In the snug atmosphere of Chiang Kaishek's sitting room—among the potted plants, old scrolls, Sung urns and leather chairs—the 20-year single-party monopoly of the Kuomintang (National People's Party) was, nominally, coming to an end. The Generalissimo ran his eye over the hand-charactered document. "Hao hao!" he exclaimed, "let us sign and have this copy as a souvenir." Across the agreement for a coalition government, the spokesman for the Young China Party, the Democratic Socialists, and the nonparty independents added their brushstroke signatures to Chiang's own Kuomintang endorsement.
Little Parties In. The signers agreed that the new State Council—China's "supreme organ on state affairs" pending popular elections—should include 17 members of the Kuomintang* and four each from the other three groups. There were vacant council chairs for the Communists on terms nobody in China expected Communists to accept: 1) recognize the authority of the broadened Government in Nanking; 2) let go their intermittent grip on North China rail lines.
Then the Generalissimo reminded his guests of the vacant premiership. Under the coalition agreement, the premier must be acceptable to all parties. "It is my thought," said he, "that Chang Chun take the post."
There was no dissent, only a warm clapping of hands—and beaming nods of appreciation from stocky, smiling Chang Chun himself.
New Man Up. Thus to the world's notice last week came a Chinese of whom the world would doubtless hear more: General Chang Chun (58 but looking younger), Governor of rich Szechwan (Chungking's province), leader of Nanking's moderate Political Science Group, friend of Chiang Kai-shek since they went to military school together in Japan.
General Chang had often stood up for Generalissimo Chiang. In 1931, as mayor of Shanghai, Chang arrested militant student leaders on orders from Chiang. Five thousand fellow students thereupon invaded the municipal offices, captured Chang, and made him stand up (literally) for a day and a night, listening to speeches denouncing him and Chiang Kaishek. Released, Chang left the municipal building in an ambulance.
In 1938, forced back by the Japanese, Chiang gave old friend Chang the job of getting remote Szechwan province under control, in preparation for moving the capital to Chungking. He made Chang, himself a Szechwanese, the governor. But the close-knit Szechwan old guard refused to accept Chang. Thereupon the Generalissimo assumed the title of governor himself, worked Chang in as special assistant, and in 1940 slipped out from under, leaving Chang in charge.
Chang got Szechwan under control, gathered more experience at the Gimo's elbow, practiced his halting English. Sociable, with an eye for bright ties and an ear for funny stories, Chang got along well with Westerners.
In Chang's Szechwan thrives the gravely gamboling panda. When they began to charm children and zoo addicts in general, Chang arranged to ship out two of the rare creatures a year—in exchange for forign scholarships for Szechwan youths.* Recently he admitted his love for American-style ice cream (made on his home freezer). Chang's attractive wife talked of rationing his helpings.