Now, Edward R. Murrow and the voices of Senator Estes Kiefauer, Frank Costello, Senator Robert
Taft, Fiorella H. LaGuardia, the American GI, and more than 40 other men and women in
the news in the 14th performance of Hear It Now, presented tonight and every week at this
time.
Well, you're answering them honestly, I hope.
I don't answer no trick questions.
There are no trick questions, are there, Mr. Taft?
Well, I don't know, but I'm inclined to believe the way you beat around the bush that some
of them are tricky.
The strain of making crucial decisions in the Senate is about all that I can stand.
I don't see how I could live for a month with the crushing burden and anxieties of the presidency.
I want you to strip to your waist.
There's nothing to get excited about.
You're just going to get three shots, a blood test and an X-ray, maybe.
Hear It Now, the Columbia Broadcasting System and 173 affiliated radio stations present
a document for air based on the week's news and the men and women who made it.
All the voices and sounds you will hear are real and are presented as they were recorded
in the heat and confusion of a world in crisis.
Here is the editor of Hear It Now, the distinguished reporter and news analyst, Edward R. Murrow.
26 years ago, the most exciting dateline in America was Dayton, Tennessee.
This sleepy little town nestled in the foothills of the Cumberland Mountains became a busy
midway of lemonade stands and temporary news bureaus.
The Scopes case was on.
And with William Jennings Bryan and Clarence Darrow as opponents in open shirts and gallowses
on the lawn in the hot sun, there were hearings as to whether or not it was unlawful to teach
evolution in the schools of Tennessee.
They called it the monkey trial.
This week, hearings were again just about the biggest story in America.
But this week, the busy midway was in the federal courthouse here in New York City.
There were no shirt sleeves and gallowses and no hot sun.
This time, there were the television and newsreel lights glaring down on witnesses.
This too was a kind of monkey trial.
But this time, the monkeys wore $200 suits and rode in Cadillacs, were part of a $20
billion a year industry of bookmakers gambling joints and numbers games, who oddly enough
were not only members of the same species, but also spoke the same language and even
the same words.
I refuse to answer on the grounds that might intend to incriminate me.
I decline to answer that question on the grounds that might intend to incriminate me.
I refuse to answer that might intend to incriminate me.
The three voices you heard were those of Frank Erickson, Joe Donnis, and Frank Costello, three
highly successful professionals, who this week sat in the hearing room in New York's
courthouse and helped or hindered Senate Crime Committee and bewildered taxpayer piece together
the fantastic story of crime USA.
Hello.
Joe?
Six at Gulfscreen?
Oral?
What's that again?
Five across the board.
Five across the board and oral.
You got a bet.
Okay.
The sound you hear now has never been heard before on the air.
This is a bookie joint, a pool room they call it, the heart of the bookmaking racket which
together with slot machines, punch boards, the numbers game, and big time gambling joints
have provided American gangsters with a bonanza equal to and much less dangerous than Al Capone's
rackets.
Hey Jim, I wonder if you could do a fellow a favor.
We're overloaded and tepid.
Can you handle 200?
Okay, you got a bet.
This week after successful stops in Chicago, St. Louis, and Los Angeles, the committee
rolled into New York for the big show.
And the big witness was sophisticated, highly successful, highly suspect Frank Costello.
He was suffering from a case of laryngitis.
At the start, there was some confusion over a couple of saucers, one who signed as character
witness on Costello's naturalization application, another whom he did business with in the good
old bootlegging days.
Now how many Harry Fawfus did you know?
Oh no, I might have known two or three.
Two or three?
Mm-hmm.
Do you expect this committee to believe that story, Mr. Costello?
How are you?
How am I expected to believe anything?
I know you wasn't going to believe anything when I first come here.
I've been prejudged.
The committee's counsel, an efficient, patient, but persevering young attorney named Rudolph
Halley, had the feeling that Costello wasn't exactly a stickler for details.
He asked him if he was giving honest answers.
He asked to my best of knowledge and I'm answering questions where my memory serves me.
Well do these variations occur for the purpose of attempting to get me off the track?
No, I don't answer no trick questions.
There are no trick questions, are there, Mr. Costello?
Well I don't know, but I'm inclined to believe the way you beat around the bush that some
of them are tricky.
Next Mr. Halley got around to the Roosevelt Trotting Track, wanted to know why Costello
was approached and paid to use his influence to keep bookmakers off the ground.
Why do you think he came to you?
Well, he come to me, he thought maybe I'd have a solution of some kind, a suggestion,
and I told him I had none.
His sister found pay in me.
He apparently wasn't his sister's daughter.
He thought I was doing a job for him.
And I'm honest enough to say that I didn't think I did a job for him.
You did make $60,000 for doing nothing.
That's right, I did.
Isn't that kind of synonymous with taking candy from a child?
No, no, I know a lot of lawyers that take $50,000 a fee that's only worth $1,500.
We weren't talking about lawyers.
Why would I talk about me?
Since Costello hadn't submitted a statement of his finances, the committee wanted to know
if he kept a strong box in his home.
He said yes.
How much cash do you have in it today?
I wouldn't know.
Do you have over $1,000 in it?
I imagine I have.
Do you have over $10,000?
I wouldn't know.
Is it possible that you have over $10,000 in it?
I wouldn't know.
Why wouldn't you know how much cash you have in your strong box?
Because I have no occasion to look.
What?
You have no occasion to look and see how much cash you have in your strong box?
I wouldn't know what cash I got in there, Mr. Halley.
Do you have $100,000 in cash in that strong box?
I said I would not know.
The chair feels it's necessary to advise the witness that any statement he makes is being
made under oath and subjects him to a charge of perjury.
