VENEZUELA: Dress: Formal

With the pomp and panoply of a coronation, socialist Venezuela this week inaugurated a President, Novelist Rómulo Gallegos Freire, grand old (63) man of his country's struggle for freedom,* became its first popularly elected chief executive. The Venezolanos, with a feeling that they were writing history, made the most of the occasion.

To Caracas they had invited representatives from most of the nations of the world. Somewhat to the Caraqueños' surprise, nearly all of them came, and the city (pop. 266,000) was hard put to it to take care of so many V.I.P.s. All told, 37 nations sent representatives. The U.S. sent down an aircraft carrier and a destroyer, a planeload of diplomats and generals, and Poet Archibald MacLeish to represent President Truman.

Traffic Jam. Each visitor was provided with a car, and for a while, chauffeured limousines were jammed three-deep for five blocks on the street leading to the Foreign Office, as diplomats waited to present credentials.

The program for all affairs specified the type of dress to be worn: traje corriente (street dress) for a few luncheons; traje chaqué (striped pants and cutaway coat) for the inauguration, and traje frac (white tie) con decoraciones for the banquets. By the day before the ceremonies started, there wasn't a cutaway coat or a full dress suit for rent or sale in all Venezuela.

Keys of the Kingdom. At 10 o'clock Sunday morning, the guests settled themselves in the Capitol's Hall of Congress to see Gallegos take over. From his predecessor, Rómulo Betancourt (who had held office as provisional President since the revolution of 1945), Gallegos received the yellow, blue and red presidential sash, took the oath of office. Then the party moved over to the north wing.

There, in the ornate Elliptical Salon, Betancourt handed Gallegos two keys. One unlocked the case in which the Constitution is kept; the other fitted a small urn containing the mortal remains of the Great Liberator, Simón Bolivar. Gallegos, deeply moved, pledged a democratic government, promised that all parties would be "allowed an open eye and a loose tongue." Despite all the glitter and gold braid, the ceremony was simple and moving.

In the afternoon, there was a military parade. The goings-on would last all week. There would be more luncheons, dinners, parades, concerts, folklore festivals, art exhibitions. It was certainly the biggest week in Caracas since Boljvar threw out the Spaniards.