The President's trip gave American correspondents their first opportunity in more than two decades for a personal look at China. When not covering Richard Nixon's activities, TIME'S Hugh Sidey inspected a secondary school and Jerrold Schecter visited a Peking department store and a division of the People's Liberation Army. Their reports:
Secondary School No. 26
Behind a 30-ft. gray statue of Mao sits Peking No. 26 secondary school, a five-year institution with 3,080 students and the driving spirit of Mao. At the door of the gray building, weatherworn and flaking, are the smiling hosts who have arranged the tour meticulously. The visitors trudge down the cold, dark halls (heat in the rooms only, electric light nowhere) and the first thing, as usual, is tea.
Mao up on the wall. His sayings all over. Wang Chong-chi, 42, a former soldier and vice chairman of the school's revolutionary committee, presides with a broad smile and constant reference to Mao. His ways are the school's ways, his thoughts the students' thoughts. Wang beckons and walks off down the cold halls.
No Noise. The students who have been pouring tea, age 12 or 13, step back against the wall. One smiles. A few wear the red arm bands that designate them as Red Guards. Proud of his operation, Wang keeps hurrying his guests on to see more. First comes a chemistry class. Mao looks down from the wall again. The students sit like robots listening to the teacher talk about analyzing the content of calcium. They recite like soldiers, turning to their books and back again on command, as if executing close-order drill. Nobody slouches, no eyes stray from the teacher to the guests; there is no unnecessary noise. It is like a machine, but the harshness of the moment is softened by the kids' faces. They are kind, eager, respectful, cheerful, warm. There is the scent of life about the place, even though Old Soldier Wang is doing his best to regiment the free spirit.
It is the same in the physics class where they are learning about internal combustion engines. Art class is a little softer. Younger children: they watch their teacher draw a branch and pine needles with an ink brush, and then they bend over their desks, their small hands brushing away.
English class is the place where the full impact of Mao hits an observer. "We love Chairman Mao," is chalked on the board, and below this are the lines: "Our great leader . . . the red sun ... in our hearts . . . love . . . best . . . work for . . . think of . . .be loyal to." On the desks are the English books opened to Lesson I for the eighth grade. "A long, long life to Chairman Mao. Chairman Mao, you are the red sun in our hearts. We are sun flowers. Sun flowers always face the red sun. We think of you day and night. We wish you a long life."
"Who will recite in English?" asks the teacher. All the hands shoot up. Like bursts of machine gun fire they go through the bilingual drills. Wang glows. The teacher leans over and picks up a color picture of Mao and puts it on the board. "Who do you see?" she asks. In unison, the class shouts back in English, "Our beloved leader Chairman Mao." Is this really an English class? One of the guests puts the question to the interpreter. There is some discussion; then she answers simply, "Yes."