There was some quick consultation with his lawyer, George Wolf, and then Costello remembered.
He had $40,000 to $55,000 in that strong box.
The next day, as the hearing continued, Costello was asked what at that time appeared to be
a rather unimportant question.
Did you ever ask anybody to check whether you had a wiretap?
A check if I had one?
Not that I remember.
Did you ever pay anybody to check on whether you had a wiretap?
No, sir.
Absolutely not.
Never paid anyone.
Did you ever hear of a man named James McLaughlin?
Never.
Then James McLaughlin took the stand.
Did Costello ask you to do anything for him?
Costello asked me to look over his telephone, but...
And did you do it?
I did.
Did you get paid for doing it?
Yes, I did.
Who paid you?
Frank Costello.
The inference was obvious, as the committee chairman, Senator Kiefhauer, noted.
On the face of it, somebody has committed perjury.
Yesterday afternoon, George Wolf, Costello's lawyer, took a new tack.
He complained about the noise, the lights, the confusion, and other distractions surrounding
the hearing.
He says...
Within a short time after he started to testify, it became apparent that the witness was unable
to testify properly, that he could not properly concentrate on the subject matter of the questioning,
that he was bereft of his power of recollection, and that as a result, his answers were incoherent,
unintelligible, and at times inconsistent and seemingly contradictory.
Now he has reached the end and the limit of physical and mental endurance.
He cannot go on.
Wolf wants a two-weeks adjournment, produces a doctor's certificate to show Costello is
ill.
He overlooks, possibly not by coincidence, that the life of the committee ends this month.
Senators Kiefhauer and Tobey come right back.
I can't see all of the conditions that you talk about.
Mr. Wolf, your motion will have to be overruled for an adjournment.
If it's in order, I want to apply the words of Farragut at Mobile Bay.
Damn the torpedoes.
Go ahead.
But Costello protests.
Senator, I'm in no condition to testify.
You heard my statement through Mr. Wolf, and I stand by it.
Under no condition will I testify until I'm well enough.
You refuse to testify, Father.
Absolutely.
I want to think of my health first.
I'm only here as a witness, and I want to protect myself.
When I testify, I want to testify truthfully.
And I can't, my mind don't function.
Costello is warned that in addition to facing charges of perjury, he can be cited for contempt.
The questioning is then resumed.
Mr. Costello, did you hear the testimony of Mr. Francis McLaughlin yesterday?
No, they defended it.
Mr. Halley, all due respect for the sandwich act, an awful lot of respect for it.
I'm not going to answer another question.
You just, because I'm not under arrest, and I'm going to walk out.
Just a minute, Mr. Costello.
Sit down, just a minute.
Please, may we have some order?
We let Mr. Halley ask a question, and then you make any objection, and then the witness
can either answer it or refuse to answer it.
Then the chairman will issue a direction, and there'll be a clear issue.
Now, Mr. Costello, would you state whether or not you are familiar with the testimony
given yesterday by Mr. Francis McLaughlin?
I refuse to answer the question.
When the proper time comes, I'll have plenty to say.
Well the chairman directs you to answer the question, Mr. Costello.
At this particular moment, I will not.
But he refused to follow the direction of the chair.
Absolutely.
The chair directs you to answer the question and to answer such other questions as will
be asked this afternoon.
I still refuse.
This morning, Costello's doctor was called to testify.
Mr. Halley and Senator Kiefauver listen, then act.
Now, doctor, in your opinion, would he be able to talk for a reasonable period, say
of an hour or so, in a normal conversational voice without running any undue risk?
If he did not put any strain on his larynx, yes.
At this point, Mr. Chairman, I ask the committee to direct Mr. Costello to appear before the
committee forthwith.
The committee orders and directs Mr. Costello to appear this afternoon at two o'clock after
the noon recess to testify for such time as he feels that he can if he goes on for a while
and if his voice gives him any trouble, of course, we'll be take that into consideration.
At two fifteen this afternoon, Costello shows up with his lawyer.
They offer a second doctor's certificate.
It says Costello has been under treatment for his throat for the past ten days, but
little more.
The lawyer, Mr. Wolf, picks up the argument.
He's interrupted at times by committee counsel and Senator Kiefauver.
Mr. Wolf and the state of Costello's help.
Now, in view of this witness's condition, gentlemen, I ask that the examination of this
witness be adjourned till Wednesday, during which time this witness can get sufficient
rest.
There is no assurance that when next Wednesday comes, the committee will not have the same
problem.
Therefore, assuming that Mr. Costello has some laryngitis, though no more than most
people seem to get along with without stopping their daily activities, I would think that
the way to handle the situation is for him to testify an hour today and an hour on Monday
and an hour on Tuesday and so on until we get all of his testimony.
Mr. Costello certainly looks like he's in better shape than he was some days ago.
I don't think it fair to press this matter.
I think you should adjourn the examination of this man till Wednesday at least.
Well, let's try a few questions and see how we get along, Mr. Wolf.
Go ahead, Mr. Halle.
Mr. Costello, did you have a meeting with William O'Dwyer in the year 1942?
I don't care to answer any questions.
Well, it's not a matter of whether you care to answer them, Mr. Costello.
It's a matter of...
I don't feel I'm fit to answer any questions today.
An answer truthfully insensible.
Do you know Mr. James Moran?
I'm not going to answer the question.
Do you know Mr. Frank Balls?
I'm not going to answer the question today.
Well, there's no use continuing on if he's not going to answer.
Mr. Chairman, in view of the fact that the witness has created an issue, I would like
to ask for stipulations so that the committee may appoint a physician who would be permitted
both to examine Mr. Costello and to consult with the physicians who have already treated
Mr. Costello.
Is there any objection to that, Mr. Wolf?
