Never Again?

THE INAUGURATION

When the festivities finally ground to their appointed end, there were rumblings that this Inauguration ought to be the last of the old-fashioned three-day wonders. One of its chief planners, Maryland State Senator Louise Gore, hopefully predicted just that. HEW Secretary Robert Finch wondered if there were not a better way. Other Nixon men were vowing "Never again!"--just as Johnson staffers had sworn after the 1965 Inauguration.

Down with Folderol. Reviewing this year's affair, TIME Washington Correspondent Bonnie Angelo observed: "The passage of time will erase much that happened between the opening reception for 12,000 'distinguished ladies'--who any other day are called precinct workers and politicians' wives--and the finale three days later. Then, foot-weary and eye-bleary, the participants were still recuperating from a tribal ritual called the Inaugural Ball, a six-part exercise in indignity and immobility by 30,000 revelers dressed to the nines.

"They'll all forget the distinguished grumbling by ladies who had lost in the social Russian roulette played at the National Gallery of Art, where the guests were channeled into four lines and waited without a morsel to eat or drink for almost two hours--to find that only one line got to shake Vice President Agnew's hand at his reception at the Smithsonian. But at least guests could munch elephant-shaped cookies and down champagne in plastic glasses stamped with the Vice President's seal and Spiro T. Agnew's signature.

"And they will forget the misery they endured during that parade, which ran, despite the inevitable claim that this year would be different, an hour late, an entertainment form the Rose Bowl does much better and which television makes bearable with heat and drinks and upholstery. The man who promises to do away with all that might win on such a platform alone."

Still, Inaugural Ball Co-Chairman Mark Evans, a broadcasting executive, defended the marathon as "the only pomp and circumstance we have in the U.S." Besides, it is about the only legitimate way to pay off the party faithful for their labors, with a splash of splendor and a glimpse of greatness.

Remembered Remnants. After the inaugural spectacle faded from U.S. television screens last week, some of its images remained. The Marine band playing Hail to the Chief for the last time for Lyndon Johnson. Johnson himself, listening attentively to his successor's words, and kissing Pat Nixon on the cheek with Southern courtliness. Hubert Humphrey in the inaugural stand, jaw grimly set as he watched the man who defeated him so narrowly take the oath of office. His wife Muriel weeping as she left the platform.

Evangelist Billy Graham delivering a stem-winding prayer that practically amounted to an inaugural address of his own. The new President, clutching his wife's hand after the swearing-in.

During the inaugural parade, there was the crowd of 1,000 militant young antiwar demonstrators surging against a solid line of 82nd Airborne Division paratroopers as Nixon's limousine led the parade up Pennsylvania Avenue. It was the first time in memory that anyone had tried to disrupt an inaugural parade. Most moving of all, perhaps, was the sudden cut of the television cameras from the new President watching his parade to Andrews Air Force Base, as the outgoing President flew off to Texas in the same Air Force One jet that had brought him to Washington for the first time as Chief Executive on Nov. 23, 1963.

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