"WHY don't you say," said NAC leader Mike Ansara, "'Former War Criminals Go To Washington To Advise Their Successors'?"

"For whatever it matters," said Francis M, Bator, professor of Political Economy, "the kids are right. There is an establishment of men who have influence and power in Washington. Some of us here at Harvard have been working on the inside for a long time. But since Nixon's Cambodia speech, we are ready for political action. The inside game is over as far as we're concerned."

Perhaps the most remarkable of all the anti-war activities involving Harvard people recently was an odyssey to Washington a month ago by a dozen highly dis?inguished senior Harvard Faculty members, most of them with long-established ties in the government power structure, to publicly lobby for the first time against the war. They insisted that all their meetings-including an emotional encounter with their old associate Henry Kissinger-be on the record. And they went to encourage congressional action to curtail the foreign-policy-making power of the President-"Something most of us would have found horrifying even three weeks ago." said Richard Neustadt, professor of Government and author of Presidential Power. The dozen associated themselves with the Peace Action Strike led by charismatic professor Everett Mendelsohn-"which strikes us as a pretty radical thing for a bunch of old men to do"-but used their Washington connections and smaller size to get themselves in to see people the larger group couldn't.

Bator explained all this in his Littauer Center office the day before the group went down. His office is full of memories of the Johnson administration, in which he was from 1965 through 1967 Deputy Special Assistant to President for National Security Affairs in charge of European polities and international economic affairs. A dapper, distinguished-looking man, he speaks with a Mendel-sohn-esque elegance and just a touch of a European accent. (His biography lists him as being from Hungary via Groton.) His articulate speech is punctuated for effect with well-placed proletarianism. ("I'm willing to bet 100 to one considerable sums of money that all they'll find in Cambodia is a couple of holes in the ground and some Hershey bars.")

Bator said of the trip, "It might seem a very nuancy thing for someone who wants to burn down University Hall, but for us middle-aged squares to go to Washington in public like this and tell them to Get The Hell Out Of Cambodia. Stop The Idiot Bombing, and reaffirm the road being taken in the past to withdraw all troops, is a big deal. Those of us formerly of the Cabinet and subcabinet level are hereby announcing that we are no longer playing the private game. We publicly regard the change in policy as intolerable. Galbraith's been playing this game for a long time, but for us this kind of grandstanding is a new role."

Most of the professors flew down from Cambridge together Thursday evening, leaving the emergency Faculty meeting before any decision had been reached on what to do about grades and exams. Edwin O. Reischauer, University Professor and former ambassador to Japan, and Nobel Laureate Edward M. Purcell, Gerhard Gade University Professor, were going to meet them in Washington. Dean May, a professor of History and former Army historian, couldn't leave the Faculty meeting but planned to fly down Friday in time for the Kissinger confrontation.

At their rooms in the Hay-Adams Hotel, on Lafayette Park directly across from the White House, those there Thursday evening spent six hours planning strategy for the following day-mainly for their meeting with "Henry." It was a highly intense discussion between some of the most noted intellects of the country: they consumed two bottles of Cutty Sark Scotch in the process.

TYPICALLY, the first one up for breakfast at 7:30 Friday morning was Thomas Schelling, professor of Economics. Schelling, an almost frail-looking man with a crew cut shorter than Ernie May's, was the person who brought the group together. He was also the closest associate in the group of Henry Kissinger. He doesn't look or act like the leader type. His conversation is studded with long, long pauses which make you think he's probably forgotten the problem at hand: in fact, he's more probably solved it. Throughout the day he issued directives with quiet authority which the other distinguished professors obviously respected. After ordering English muffins and glancing at the sports section of the Washington Post, Schelling pulled out his yellow legal pad and started to figure out who should go at 9:30 to see Senator Edward Brooke, and who should join the Mendelsohn group of Faculty members, students, and employees for a meeting in the New Senate Auditorium. (The schedule for the rest of the day included Senator Edward Kennedy '54 at 10:30 lunch with Kissinger at 1:30 p.m., Undersecretary of Defense David Packard-a last-minute addition-at 3:30 p.m., and Undersecretary of State Eliot Richardson at 5:30 p.m.)

Purcell and Reischauer had been unable to come to Washington, so the final group included Schelling, Bator, May (who hadn't arrived), Seymour Martin Lipset (government and Social Relations), Richard Neustadt (government, aide to President Truman), George Kistiakowsky (chemistry, chief science advisor to President Eisenhower), William Capron (associate dean of the Kennedy School, former assistant director of the budget), Adam Yarmolinsky (law, advisor to Presidents Kennedy and Johnson), Paul Doty (biochemistry, former member of the President's Science Advisory Committee), Konrad Bloch (biochemistry, nobel laureate), Frank Westheimer (chemistry), Gerald Holton (physics), and Michael Walzer (government, sterling dove credentials).

Kistiakowsky soon strolled in with his copy of the Post. which the Hay-Adams sells right in the dining room. "There are many ways of changing things by operating through channels," he said in his thick accent, towering over his orange juice. "Frequently they are by far the most efficient. This method probably tends to harder attitudes. But at a point one decides that sort of thing is hopeless. I've reached that point." Asked if he'd rather see Brooke or join Mendelsohn, Kistiakowsky said, "I'd like to see Brooke. I saw Kennedy last week, so it will be a nice change." Others arrived, bought a Post, and sat down. "What a strange bunch we've got today." the maitre d' whispered to his assistant.

Waiting for the elevator, Walzer said, "No maps. We won't look at any maps." Then he suddenly looked around and reflected, "You know, I've never come to Washington before to do anything but carry a picket sign around the White House."

Shortly before 9 a.m. the entire group, including those who had not made it up for breakfast, poured out of the elevator and stood on the sunny sidewalks as Schelling choreographed the taxicabs, and sent his men off into battle.

THE SENATE Office Building was swarming with Harvard people-all from the Mendelsohn group, trying to make appointments to see their various Senators. Delegations from the Harvard Law School and Newton High School were being put off by Brooke's secretary as the professors were escorted under a picture of Brooke and Nixon arm-in-arm and into the Senator's office. Brooke, elegantly tailored and smiling energetically, had barely begun, "Thanks very much for coming gentlemen," when Schelling broke in:

"Senator we're all appalled at the turn of events in Southeast Asia. What Nixon's done is at least as bad as Johnson's actions. We're expressing concern to everybody we could find. We have lost trust in the executive branch."

Neustadt puffed on his pipe and said, "Some of us have regarded the executive branch as our home for twenty or thirty years. This is a hard turn to come to-to be here urging congressional intervention which two or three weeks ago we would have regarded as unacceptable."