Durable Crocodile

The cast read like one of Frank Sullivan's Christmas paeans in The New Yorker. Many of the 80 guests' costumes--each supposed to represent some stage of the guest of honor's life --looked as if they had been assembled for an underground movie. Host Robert Kennedy greeted arrivals in an ankle-length ambassadorial cutaway. Actress Melina Mercouri, in black velvet pants, did her best to impersonate "a little boy"--and was never less convincing. Charles Addams disguised himself as a locomotive engineer. For reasons best known to herself, Eunice Kennedy Shriver was decked out as a bunny. West Virginia Democrat John D. Rockefeller IV came holding hands with Sharon Percy, daughter of Illinois' new Republican Senator-elect.

The party, held at Bobby's Hickory Hill estate outside Washington last week, was a felicitous tribute to Elder Statesman W. (for William) Averell Harriman, whose 75th birthday it was. In an era mesmerized by youth, Harriman--himself youthfully lean and in extraordinary physical fettle--is formidable proof of his own favorite formula for longevity: "Make a wise choice of your ancestors and maintain your enthusiasm." Indeed, Harriman today is engaged in possibly the most challenging assignment of his public career: that of finding peace in Viet Nam.

Search for Signals. Yale-educated heir to a railroad fortune and a lifelong Democrat, "Ave" Harriman headed the World War II mission that arranged lend-lease to Russia, helped draft the U.S. program for postwar aid to Europe. Though he lost out to Adlai Stevenson for the Democratic presidential nominations of 1952 and 1956--a disappointment that still pains him--he achieved a measure of political success by winning a four-year term as Governor of New York. Later he became one of the older faces in the New Frontier. As John Kennedy's Assistant Secretary of State for Far Eastern Affairs, he negotiated the 1962 Laos accord and the 1963 nuclear test ban treaty. For his quick, snapping assault on complex problems, Harriman is nicknamed "the Crocodile."

After Kennedy's assassination, Harriman's entree to the White House narrowed, and in February 1965 he was actually demoted from Under Secretary of State for Political Affairs to his present post as ambassador-at-large. Rank has borne little relation to responsibility. Harriman's new challenge began taking shape during the U.S. bombing pause in Viet Nam last Christmas, when the President dispatched him on a round-the-world mission to marshal support for peace negotiations. In August, L.B.J. formally charged Ave with coordinating U.S. peace efforts, which, in essence, means sleuthing down every possible lead that might represent the long-awaited signal from Ho Chi Minh.

Faith in Flexibility. In this capacity, Harriman last month carried out a grueling 26,000-mile trip to explain the goals of the Manila Conference. Never was his storied endurance so evident. In the course of one punishing 22-hour day, he breakfasted in New Delhi, lunched in Rawalpindi, took tea in Teheran, dined aloft over Greece, and sank into bed in Rome.

Harriman has his critics, chiefly those who feel that he is too ready to offer concessions to the Communists. For example, he energetically advocated the "national reconciliation" clause of the Manila communique binding Saigon to offer the Viet Cong a place in South Vietnamese society. He maintains, however, that his flexible approach has been amply vindicated. Says he: "The dangerous people in foreign policy are those with rigid ideas. If I've been right, it's on the general trend."

Though no more sanguine than anyone else over the prospects for a negotiated solution to the war in Viet Nam, the ambassador is convinced that the effort is justified. "Several things are running in our favor," he suggests. "As the President has said, everyone in the world wants to see this stop except Peking and Hanoi. World pressure may have some influence." As for himself, Harriman--who works a seven-day week--is prepared to remain in harness indefinitely. In his Foggy Bottom office last week, staffers saluted his birthday by giving him a table-size atlas, inscribed with a quotation from Alfred North Whitehead that aptly sums up Harriman's own vigorous grasp of life: "The vitality of thought is an adventure. Ideas won't keep. Something must be done about them."

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