of much sympathy, a plougher of ground like themselves, a gringo with the proper sort of gentle eyes. They put too much emphasis on his first name, for he spoke a kind of Spanish and they supposed that like Hispano-Mexicans he used both parents' names, Henry for his father, Wallace after his mother. The bolder among them spoke of having peeked into the automobiles, of having seen the strange weapon of the Senor Henry Wallace (his tennis racket).

Farther along the Pan-American Highway, where the foothills with their sharp banks crowd each other like a pack of the cruel little boars of the Mexican brush, the Senor Henry Wallace saw signs of the event for which he had made his first crossing of the Rio Grande. Painted on the rock cuts near Tamazunchale (an old Huasteca Indian name pronounced by gringos Thomas & Charlie) were huge letters: TODO MEXICO CON AVILA CAMACHO --All Mexico with Avila Camacho.

Beyond Tamazunchale the real climb into the Mexican sierras began, but the party was shut off from the incredible views by a blanket of mist. For a time Henry Wallace was a little carsick from the dizzy curves, and got out and walked until it passed off. Up on the plateau the peasants had decorated the bridges with stalks of corn to welcome him.

But in Mexico City there was another sort of welcome. Henry Wallace, Good Neighbor, got his first shock. As his party arrived at the U. S. Embassy there were more clumps of Mexicans chatting and laughing as they waited, but these were young intellectuals and fanatical women. Seeing them, the official Mexican chaperons had the good sense to hurry their distinguished guest into the Embassy by a side door before he was noticed. Members of the Embassy staff and newspapermen waited on the front steps. LIFE photographer Carl Mydans wandered into the crowd and snapped some pictures. The groups began mumbling a chant, which gradually grew to not "Viva Wallace," not "Viva Avila Camacho," but "Viva Almazan." This was a crowd of supporters of the defeated Presidential candidate, protesting U. S. recognition of Avila Camacho.

A group rushed Photographer Mydans. He stood his ground, snapped them, got cracked on the back of the neck.* Now the crowd realized it had been tricked out of seeing the U. S. Vice President-elect. In blind fury they charged the Embassy steps. A brawl ensued. A policeman by mistake slugged U. S. Naval Attache for Air Commander Wallace M. Dillon on the crown with a blackjack. A bemused Mexican singled out huge, tough U. S. Military Attache Lieut. Colonel Gordon H. McCoy to sock on the chin and was flattened by the colonel for his pains. There were indications that the riot was not altogether spontaneous. U. S. Intelligencers on the spot positively identified three of the leading Mexico City German agents circulating in the crowd. Almazan himself, who had just flown to Mexico City and renounced his claims to the Presidency, said later: "I have recommended to my friends that they refrain from acts of violence. My sincere friends have adhered to this recommendation."

This demonstration told much about Mexican politics. It was an indication of how a man's ismo, his following, can go far beyond his own will. Day after the riot, Hombre Libre ran on its front page an anti-British cartoon, on its last page an anti-U. S. cartoon, and between attacked alleged U. S. intervention in Mexican politics, imperialism and, significantly, Jewry. Communist, Nazi and Japanese agents had clearly seized on Almazanismo as a weapon against the U. S.

But the ismo which had the stage last week was that of President-elect Manuel Avila Camacho. Here the man had the ismo well in hand. As it unfolded during the week Henry Wallace recognized in it two things, great friendliness to the U. S. and a strong swing toward conservatism. Both those factors had the effect of causing the opposite extremes of Mexican politics to form together a new and formidable opposition.

Wallace to Maturity. There is nothing a Mexican likes quite so much as an official function. From the moment of his stormy first reception, Henry Wallace and other big gringos were taken from affair to splendid affair. At noon on Friday, special Ambassador Extraordinary & Plenipotentiary Wallace went with the diplomats of 30 other nations to the National Palace, which except for some Diego Rivera murals is about as expressive of a People's Revolution as Versailles. There they presented credentials to outgoing President Lazaro Cardenas. President Cardenas, whom most honest Mexicans consider the greatest liberal Mexico has ever had despite the foibles of his regime, seemed all week long to be musing sadly on the transience of liberalism.

Next there was a luncheon at the U. S. Embassy for Mr. Wallace and other true-blue liberals, like Sheridan Downey, Dave Dubinsky and Chip Robert, from north of the border. In the afternoon all the special envoys were presented with what the Mexican hosts called keys to the city--medals. On Saturday the guests were treated to a fiesta at the National Stadium, a sightseeing tour, a concert.

