Limits

THE WAR Goodbye, Viet Nam

THE last images of the war: U.S. Marines with rifle butts pounding the fingers of Vietnamese who tried to claw their way into the embassy compound to escape from their homeland. An apocalyptic carnival air--some looters wildly driving abandoned embassy cars around the city until they ran out of gas; others ransacking Saigon's Newport PX, that transplanted dream of American suburbia, with one woman bearing off two cases of maraschino cherries, another a case of Wrigley's Spearmint gum. Out in the South China Sea, millions of dollars worth of helicopters tossed overboard from U.S. rescue ships to make room for later-arriving choppers. For many Americans, it was like a death--long been expected but shocking when it finally happened.

There was something surrealist in the swiftness of the last catastrophe--a drama made doubly bitter by the fact that most Americans had made their emotional peace with Viet Nam. The P.O.W.s had come home, the last soldiers had withdrawn. The nation turned, not happily, to other preoccupations--to Watergate and to coping with recession and inflation. But since Viet Nam had deceived Americans so many times before, it was perhaps fitting that it should be the only war they would have to lose twice.

May 12, 1975

THE NATION

The Violence in Miami

Some scenes reverberated in the memories of those who had been attacked. White motorists could only jam down their accelerators, duck their heads and try to speed away from the fusillade of bricks, bottles and bullets. "There's one, that's a white one!" a black screamed as a yellow Toyota passed an intersection. The driver spun his wheels frantically in an oil slick before escaping the approaching mob. Recalled white Motorist Jim Davis: "The police had put up a roadblock. I couldn't get around it. I went into a U-turn, but my car stalled and they came running at me. I heard them scream, 'Honky!' I got the car into gear and knocked them out of the way. I heard gunfire. I saw a police officer and I screamed, 'What should I do?' He said, 'I've been shot at all night. Do what you have to to get out.'"

Witnessed Miami Herald Reporter Earni Young: "A late-model green car--I think it might have been a Chevrolet Impala--deliberately drove over one of the bodies. I think I saw it rip the man's arm off. The crowd cheered and yelled."

June 2, 1980

Three Mile Island

In the dead of the night, the hulks of four 372-ft. cooling towers and two high-domed nuclear reactor container buildings were scarcely discernible above the gentle waters of the Susquehanna River. Inside the brightly lit control room of Metropolitan Edison's Unit 2, technicians on the lobster shift one night last week faced a tranquil, even boring watch. Suddenly, at 4 a.m., alarm lights blinked red on their instrument panels. A siren whooped a warning. In the understated jargon of the nuclear power industry, an "event" had occurred. In plain English, it was the beginning of the worst accident in the history of U.S. nuclear power production, and of a long, often confused nightmare that threw the future of the nuclear industry into question.

At week's end officials insisted that the danger of a meltdown was receding. Nevertheless, suspense as to the eventual outcome buttressed the claims of nuclear power's foes that all the wondrous fail-safe gadgets of modern technology had turned out to be just as fallible as the men who had designed and built them. Declared Nuclear Power Critic Ralph Nader: "This is the beginning of the end of nuclear power in this country."

April 9, 1979

Desert Debacle

Two lines of blue lights etched the outlines of the remote landing strip. Suddenly flames illuminated the night sky, then gradually flickered out. On the powdery sands of Dasht-e-Kavir, Iran's Great Salt Desert, lay the burned-out hulk of a lumbering U.S. Air Force C-130 Hercules aircraft. Nearby rested the scorched skeleton of a U.S. Navy RH-53 Sea Stallion helicopter. And in the wreckage were the burned bodies of eight American military air crewmen.

The fire and the fury dramatized the dimensions of a new American tragedy--the inability of the U.S. to extricate 53 American hostages held by Iranian militants. In a startlingly bold but tragic gamble, President Jimmy Carter had ordered a courageous, specially trained team of American military commandos to try to pluck the hostages out of the heavily guarded U.S. embassy in Tehran. The supersecret operation failed dismally.