There's absolutely no objection to that.
The hearings resume on Monday.
Whether they will produce any new evidence remains to be seen.
But this much we know.
The problem of suppressing crime is nothing new.
It's as old as man himself.
And as for Costello and his associates, back in 1945, Fiorello LaGuardia, then mayor of
New York, had them pretty well tagged.
And that now it was up to the people of this city to decide whether they want to keep clean,
decent government for clean, law-abiding people in our city, for the children of our city.
Or whether they want to return to the political riffraff, to the tin-horn chiselers and the
racketeers and the tin box.
Everton and Costello and Adonis, the rest of the racketeers, perhaps have not yet agreed.
But haven't they been confused?
Have you seen all this maneuvering?
Yes.
Some very high officials holding certain offices that are not supposed to be in politics have
been brain-trusting some of this connivance and conspiracy to destroy good government.
By way of coincidence, the state of Tennessee, justifiably proud of its junior senator, did
not permit the 26th anniversary of the Scopes case to go unobserved.
In the Tennessee state legislature, Representative Mary Shadow Hill began pushing through a bill
which would reverse the opinion of the Scopes case, would make it lawful to teach evolution.
Twenty-six years ago, the House of Representatives and the Senate and the state of Tennessee
passed a law against the teaching of evolution in the state.
Well, I think that the case of its passage is a very interesting story of buck passing.
The House said they passed it thinking the Senate would kill it.
The Senate said they passed it thinking the governor would veto it.
Then the governor said that he signed it on the grounds that it would never be enforced
anyway.
Well, actually that is the case.
I think that it never has been enforced, but it is ridiculous to have it on the law books
of our state.
As for John Scopes, 26 years older than when, as a redheaded schoolteacher, he faced Brian
and Darrell, he said this at his home in Shreveport, Louisiana.
To me, the repeal of the anti-evolution law in the state of Tennessee is for the most
part really academic.
We all know that the passing of laws and of legal action cannot retard the progress of
science and education.
However, if the law is to be repealed, it seems to me fitting that it should be repealed
on the 26th anniversary of the trial.
Washington this week, still deep in RFC hearings, had lost the spotlight and most of the television
cameras to the New York hearings.
The Reconstruction Finance Corporation would probably operate differently in the future
with a one-man director rather than a five-man board.
But this was no reversal for Harry Truman.
It had been his bill originally, and the House passed it on Wednesday.
Republican leaders in both the House and Senate were still going after the complete abolition
of the RFC.
And Republican Chairman Guy Gabrielson told the nation that it was time to throw out not
only the RFC but the Democratic Party as well.
Mr. Gabrielson.
There is only one way to clean up this mess.
A campaign slogan shouted during the early history of this republic applies with equal
force today.
It consists of four plain, blunt, harsh words.
Turn the rascals out.
These days you hear constant back reference to teapot dome days, and the word corruption
is in the Washington News daily.
In the Capitol, the taxi drivers, in addition to being sightseeing guides, are kind of unmetered
political seers who are undoubtedly to get to eavesdrop on an awful lot of deals in the
making on the route to and from the smoke-filled rooms.
Washington cab drivers with these great sources of information occasionally speak on the record.
We ask some of them if they thought there was more or less corruption in government
these days.
What you hear are their answers and the busy beat of their windshield wipers in the background.
I think that there will always be corruption.
We've had corruption for a long, long time and always will have it.
That the republicans want to see how they work out.
They're all going to get a little bit out of it.
I think the late administration is in a bad shape from top to bottom.
If I wouldn't say exactly it's corrupt, but it's in a bad shape.
Too much graft, great difference than what it is in the past.
We didn't have the trouble with the RFC the way it is today, using the taxpayers' money.
I think they're creating themselves a job, digging up all this.
You can't get around graft and corruption.
It's just one of those things.
I don't know what's gotten about the government.
Somebody's getting too much money around you, and I'm not getting any of it.
I know that.
I don't know whether it's the Democrats or whether it's the republicans.
Somebody's getting it.
Maybe we need a new change.
Who knows?
The president was at Key West and was, depending upon whether your source was a republican
or a democrat, vacationing or just doing his work in the sun.
There was growing talk that he would not be a candidate in the 1952 election, wanted to
return to the senate.
The united press made a survey of democratic leaders throughout the 48 states to determine
whom they wanted to have as their candidate next year.
Overwhelmingly, the bosses indicated they wanted Truman, and he could have it if he
wanted it.
Their second choice was Paul Douglas, the senior senator from the state of Illinois.
Mr. Douglas, a marine veteran and former college professor, said the job was not for him under
any circumstances.
The fateful opinion about me in the recent poll of democratic leaders is, of course,
very pleasant, but not so the thought of the office involved.
In fact, the strain of making crucial decisions in the senate, which is shared by 95 others,
is about all that I can stand.
I don't see how I could live for a month with the crushing burden and anxieties of the presidency.
My only purpose is to serve my country in the senate to the best of my resources, and
at the end of that service to retire from public life.
In short, I think the democratic leaders got the wrong number.
In Paris, another man who has been asked more times than Douglas was doing a slow burn on
another matter.
General Eisenhower's secret testimony given before the senate foreign relations and armed
services committees had been released to the public.
The general was quoted as saying that if Russia attacked, he would favor using the atom bomb,
that with 12 divisions we could hold the Breton peninsula of France, and the Russians could
be stopped and would be fools to attack.
It was a highly secret, long considered opinion of a proven skilled soldier to his government.
When this secret testimony was released, a spokesman for General Icke made it known that
he was greatly disturbed, and most Washington observers wondered just how much military
information could be entrusted to senators and congressmen.
CBS chief Washington correspondent Eric Severide reports on this.
