(2 of 5)
Most of the committeemen expected to elect the official host, Secretary Stettinius, permanent president of the conference. Anthony Eden made the routine nomination. Curt and strained, Molotov rose and objected. The conference, he said, should have four presidents, one for each of the sponsoring powers (the U.S., Russia, Britain. China); each of the presidents should take his turn with the gavel, and together they should control all the business of the conference. The delegation heads who made up the steering committee heard this proposal with successive disbelief, dismay, anger: it seemed to them to be a deliberate, pointless affront to Stettinius and international custom.
Secretary Stettinius, who was presiding, kept his head, kept out of the quarrel, and did his failing best to keep order. Molotov had forewarned both Stettinius and Anthony Eden that he would propose to rotate the presidency, but not that he wanted to tie up all conference procedure in a four-man presidium. Eden finally suggested a way out: rotate the conference presidency, make Stettinius permanent chairman of the potent steering and executive committees. Molotov seemed to agree, then insisted that only the four-way split of the conference presidency be announced that day. Everything was put over until the next day. Thoroughly incensed at Molotov, the committeemen filed out.
In the lobby, Molotov strode ahead of his guards and encountered a San Francisco girl. Said she: "Welcome to our city." Molotov understood her manner, if not her words. He bobbed his quick, characteristic little curtsey, smiled with his eyes, and tossed something in Russian over his shoulder. Someone told the girl that he had said: "You are very nice."
"My," she breathed. A punctilious Russian who spoke English paused and set her right. The Commissar had said: "You are very kind to say so."
By Their Words. . . . Within the hour, Molotov called a press conference, apologized for being late, met all questions (mostly about Poland) amiably and well, and dashed off with a farewell "Poka"—"So long!"
So far, the No. 1 Russian in San Francisco had been alternately sullen and affable, domineering and humble. Net reaction: what the hell? Then came the Russians' first formal, enlightening statements to the conference.
Two notes—one from the White Russian Soviet Socialist Republic, one from the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic— sought to justify their requests for seats and votes at the conference and in the future General Assembly. Nobody credited their pretensions to separate sovereignty; if the requests were granted, the Soviet Union would have three votes. But knowing delegates paid attention to both notes' emphasis on the war record and the sentiments of the White Russians and Ukrainians themselves.
When Molotov addressed the conference, not one listener in a hundred understood his emphatic Russian. But they satin taut quiet, waited anxiously for weary Mr. Pavlov's translation. It told them much.
¶ The Russians felt that Britain and France, the guiding powers of pre-1939 Europe, had botched their job. Russia now proposed to do better; in taut quiet, waited anxiously for weary Mr. Pavlov's translation. It told them much.