Four Who Also Shaped Events

Local Heroes Shouldering Global Burdens

It is easy, even tempting, to think of them all as old, tough-as-leather Marines. But they were also Army and Navy, cooks and drivers, pilots and paratroopers. Most of them were young, and had never seen combat before.

The Marines' sacrifice in Beirut was disproportionate: 220 of the 241 killed in the headquarters bombing, plus 16 more hit by snipers and shrapnel. All told this year, 278 Americans who had volunteered to serve their country in uniform returned home from combat in coffins. The week most of them died, President Reagan reminded the public that the U.S. had "global responsibilities." That notion, a bit textbookish to most citizens, is a good deal less abstract to the 2.1 million members of the American military. The grittiest responsibilities are theirs.

Literally. The sand gets into everything, always. In Grenada and Lebanon, as in more peaceful G.I. terrains, the sand is in the dregs of the cloying powdered orange juice, gums up the bunkmate's cassette player, sticks to sweaty necks. The troops sit talking for hours in close tents and stifling bunkers, young men who hope, because they are lance corporals and gunnery sergeants, that they are above whimpering. The 1982 high school graduate from Pontiac, Mich., writing a letter home ("Don't worry, really!"), shakes his dried-up Bic. An infantryman with a tiny mirror, still not used to the G.I. buzz cut, stares at himself. A lieutenant from Live Oak, Fla., peeks nervously over the sandbag ramparts and wonders about the alien landscape. A private forks out the last globs of mushy tinned meat and then, dog-tired from worrying about mortar rounds all day, snuffs his cigarette in the greasy C-ration can and sleeps.

Each inhabits his own singular combat zone. Yet a provocative phrase cropped up in news reports: "Not since the end of the war in Viet Nam. . ." Some of the analogies were impressionistic and wrong: the Middle East, Central America and the Caribbean are not Indochina. But some of the bench marks were plain, blunt facts. Not since Viet Nam, until Beirut, had so many U.S. servicemen been killed in a single day. Not since then, until Grenada, had U.S. servicemen launched a combat operation of such size. Not since then, until a Navy A-6 was shot down over Lebanon, had a U.S. fighter pilot died in combat; not since then, until the capture by Syrians of the same A-6's bombardier, had a U.S. serviceman been a P.O.W. Lieut. Robert O. Goodman will be freed, the Syrians said, only "when the war has ended."

Who knew that a war had begun? The troops in Beirut were there to keep peace. Yet as Philosopher Herbert Spencer wrote, long before the U.S. became a superpower, "Soldiers are policemen who act in unison."

The year 1983 marked the tenth anniversary of the U.S. all-volunteer force. Americans expect national pride to draw enough youngsters into service, but such volunteerism is not universal. Elsewhere, including nearly all of Europe, conscription is the rule. In the U.S., about 6,000 new recruits, 600 of them women, are signing up every week. High unemployment is one prod. But there is another, probably more important reason: a Pentagon recruitment official calls it "a renewed spirit of patriotism."

The troops are stationed in 112 countries, from Iceland to the Philippines. But this year, at least, the most visible departures and homecomings have had a U.S. locus, the stretch of North Carolina that includes the Marines' Camp Lejeune and the Army's Fort Bragg. This month, 2,000 troops returned from Grenada, and 1,800 Marines, some aboard the Iwo Jima, came back from Lebanon. They stepped into a familiar dream. Bands played. Infants were tweaked. Couples swung M-16s out of the way and hugged. The troops were home. They had served, and served well.

Eloquent Pilgrim with a Message of Peace

In a year that saw ever rising fears of nuclear war, a white-robed figure journeyed the globe to proclaim a yearning for peace and justice. John Paul II, history's most traveled Pope, set out on spectacular, taxing pilgrimages to two of the world's most his regions: violence-torn Central America and his dispirited homeland, Poland. As always, John Paul's charismatic personality attracted millions of the faithful, and his words and actions rarely failed to bring political reactions. He roared "Silencio!" to unruly Sandinistas who disrupted a Mass he was celebrating in Nicaragua; he made a surprise visit to the grave of El Salvador's martyred Archbishop Oscar Romero; and he bluntly told the government of dirt-poor Haiti, "Something must change here." In Poland he met with General Wojciech Jaruzelski and called for the unshackling of Solidarity, the banned labor union. He also met privately with his native country's most celebrated nonperson, Nobel Peace Prizewinner Lech Walesa.