Eisenhower is entitled to be angry.
He carefully edited out of the transcript all that he had told the senators that might
aid an enemy, but those portions were published despite his precautions, despite the senatorial
pledge of secrecy.
And it is a good illustration of the painful dilemma of our military leaders.
Mr. Taft and other senators publicly complain that the military doesn't give them all the
facts, but time after time when the military takes a risk and gives them highly secret
information for their guidance, it leaks out.
The military complain about this, but only in private.
They cannot and dare not criticize congressmen in public.
It is true that they often do put too high a premium on silence, but the typical congressman
lives by talking, holding a secret as is hard for him as it is for a child.
In my opinion, there are more original leaks of important security information from members
of congress than from reporters.
In 1943, Senator Russell returned from an official mission to several war fronts.
He reported to the full senate in a closed executive session.
His information leaked out and as usual in garbled form.
There has not been a closed session since.
Since during the war when Stalin as usual was refusing information about his forces
that we badly needed here, he said this.
He said he would trust Roosevelt and General Marshall, but he told them, you men are obliged
to report to your congress and your congressmen do not keep secrets.
Now that may have been merely a pretext on Stalin's part and probably was, but it's
a good illustration nevertheless of how far the congressional reputation for loose talking
had spread.
This is a democracy, so there is no quick answer to that problem.
There isn't any answer really unless individual members of congress listen more closely to
their individual conscience.
Senator Russell of Georgia, chairman of the Armed Services Committee, one of the two committees
that heard General Eisenhower, also had something to say.
If congress expects to be trusted with top military and secret information, we must learn
to restrain the impulse to boast about what we have learned in confidence.
The military leaders cannot be expected to reveal military secrets valuable to our enemies,
to congressional committees, if they continue to find them in the headlines within the next
24 hours.
Your ear is tuned to South Pier, beside the USS Randall at Yokohama, Japan, 11th March,
1951, 1530 hours.
As the first Korean war dead, 50 of them, began the long journey back to American cemeteries,
the chaplain talks as the loading is ended and the ship prepares to leave.
We've come to bid a quiet farewell to these gallant men who are about to voyage for the
last time to the shores of their homeland.
This first shipment of our dead represents only a small portion of those men who've made
the supreme sacrifice in Korea.
These gallant American dead in their inheritance reflect strains from each of the countries
of the old world.
Truly they represent all the peoples of the earth who prefer death to bondage.
In Korea, the war was going well.
UN forces were back in Seoul, the fourth time the capitalists changed hands, and the Chinese
were pulling back all across the peninsula.
The Korean winter was almost gone.
Even the mud was kind this week.
And there was time for regrouping and even a little rest as an occasional GI was yanked
out of the line for a fast five-day trip back to Japan for what is called rest and relaxation.
One of the highlights of the R&R is a long distance phone call to the folks at home.
It goes through under the priority of official business, as well it should.
If you listen closely, you will hear a conversation between Corporal Philip Larwood and his family
back in Reed, West Virginia.
Hello, Mom?
What are you doing?
What am I doing?
I got a rest leave from Korea and I come into Japan.
It is?
I'm in Tokyo now.
Is it real danger still with them?
It was pretty bad, but not now.
I'm in Tokyo now.
I'm in Tokyo now.
I'm in Tokyo now.
I'm in Tokyo now.
I'm in Tokyo now.
I'm in Tokyo now.
I'm in Tokyo now.
I'm in Tokyo now.
I'm in Tokyo now.
I'm in Tokyo now.
I'm in Tokyo now.
I'm in Tokyo now.
You become a spirit but not now?
Uh, huh.
I guess I have been lucky but I just pray and all I want.
Well that is the main thing to do is pray and pray.
Yeah, I know.
Well I hope that it's not over with
Mom, I'm sending you a rowed, from Japan.
I'm sending Doris Cheen one.
I say you want to talk to Booth to a minute?
Yeah.
Hello, Phil.
Hello, Phil.
How you doing, boy?
Was you up to the Red and Boy when they was up in there?
Up to that river.
You mean the Yellow River?
Yeah.
No, you mean at Tegu?
Yeah.
That was, uh, I see, I think of the battle they called it.
I can't think of it now, but yeah, I was up there.
Yeah.
You mean in that big battle?
Uh-huh.
Yeah, I was in it.
How much you weighing now?
Oh, about 150.
150?
Yeah.
Do you think that's enough, boy?
Yeah, I will.
Are you declared to be needed?
I guess so.
That's all they let me have.
Well, okay, sweetheart.
Okay, bye.
That was an American GI in Tokyo talking to his family in West Virginia.
Now listen to an American general talking to a member of his military family.
Brigadier General Joseph F. Bradley of the 25th Infantry Division at a forward observation
post talking to one of his regimental commanders.
Listen.
Hello, Jerry.
How's everything going with you?
Good.
I'm over here with Gilbert on his OP, and he's established well and said I'm going to
hold him now until I hear from you until you get that eastward move of yours going.
Can I set my copter down anywhere near your OP?
Is that anywhere near I left you last night on that nose?
Further to the next nose north.
Fine, I'll be over there presently, Jerry.
I'm glad of what you're doing.
I'm very disappointed on that damn bridge over there.
It's not bothering you.
You've got plenty of logistical support behind you now.
Oh, bully for you.
But Brigadier General Bradley isn't happy about everything.
Even generals gripe.
These ham operators from time to time, it's not always, they will butt in and interfere
with our radio communications during actual battle, it's actually happening.
Ham operators in the states, you'll be firing an artillery mission and will be interrupted
and you will not be able to talk.
Some fellow in Seattle will be talking to his girl in Los Angeles, and we'll have to
wait until he's through and then carry on, get the radio back, and carry on with artillery
missions.