May 5, 1980

THE ARTS

MUSIC Death of the King

He inspired scores of imitators, sold millions of records. He got drafted into the Army, served a tour of duty in Germany, sold millions of records. He went to Hollywood, appeared in 33 movies, sold millions of records, lived a gaudy life so high and wide that it seemed like a parody of an American success story. And he kept selling records, well over 500 million in all. The music got slicker and often sillier, turned from rock toward rhinestone country and spangled gospel. Only the pace remained the same. Elvis Aron Presley always lived fast, and last week at the age of 42, that was the way he died.

He was found lying on the bathroom floor, dead of "cardiac arrythmia"--a severely irregular heartbeat--brought about by "undetermined causes." Doctors said there was "no evidence of any illegal drug use" although a new book co-authored by three former Presley bodyguards maintains that "E" consumed uppers, downers and a variety of narcotic cough medicines, all obtained by prescription. He also was wrestling halfheartedly with a fearful weight problem and was suffering from a variety of other ailments like hypertension, eye trouble and a twisted colon.

Aug. 29, 1977

SHOW BUSINESS Fever

Check it out! Man walks down that street so fine. Strides easy. Long, looking right. Left then. Then ahead, then left...snap!...again, follows that little sister in the tight pants a ways, then back on the beam. Arms arc. Could be some old trainman, swinging an imaginary lantern in the night. Smiling. Stepping so smart. Rolls, almost. Swings his butt like he's shifting gears in a swivel chair. Weight stays, sways, in his hips. Shoulders, straight, shift with the strut. High and light. Street's all his, past doubt. And more, if he wants. Could be he might step off that concrete. Just start flying away. It's all there, in the walk that John Travolta takes through the opening credits of Saturday Night Fever.

April 3, 1978

LIVING Hotpots of the Urban Night

The new discos are strobe light-years removed from the borax boites of the '60s--most of which died a well-deserved death. In place of the tacky, bare-wall closets wired for din, push and crush, the best new places project sensuality, exclusivity and luxury. And they are booming: there are some 15,000 discos in the U.S. today, v. 3,000 only two years ago. Many of the night places are for members only, with fees and dues ranging as high as $1,000 a year. Many have good restaurants and pool, pinball and backgammon rooms. In many, the furnishings can best be described as haut kitsch: kaleidoscopic lighting, silver vinyl banquettes, tented nooks, twinkly Italian lights, jungles of synthetic plants, Plexiglas floors. Not a few, however, are decorated in notably good taste; and some seem to have been designed by the people who went on to make Star Wars.

June 27, 1977

RELIGION

A New Pope

Suddenly, after the puzzling signals began to billow [from the Sistine Chapel chimney], the Vatican's ranking Cardinal-deacon in the Sacred College, appeared at the Window of the Benediction in St. Peter's Basilica. His Latin words boomed out over loudspeakers: "Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum. Habemus Papam!" (I announce to you a great joy. We have a Pope!) "He is the Most Eminent and Most Reverend Lord Cardinal Albino Luciani, who has taken the name of John Paul the First."

Sept. 4, 1978

Brief Reigns

Thirteen Popes did not serve even as long as John Paul. The shortest reign was that of Stephen. Elected Pope in 752, he died three days later, before consecration.

Oct. 9, 1978

Another New Pope

Savoring the suspense, Felici drew out the syllables of the name. "Ca-ro-lum..." Some priests gasped. They thought he meant Carlo Confalonieri, 85-year-old dean of the College of Cardinals. "They've gone crazy!" cried one of the priests.

Enjoying himself, Felici went on "...Cardinalem Woj-ty-la." The crowd froze. "Chi e?"--Who's he?--Italians asked one another. Possibly an African!? Japanese tourists thought it might be a countryman. An Italian TV announcer uncertainly said, "Polacco" (the Pole), and many viewers thought he had said "Poletti," the name of Rome's vicar general.

Oct. 30, 1978