The Baltimore Sun from Baltimore, Maryland • 157

Section PAGE 5 THE SUN, BALTIMORE, SUNDAY MORNING, AUGUST 2, 1970 An ambassador receives his education dfiW i'JM -j- L- 1 ,11, lf 'X i'M h-A i vw 3 i if siLj Ik, Georgians promenading along Tbilisi's Rustavili avenue. By ROBERT A. ERLANDSON Quito, Ecuador. "There have been a number of kidnap threats reported, and when I first arrived my car was being trailed by a little blue Datsun, trying to establish my pattern. But we stopped that when we put a tail on the tail," said Ambassador Findley Burns, a Baltimorean who became United States envoy to Ecuador in April.

That was the urbane 53-year-old career diplomat's introduction to Latin America after 29 years in posts throughout Europe and- as ambassador to Jordan during the 1967 Arab-Israeli six-day war. "But I don't spend any time brooding about it; it's part of the job the way the world is constituted today. It's a chance you have to take; one just has to be more prudent, but I've always managed to go where I want, when I want," the slender, bespectacled envoy said. Challenge and danger are nothing new to Ambassador Burns, who was raised at 1526 Bolton street and now lives in Del-ray Beach, Florida. He recalled that a few days before the June, 1967, war he was almost trapped In his car by an Amman mob.

Saw 'The Ugly A merican King Hussein had returned from concluding a military pact with President Nasser in Cairo and brought with him the then-leader of the Palestine Liberation Organization. The people streamed into the streets to proclaim a new closing of Arab ranks. "I didn't know what they were going to do," Ambassador Burns said. "We were driving downhill from the embassy, there was a tremendous mob coming uphill and we were caught in the traffic. I had just seen the movie "The Ugly American' the week before and I remembered the mobbing of Marlon Brando's car.

"My chauffeur, George, had seen the picture, too, and when I said, 'we'd better get out of he somehow turned the car around, going halfway up the bank and got us away." Ambassador Burns and key members of his staff spent the next week during the war barricaded inside the embassy, guarded outside by the king's personal guards. "But, strangely, nothing happened," he said, "although U.S. embassies all over the Middle East were being attacked." His first real and greatest diplomatic challenge came when he was political officer in West Berlin between 1958 and 1960 when the Russians repeatedly blocked American military convoys coming and going on the Autobahn. Mr. Burns was the chief negotiator with the Russians, and several times, he said, things got very ticklish.

The most dangerous Incident was in November, 1958, the day after the former Russian premier, Nikita Khrushchev announced he would have the Allies out of Berlin within six months. The Russians held up an incoming con- The Beard has tough time in Georgia Some stare, some smile and others just give it the evil eye By DEAN MILLS Findley Burns, Jr. assistant Secretary of State for Inter-' American Affairs. "The problems of Latin America are very interesting," the ambassador continued, "although the Middle East has more, critical worldwide importance at this mo-, ment because of its international aspects." Although he has traveled extensively, Ambassador Burns said, "I actually en-: joy sightseeing, and I've been sightseeing in Quinto probably more than any normal tourist. I'm still a tourist at heart and I've been to all the churches, the mu seums and the galleries." The political events in Ecuador, with the government seizing total power as a dictatorship, have kept him too occupied to see much of the country beyond the capital, he said, but his deep interest in history now being extended to pre-Columbian and Spanish Colonial he expects will lead him not only throughout Ecuador, but through other South Ameri-1 can countries as well.

President Jose Maria Ibarra voy for 12 hours, Mr. Burns said, demanding to inspect the vehicles and their contents. It took some delicate negotiating to free them, he said, adding, with great understatement, "but we were prepared to do what we had to do" to gain their freedom. Ambassador Burns said he has not been in Ecuador long enough to form detailed impressions of the country, but he exclaimed over its scenic beauty and the hospitality he and his wife, the former Martha Lobeck, of Alexandria, have received. "Quito is a new field for me," the ambassador, a former student at Gilman School, in Baltimore, and St.

Andrew's School, Middletown, and a 1939 Princeton graduate. After two years at Continental Can Company, on East Bid-die street, he joined the Foreign Service and has served in Madrid, Brussels, Warsaw, Vienna and London, in addition to the Berlin and Jordan posts. Before coming to Ecuador, he served as deputy Tbilisi, Georgian S.S.R. It started before the train got to Tbilisi. Somewhere in the middle of the night and the middle of the Caucasian mountains where wild tribesmen roamed only a few decades ago, two Georgians clomped into the train compartment.

