Hail & Fancy Farewell

Defense Secretary Charles Erwin Wilson last week told newsmen that he was working as hard as he ever had in his life on the selection of a successor to Air Force Secretary Harold Talbott, who resigned, umbrellaless, under an active cloud (TIME, Aug. 1 et seq.). The new man, said Wilson, had to have "financial and mechanical experience." He had to be tightlipped, noncontroversial and acceptable to the Senate; and it would help if he knew something about politics, the Pentagon, the aerial weapons of the future, and had "sat next to God."

Late in the week, right on his own staff, Charlie Wilson found the man: Donald A. Quarles, Assistant Secretary of Defense for research and development (see box). In contrast to stormy Harold Talbott, Quarles is so mild-mannered that some Pentagon aides cautioned Secretary Wilson that he "might not put up a good front." Snapped Charlie Wilson: "What I need is someone who can look after his rear."

Smiling Front. Harold Talbott left Washington amid a flash of splendor, a flare of ill-temper, and no sign that he yet understood why he was going. Talbott was enraged when he read that Secretary Wilson had told a press conference: "I was very distressed about the whole [Talbott] business. I don't like any part of it . . . I feel I have gotten one year older." Talbott stalked into Wilson's office, crowded with reporters and cameramen focusing on his successor, Don Quarles.

Talbott plucked Charlie Wilson by the sleeve and rumbled: "I don't like what you said at your news conference." Frowning, Wilson began to reply in a quiet voice. Talbott interrupted brusquely: "You haven't done one thing to defend me." Then an aide called them over for pictures; smiling like wooden Indians (or Washington officials), they posed together with Quarles. Later, Talbott denied that he had made his bitter remark to Wilson, but four witnesses said that they had heard it.

Laughing Exit. Across the Potomac at Boiling Air Force Base that afternoon, the Pentagon sped Talbott's departure with one of the fanciest farewells in Washington's history. Hurricane Connie's approach cut the planned aerial fly-over from 150 planes to ten B-47 jet bombers, but three Cabinet members watched Wilson pin the Medal of Freedom on Talbott (for meritorious service), 1,800 troops paraded, and the Air Force Band played So Long, It's Been Good to Know Yuh.

Later, Navy Secretary Charles Thomas gave him the Navy's Distinguished Public Service Award (for promoting interservice harmony). Talbott, who got into trouble for writing business letters on official stationery, brashly gave the assembled service officials some advice. "Do right," he said, grinning, "and don't write." His audience burst out laughing, and thick-skinned Harold Talbott strode cockily away with his medals, furled flags of office, and no visible scars.

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