And the CO of the 27th Infantry Regiment reports on how his unit crossed the Han River.
Lieutenant Colonel G.J. Check and I command the 27th Infantry Regiment Wolfhounds.
This regiment, in conjunction with a sister regiment on the right and on the left, pushed
off yesterday morning at 0615 to make a crossing, an opposed river crossing of the Han River.
As luck would have it, the tanks had to maneuver around on the right flank to cross, and as
they crossed, they crossed in the rear of the enemy and hit a CP area, a bilwack area,
where they killed about 100, completely surprised them, and of course, very much improved our
own situation in that they overran them from the rear.
It was something that we hadn't planned or banked on, but nevertheless helped our whole
situation.
We buttoned up early in the afternoon so that we could lay in all our planned fires for
the night.
We always anticipate counterattacks, so if we buttoned up before dark and get everybody
dug in and get our fires out and lay our concentration barrages, we're pretty secure for the evening.
In Paris, Andrei Gromyko agreed to modify the Soviet demands on the agenda for a Big Four
meeting, and there was much speculation over the semantics of the word agenda.
In Yugoslavia, Tito warned that Russia and her satellites were massing on his border.
The United Nations talked in the small committees, but the big committees watched the war and
hoped that the 38th parallel might be the terminal point of the war as it had been the
beginning.
There was at least a temporary letup in pressure on the citizenry, and perhaps because of this,
mobilization and stabilization were meeting either resistance or indifference.
There was business as usual and a kind of worshipping at the national shrine of the
mighty dollar which exceeded the 20s.
Former Supreme Court Justice, Owen Roberts, at the not inconsiderable age of 75, uttered
a ringing declaration which indicated that there was at least one U.S. statesman who knew
where we were headed, and he was not appalled.
I have seen in my lifetime as many changes as any of you and more than most.
I have seen our national wealth increase 12 times in this period, despite the prophets
of doom who have feared every widening horizon.
Whether the move was for women's suffrage or to reduce the tariff or to outlaw aggression,
and the only times I have seen our nation fail have been when we were afraid to go forward.
For excessive tariff, we paid with the Depression of the 30s.
For failure to join the League of Nations, we paid with World War II.
And now, at 75 years of age, I say to you, there is no status quo.
But what, say the defeatists, is all this worth, since we are heading straight into another war?
I beg to differ with the defeatists.
If we get into another war, we will not have headed into it, we will have backed into it.
You are listening to Hear It Now, CBS's weekly document for ear based on the week's news.
The program continues immediately after this pause for station identification.
This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
Once again, here is the editor of Hear It Now, Edward R. Murrow.
There were strange sounds from near the banks of the Hudson River,
where on certain days the Dutch used to hear Rip Van Winkle playing at nine-fins with the dwarfs.
There was, this week, a new kind of sound in keeping with the atomic age.
This is Linlithgow, 400 feet below the level of the Hudson River Valley,
in an abandoned iron ore mine, which is today a thriving center of industry,
as workmen hasten to convert it into a subterranean storage vault in case of atomic attack.
The mine is more than 1,000 feet long, has not been worked since 1895.
We'll have more than 400 watertight, radiation-proof storage vaults.
The owner, Herman Knaust, who is sinking a half million dollars into the first atomic storage plant,
is confident that banks, insurance companies, art curators, and others will rent space from him
to store their vital documents, records, and relics.
Here is Mr. Knaust from Shaft 4 in his hole in the ground at Linlithgow.
I've been asked by a number of people, why are you building the vaults in the mountain?
I firmly believe there's going to be need for such vaults.
They certainly look like there might be. Some 18, 20 years ago,
we purchased the property for the purpose of growing mushrooms.
The vaults will be ready for the first tenants sometime in May.
The completed vaults will be the safest place in the country for records, treasures, and other valuables.
The battle of troops for Europe continues. Ex-President Hoover still thinks it may get us into war.
Mr. Taft, speaking in Philadelphia, still fears a big ground army.
We don't know how many Americans are supposed to be contributed to it finally.
We don't know the size of the armed forces.
We hit a few months ago 2 million 1, in December 2 million 7, now 3 million 5,
and the army objects to a limit of 4 million men.
The size of the army underlies everything we have to do in the way of taxation.
We have to know what the program is in order that we may decide what we can and should do.
Universal military training, long a debated issue in U.S. politics, was all but the law of the land this week.
The Senate had already voted on the bill for 27 months training for 18-year-olds.
The House committee had voted its approval, and the House itself would vote in force any day.
It would raise the age limit to 18 and a half.
Assistant Secretary of Defense Anna Rosenberg also spoke in Philadelphia this week
at the annual forum of the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin.
Mrs. Rosenberg said this.
What is the road to genuine security in a crisis that may last all our lifetime?
There are only two possible answers.
One is to maintain a professional Army, Navy, and Air Force of huge dimensions.
The other is to hold our regular military establishment to the smallest size consistent with security
and to back it up with a well-organized, well-equipped, well-trained civilian reserve
capable of swift mobilization in an acute emergency.
How will two years of military life interrupting their education affect the lives of our young men?
How will it affect the nation as a whole over the long haul?
For better or for worse, UMT will bring about a major change in the life of every American boy.
His education will be high school, the Army, and then if he can afford it and wants it, college.
It has never been that way in our land before.
But how do we go about making a soldier?
Our microphones have been listening at Fort Dix, New Jersey, for the last few weeks,
catching some of the raw unrehearsed sound along that 14-week road that leads from civilian to soldier.
You're in a busload of civilian draftees headed down U.S. Highway Number 1 in southern New Jersey.
