ARMY & NAVY: Happy Birthday

In the week when Henry Lewis Stimson ended his public career, men debated whether the Bomb, the bombing or seapower had won the war. But they agreed, in paying tribute to the retiring Secretary of War, that by his own effort he had done much to cut the war’s fearful cost.

Henry Stimson went home with his wife to West Hills, L.I., on his 78th birthday. The crowded week had brought him the Distinguished Service Medal, awarded by Harry Truman for 40 years of work, “exceptional in the history of the nation.” There had been the big reception at Dumbarton Oaks, the farewell press conference, the final Cabinet meeting. Henry Stimson. correct and courtly as ever, loved it all.

First to Fight. Longer than most men, he had seen and feared the conflict that brought him back to Washington five years ago. Sooner than most, he had learned that there was no passive defense against aggression. As Herbert Hoover’s Secretary of State in 1931, he had spoken out almost alone against the Japs’ first thrust at China. From then on he had refused to recognize Axis conquest, even when it was unpopular to refuse.

Senate isolationists voted not to confirm the Republican 7 2-year-oldster, when Franklin Roosevelt called him in to recreate the Army—at that time (June 1940) under 300,000 men. There were officers who looked up at his old-fashioned portrait in the Munitions Building (painted when he was Secretary under Taft), and shook their heads at the ancient’s return. Stimson ignored the Senators, soon brought his officers up short.

Elder Statesman Stimson was still young enough to run his own show. He did, and not even Chief of Staff George Marshall ever doubted who was boss. Neither did the three strong men who came in as civilian aides: Judge Robert P. Patterson, his Under Secretary, and his Assistant Secretaries Robert A. Lovett and John Jay McCloy.

All of them got bawled out on occasion; all of them learned to fear the crooked forefinger Henry Stimson shook at them when he was mad. All down the military line, the old Secretary demanded performance and got it. Before he was through, it was the greatest Army on earth, and as he always knew it would, it won.

Brass Hats, Brass Band. When he and his wife reached the airport last week they got a surprise. “The Brass”—every general in Washington—was on hand, 150 strong. A military band struck up Happy Birthday to You. As the Stimsons walked to the plane, the generals snapped to attention, saluted more smartly than generals usually do. The onetime artillery officer tried to return the salute. But he was misty-eyed as he looked back and called out, “Goodbye, all.”