Last Laugh

Washington cocktail-bibbers set out for the four-story, grey stone Yugoslav embassy in delighted throngs one night last week to attend a party celebrating the sixth year of Tito's rule. It seemed certain to produce gossip. If Tito provided the sumptuous buffet usual at such affairs, the guests could not only eat well, but make ironic asides about the Yugoslav famine. If the table was bare, they could at least have the spartan pleasure of watching high U.S. officials--who had accepted in droves--struggling to be polite while hungry.

By 6:30 the sidewalk before the embassy was jammed. It stayed jammed for some time. Instead of hiring the usual caterer's flunkies to take care of coat-checking, the Yugoslavs had stationed embassy clerks and embassy children--many of whom spoke English imperfectly --to preside over this area of hospitality. Slightly alarmed, the hungry and thirsty pressed resolutely upstairs, had their hands vigorously pumped by hefty, dark-haired Ambassador Vladimir Popovich, and headed for what was indubitably a bar.

In the initial stages of the party it dispensed Scotch, but this ran out quickly, leaving Martinis, slivowitz (plum brandy) and orange juice. The flow of these potions, however, was reduced to a mere dribble: the amateur bartenders ran out of glasses. The guests wheeled hungrily toward the buffet. There was no trace of the usual turkeys, Virginia hams, salmon and pates which capital partygoers consider their legitimate reward--only fresh-cheeked girls circulating with trays of snippets of homemade sandwiches and tiny pastries.

Denied both food and the delights of sniping at the host, the gossip-hungry craned for a glance at a famous man enduring austerity. But except for a few Latin American and Asian diplomats and a scattering of military men, there was none to be seen--the star guests had all accepted invitations with alacrity (thus getting their names in the Washington society pages and serving notice that they thought Tito was on the right track), but had been unavoidably detained at the last minute.

The guests and gate crashers departed early and quietly, leaving the field to Ambassador Popovich--who had not only dramatized his country's difficulties, but had also, if he felt that way, gotten the last laugh on the capital's name-dropping and tale-telling set.

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