Persecution of the Rich

Winthrop Rockefeller, 28, grandson of the late John D., is big (6 ft. 2 in.), husky (215 lb.), moonfaced, affable. Like many a less wealthy American, he started college (Yale), but did not finish. He worked as a roughneck in Texas oil fields, then got an office job with Socony-Vacuum Oil Co. In the draft lottery he drew an order number in the safe 6,000s. He liked his job all right, but, like many another young man of high & low degree, he volunteered.

At 6:55 one morning last week, young Rockefeller left his Manhattan penthouse apartment to be inducted into the Army. Reporters were waiting on the sidewalk. At local draft-board headquarters Rockefeller stepped into an ambush of reporters,* cameramen, newsreel photographers, radio newscasters. Flashlight bulbs and questions popped all around him: what had he done the night before (visited his parents), when had he gone to bed (midnight), when did he get up (5:45), when did he usually get up (8 or 8:30), how much money did he have with him ("just pocket change"), did he like beans (yes), would he mind wearing long Army underwear (no).

Not to be outdone, the draft-board chairman told newsmen he had "special confidence in Mr. Rockefeller's integrity and ability," named him to lead a contingent of 30 men on a subway ride to the induction centre. Rockefeller squirmed, carefully refrained from giving any orders. Photographers went with him in the subway, shot pictures during the ride. When he got out, three newsreel trucks were waiting to catch him lugging his suitcase for the remaining three blocks. Sweat began to drip from his face, wilted his collar, stained his necktie.

Through Rockefeller's physical examination and record taking at the induction centre, the reporters followed. Typists stared and giggled until an officer ordered them to get to work. When Private Rockefeller was sworn in, the newsreel cameras ground again. Blurted one draftee: "Why the hell don't they let the poor fellow alone?" But the newsmen stayed right with him --to the platform of the train on which he and 441 other privates rode off to camp.

Before the train pulled out, he dumped his bag in a seat, took a long drink of water, mopped his forehead. At Fort Dix reporters were waiting again. He posed for more pictures, answered more questions.

At 10:45 that night Private Rockefeller piled wearily into his bunk in a tent with five other soldiers. Having got through that needle's eye, he may well have reflected, the rest of the year's training would be, comparatively, heaven.

Last week other young U. S. citizens joined the Army by the thousand. Of those who were drafted, some were keen to go, some were reluctant.

> National Guardsman John Shea, 23, who had never been to a dentist in his life and showed it, was rejected by Army physicians in New York City. Dogged John Shea hotfooted it to a dentist's office, held his mouth open for ten and a half hours while the dentist drilled and filled. Out came three teeth; in went two bridges, four fillings, five crowns. Next day jaw-sore Patient Shea smiled a false-toothy smile for Army physicians, jumped happily on the train that took his outfit to camp.

> Up in Oklahoma City went the draft number of Ivan Barzella Heiderich, 33. Farmer Heiderich, who shuns barbers like boll weevils, showed up with golden curls down to his shoulders, full of worry that the Army would snip them off. His explanation: "When I was a little boy I had beautiful curls and my mother wouldn't cut them. . . . You might say it's got to be a hobby with me." The draft board decided that Mr. Heiderich was more useful as farmer than soldier, sent him home to grow more crops, more curls.

* From every Manhattan daily except the Daily Worker (Communist).

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