The Lost Weekend

Out of the shrubbery and secrecy of the Dumbarton Oaks Conference, several propositions emerged clearly last week. For despite heavy secrecy, the leaks to the press continued.

From the trickles of information, ob servers could see that the real problem at Dumbarton Oaks is a question that only the U.S. people can answer for themselves. This question, always fundamental in the American dilemma over foreign policy: Are Americans now prepared to commit the U.S. to use force at the orders of an international agency without waiting for a specific declaration of war by Congress?

An American Plan has been presented at the Oaks Conference, but not officially made public, although details of the Great Blueprint are known (TIME, June 12). The Plan: the U.S. would place military forces at the disposal of a central international council. The U.S. member of that council could veto any proposal to use the U.S. military forces against an aggressor nation. But on the other hand--always presuming that the Senate ratifies the treaty--the U.S. council member could approve the use of U.S. land, sea and air forces under the direction of the council.

If the U.S. President, or his appointee, is the U.S. council member, this would mean, in effect, that the President could do something which is now unconstitutional--make war without asking Congress.

Since the Dumbarton Oaks Conference cannot now guarantee that the U.S. people and its Congress will approve such a major change in U.S. tradition--even in the interests of international security--the present conference can do no more than hash over the details, make suggestions.

Headway. But the Great Blueprint seemed to be making some headway, particularly since all three of the conferring nations have agreed that "participation is not enough"--that the world's peace must be guaranteed by the joint use of military force. How to make that guarantee effective by the use of U.S. military forces, without really impairing U.S. sovereignty? That was the problem that still faced the conference at week's end.

"Alec" and "Andrei." Hearty, handsome Under Secretary of State Edward R. Stettinius grappled with such matters all week. As host to the 39 diplomats (ten Russians, eleven Britons, 18 Americans), he felt the impulse to introduce a little fun-&-games into the delegates' off-hours.

Big Ed (known as "Junior" in Washington) had been much struck with the President's breezily informal address to the conferees, in which Mr. Roosevelt cheerfully pointed out that getting along was all a matter of getting together and of liking each other. The very next day Ed Stettinius began heartily backslapping the British and Russians, and would call loudly, "Alec!" and "Andrei!" to the British chief, Sir Alexander Cadogan, and the Russian chief, Andrei Gromyko. Sir Alexander, 59, an urbane, reserved British Foreign Office specialist, winced slightly; Ambassador Gromyko gave a scarcely perceptible shrug. But both bore up bravely under this American jollity, and by week's end even seemed to be used to it.

Dragon Seed. Then big Ed had an inspiration: why not take the whole kit-&-kaboodle to New York for a typical American businessman's weekend in Manhattan? This proposal was received with mixed feelings. (Said the State Department's Leo Pasvolsky, "It is too frivolous!") But many delegates were keen to go, and pretty soon Host Stettinius had most of them aboard a plane, off for the big city. Naturally the secrecy was intensified--perhaps no Russian wanted Joseph Stalin to hear too many lush details of bouncing about in night clubs.

But the New York Herald Tribune pounced on the story, and soon the press had found the delegates--first on the ninth and tenth floors of the Waldorf-Astoria, then at Radio City Music Hall (the Rockettes and Katharine Hepburn in Dragon Seed), and finally, at Billy Rose's Diamond Horseshoe, where the world planners took ringside seats for the midnight floor show.

Next morning the news broke--and some of the delegates, literally groaning about the inquisitive freedom of the U.S. press, ate very light breakfasts. After that the motorcycle escorts and U.S. Army cars vanished; the delegates went about two-by-two in taxis, desperately dodging reporters. They managed to get in an excursion boat ride in New York harbor; some went to the theater. Sunday afternoon they flew back to Washington to face again the problems of the world's peace.

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