"Why," demanded one of them, in one of the first and few things he said, "do you keep that beard?" It was like that for the whole time The Beard stayed in Georgia. Something there is in Georgians, the people who gave the world the Stalin mustache, that does not like chin whiskers. Stops girl-watching While The Beard was in Tbilisi, the Georgian capital city, it was the sensation of the town. Everyone stared. Some smiled, a few laughed out loud, many muttered under their mustaches.

On the square before the modernistic new subway station on Rustavili Avenue, where groups of a half dozen men stand together talking and assaying groups of half a dozen young women walking buy, normal activity would stop. Half a dozen heads would turn, as if on command, to stare at the beard. And snicker. Stout old women, the most conserva- fore they'd escaped to a polite distance. There was no explaining Georgian anti-beardism.

All Soviet society, of course, tends to be conservative. Miniskirts here are less mini, long-haired youngsters shorter haired than in the West. But even in Moscow beards are a normal if not prominent-part of the facial landscape. Georgia's Caucasian neighbors, Armenia and Azerbaijan, produce ample crops of whiskers on young intellectuals and old peasants. "Girls don't like them because they scratch," suggested one Georgian.

The reasoning seemed slightly irrelevant because the beard at hand was married and even more so because the Georgian himself was bristly with a couple days' growth. "You're not a bad looking fellow," said another Georgian, also sporting a weekend's worth of black whiskers, "if only you'd shave off that awful beard." Still another Georgian was more direct, if less verbal. He had a round face, a Stalin mustache, and a mean look. He sat behind the plate glass window of a Tbilisi barber shop, and he was gesturing wildly to the beard to come inside. tive and shameless policemen of social conventions in any Soviet city, were galvanized into their most ruthless methods.

Some were content with a stare that began twenty paces away, and continued with a gradual revolution of the head as they met and walked past the beard, still staring. The more indignant planted their stocky black walking shoes stolidly on the sidewalk and aimed their best evil eyes at the beard as it walked toward, past, and beyond them. Just no explaining In a dairy store, a kindly old Russian woman tried to intervene when another woman pushed ahead of the beard in a line to buy cheese. Foreigners, the Russian woman lectured sternly in an attempt to uphold Soviet hospitality, should not be treated so rudely. The second woman, a tall brunette, looked around at the beard and burst into laughter.

She did not give up her place. In a souvenir store, a teen-aged girl speaking Russian yanked two of her friends to within two feet of the beard, on the pretext of looking at a necklace "for my aunt." Their giggles bubbled out be-. Rostock boasts calm campus University rector recognizes no gap between East Germany's generations By JOSEPH R. L. STERNE Cameras disliked in Alexandria An Italian got 14 years in jail for taking pictures of harbor By OSWALD JOHNSTON Rostock, East Germany.

Americans who deplore and detest the student protest movement might find some" solace at the University of Rostock, a venerable institution founded in 1419. Here there are no violent confrontations, no teach-ins, no sacking of the dean's office. Consensus is revered. Military service Is considered an unchallengeable duty to society. Not a puff of pot is to be seen on campus.

While some students wear long hair and short skirts, there is no question that the administration runs the university. The 527th rector of Rostock is Dr. Guenter Heidorn, a pipe-smoking man of 48 who specializes in the history of the German working movement. He complains that his present post plus the vice presidency of the National Historical Society and membership in the Natioal Educational Council and World Federation of Scientific Workers keep him too busy. Dr.

Heidorn has three daughters with whom he tries to discuss predictable problems. He believes there is no generation gap in East Germany, that the disputes between young and old in his country are much the same as the disputes among members of the same generation. Eighty miles away in West Germany, where the universities are in constant turmoil, admiration for East Germany's educational progress is mixed with a conviction that its campus tranquility is the product of repression of the constant threat that anyone who dares to dissent will be summarily denied his place in the university and the opportunity for advancement in later life. Dr. Heidorn predictably does not look at it that way.

When asked during a quiet chat in his office if Rostock students are radical, he drew a distinction between rebellion and revolutionary sentiment. "Our students are as revolutionary as our society," he said. "They are part of a revolutionary society and because there man in a fez sits consuming a solitary dinner in the ornate restaurant. But, from a second-floor room, facing the seaside, there in plain view from the window, an oval radar screen turns on a metal pylon. Beneath it are heavy concrete bunkers, only partly screened by trees and a newly built fence.

