The Dance of the Gooney Birds

FOREIGN RELATIONS

When the Russians held up an American convoy en route to Berlin last month, a top U.S. State Department officer wrote it off as a misunderstanding by Soviet junior officers. But, he added worriedly, "had it turned out that it was part of a deliberate policy at the top--that they were going to push to its ultimate conclusion--then, of course, we would have a hell of a crisis on our hands."

Last week it became perfectly plain that the Soviet autobahn harassment was no mere junior officer's misunderstanding. The results, if not a hell of a crisis, were at least a touchy 41 hours and an argument that remains dangerously unresolved. As a Berlin-bound U.S. convoy rumbled into East Germany at 9 one morning, Russian officers at the Marienborn checkpoint refused to let it pass and threw up a blockade of armored personnel carriers and tractor-trailers. It was the fourth such incident in a month along the 110-mile autobahn, and, as Premier Khrushchev told a group of 21 U.S. executives visiting Moscow (see THE WORLD), it could have meant war. "It is a matter of a soldier being a soldier," he said. "If someone wants to break through, then it is in the natural course of things that force will be met by force."

Head Count. When the topic is Germany, the new, relatively friendly "spirit of Moscow" obviously does not apply. The cold war's thaw can turn into a freeze over trifling matters--in last week's case, a demand that the passengers on Berlin-bound allied convoys dismount from their vehicles to be counted by Russian soldiers.

The U.S. insists that the Russians have no right to control allied movement on the autobahn--except to verify that the troops going in and out of West Berlin are really allies. But over the years, to speed up the verification process, the allies have made minor concessions to the Russians.

Dismounting was one of them, and it was made almost inadvertently in the hurry to get a 1,500-man U.S. battle group to Berlin a week after the Wall went up in August 1961. At the Marienborn checkpoint, the Russians complained that they could not get an accurate count. With brass bands, massed crowds and Vice President Lyndon Johnson waiting impatiently in Berlin for the convoy to arrive, Colonel Glover S. Johns Jr. ordered his men to dismount to speed things up. Ever since, the Russians have frequently demanded that troops in large convoys get out of their vehicles to be counted.

Elaborately Wacky. After last month's blockades, the U.S. decided to avoid future "misunderstandings" over the dismounting business by putting all the rules on paper. And the rules, as one

U.S. official puts it, are as elaborately wacky as "the dance of the gooney birds on Wake Island."* Thirty passengers are considered a small convoy, and everybody stays put; more than 30, and everybody dismounts except drivers and assistant drivers, who are not counted. In no case may the Russians lower the tail gate of trucks or order the passengers to stand up. Reason: a test showed that even a 5-ft. shrimp could count heads by just looking into the back of a U.S. Army truck with its tail gate raised. Some British lorries have higher tail gates, so the British regularly lower them when the Russians insist.

Over such ritualistic williwaws did last week's impasse develop. Overriding British and French objections that it would be a mistake to codify the rules, the U.S. talked its allies into drawing up a memorandum that went to the Russians two weeks ago. For six days the Russians did not even acknowledge the memo. But when the U.S. sent a twelve-vehicle convoy across the East German border, Moscow gave its reply. As the convoy reached Marienborn, Lieut. Colonel Viktor Spiridonov ordered passengers to get out. Since there were only 20 passengers in the convoy (along with 24 drivers and assistant drivers), 1st Lieut. John C. Lamb, 25, refused.

At once, word of the blockade was flashed to U.S. headquarters in Berlin. U.S. Commander Major General James H. Polk, immediately fired off a message advising the Russians that "it is the allies who determine under what circumstances they will order troop passengers to dismount." Snapped Spiridonov: "It is the Soviets and not the allied authorities who determine convoy processing procedures."

Around the Curve. Following his contingency instructions, Lieut. Lamb waited until nearly midnight, then started the convoy rolling again. A quarter of a mile down the road, around a curve, a line of Soviet armored vehicles and sedans blocked his way.

As the G.I.s settled down for a long wait, setting up latrine screens off the road and eating hot meals brought in by MPs from nearby Helmstedt, Western statesmen weighed the implications of the blockade. After all, as Khrushchev remarked last week, "A soldier is not a foreign minister. He cannot enter into negotiations and he has to carry out his orders. That is the law for both our soldiers and yours." British and French officials agreed to stage a show of support for the U.S. by mounting convoys of their own to test the Russians. But the Russians waved the allied convoys past the checkpoints almost contemptuously. This quarrel was with the Yanks.

As the hours passed, Spiridonov urged Lamb to lower the tail gates, to have his men stand up in the trucks, to do anything that would even hint of a backdown. Lieut. Lamb refused. Finally, 41 hours after it began, the blockade was lifted. "We will clear you on your terms," said a Russian officer.

The Real Point. The Russians claimed victory; actually nobody really won. Though the Russians succeeded in demonstrating that they will not be happy until Khrushchev gets that Berlin bone out of his throat, the allies stood firm in the face of Soviet pressure. But they were also reminded that Moscow can heat up a crisis at any time over Berlin. "Sometimes," explained Dean Rusk at week's end, "these incidents look rather artificial. But that is not really the issue. The point is not whether a particular tail gate is lowered. The point is freedom of access to West Berlin."

* A breed of albatross, common to the central Pacific, the gooney bird goes through a stately dance during courtship rites, punctuating his performance with mournful groans and metallic clackings of his beak.

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