Through all this the most noticeable phenomenon was the growth in stature of Henry Wallace. From a shy, somewhat professorial man who would never stand up quite straight and who was a little timid with his bookish Spanish, he emerged into a mature gladhander, muy politico, who knew how to make a joke stretch into five minutes of good-looking grin, who could make Mexican jowls wobble with the vigor of his handshake.

Two nights before Avila Camacho's inauguration came a function which Camachismo particularly enjoyed. Government police and soldiers raided Communist headquarters in Avenida Brasil. In the inevitable gun fight, an Army major was killed and two Communists wounded. The police arrested 50, and took some interesting swag: rifles, machine guns, ammunition, bales of propaganda, and alleged evidence of a plot to assassinate Avila Camacho. The Communists used to support Cardenas. The Camachismo swing to conservatism was on in earnest.

Ribbon of Authority. On the morning of the inauguration, 20,000 soldiers, militia and police filed through Mexico City's streets to keep the peace. Peacefully members of Congress strolled into the bright bowl of the Chamber of Deputies, an hour early. The first distinguished foreigner to arrive was, it happened, an interesting symbol of the new regime: Patrick J. Hurley, onetime U. S. Secretary of War who, as attorney for Sinclair Oil interests, last May arranged a deal mutually beneficial to Mexico and Sinclair. Mr. Hurley later buttonholed Vicente Lombardo Toledano, the now eclipsed labor leader who engineered expropriation of foreign oil properties, promised: "I'm coming to see you before I leave Mexico."

The Chamber was packed when Henry Wallace made his way into the diplomats' gallery. The crowd rose and cheered as if he were their own. But the greatest applause, the day's most moving tribute, was for retiring President Lazaro Cardenas. By comparison, the reception for Manuel Avila Camacho was dull.

With no ado, Avila Camacho ascended the heavy gilt and mahogany rostrum, raised his arm over a battery of microphones, and swore the oath of office: ". . . And if I do these things, may my country reward me, and if I do not, may my country hold me responsible." Lazaro Caardenas pulled his tricolor ribbon of authority from under his waistcoat and handed it to Avila Camacho. Then the two men clasped each other in the simple Mexican abrazo--chest to chest, right hands around each other's back and thumping hard, cheeks apart.

Definition. If there had been any remaining question of the nature of Avila Camacho's regime, it was answered in his inaugural speech. On continental affairs he sounded like Franklin Roosevelt: ". . . Nothing divides us in this America of ours. Any differences that may exist between our peoples are overcome by a lofty desire to secure the permanence of a continental life of friendliness based on mutual respect and on the victory of reason over brute force, of peaceful cooperation over mechanized destruction. . . ."

On domestic issues Avila Camacho spoke in phrases which Wendell Willkie might have used:

"Every new epoch calls for the renewal of ideals. A popular clamor through the entire republic demands now material as well as spiritual consolidation of our social achievements into a prosperous and powerful national economy. The country wants a new era of reconstruction, of abundant life, of economic expansion. . . .

"Whenever [enterprises and investments] comply with our laws, every legitimate profit they make shall be respected. The companies willing to work with constant effort, and willing to risk the dangers any business may encounter, may count on guarantees from our institutions. . . .

"We count mainly on private initiative for development of our economic expansion. . . . One of the most important factors in this expansion shall be the credit which we must put at the reach of everyone and at a low cost. . . . All these things will increase the buying power of the farmer, stimulate the development of industries, and afford untold opportunities to consolidate our inheritance of justice, liberty and progress. . . .

"The Army represents the honor and manly virtues of the country. Compulsory military service will augment chances in life for the youth. The urgency of making our merchant and naval marines respectable units has made it necessary for us to create their respective departments into a State Ministry. With this we shall be able to respond better to the responsibility of maintaining intact the sovereignty of our nation. . . ."

Three minutes of ceremony had made Manuel Avila Camacho President at last --after many months of anxious battle. The story of how he came to the Presidency is one of the weirdest in all the fantastic history of Mexican politics. Avila Camacho, a conservative soldier, was imposed on the Mexican people by the Government of Lazaro Cardenas, a liberal idealist who picked Avila Camacho because he was his old War Minister and seemed to be the strongest man for the job. He was chosen last July 7 in an election which mocked democracy--in which both sides kept their opponents away from the ballots, in which electioneers used tear gas and brickbats and lead. So controversial was his right to claim the Presidency that the real campaigning did not begin until after the election. For a time it looked as if General Almazan would surely assert his right in the old-fashioned Mexican way, by revolt.

But gradually Avila Camacho caught hold. He did so by playing a master game of politics, left against right and middle against both. He alienated the Almazan capitalistic following by claiming Almazan's program for his own, and he neutralized the atheistic Government position on religion by declaring himself a believer. But he also caught hold by being the Mexican version of a good guy.

