TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/caps/83/83capmoy.7

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                                                                                January 2, 1984

MEN OF THE YEAR

For Who Also Shaped Events


Local Heroes Shouldering Global Burdens


It is easy, even tempting, to think of them all as old,
tough-as- leather Marines. But they were also Army and Navy,
cooks and drivers, pilots and paratroopers. Most of them were
young, and had never seen combat before.

The Marines' sacrifice in Beirut was disproportionate; 220 of
the 241 killed in the headquarters bombing, plus 16 more hit by
snipers and shrapnel. All told this year, 278 Americans who had
volunteered to serve their country in uniform returned home from
combat in coffins. The week most of them died, President Reagan
reminded the public that the U.S. had "global responsibilities."
That notion, a bit textbookish to most citizens, is a good deal
less abstract to the 2.1 million members of the American
military. The grittiest responsibilities are theirs.

Literally. The sand gets into everything, always. In grenada
and Lebanon, as in more peaceful G.I. terrains, the sand is in
the dregs of the cloying powdered orange juice, gums up the
bunkmate's cassette player, sticks to sweaty necks. The troops
sit talking for hours in close tents and stifling bunkers, young
men who hope, because they are lance corporals and gunnery
sergeants, that they are above whimpering. The 1982 high school
graduate from Pontiac, Mich., writing a letter home ("Don't
worry, really!"), shakes his dried-up Bic. An infantryman with
a tiny mirror, still not used to the G.I. Buzz cut, stares at
himself. A lieutenant from Live Oak Fla., peeks nervously over
the sandbag ramparts and wonders about the alien landscape. A
private forks out the last globs of mushy tinned meat and then,
dog- tired from worrying about mortar rounds all day, snuffs his
cigarette in the greasy C-ration can and sleeps.

Each inhabits his own singular combat zone. Yet a provocative
phrase cropped up in news reports: "Not since the end of the war
in Viet Nam . . ."  Some of the analogies were impressionistic
and wrong:  the Middle East, Central America and the Caribbean
are not Indochina. But some of the bench marks were plain,
blunt facts. Not since Viet Nam, until Beirut, had so many U.S.
servicemen been killed in a single day. Not since then, until
Grenada, had U.S. servicemen launched a combat operation of such
size. Not since then, until a Navy A-6 was shot down over
Lebanon, had a U.S. fighter pilot died in combat; not since
then, until the capture by Syrians of the same A-6's bombardier,
had a U.S. serviceman been a P.O.W. Lieut. Robert O. Goodman
will be freed, the Syrians said, only "when the war has ended."

Who knew that a war had begun?  The troops in Beirut were there
to keep peace. Yet as Philosopher Herbert Spencer wrote, long
before the U.S. became a superpower. "Soldiers are policemen who
act in unison."

The year 1983 marked the tenth anniversary of the U.S.
all-volunteer force. Americans expect national pride to draw
enough youngsters into service, but such volunteerism is not
universal. Elsewhere, including nearly all of Europe,
conscription is the rule. In the U.S. about 6,000 new recruits,
600 of them women, are signing up every week. High unemployment
is one prod. But there is another, probably more important
reason: A Pentagon recruitment official calls it "a renewed
spirit of patriotism."

The troops are stationed in 112 countries, from Iceland to the
Philippines. But this year, at least, the most visible
departures and homecomings have had a U.S. locus, the stretch
of North Carolina ant includes the Marines' Camp Lejeune and the
Army's Fort Bragg. This month, 2,000 troops returned from
Grenada, and 1,800 Marines, some aboard the Iwo Jima, came back
from Lebanon. They stepped into a familiar dream. Bands
played. Infants were tweaked. Couples swung M-16s out of the
way and hugged. The troops were home. They had served, and
served well.


Eloquent Pilgrim with a Message of Peace

In a year that saw ever rising fears of nuclear war, a white
robed figure journeyed the globe to proclaim a yearning for
peace and justice. John Paul II, history's most traveled Pope,
set out on spectacular, taxing pilgrimages to two of the world's
most troubled regions:  violence-torn Central America and his
dispirited homeland, Poland. As always, John Paul's charismatic
personality attracted millions of the faithful, and his words
and actions rarely failed to bring political reactions. He
roared "Silencio!" to unruly Sandinistas to disrupted a Mass he
was celebrating in Nicaragua; he made a surprise visit to the
grave of El Salvador's martyred Archbishop Oscar Romero; and he
bluntly told the government of dirt- poor Haiti, "Something must
change here."  In Poland he met with General Wojciech Jaruzelski
and called for the unshackling of Solidarity, the banned labor
union. He also met privately with his native country's most
celebrated nonperson, Nobel Peace Prizewinner Lech Walesa.