Behind you lies the world you have grown up in, a world suddenly jolted by interviews with a draft board,
by pre-induction physicals, by a letter from the president that starts with greetings.
Behind you lies the world of school and job and family and friends and girls.
Before you is Fort Dix.
You look at the 30 other fellows in the bus, hatless, some without ties, all wearing old clothes,
some making small talk, most just staring out of the window, not thinking too much, feeling kind of numb.
You are suddenly in and through Wrightstown, and the lineup of bars and neon lights and military stores tells you you are close.
You bump across a railroad track, and you're in Fort Dix.
No gate, no sentry, lots of single soldiers walking briskly by.
Here and there a platoon of men marching across the field, and in every direction, as far as you can see,
long two-story barracks building, yellow paint peeling off wooden walls, sun-bleached, weather-beaten, and bare.
You are struck by the uniformity of color, by the precise monotonous layout of block upon block of barracks buildings,
unrelieved except for occasional checkered water towers.
You note the bright orange taxi cabs moving about.
You wonder about them, and then your bus has stopped.
You are herded out, moved quickly across a macadam road and into a large room.
You sit down on a bench and are told you are at the IRP, the initial receiving point.
You get your first taste of Army forms.
And underneath your last name, you will put in your grade, which is PVT.
That's right underneath your last name, PVT.
Next to that, you will put your serial number, which you will find in block number two opposite your name on your record.
You fill out the forms, and then you wait.
Some of the others have not finished.
You realize that Sergeant up front is not asking you to do it.
He's telling you. You don't like it.
A big rugged-looking Master Sergeant takes over.
You start getting the word.
In Army parlance, orientation.
All right, now, you didn't bother opening this envelope, fellas.
I'll explain what's in it to you.
Now, you'll find a map of the receiving area.
That map is a very small portion of Fort Dix.
So my suggestion to you is when you get up in the area,
you'll find what building you're in located on this map and mark it.
So if you go taking a walk over the other side of the post, you'll find your way back.
Remember where you're at.
If you do get lost, get one of these GI buses or a taxi cab, which cost you a couple cents,
and tell them you want to go back to the processing area.
They'll bring you back.
You find out that you will follow a processing schedule.
You have a copy of your processing schedule.
What you're going to be doing the next few days.
Now, on top of that processing schedule, it says arrival day, bath and haircuts.
So tomorrow morning, you'll be too late tonight.
Tomorrow morning, you'll all be in a barber shop.
It's a good haircut.
It won't take you long in that barber shop, I'll rest assure you.
We got one man over there, a minute and 30 seconds, he can cut a head of hair.
Brother, he can cut it.
You get a copy of a comic book on military courtesy
and a manual on personal conduct for the soldier.
You're handed a checklist on personal affairs, legal assistance,
power of attorney, GI insurance, visits by parents and friends,
religious services, emergency furlough, and mail.
You're getting all mixed up.
But before you can try to straighten it out, they march you to another section of the building
for an issue of pre-pack items, your first Army uniform, sheets, and blankets.
This is the fastest haberdashery store you've ever seen in your life.
You get $8.75 worth of clothes in less than two minutes.
So if you bought clothes that fast, let me know.
You don't have to worry about the colors or shades.
They're all one color.
All right, fellas, you stay in numbered order.
This man lead off, go around there, pick up your bags,
and we'll have you on a GI bus taking you up to the outfit.
Clothing issue is fast.
There are three sizes, small, medium, and large.
Some of the fellows have to wear their civilian shoes for a few days.
They don't have their size.
You're taking on Army buses to your barracks, make your bed, and somehow it doesn't look right.
You're marched to chow and the food doesn't look bad, but you don't feel much like eating.
Back to the barracks in time for lights out at 9 o'clock.
They don't blow taps or revelry or any bugle calls you discover.
The camp's too big and runs on too many schedules.
Bugle calls are for small garrisons.
This, you begin to realize, is a huge, sprawling, methodical machine
that takes in raw civilians and spews out soldiers.
5.30 a.m. and revelry.
It's cold and dark outside.
You'd give a thousand bucks for another hour of sleep.
If you had a thousand bucks.
The sergeants are a little more insistent. They push more.
Fall out for roll call.
Brady!
Canoe!
Caruso!
Deemer!
Decarado!
You thought you'd be able to think things out a little last night,
but you were dog-tired and fell asleep faster than you thought you would.
Maybe you'll think things out today, but not right now.
Right now, you've got to get to chow, get back and clean up,
get down for another roll call, get over to CNA.
That's classification and assignment.
All right, will you sign your name right down here on this form 20, your qualification card?
I'd also like to remind you that this is what is known as a qualification card,
and that would follow you right through your 21 months.
At the time you want transferred to the enlisted reserve card,
that card will also go along with you.
They interview you and they examine you,
and you feel you didn't get very far on the IQ test.
They keep calling it the GCTB, General Classification Test Battery.
They examine you about mathematics and problems with blocks and English.
They tell you it's worth putting out on these tests that there's opportunities in the Army
for special training schools, for OCS.
You put out, but you don't feel you've done too well.
No time to feel sorry about it, though.
Fall out and get over to the infirmary for physical exams.
I want you to strip to your waist right now.
There's nothing to get excited about.
You're just going to get three shots, a blood test and an X-ray, maybe.
Those of you that's got glasses on, we'll remove them.
The reason I'm asking you to remove them is if you should happen to feel weak and pass out,
you do not break your glasses and get the pieces in your eyes.
For one thing it means an expense of buying a new pair of glasses.
Another thing may be that you lose your eyesight in case a piece gets in your eyes.
Therefore, don't get excited.
That's just shots. There's nothing to get excited about.
Just relax and take it easy.
The reason for these shots is to...
Fall out. Get over to the Passaic Lounge for the official greetings.
