I met him in the Blue Room of the TransoceanicLiner Harding the night of Mars Day—June 10, 1967. Ihad been wandering about the city for several hours prior tothe sailing of the flier watching the celebration, dropping inat various places that I might see as much as possible ofscenes that doubtless will never again be paralleled—aworld gone mad with joy. There was only one vacant chairin the Blue Room and that at a small table at which hewas already seated alone. I asked his permission and hegraciously invited me to join him, rising as he did so, hisface lighting with a smile that compelled my liking fromthe first.

I had thought that Victory Day, which we had celebratedtwo months before, could never be eclipsed in point of madnational enthusiasm, but the announcement that had beenmade this day appeared to have had even a greater effectupon the minds and imaginations of the people.

The more than half-century of war that had continued almostuninterruptedly since 1914 had at last terminated in theabsolute domination of the Anglo-Saxon race over all theother races of the World, and practically for the first timesince the activities of the human race were preserved forposterity in any enduring form no civilized, or even semicivilized,nation maintained a battle line upon any portion ofthe globe. War was at an end—definitely and forever. Armsand ammunition were being dumped into the five oceans; thevast armadas of the air were being scrapped or convertedinto carriers for purposes of peace and commerce.

The peoples of all nations had celebrated—victors andvanquished alike—for they were tired of war. At least theythought that they were tired of war; but were they? Whatelse did they know? Only the oldest of men could recall evena semblance of world peace, the others knew nothing butwar. Men had been born and lived their lives and died withtheir grandchildren clustered about them—all with thealarms of war ringing constantly in their ears. Perchancethe little area of their activities was never actually encroachedupon by the iron-shod hoof of battle; but always somewherewar endured, now receding like the salt tide only to returnagain; until there arose that great tidal wave of human emotionin 1959 th

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