Throughout the year, John Paul continued to command television
screens and front pages in a conscious effort to gain maximum
publicity for his message of peace in the world. Everywhere he
went, the Pope preached on the mounting dangers of the buildup
of atomic weapons; he sent written appeals to Soviet Leader Yuri
Andropov and President Ronald Reagan to keep the arms-limitation
talks alive. The Pope also achieved a long-sought goal: an
agreement, which will soon be announced, to exchange diplomatic
representatives with Washington.

The Pope's antinuclear stance was pivotal to his message of the
absolute value of human life. This principle led him to
denounce abortion, to question research in armaments and human
genetic engineering, and to intervene, unsuccessfully, in the
executions of condemned men in Guatemala and Florida.

Increasingly, John Paul's pontificate appeared to be summed up
by this phrase from a speech he gave to Indians in Guatemala:
"No more divorce between faith and life."  He continued to be
outspoken in his opposition to Marxist-influenced liberation
theology, contending that political preaching must reject
violence and be rooted in Christian teaching. The pope demanded
human rights and justice from governments of the left, Poland
and Nicaragua, as well as the right, Guatemala and the
Philippines.

John Paul did not escape criticism. Roman Catholic liberals in
the West complained that he failed to practice at the Vatican
what he preached as he traveled the world. To them, justice
within the church would allow for the ordination of women, the
right of priests to marry, and freedom for Catholic couples to
use birth control without guilt. Some Protestants also found
fault with what they saw as his inflexibility in leading the
church. Although John Paul honored the name of Martin Luther
in his 500th anniversary year, and became the first Pope ever
to preach in a Lutheran church, the Christian Century, a U. S.
Protestant weekly, described him as "unbendingly orthodox if not
downright medieval."  John Paul appeared convinced, however,
that in order to survive, the Catholic Church must regain its
cohesion and discipline. Among his many disputed steps toward
that end: warning U.S. bishops about the lack of discipline in
the huge American church, and pursuing investigations of its
seminaries and religious orders.

Slowed only slightly by aftereffects of the attempt on his life
in 1981, John was again fit and in command. As if to prove to
the world that he does indeed practice what he preaches, at
year's end he requested a private meeting with his assailant,
Mehmet Ali Agca, which is expected to take place this week. At
63, John Paul II is still young for a Pope; his powerful and
eloquent moral voice seems likely to be heard for many years to
come.


Triumphant Leader at the Helm

For Margaret Thatcher, the challenge in 1983 was to top 1982,
when a triumphant battle with Argentina over a sprinkling of
islands in the South Atlantic exhilarated the British and made
the Prime Minister almost as popular among her countrymen as
Bonnie Prince William. What better way to match a victory
abroad than with a victory at home? That Thatcher did, and as
usual with the "Iron Lady," halfhearted results would not do.
In the most sweeping British electoral conquest since 1945, her
Conservatives captures a 144-seat majority in the 650- member
Parliament.

Appropriately enough, the Prime Minister started 1983 with Union
Jacks flying by visiting the Falklands. Accorded a heroine's
welcome, she basked in the remembered glory, then returned home
to call elections for June, a year earlier than necessary.
Against a backdrop of angry protests directed at the deployment
of U.S. cruise missiles on British soil and unemployment at a
postwar high of 13.3%, Thatcher ran as the resolute leader who
would take on all opponents, be they leftists from Brighton or
generals from Buenos Aires. Fortune gave her an opposition
split between a Labor Party crippled by ideological warfare and
an untested centrist alliance of Liberals and Social Democrats.
Always ahead in the polls, the indefatigable Thatcher
campaigned as if she were always trailing. It never mattered
whether she faced a phalanx of We Love Maggie signs or a
fusillade of eggs:  the wave never weakened, the smile never
flagged.

