Last Respects for Chairman Mao

Only six American journalists, among them TIME Diplomatic Editor Jerrold Schecter, witnessed the official mourning for Mao Tse-tung. Schecter, who was accompanying former Defense Secretary James Schlesinger on his trip to China, last week filed this report on the scene at the Great Hall of the People, where Mao's body lay in state:

An honor guard of workers, peasants and students stood at attention along our route from the Peking Hotel to the Great Hall. The broad T'ien An Men Square, where Mao had once reviewed well-drilled throngs, was empty of traffic except for a line of diplomatic cars. Dominating the scene were two giant black-and-gold-draped portraits of the Chairman. Chinese mourners, forming a silent wave of gray and blue, slowly climbed the broad steps leading into the Great Hall, moving from the bright afternoon sunlight beneath the twelve massive concrete columns and the army guard at the black-bordered entrance.

A step at a time, we too moved up toward the hall, along with some of the other foreign diplomats and guests who had come to pay their last respects to Chairman Mao. All the world was there. Ahead of us were African women in colorful batik skirts; behind, a group of Peruvians. There were grim North Koreans, many in military uniforms, Rumanians, Yugoslavs and thin-faced Albanians, as well as wiry Vietnamese and diminutive Cambodians; all had black armbands and were dressed in their formal best--in bald contrast to the Chinese, who wore their ordinary jackets and pants of baggy cotton.

Inside the doorway, we stopped to sign the rice-paper pages of the funeral book. The atmosphere was somber, almost religious. An atonal Chinese funeral dirge seemed to intensify the silence of the mourners and the tomblike coolness of the air-conditioned hall. The chamber was filled with row upon row of white mourning wreaths. At the end of a red carpet 50 yards ahead of us stood Mao's funeral bier, a glass-topped coffin planted in a bed of bright green grasses, layered with formal yellow chrysanthemums and red hibiscuses in full bloom. Dominating that end of the hall, above rows of pine and cypress, was a giant portrait of the Chairman. A white-lettered streamer read, "We mourn with deepest grief the great leader and teacher, Chairman Mao Tse-tung."

Heading the receiving line was First Vice Chairman and Premier Hua Kuo-feng. His face was drawn and racked with grief. He looked older than when I had seen him up close during the visit of former President Nixon last February. Hua then appeared to be imperturbable and placid. Despite the anguish on his face, Hua's gestures were certain and he shook hands firmly. Yet the immensity of the challenge he faces was etched into his features, lines of tension and shock betraying deep emotion and pain.

Next to Hua was the handsome, enigmatic No. 2 man in the Politburo, Wang Hung-wen, wearing a uniform that signified his place on the party's military affairs commission. Wang's youth--he is only about 40--made him seem almost out of place among the nine other, much older leaders in the line. His brown eyes are bright and hard, radiating the charisma of a leader; he moves with flowing, athletic grace and there is the feel of fine steel and energy in his handshake. He seems ready, even eager for the challenges and testing of power.

Third in the line was Chang Ch'un-ch'iao, about 65, Vice Premier of the state council, political commissar of the People's Liberation Army and the man said to be acting secretary-general of the Communist Party. There is quickness and intelligence in his eyes and a darting intensity that suggests a gift for calculation. Chang has a reputation among Westerners he has met for being opinionated and untactful while displaying an intellectually sharp cutting edge.

Beyond the receiving line was the bier. A red party flag was draped over the Chairman's familiar gray tunic. His face looked old, but also unwrinkled and at rest. Unlike at Chou En-lai's funeral last January, when only an urn containing the late Premier's ashes was displayed, the Chairman's body has been brought before the Chinese people for a final heroic display. Many believed that, like Lenin, Mao would be embalmed and enshrined in a special mausoleum. As they would before an emperor of old --or a father--the Chinese wept and bowed before Chairman Mao in reverence, showing a shattering sense of loss.

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