Big old recreation hall. Looks like a barn.
Ten, hut!
You stand at attention when Colonel Jesse Trawick,
commanding officer of the 39th Training Regiment, enters.
You hear what's ahead of you. You can tell he's not fooling.
Now, I wouldn't be telling you gentlemen the truth if I told you that this training cycle is easy.
Because it's not.
It is hard, you're hours along, and you're going to get tired.
The training cycle will not be easy, but you must hold your temper when the going gets tough.
Fall out. Get over to the barracks for a non-assigned period.
You found yourself falling asleep during the chaplain's talk.
The idea of that cast iron cot that you now call a sack looms in your imagination.
You're assigned to it.
To make these beds right, you put the sheets on, make sure they're even on both ends when they hang over the sides.
Don't have one side further over than the other.
Now the first thing you do is tuck both ends in on your first sheet.
Now the next thing you put on is your pillow.
Take your pillow, put it in the pillowcase, and stick it up where your head goes.
Then flatten it down.
You don't make the bed right the first time, so you do it over and then once more.
By that time you fall out and get over to C&A for more tests.
The sack time remains where it was conceived in your imagination.
Forward!
Hut! Hut!
One, two, three, four!
One, two, three, four!
You spend four days in the processing area.
At the end of that time, the Army has you typed, catalogued, assigned, numbered, and equipped.
You've received $10 partial pay, which comes out of the $75 you got at the end of the first month.
You've been down to the PX and bought the insignia and toothpaste and cigarettes and picked your postcards you wanted.
You've received your first letter from home, and you felt terrible for a little while.
But you had to fall out for roll call, and so you forgot about it.
You begin to get your bearings in the 55 square miles of sandy barrenness that is Fort Dix.
You get hooked up to the grapevine and find out about your new outfit, Battery B, 60th Field Artillery Battalion.
You get transferred to your new outfit, get to know the fellows in your squad, and begin your training in earnest.
Two, eight, hut!
Right shoulder, hut!
Or dirt, hut!
You learn about your individual weapon, the U.S. rifle caliber 30M1.
You learn to carry it, to march with it, to move it from shoulder to shoulder.
You learn how to fire it.
Take your right arm, elbow, face up under the piece.
Face the body of your rifle, well into your right shoulder.
Take up this life.
You go out to the range and fire for record.
With all ammunition, lock and load.
Ready on the right, ready on the left, ready on the firing line.
Flag's up, flag is waving, the flag is down.
You learn how to clean your rifle.
Why you man, listen to me now.
Get the ram rock, put the patch right through the eye piece.
That's it, that's right, just like threading a needle.
Make sure you got the ball open.
Open, open, not closed.
Oh, sorry, Todd.
Open.
You learn tactics, map reading, other weapons.
Next class you will have is on the Browning automatic rifle.
Commonly called a BAR.
Men, this morning you receive your first preliminary instruction
in the 57 millimeter recoil-less rifle.
The weapon, one of the newest of the armies, which has been called...
And at every stage you are under the merciless scrutiny of your officers and NCOs.
They evaluate, criticize, badger.
Men, this problem that you ran this morning was lousy.
It was very poorly done and you didn't observe the procedures and rules
that I've laid down for in your previous training on individual day training of the soldier.
Slowly, imperceptibly, the civilian in you begins to slip away.
You walk different, talk different.
You're not certain when the big change took place.
Looking back, you'd place it around the eighth week.
You're still not fully reconciled to being a soldier,
but it doesn't bother you so much anymore.
It comes to you one Sunday at church.
You didn't go to church much back in civilian life.
You're not certain you want to go right now,
except it is a chance for you to think quietly,
and you haven't done much of that lately.
The coincidence of something the chaplain says and a plane flying overhead strikes you.
At the time, men, we find ourselves very much as Jesus did in the Garden of Gethsemane,
facing as he faced the danger which lurked in the unknown in the future.
Certainly, we feel a certain inability, even as did Jesus, to adjust to the situation.
You don't know how it happened, but you do feel better about leaving home.
The psychologists say you've adjusted.
The military man says you've made the grade.
You're indoctrinated.
All you know is that it's not so bad anymore.
You begin to get some answers to questions you've been thinking.
The I and E, the information education officer.
This afternoon, men, we're going to consider Korea.
Why are we in Korea, and what are we fighting for?
Now, as General Ridgway says, we're not there to stop the South, the North Koreans,
or the Chinese communists from coming down.
We're there to stop communism from spreading,
and we're not going to leave Korea until we do it.
You move into a more serious phase of your training.
You go through the infiltration course, crawling on your belly under mazes of barbed wire,
live bullets from machine guns whizzing over your head.
You struggle and sweat, and you lose your bearings.
But the guy next to you is just as lost.
Hey, Burke, how am I going through, OK?
Burke, to your right.
You go off for a four-day bivouac under simulated combat conditions.
You put everything you've learned to the test.
The long marches begin to rest easier with you.
Ten miles out to the rifle range, ten miles back.
Means up at four in the morning and back at eight at night.
Still, no one drops out.
You run into regimental parade at retreat one cold afternoon.
No strain.
And the best of all, Army days, pay day, once a month, last day of the month,
75 bucks less allotments and insurance.
February is the best month, only 28 days.
Tomorrow is your first pay day in the Army.
That money burns a hole in your pocket.
No time to get home. Maybe time for a trip to Wrightstown.
First stop, certainly the PX.
The jukebox blares, but it sounds good to you.
You stand in line and order up.
Large sundae, chocolate and vanilla.
Chocolate milk, marshmallow sundae.
One of the PXs you can buy beer, two cans to a customer.
You drop some of your money in the pinball machine.
You send a recording of your voice to your girl.
