The Chicken & the Egg

Just as Soapman Charles Luckman's high-powered voluntary save-food campaign was all fueled up and ready to go, Secretary of Agriculture Clint Anderson clomped a heavy foot on the brake. At a press conference in Chicago, tactless Clint Anderson casually dismissed meatless Tuesdays and eggless Thursdays as just "symbols of sacrifice." They were not intended "primarily to save food themselves," he said, but "to get the public in the frame of mind to conserve food." It was "like going to church on Sunday. . . . It's a reminder."

Next day, President Harry Truman did his best to undo the damage.* Breaking the rule against direct quotation during White House conferences, he said: "Meatless and eggless days are for the purpose of saving grain. . . . When you save meat and poultry products you save grain, and grain is what is necessary to meet the hunger situation in Europe."

Clint Anderson had been guilty of bad team-play; he had also poured cold water on the generous impulse of many a U.S. citizen. Nevertheless, there was a solid nut of truth in what he had said. Trying to save grain by starting with the consumer was like trying to lower prices through such retail price-cutting schemes as the ill-fated Newburyport plan (TIME, May 5). The only sensible place to start saving grain was where it came from--on the nation's farms.

Streams & Bales. The whole Administration plan was beginning to get as complicated as the riddle of the chicken and the egg. If saving eggs meant that the farmers would save grain by cutting back their flocks, who would eat the additional poultry they sent to market? If distillers and brewers cut down, what would happen to their unemployed workers? Unlucky Chuck Luckman himself pointed up another question. Turning up in Cambridge for a Chamber of Commerce dinner on meatless Tuesday, he sat down to a heaping plate of fried chicken (see cut). But what was the gain in simply swapping chicken saved on Thursday for meat saved on Tuesday?

Chuck Luckman nevertheless stuck to his guns. Out of his volunteer headquarters, which had spread down one side of an entire corridor in the old State Department building, his aides pumped out a steady stream of suggestions, advice, recipes, and bales of statistics (one slice of bread saved per person each day means seven million 1-lb. loaves a day for Europe). He flatly turned down any idea of legal controls.

"Food Is Life." Luckman made a few specific gains. On his assurance that no grain shipped abroad would be used to produce alcohol, 36 out of the nation's 39 major distillers (with 90% of the nation's capacity) agreed to halt operations for 60 days and release all grain on hand or on order. Estimated savings: ten to 20 million bushels of grain. The nation's bakers announced that they would save up to 7% on their bread by refusing to take back stale leftovers from retailers. The National Grange, the American Farm Bureau Federation and the National Council of Farm Cooperatives produced a five-point program to save grain by feeding less, eliminating waste and marketing lighter stock.

By this week, Chuck Luckman had his ammunition ready for an all-out selling campaign across the country. In a telegram to 1,000 mayors in cities over 10,000, he urged the formation of local save-food committees. The Red Cross was lined up to distribute window banners ("Food Is Life --Save It"), kitchen reminders ("Make One out of Seven Leftover Day"), special menus, colored posters. Ads for newspapers, billboards and radio spots were all prepared. If there was anyone who did not learn about the plan in a hurry, it would not be Chuck Luckman's fault.

* So did red-faced Clint Anderson. Claiming that he had been quoted out of context, he explained that he had been talking about going to church on Sunday "and then raising hell all week."

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