As is true of many Mexicans, the seat of Avila Camacho's attraction is his eyes. They are brown and full of comradely humor. His body is vaguely reminiscent of various ripe fruits--his face of a pear, his torso of a papaya. Last week the sophisticated began calling him El Buchudo, he of the double chin. Pudgy though he is, Avila Camacho keeps himself in good condition, mostly by riding and walking. A Mexican is nothing if he cannot make himself look like part of a horse. Avila Camacho's "highschool" horse Pavo (Peacock) went through his dance steps in the New York horse show last month, and the new President has made many gringo friends by way of his two-goal polo, which is sharpened to the verge of three-goal by clever, tricky play. His favorite polo pony is named Lady Hitchcock, after Poloist Tommy Hitchcock.

Mexicans cannot deeply love a politician who was not a soldier in some revolution. Avila Camacho is primarily an Army man and went off to his first revolution when he was 17, but he is a very special kind of soldier--so special that his enemies nicknamed him El Soldado Desconocido, the unknown soldier. His specialty was persuasion. Instead of meeting rebels in frontal conflict, he would take an airplane, fly straight to their camp, sit them down on a log and pacify them with sympathetic conversation and promises--which, surprisingly enough for a Mexican general, he kept.

But he is not just a hearty soldier. He collects Mexican art and fancies symphonic music. Though sociable he is not avidly social. He and his wife have friends to dinner most evenings, but directly dinner is over the friends are packed off home, and Avila Camacho goes to bed to study statecraft out of books.

One of his most attractive qualities--the one which appeals most to Mexicans --is his greatness as a family man. Avila Camacho has very little if any Indian blood, and among white Mexicans family means two things, mother and food. Manuel's late mother, Eufrosina, was a prodigious little woman. She was matriarch of the whole town of Teziutlan, and peasants for miles around took their troubles and sicknesses to Mama Camacho. She promoted the district's excellent school.

Avila food is famous in Mexico. The table is always garnished with nuts and pickles, and if guests drop in uninvited, a huge copper tray is quickly produced, burdened with half a dozen hot roast chickens. Next to the table, within reach of the eager, is a showcase with sliding plate-glass doors, its shelves always crammed with pies, Spanish coffee cake, bowls of apples baked in sirup, stewed peaches, fresh figs and pineapples.

After their heavy meals, Mexicans take a nap, but Avila Camacho had no siesta last week. Day & night the streets around his Mexico City house were jammed with cars for two blocks. Each morning there were close to 150 names on his waiting list--people waiting for positions, men with axes to grind and hates to vent. Through it all, Avila Camacho remained calm, and kept the pleased expression of a man with a fish on his line.

Compromise. Behind this happy front tangled the horns of forces that some day might grow bigger than Avila Camacho. Avila Camacho has surrounded himself with a coterie of military and political strong men. Most important among his brawn trusters are:

Suave, thick-set Emilio Fortes Gil (pronounced heel), who was Provisional President after the assassination of Alvaro Obregon in 1928 and who helped Cardenas into power only to be squeezed out by machinations of Labor Leader Vicente Lombardo Toledano and the Government's extreme left wing.

Fidel Velasquez, a comparatively conservative labor leader who is expected to succeed Lombardo as head of the principal labor organization, CTM.

Tough older brother Maximino Avila Camacho, boss of the important State of Puebla.

General Rodrigo Quevedo, another old-school warrior, boss of Chihuahua.

These are the machine bosses of Mexico, tough, realistic, ruthless politicians with no particular political bias, but with a great yen to build things, run things efficiently and just incidentally do a spot of getting. Also around Avila Camacho have gathered a group of brash young conservatives typified by Miguel Aleman, 36, Governor of Vera Cruz.

But Avila Camacho also realized last week that he would not be President were it not for the fact that Lazaro Cardenas had backed him, that the extreme left wing had put their machines behind him and their machine guns in front of him. So in last-minute dickering Avila Camacho agreed to form an interim Cabinet, with several holdovers from the Cardenas regime. It looked as if for the time there would be a government of compromise.

After that the Avila Camacho regime will have to buckle down to the very real job of trying to make its great sprawling country of 700,000 square miles of jungles and fields, mountains and deserts, and its 12,000,000 Mexicanos and 4,000,000 Indians function and make sense as a modern State. Nobody from the end of Colonial times through Cardenas had been able to turn the trick. Avila Camacho might be able to do it with his common sense, honesty, proved neighborliness and the good brown eyes.

*In the past year unlucky but durable Mr. Mydans has also been roughed up in France, Sweden and Italy.

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