For a United People

(See Cover)

Your sons, husbands and brothers who are standing today upon the battlefronts are fighting for more than victory in war. They are fighting jor a new world of freedom and peace.

We, upon whom has been placed the responsibility of leading the American forces, appeal to you with all possible earnestness to invest in War Bonds to the fullest extent of your capacity.

Give us not only the needed implements of war, but the assurance and backing of a united people so necessary to hasten the victory and speed the return of your fighting men.

This appeal, being given the widest publicity,* came from the nation's fivestar admirals and generals--Marshall, Eisenhower, MacArthur, Arnold, King, Nimitz and Leahy.

They knew, as well as anyone, that the Seventh War Loan drive was primarily a campaign against inflation. But support by the public would also demonstrate the nation's will to see the conflict through. To the leaders of the armed forces this was important. They anticipated the anguish which would arise when the people, now celebrating a victory, came face to face with new griefs and separations. They also knew, as military men, the importance of giving the last enemy no rest, or time to entrench himself against the final onslaught. Delay would raise the cost in American lives.

In its various ways last week the public got behind the drive. In Chicago Musi-comedienne June Havoc auctioned off two pairs of nylons at $1,300 worth of bonds a pair. The three survivors of the six-man detail which posed for the famed flag-raising picture on Iwo Jima -- Pfc. Rene Gagnon, Pfc. Ira Hayes and Pharmacist's Mate John Bradley -- rode through the rain to inspire the cheering citizens of Boston. In Tampa, a 75-mm. cannon boomed hourly from Plant Park. In Indianapolis, Mayor Robert Tyndall gave "the order of the day": Over the top. Indianapolis. Cheyenne County, Wyo. held "pie socials." Funnyman S. J. Perelman and Author John Roy (Under Cover) Carlson exhorted the people of Pittsburgh. Troops simulated airborne attacks on Chicago. In The Bronx, bond-buyers were allowed to ring a replica of the Liberty Bell. In Manhattan, buyers were permitted to eat their way through a five-layer, six-foot-high cake, or take a trip through a model aircraft carrier.

The "Mighty 7th" War Loan drive, with the highest goal yet for sales to individuals, got off to a better start than any drive so far. In the first week 23% of the "little man's" $7 billion quota was subscribed. The rest would come harder --when enthusiasm had cooled.

Great Man Sailing Around. Of the five-star military leaders who had signed the appeal to the public, none understood the critical need better than the man who bears the expansive title of Chief of Staff to the Commander in Chief of the U.S. Army & Navy. And yet, among the seven signers, Fleet Admiral William Daniel Leahy is the least known.

The Admiral has fought in five big & little wars and served his nation without stint. In 1938, turning his cold eyes straight on the Axis powers, with whom the U.S. was then at peace, he had told the House Naval Affairs Committee: "In defending our territory in war, we cannot assume an attitude of passive defense." A year later he told Congress bluntly that the best reason for building bigger battleships was that other nations were building them. He long ago saw the inevitability of another war.

Fifty-two years in the Navy shaped the thinking of Bill Leahy, born on a farm near Hampton, Iowa. As a midshipman at Annapolis he sailed aboard the leaky, century-old frigate Constellation. As an ensign, he was a member of the crew that took the Oregon racing around the Horn and bellowing into Santiago Harbor.

He saw the seas of the Far East during the Philippine Insurrection and the Boxer Rebellion. He read "Mahan's classic on sea power. During World War I he commanded a troopship carrying U.S. soldiers to France. He also met and gave some occasional friendly counsel to the young Assistant Secretary of the Navy, Franklin D. Roosevelt. In the years between wars he studied naval ordnance, served as chief of two bureaus (Ordnance and Navigation) and finally, in 1937, by appointment of his old friend Roosevelt, became the Navy's top dog--Chief of Naval Operations. The Chippewa Indians made him an honorary member of their tribe--"Great Man Sailing Around."

Old Sandpaper. The Admiral's blunt way of expressing himself in public and his earnest pleas for a big Navy prompted Berlin newspapers to attack him as a "warmonger." For some other remarks he made about the regimentation of labor in Soviet Russia he was obliged to make a public apology. In 1939, his tour of duty as CNO completed, Mr. Roosevelt sent him to Puerto Rico to govern that hot and troubled island. The President did not pack him off to get him out of the way. Puerto Rico needed a steadying rein. It got it. The retired Admiral governed with a fair, gloved hand. A newspaper columnist nicknamed him El Lija, a Spanish play on his name which translates, "The Sandpaper." But the people cheered him when he left and even threw flowers in his path.

The President had recalled him for another tough job. He was sent as Ambassador to Vichy. He got along well with the aging Petain,* and acquired great personal contempt for another admiral--Darlan--to whom he referred privately as "Popeye the Sailor."

The German press attacked him again--while he delayed Vichy's final fall, supplied the State Department with valuable information and made the best of a tough job. He returned stricken with grief, bringing with him the body of his wife, Louise, who had died after an operation. A mournful, lonely man, he settled down to write his reports, willing to finish his life in retirement.

The Arbiter. But his old friend Franklin Roosevelt reached out for him once more, made him his personal chief of staff eight months after Pearl Harbor.

The Admiral perked up. The new job put him in a peculiar, potent position. When King and Marshall disagreed, he took their arguments to the President. The President would ask: "What do you recommend, Bill?" Frequently it was settled as the Admiral recommended.

Leahy swings even more weight under the new President than he did under the man who appointed him to the job. F.D.R.'s was an assertive voice. Harry Truman knows his limitations and is more apt to defer to the judgment of the old seadog who has devoted his life to naval and military affairs. At meetings of the Chiefs of Staff Leahy is no mere observer. Among other things he is a useful moderator. Sandpaper is abrasive; but it also smooths.

"I'd Like the Job." At 70, Bill Leahy works seven days a week, invariably carries a pouch home with him, has little relaxation outside of playing with his two grandchildren.

He lives with his son and daughter-in-law in an old, nondescript red brick house in Washington. There the Admiral has a bare combination bedroom and office. His old painted iron bed, which his daughter-in-law considers a monstrosity, is as chipped as a battleship's anchor. On the walls are a few Navy cutlasses. In a locker ("closet" to landlubbers) is a supply of brandy. The Admiral, who smokes furiously, drinks little, but relishes a nip of brandy in the evening.

There are few anecdotes about circumspect Bill Leahy. But there is one story which, although apocryphal, is characteristic. When the Japs sank the gunboat Panay in 1937, Franklin Roosevelt, so the story goes, summoned the Admiral and asked: "Bill, what will it take to lick Japan?"

"Fifty billion dollars a year--and I'd like the job."

"It's too much," the President replied. "Send for Cordell Hull."

The story is true to this extent: Leahy, furious at the time, was all for pitching in and licking Japan. In a calmer moment he knew as well as the President that the country was not prepared for war.

Leahy knows that victory over Japan is certain now, unless the determination of the people slackens. His prayer at the end of a long career is the same prayer he had in 1938: that the military leaders will continue to get implements they need and "the assurance and backing of a united people."

* Some 3,000 magazines with a combined circulation of 175,000,000 are printing it in one form or another, at the Treasury Department's request.

*Petain, facing his trial, this week said he would ask Leahy to testify for him.

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