It costs two bits.
You listen to the fellow next to you making a record.
Hello, Alma. This is a little surprise for you.
This is Fred.
Making a little record here to tell you how much I miss you.
And everything's all right, honey. I feel fine.
How's mom? I want you to thank her again for the nice meal she cooked.
You get into a bull session.
The tough days out at the bivouac, the firing in the cold and snow in the rain,
the grueling experience of basic training, become grist in the middle of soldier talk.
You remember the tough spots and laugh at them.
I thought it was just my imagination when it was cold out.
When I can't think, it was all solid ice in the morning.
I knew it.
That could hardly work. I didn't sleep the whole night.
I know, Alma.
It wasn't so bad. I didn't mind the other three days.
Then after the little hike, now you know what it's like with those poor boys in Korea.
God help us.
You become expert at the high art of griping.
One platoon would be told to do a certain job a certain way and another another way.
And when you got the company as a whole, you had one platoon doing this and another platoon doing it that way.
When we're on the range, we get good shout. When we're in the bags, we have to find it.
And if it wasn't for the PX, we'd starve.
One fellow feels the training isn't tough enough.
The training is okay, but you should get more of it, I think.
What?
Your 14 weeks are running out. The talk goes more and more to Korea.
You know that your chances of getting there from Fort Dix are pretty good.
Well, they asked for volunteers to Korea. Of course, I don't think anyone volunteers.
But I think everyone figures, I guess, that that's what we're in here for.
Nothing's getting us out. So that's what I can attend to. We can't do anything about it.
But the training has paid off.
You begin to hear things about yourself, the inevitable comparisons with the draftee of World War II.
General Eugene Ridings, responsible for training at Fort Dix, puts it this way.
The inductees that we are getting at this time are the, on the average, the best lot of people.
I have ever seen. They are probably a better class of people than we'll ever get again.
In retrospect, your 14 weeks seem like a day or a century. You can't make up your mind which.
Your stay at Dix seems to consist of one long alphabetical tour.
You came in at IRP. You worked through C&A, I&E, and BAR.
And now you leave at POR, processing for overseas replacement.
The sergeant tells you about the processing, gives you the papers to be checked.
The man will list you your records and you'll start through the processing line.
You'll first go through medical process and then first know record check, supply, and last but not least,
you'll have any complaints by the IG representative. I'll give you your records now. I'll call them all.
Quakelin Daniel, Murray Roberts.
Your papers are checked and found in order, and you move out for a five-day delay before reporting to your new station.
You listen to the man ahead of you being checked out.
DEMEO, D.E., capital M.E.O., Stephen J., U.S. 51055827, born 13 November 28, single, no dependents, 581, Roman Catholic.
The lieutenant wishes you luck as you leave.
Well, I see everything's in order here, and I want to wish you a lot of luck to where you're going in your next station,
and I'm quite sure that everything's been very homely here for you in a sense of the word.
I'll try to make it as homely as possible for you. I want to wish you a lot of luck once again.
Thank you, sir.
You remember your first roll call. You remember how you felt that bitter cold morning after your arrival.
You answer your roll call now in a different tone.
Brady, Caddow, Caruso, Dahmer, Nicurano, Dorrance, Figari, Giordano.
We have tried to tell you the story of one of our G.I.s as he goes through the 14-week transformation
from civilian to soldier at Fort Dix, New Jersey.
We have tried to bring it to you unvarnished, though somewhat expurgated.
The making of a soldier takes much time. Much of it is wasted.
It requires less time and less skill to make a watch or an automobile.
The good soldier is the combination of discipline, determination, and devotion.
His country may need him only once, but he must always be ready.
Fourteen weeks at Dix start him down a long road to the unknown.
It may be Germany, Japan, Alaska, Korea, wherever bodies are needed.
It's part of the price of the leadership that has been thrust upon us, part of the price of survival.
In general, armies are as good as the nation behind them, for every soldier looks over his shoulder at his native land.
What we do here, in comfort and security, will do much to determine what that soldier does, wherever he is.
Here's what one said when he left Fort Dix or somewhere.
When we got off the train in Fort Dix, I was a little scared.
I didn't think I'd like it very much, and I didn't for a while there.
But you did have that feeling that, well, here you are all alone.
I mean, no matter how many men there were around, you were still very much alone.
And I don't know, there wasn't much you could do about it.
There wasn't anybody you could turn to talk to, like your family or your girl.
But after a while you realized that everybody else was feeling about it the same way.
So that helped you.
I think when you see somebody else suffer, you kind of suffer with them, and it helps your suffering.
But it wasn't long, you came out of it.
When you really got in the swing of things, you move right along and you enjoy it to an extent.
Here I am going out.
A New CBS Series Hear It Now!
A document for ear based on the week's news.
now is edited and produced by Edward R. Murrow and Fred W. Friendly, and the CBS staff, which
includes Irving Gitlin, Edmund Scott, Jesse Zausma, John Aaron, and Joseph Werschberg.
Portions of the program originated at WTOP, Washington, KFH, Wichita, WIVW, Topeka, Kansas,
WREC, Memphis, WLAC, Nashville, KWKH, Freeport, Louisiana, WCAU, Philadelphia, WGBS, Miami,
Florida, WDAE, Tampa, KCBS, San Francisco, and the British Broadcasting Corporation.
Owen Roberts' speech was originally made at the Atlantic Union Dinner in New York.
Combat recordings were made in Korea by CBS correspondents Robert P. Martin and John Jefferson.
The Fort Dix sequences were done in the field by Dallas Thompson.
Edward R. Murrow can be heard over most of these CBS stations Monday through Friday at
7.45 p.m. Eastern Standard Time.
Owen Ty speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.