Unhappy Birthday

As a birthday party, it could have passed as a wake. Russia's Nikolai Fedorenko slouched in his chair, appearing, if possible, more morose than usual. Britain's Lord Caradon glumly stroked his chin. In the Secretary-General's chair, U Thant looked about as happy as an undertaker. Outside San Francisco's Opera House, where 1,000,000 persons had massed in the streets to cheer the birth of the United Nations 20 years ago, fewer than 2,000 were now gathered; inside were row upon row of empty seats. Adding to the gloominess of it all, the principal guest --President Lyndon Johnson--was notably subdued.

Such was the 20th anniversary celebration in San Francisco last week of the founding of the United Nations. Born in euphoric hope when delegates from 51 nations met in the Bay City in the closing days of World War II, the U.N. today is divided by a series of internal problems ranging from its deadlock over assessments to its inability to raise a permanent peace-keeping force.

Breakfast with Harry. All week Johnson kept the world body on tenterhooks as to whether he would or would not be there. First he spread the word that he would not go unless he had something new and important to say. Then, even while confiding that his speech would not live up to that standard, he agreed to attend anyway. Then, at the last minute, he decided to arrive a day earlier than scheduled, throwing the celebration program into considerable confusion. Adding to the less than festive atmosphere was a blast by U.S. Republicans on the eve of Johnson's departure, accusing him of having backed down in the U.S. fight to force Russia and other delinquent nations to ante up their assessments for U.N. peace-keeping operations. Everett Dirksen charged that the Administration's earlier vow had been "exposed as a bluff"; the backdown, he said, was a "staggering blow to the structure of the United Nations."

On the way west, Johnson stopped off to visit an old friend in Kansas City --Harry S. Truman, who occupied the White House when the U.N. was formed. For an hour, the 33rd and 36th Presidents of the U.S. talked over a breakfast table about the business of being President, and exchanged compliments. "In my historical memory, no President has made such an impression in the early part of his Administration as you have," said Truman. "We are deeply in debt to Mr. Truman for his vision," said Johnson. "And this is not a mutual admiration society," said Truman. "It's a statement of fact."

Despite that warm interlude, Johnson appeared stiff and serious when he mounted the stage of the Opera House. Beginning on a note of polite hope, he declared that, "Where historically man has moved fitfully from war toward war, in these last two decades man has moved steadily away from war. More than 50 times in these 20 years, the United Nations has acted to keep the peace." He called for an "international war on poverty" and an "alliance for man," made a pitch for world birth control. Said Johnson: "Let us act on the fact that less than $5 invested in population control is worth $100 invested in economic growth."

In a near monotone, he continued: "As far back as we can look--until the light of history fades into the dusk of legend--such aspirations of man have been submerged and swallowed by the violence and the weakness of man at his worst. Generations have tried and failed. Will we succeed? I do not know, but I dare to be hopeful and confident."

Call for Help. Only once did the President seem really to breathe fire; that was when he talked about a subject on which the U.S. has received notably little help from the U.N.--Viet Nam. His voice raised, his face set, he declared: "I now call upon this gathering of the nations of the world to use all their influence, individually and collectively, to bring to the table those who seem determined to make war." Turning and looking at U Thant, Johnson added pointedly: "We will support your efforts, as we will support effective action by any agent or agency of these United Nations."

The speech drew little applause, and the clapping was more perfunctory than passionate.

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