Journey to Stuttgart

The dead dictator's luxurious train rolled from Berlin across the old, beaten land. In Hitler's bed slept James F. Byrnes, of Charleston, S.C. His advisor, Benjamin V. Cohen of Muncie, Ind., slept in Goering's bed, restlessly. The train rolled into Stuttgart's bomb-wrecked station and Byrnes got off to ride behind an escort of screeching U.S. Army jeeps to the Staatstheater. There, watched by U.S. generals and diplomats, German functionaries and civilians, Russian and other newspapermen, Byrnes delivered the speech which Europe and Asia recognized as America's boldest move yet towards leadership of the world.

Tired looking and jaunty as ever, he read in a slow, clear voice which even Germans with an imperfect command of his tongue could understand. Despite the language of diplomacy, Russians would also understand.

The U.S. had moved from the Paris Peace Conference, its stale yammering, its endless skirmishes around the periphery of political war, into Germany. Byrnes's journey to Stuttgart was a move into the heartland. Germany, in the end, would be the great strategic battlefield. There the U.S. now stood, inviting Germans to stand on Western democracy's side.

No Withdrawal. Byrnes offered Germans a chance to reform a nation, an opportunity denied them--"for the time being"--by the Potsdam agreement of 1945. But now the time had come: Germans should be given "under proper safeguards . . . primary responsibility for the running of their own affairs."

He outlined the technique of forming a democratic state. First step: a provisional government should draft a federal constitution under the eyes of the Allied Control Council. He promised again: German industry would be restored. (Buried forever was the Morgenthau plan to reduce Germany to pastoral impotency.) War industries would be removed and eliminated, but Germany would be allowed to maintain "average European living standards."

Along with these proposed changes in the German economy went specific proposals for territorial changes. Koenigsberg and adjacent areas must go to Russia, as already agreed. Silesia and other eastern German regions, however, would not necessarily go to the Soviet-dominated government of the Poles, although now administered by Poland. The Saar would go to France. The Ruhr and the Rhineland, however, would remain German.

And until these terms were carried out--essentially the terms laid down at Potsdam--until the U.S. was satisfied that Germany had become a responsible democracy, the U.S. would remain, with its military power.

That was the nub of Jimmy Byrnes's speech, and he said it so that no one could misunderstand: "We intend to continue our interest in the affairs of Europe and of the world. ... I want no misunderstanding. We will not shirk our duty. We are not withdrawing. As long as an occupation force is required in Germany the Army of the United States will be a part of that occupation force."

He sat down amidst mild applause.

The Major Role. In the capitals of Europe--except London, which wholeheartedly approved--there was not even mild applause. French factions of the left and right, with Frenchmen's historical yearning for the Ruhr and the Rhineland and Frenchmen's historical fear of Germany, attacked Byrnes bitterly. Poles, who have taken for granted their permanent possession of Silesia, paraded before the Warsaw residence of U.S. Ambassador Arthur Bliss Lane, shouting, "Down with the defenders of Germany."

Russia, for the moment, was silent. Two months ago Molotov had made virtually the same proposals. Russia's bid for German friendship had been the opening gambit in the new game. Russia would appreciate Byrnes's countering move. Moscow newspapers printed a 200-word report of his speech, which had taken 4,800 words.

For Americans, who could read every word, it was a mark in history. Only a century and a half had passed since Washington had asked what was then a rhetorical question: "Why . . . entangle our peace and prosperity in the toils of European ambition, rivalship, interest, humor or caprice?" At Potsdam the U.S. had accepted without reservation a supporting role in all the toils of Europe. Now, after months of disappointments, disillusionments, diplomatic setbacks and frustrations, Byrnes was determined that the U.S. should fight it out on Russia's chosen ground, alone if necessary. Europe's toils were now the world's, and the role of the U.S. was no longer merely supporting. It was a major role.

Could Byrnes be sure that his countrymen stood behind him in his offerings and denials, and his challenge?

With him on his journey to Stuttgart were Tom Connally and Arthur Vandenberg, the Senate's Democratic and Republican leaders in foreign affairs. Reporters met and questioned them. What did they think of Byrnes's speech? Said Vandenberg laconically: "Silence means approval."

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