The complex sits overlooking East Harbor, more or less precisely where the guidebook says the yacht club ought to be. It is unmistake-able: a SAM-3 site. Sitting back in the room one can study it carefully with fieldglasses. One regrets the missing camera even though a sign must be posted somewhere saying no. So much for the taut security of Alexandria.

Paris's Moima has time for all By PATRICIA PULLAN are no problems in a 'Socialist system over the ownership of production or property they tthe students! are basically satisfied with the system." Socialist history and practice does not permit the creation of an "Establishment" against which students would want to rebel. If there is rebellion, it comes when Socialist principles and conduct are not' adhered to, Dr. Haidorn continued. Some, Rostock students are quite rebellious and "single-minded" on questions of principle and, as elsewhere, they are inclined to be critical. In dealing with student dissatisfaction, the entire East German university system in recent years has adopted reforms with which Dr.

Haidorn seemed quite happy. At Rostock, for example, the administration's control of the university is unchanged but a 40-membcr advisory council has been set up that includes eight students and representatives of the state, the faculty and the public. When disputes arise, the practice is to avoid a showdown or "fighting" vote at all costs and to continue discussions indefinitely until a consensus is reached. In this way, such perennial student issues as the running of dining halls, housing accommodations for married couples, methods of grading and the conduct of examinations are considered. Although Dr.

Haidorn said political discussion among students is encouraged, he denied the existence of a spectrum of opinion from right through center to left, as it exists in Western universities. He was downright hostile in his attitude toward Herbert Marcuse, Mao Tse-tung and others who stir leftist sentiments among students in capitalist countries. The rector was reluctant to discuss Rostock's reaction to the Czechoslovak affair in 1968, but he acknowledged that it was "very complicated." "Our students realized very quickly that this step Uhe Soviet Bloc invasion) was necessary' to protect Czechoslovakia from West German imperialism. While he thus indirectly acknowledged some student unrest over Czechoslovakia, Dr. Haidorn stressed the unanimity of student opinion in favor of the full diplomatic recognition of the German Democratic Republic.

Dr. Haiijprn said he took a permissive position toward long-haired boys and girls who sport ultra-minis although he personally considers such styles "unaesthetic." But if drug traffic or hashish smoking should begin on the Rostock campus, the rector would take quite a different tack. "I must tell you I would immediately intervene," he said. "I would be merciless. I would favor every measure to save our students from this threat to mankind." Alexandria, Egypt.

Here on the seacoast where the Russians keep their ships is where the security really becomes intense. The suspicious clicks on the line when a phone call is made at the Hilton, the helpful tourist guide who invariably materializes in the embassy section of Cairo and asks if he can guide you where you are going all are nothing to the security at Alexandria. Be careful what you photograph, you are warned. Only last winter, an Italian claiming to be a tourist got 14 years for taking pictures of the harbor. Perhaps he was a spy-but the prosecutor wanted the death penalty.

One leaves the camera behind. Alex-as Westerners living in Egypt call it-is still the place where Cairo civil servants escape when the summer heat begins and the weekends grow longer. The sea breeze is unaffected by the war, the security, the Russians, the seedy decay of the old port city. So it is still easy to get to. A year ago you had to drive through the desert, a roundabout way that took the visitor far out of sight of the newly fortified airfields being prepared north of Cairo.

Inexplicably, you could take the train, which runs parallel to the forbidden direct road through the Nile Delta and gives a perfectly good view of the same airfields. Russian headquarters Today, you can still take the train, but the desert road is off limits. It goes through Cairo West airfield, now headquarters for the Russian military. The delta road is reopened, but the regulations forbid any stopping or getting lost on side roads. Since such regulations are sometimes enforced, it is better to take the train.

The nerve ends of Alex are rooted in its western harbor, where the Soviet Mediterranean fleet puts in, and where the SAM's are unloaded. But from the moment one disembarks at the downtown railway station and begins running the gauntlet of porters clutching for suitcases, the signs of vigilance are present For one thing, there are more military uniforms in evidence than in downtown Cairo. For another, one's attention is more frequently distracted by those per. emptory warning signs, "No photo" la English and Arabic, with which Egyptian security unaccountably gives away its military installations. "Who would wnat to photograph one wonders, glancing at a hideous pile of dusty redbrick with barred metal windows.

"Of course an Army installation I'm not supposed to know about." Hotel is seedy The Cecil, a seedy, British Empire-style 19th century hotel, sits on a square along the waterfront, overlooking the no longer used East Harbor. Impatient, one heads west, fieldglasses half-hidden under one arm, walking briskly into a humid wind. There is nothing to see. Boys flying kites made of wadded newspapers, fishermen drying nets, a few sailors patrolling. At Ras al-Tim, the fortified palace on the cape that separates the West Harbor from the East, uniformed men mill about behind high, locked gates.

