HEROES: Back to Texas

Not since the London mob cheered gaudy Lord Nelson had any sailorman returned to port from victories so vast. But Americans were inclined to be a little vague about the U.S. Navy's white-haired, pink-cheeked Fleet Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, who had directed the Battle of the Pacific from a desk. He had never courted publicity. He had accumulated stiff titles like CINCPAC or CINCPOA instead of nicknames. And he had spent most of the war at Pearl Harbor and Guam.

Also the public had been welcoming Army heroes on a production-line basis and was a little throat-weary. Nevertheless the Navy was determined to see that its senior hero got his due.

When the Admiral arrived in Washington, D.C., the Navy had gathered up 5,000 troops, a half-dozen bands, artillery and captured Japanese equipment for a parade to end parades, had gassed up a thousand airplanes to fly overhead. The show pulled a bigger house than either Generals Eisenhower or Wainwright—more than a million people cheered from the sidewalks.

In New York, 3,000,000 more people roared a welcome, threw 274 tons of ticker tape and letterheads (on account of the paper shortage General Eisenhower got but 77 tons). A huge ship's bow with five stars, hawsers, other seagoing gizmos was built in front of City Hall, and vast mobs gathered to watch the Admiral go aboard to the shrill of bosuns' calls. In the evening 2,000 people paid $15 a plate to attend a posh Waldorf-Astoria dinner where Admiral Nimitz* was introduced by Nelson Rockefeller.

Competition from a Cloud. Amid all this uproar the Admiral carried himself with aplomb; smiled, waved, saluted manfully, honestly appeared to enjoy himself. But it was evident that he would have been more at home at fleet headquarters than on the poop deck of an open automobile on Broadway.

Minor actors repeatedly stole the show. New York's Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia did it by raising a hand and commanding, "Come out, sun," when a cloud put the City Hall square in shade. The cloud passed. The sun came out, and the crowd almost killed itself laughing. Crowds along the streets politely applauded the Admiral. But they squealed at the sight of Marine Ace Gregory ("Pappy") Boyington, giggled and waved as a 17-year-old marine winner of the Congressional Medal of Honor bawled from a jeep: "Come and kiss me, girls!"

And like many another seadog since the days of Salamis, Fleet Admiral Nimitz seemed to yaw a little in the shifting winds of press conferences. Example: of the atomic bomb he said, "It is a weapon which will undoubtedly add to the complexities of field commanders."

Where the Bloom Is on the Sage. But all this took place on the eastern seaboard. When it was over, Texas-born Chester Nimitz flew back to the Lone Star State, where every man, woman and child knew all about him and felt he had contributed mightily to the greater glory of the greatest warrior race in history. In Austin, Christmas tree lights were strung up over the streets and in Dallas huge crowds yipped and whooped happily.