Throughout the year, John Paul continued to command television screens and front pages in a conscious effort to gain maximum publicity for his message of peace in the world. Everywhere he went, the Pope preached on the mounting dangers of the buildup of atomic weapons; he sent written appeals to Soviet Leader Yuri Andropov and President Ronald Reagan to keep the arms-limitation talks alive. The Pope also achieved a long-sought goal: an agreement, which will soon be announced, to exchange diplomatic representatives with Washington.

The Pope's antinuclear stance was pivotal to his message of the absolute value of human life. This principle led him to denounce abortion, to question research in armaments and human genetic engineering, and to intervene, unsuccessfully, in the executions of condemned men in Guatemala and Florida.

Increasingly, John Paul's pontificate appeared to be summed up by this phrase from a speech he gave to Indians in Guatemala: "No more divorce between faith and life." He continued to be outspoken in his opposition to Marxist-influenced liberation theology, contending that political preaching must reject violence and be rooted in Christian teaching. The Pope demanded human rights and justice from governments of the left, Poland and Nicaragua, as well as the right, Guatemala and the Philippines.

John Paul did not escape criticism. Roman Catholic liberals in the West complained that he failed to practice at the Vatican what he preached as he traveled the world. To them, justice within the church would allow for the ordination of women, the right use priests to marry, and freedom for Catholic couples to use birth control without guilt. Some Protestants also found fault with what they saw as his inflexibility in leading the church. Although John Paul honored the name of Martin Luther in his 500th anniversary year, and became the first Pope ever to preach in a Lutheran church, the Christian Century, a U.S. Protestant weekly, described him as "unbendingly orthodox if not downright medieval." John Paul appeared convinced, however, that in order to survive, the Catholic Church must regain its cohesion and discipline. Among his many disputed steps toward that end: warning U.S. bishops about the lack of discipline in the huge American church, and pursuing investigations of its seminaries and religious orders.

Slowed only slightly by aftereffects of the attempt on his life in 1981, John Paul was again fit and in command. As if to prove to the world that he does indeed practice what he preaches, at year's end he requested a private meeting with his assailant, Mehmet Ali Agca, which is expected to take place this week. At 63, John Paul II is still young for a Pope; his powerful and eloquent moral voice seems likely to be heard for many years to come.

Triumphant Leader at the Helm

For Margaret Thatcher, the challenge in 1983 was to top 1982, when a triumphant battle with Argentina over a sprinkling of islands in the South Atlantic exhilarated the British and made the Prime Minister almost as popular among her countrymen as Bonnie Prince William. What better way to match a victory abroad than with a victory at home? That Thatcher did, and as usual with the "Iron Lady," halfhearted results would not do. In the most sweeping British electoral conquest since 1945, her Conservatives captured a 144-seat majority in the 650-member Parliament.

Appropriately enough, the Prime Minister started 1983 with Union Jacks flying by visiting the Falklands. Accorded a heroine's welcome, she basked in remembered glory, then returned home to call elections for June, a year earlier than necessary. Against a backdrop of angry protests directed at the deployment of U.S. cruise missiles on British soil and unemployment at a postwar high of 13.3%, Thatcher ran as the resolute leader who would take on all opponents, be they leftists from Brighton or generals from Buenos Aires. Fortune gave her an opposition split and a Labor Party crippled by ideological warfare and an untested centrist alliance of Liberals and Social Democrats. Always ahead in the polls, the indefatigable Thatcher campaigned as if she were always trailing. It never mattered whether she faced a phalanx of WE LOVE MAGGIE signs or a fusillade of eggs: the wave never weakened, the smile never flagged.

