Drowning, but Bravely

Trumpets pealing and trombones blaring, New York City's Department of Sanitation band oompahed into an ear-shattering rendition of the University of Minnesota's fight song--The Minnesota Rouser. On the speakers' platform, Secretary of Agriculture Orville Lothrop Freeman, 43, a Gopher alumnus (B.A. and LL.D.) and former Governor of Minnesota, perked an ear to the air, broke off his conversation with New York City's Mayor Robert Wagner, and hustled over to the band. "Thanks, boys," cried Freeman. "I haven't heard that in quite a while." Bandleader John Celebre, still brandishing his baton, turned to stare as Freeman left.

"Gee," he marveled, "a nice guy." In recent weeks, more and more people have come to admire Orville Freeman as a nice, hardworking, dedicated guy. Yet much of the increased respect for Freeman is like that given to a man who is drowning--bravely. As Agriculture Secretary, Freeman has the most miserable job in Washington: he must struggle with the scandalous U.S. farm program, which last year cost the taxpayers $6 billion. Freeman's feed-grain program did reduce the wheat stockpile by some 800 million bu.

in 1961--but at a cost of $768 million, about $250 million more than he had estimated. Also in 1961, Freeman boosted the support price on milk from $3.22 per 100 lbs. to $3.40--such an attractive price that dairy farmers unloaded upon the Government some 10.5 billion lbs. Total cost to the Government: $560 million. Last week Freeman admitted failure, cut the support price back to $3.11.

Brandishing Milk. This year Freeman is promoting a huge, brand-new farm program that promises (as have almost all recent farm programs) to save the taxpayers vast amounts of money. Enticing as this prospect is, Freeman's program would set up the strictest set of federal controls in U.S. agricultural history, making the farmer little more than a Government hireling. The Freeman program is almost certainly doomed to dilution at the hands of Congress. And it is a paradox that Orville Freeman is losing a policy war even while winning a personal battle.

Trying to muster national support for his farm program, Freeman has traveled some 35,000 miles in the past few weeks, appeared repeatedly on radio and TV, talked eagerly to any and all newsmen, made countless speeches--including three in one day last week in New York City, of all places. He has carefully cultivated Congressmen and housewives alike. Even Charles Shuman, president of the American Farm Bureau Federation, which claims to represent about 40% of the nation's farmers, warmly admires Freeman, although he is the Secretary's archfoe, wants looser controls for the farmer. Says Shuman: "Secretary Freeman is a very personable man and a very hard worker. He is an excellent salesman of his viewpoint.

I like him very much." Shuman also liked Ezra Taft Benson, Eisenhower's controversial Agriculture Secretary, once called him "a very conscientious man." Bull-Voiced Orator. Agriculture Secretary Freeman is the sort of fellow who lives what he preaches. Every couple of hours he pours himself a big snort of milk --to soothe his spastic colon and, incidentally, to dramatize the benefits of dairy products. When he gets tired, Freeman's speech begins to slur--the lingering effect of a facial wound he suffered as a Marine captain on Bougainville. Doctors doubted that he would ever talk again, but he developed into a bull-voiced orator.

Freeman realizes he has a tough row to hoe as Secretary of Agriculture, but he has no plans to back down from his bold programs. "I like to know where people stand and let 'em know where I stand." he says. "Pussyfooting around doesn't appeal to me." In recent weeks, Washington has been buzzing with rumors that if Freeman's grain program does not get through this year, he will be moved to another, less controversial Administration job. The White House flatly denies the gossip. Jack Kennedy likes Freeman as Secretary of Agriculture. "Besides," asks one White House aide, "who would you get to replace him?"

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