On the day of her romp, an astute adviser warned Thatcher that
victory would not bring five years of smooth ruling. He was
right. Thatcher's reshuffled Cabinet performed poorly in
Parliament. An operation for a detached retina slowed her down
over the summer. Scandal struck when it was revealed that Trade
Minister and Tory Part Chairman Cecil Parkinson had fathered a
child by his secretary. The wayward colleague eventually
resigned, but Thatcher's waffling over whether he should quit
did her no good. Labor rose from its electoral ashes to choose
bright, eloquent Welshman Neil Kinnock, 41, as its new leader.
From Thatcher's Tory ranks came broadsides ripping her economic
policy, her lack of compassion, her foreign dealings. Press
Baron Rupert Murdoch, long an ardent backer, echoed the feelings
of many when he declared: "She has run out of puff."

Even Thatcher's sturdy friendship with Ronald Reagan suffered
strains when American troops invaded Grenada, a Commonwealth
member. The Prime Minister asked the President by telephone not
to go through with the operation; afterward, she uttered her
harshest words yet about the U.S. Said Thatcher: "If you are
going to pronounce a new law that whenever Communism reigns
against the will of the people the United States shall enter,
then we are going to have some really terrible wars."  She
opposed U.S. reprisal attacks in Lebanon, where Britain had
contributed 100 men to the 6,000-member Multi-National Force,
and criticized Washington's decision to resume arms sales to
Argentina.

As the turbulent year drew to a close, Thatcher remained
steadfast as ever. In India for the Commonwealth Conference,
she presented an award to Poet Mahadevi Varma, quoting lines she
might have written herself:

Take the boat to midstream      Though it sink, you shall
get across      Let dedication be your only helmsman      He
will see you through.

The redoubtable Thatcher sails into 1984 confident that her ship
will weather any storm.


Judicial Command of a Landmark Case

It is by far the largest corporate divestiture in history,
dwarfing the court-mandated division of the old Standard Oil
empire in 1911. And much more is at stake that the fortunes and
future of a company that last year had a million workers and
revenues of $69 billion. The split of American Telephone and
Telegraph into eight smaller companies, which takes effect on
New Year's day, will be felt by every person in the U.S. who
uses a phone, or expects to benefit from new communications
technologies that the breakup should inspire. The man who
supervised this landmark case is an unassuming, soft-spoken
German refugee, virtually unknown outside a small circle of
jurists. Yet Federal Judge Harold H. Greene, 60, in an
extraordinary display of judicial activism, has almost
singlehanded, determined the shape of the nation's new
telecommunications system.

In 1978 Green took over the Justice Department's suit to break
up AT&T. In a manner that some descried as autocratic, Greene
fought off Government requests for delays, including one that
would have had Congress settle the matter through legislation.
"Bizarre" was the judge's crisp response. In January 1982 Bell
executives and Assistant Attorney General William Baxter reached
an out-of-court settlement. That deal eventually saw the world's
largest company divided into a new AT&T, which will provide
long-distance phone service and be able to enter unregulated
fields of computers and telecommunications, and seven regional
operating companies which will supply local phone service.

It was Greene who ruled on the multitude of details that gave
the accord its final form. Says he:  "There would be nights
when I would wake up and couldn't get back to sleep. So I would
go downstairs and write. The staff had a pool going on how many
pages of typing I would bring in here in the morning."

Born Heinz Grunhaus in what is now East Germany, Greene and his
parents fled the Nazis in 1939, going to Belgium, France and
Spain before the U.S. He returned to Europe in 1945 as a staff
sergeant in Army Intelligence. Greene studies law at George
Washington University, graduating first in his night-school
class while also working full time for the Justice Department.

Greene's link with the Justice Department proved fruitful. In
late 1957 Congress created the Civil Right Division, and Greene
became the first head of the appeals and research section. He
supervised the drafting of legislation that became the Civil
Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965. In that
year, Lyndon Johnson named Green to be a judge (later chief
judge) in the District of Columbia's local court system.

Some critics, including top AT&T officials, complain that
Greene's role in the breakup of the Bell System was a classic
example of excessive judicial power. Here was one appointed
official deciding virtually by himself how the U.S. phone system
would operate. Greene argues that he was giving substance to
the deliberately vague language of antitrust laws. Says he:
"Judges cannot be afraid to exercise their legitimate role."

Greene has also been a participant in the telecommunications
revolution. Last month, like thousands of other Americans, he
went out and bought new telephones for his home.