An out-of-date guidebook recommends a tour of the palace, where King Farouk once spent summer weekends. No more; now it is headquarters for the Egyptian Navy. A boy in pajamas cruising past on a bicycle admonishes sternly: "No photo. Not to see." On the streets adjoining the forbidden West Harbor, the walls are high. The neighborhood is slummy and rundown, and people eye travelers with suspicion the first such hostility encountered in Egypt.

It is hot, away from the water. Discouraged, one hails an ancient, wheezing taxi and goes back to the other end of town. Curious melancholy A long walk In the other direction, miles past the East Harbor, yields scarcely more. The curious melancholy peculiar to decaying seaside resorts pervades the newer beachfront sections of the city. Once-elaborate bathing establishments sprawl empty, their plaster facades peeling.

Seaside pavilions on pilings support faded billboards advertising sun tan oil and beer. Only one serious note a massive shore battery, of World War II vintage, sandbagged and apparently manned. It is guarded also by a small sign: No Photo. Again discouraged, cne returns to the aging Cecil, where an ancient bearded Paris. "Step right up, it's Mouna time!" proclaimed the black-bearded, bespectacled character in blue striped rompers as he tinkled a cow bell in the bustling Place de l'Odeon at the noonday aperitif hours.

"Dear he intoned, "if humanity doesn't put finis to war, war will put finis to humanity you mark by words." Gazing at us benevolently, he sat down at our table and inquired what we did in life. At the mention of "press" he shook hands vigorously. "So we're colleagues," exulted Aguigui Mouna, who was born Andre Dupont in Paris 58 years ago. He edits a "philosophical sheet" called "Mouna Freres" "the least read of the sporadic press, yet has a circulation of 20,000." He has been peddling it on the Paris pavements for the past seven years. Imitate Diogenes "I try to explain my philosophy, taking the sages of antiquity as examples.

Did men like Socrates or Diogenes worry their heads about common sense? Like them I hold forth in public places, talking to all and sundry. I try to imitate Diogenes, but draw the line at living in a barreL" Orphaned at the age of seven, Mouna had a bleak childhood. His few pleasant months of soldiering in World War LI ended as a prisoner of war. On his return he lived from hand to mouth, often on unemployment relief. It was while working as a cafe waiter that he discovered Confucius, Gandhi, Bergson, Kierkegaard 'and Spinoza, who helped him make light of his despair.

"In life, lady, you have got to laugh, in order not to cry." In 1953 Mouna bolted from the cafe in the Rue du Louvois because it faced a funeral parlor. With the tips he had accumulated he was able to buy a barrel organ with which he roamed Europe. Defending man Mouna's community of Aguiguistes in Paris is composed mostly of students who meet him on the Boul Mich and Saint-Germain-des-Pres. Their shibboleth is to defend man against injustice, oppression, bombs, pollution, and "roboti-zation by myths" which they consider their enemy No. 1 "That's why I always shout in the street: 'Mouna's here.

Buzz off He sipped his white wine pensively. "I protest against man's petrification, the infernal machine of success, money which destroys all that is noble in the heart of man, turning him into a robot I'm against beauty contests too. When I take my us, Anastasla, to Cannes I award her the Miss Festival title before we get there, to avoid arguments." Although he has been a rebel all his life, Mouna has no use for black flags or Phrygian caps. Throwing rocks, tearing trees up from the sidewalk and setting fire to automobiles makes his pacific nature shudder. If he wears a shiny top hat it is merely to protect himself from "radioactive fall-out" he's "nobody's fool," he said.

Quoting moral values The ambulatory philosopher has climbed olive trees in Antibes to protest against pollution. Dressed as Santa Claus last Christmas he stood on the steps of the Paris Stock Exchange clamoring for moral values to be quoted alongside steel shares. Two of his disciples bid him the time of day, tapping their foreheads, which is the customary Mouna greeting. An outsized safety pin on a chain round his neck intrigued us and we asked him why he wore it. "Because for me and my followers it replaces a necktie.

The safety pin is our symbol, you see. Aguiguism is derived from onomatopoeia to make infants happy. Fundamentally it is the cry of life. We aim at returning to the spontaneity of childhood, to be as pure as children, and thus create a world where peace and fraternity reign, a world liberated from its conformity.".