Good Will & Good Fun

In the first week of his U.S. good-will visit, Chile's energetic President Gabriel Gonzalez Videla lived up to all his advance notices. Flashing a smile reminiscent of F.D.R.'s, he raced from ceremony to celebration with a headlong pace that recalled the late Fiorello La Guardia.

The first night in Washington, Gonzalez, with his handsome wife Mitty and his pretty daughter Sylvia, stayed with the Trumans at Blair House. After dinner, host Harry played the piano and Margaret sang. Then the President called on Gonzalez, who likes to dabble in Debussy and Brahms, to take over. "I never play for anybody who plays better than I do," smiled Don Gabriel.

At the Ball. In his talks with the President, the tactful Gonzalez never asked for a loan. But he asked the President's moral support for the bill now in Congress to postpone for two more years the imposition of a 2-c--a-lb. import tax on foreign copper. He also invited President Truman to visit Chile next November when the country opens its $88 million Concepcion steel plant, built with U.S. aid.

But, as Dean Acheson pointed out at dinner one night, the visitor's gifts only began with statecraft. Some fifty years ago, said Acheson, the muses had fought to control Gonzalez' future. In the end, only four remained in the running. One touched his tongue and made him an orator, another touched his head and made him a statesman, a third touched his fingers and made him a musician. "And," said Acheson, "the fourth muse, Terpsichore, touched his feet--and I don't have to tell you what happened." Gonzalez roared with laughter. After dinner, he went to a reception at the Brazilian embassy where he sambaed until 3:30. The next night, at a Pan-American Union reception, he escorted his wife home at midnight, then returned and wore out fresh relays of dancing partners until 4:30.

"I don't know when we have had guests of whom we have thought so much," said Harry Truman, who made no attempt to keep pace with his guest after dark. At week's end, when Gonzalez' train rolled northward, other Washington bigwigs were red-eyed and exhausted. Chilean Ambassador Felix Nieto del Rio saw his chief off on the 4 p.m. train, then went straight home to bed.

In the Street. In New York, Chile's Gonzalez rode behind a screaming motorcycle escort to his hotel, quickly changed clothes, then headed down Fifth Avenue for a sightseer's Saturday-night saunter. "Marvelous, marvelous," he cried, when he made his way through the after-theater crowd in Times Square.

This week, after a ticker-tape welcome on lower Broadway and an honorary degree from Columbia University, the debonair salesman of South American democracy embarked on a rugged program of visits. After New York, Gonzalez planned to see Philadelphia, the TVA, Texas' oilfields and New Orleans.

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