On the day of her romp, an astute adviser warned Thatcher that victory would not bring five years of smooth ruling. He was right. Thatcher's reshuffled Cabinet performed poorly in Parliament. An operation for a detached retina slowed her down over the summer. Scandal struck when it was revealed that Trade Minister and Tory Party Chairman Cecil Parkinson had fathered a child by his secretary. The wayward colleague eventually resigned, but Thatcher's waffling over whether he should quit did her no good. Labor rose from its electoral ashes to choose bright, eloquent Welshman Neil Kinnock, 41, as its new leader. From Thatcher's Tory ranks came broadsides ripping her economic policy, her lack of compassion, her foreign dealings. Press Baron Rupert Murdoch, long an ardent backer, echoed the feelings of many when he declared: "She has run out of puff."

Even Thatcher's sturdy friendship with Ronald Reagan suffered strains when American troops invaded Grenada, a Commonwealth member. The Prime Minister asked the President by telephone not to go through with the operation; afterward, she uttered her harshest words yet about the U.S. Said Thatcher: "If you are going to pronounce a new law that wherever Communism reigns against the will of the people the United States shall enter, then we are going to have some really terrible wars." She opposed U.S. reprisal attacks in Lebanon, where Britain had contributed 100 men to the 6,000-member Multi-National Force, and criticized Washington's decision to resume arms sales to Argentina.

As the turbulent year drew to a close, Thatcher remained steadfast as ever. In India for the Commonwealth Conference, she presented an award to Poet Mahadevi Varma, quoting lines she might have written herself:

Take the boat to midstream

Though it sink, you shall get across

Let dedication be your only helmsman

He will see you through.

The redoubtable Thatcher sails into 1984 confident that her ship will weather any storm.

Judicial Command of a Landmark Case

It is by far the largest corporate divestiture in history, dwarfing the court-mandated division of the old Standard Oil empire in 1911. And much more is at stake than the fortunes and future of a company that last year had a million workers and revenues of $69 billion. The split of American Telephone and Telegraph into eight smaller companies, which takes effect on New Year's Day, will be felt by every person in the U.S. who uses a phone, or expects to benefit from new communications technologies that the breakup should inspire. The man who supervised this landmark case is an unassuming, soft-spoken German refugee, virtually unknown outside a small circle of jurists. Yet Federal Judge Harold H. Greene, 60, in an extraordinary display of judicial activism, has, almost singlehanded, determined the shape of the nation's new telecommunications system.

In 1978 Greene took over the Justice Department's suit to break up A T & T. In a manner that some decried as autocratic, Greene fought off Government requests for delays, including one that would have had Congress settle the matter through legislation. "Bizarre" was the judge's crisp response. In January 1982 Bell executives and Assistant Attorney General William Baxter reached an out-of-court settlement. That deal eventually saw the world's largest company divided into the "new" AT&T, which will provide long-distance of service and be able to enter unregulated fields of computers and telecommunications, and seven regional operating companies, which will supply local phone service.

It was Greene who ruled on the multitude of details that gave the accord its final form. Says he: "There would be nights when I would wake up and couldn't get back to sleep. So I would go downstairs and write. The staff had a pool going on how many pages of typing I would bring in here in the morning."

Born Heinz Gruenhaus in what is now East Germany, Greene and his parents fled the Nazis in 1939, going to Belgium, France and Spain before the U.S. He returned to Europe in 1945 as a staff sergeant in Army Intelligence. Greene studied law at George Washington University, graduating first in his night-school class while also working full time for the Justice Department.

Greene's link with the Justice Department proved fruitful. In late 1957 Congress created the Civil Rights Division, and Greene became the first head of the appeals and research section. He supervised the drafting of legislation that became the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965. In that year, Lyndon Johnson named Greene to be a judge (later chief judge) in the District of Columbia's local court system.

Some critics, including top AT&T officials, complain that Greene's role in the breakup of the Bell System was a classic example of excessive judicial power. Here was one appointed official deciding virtually by himself how the U.S. phone system would operate. Greene argues that he was giving substance to the deliberately vague language of antitrust laws. Says he: "Judges cannot be afraid to exercise their legitimate role."

Greene has also been a participant in the telecommunications revolution. Last month, like thousands of other Americans, he went out and bought new telephones for his home.