Last Man Out?

Back in 1912 President Taft sent a young Iowa-born accountant to Nicaragua to help collect customs payments and make sure that some of the money went to service foreign debts. In the unabashed days of dollar diplomacy, that was one way the U.S. saw to it that a troubled Caribbean republic's obligations were met. At his rolltop desk in a musty corner of the wood-and-adobe Managua customhouse, Irving A. Lindberg did an honest and efficient job. More important, as the years passed, he made friends with a rising young National Guard officer named Anastasio ("Tacho") Somoza.

The U.S. Marines, who went in as early as 1910 to pacify the country, finally cleared out for good in 1933. Three years later, Somoza took over. Lindberg stayed on as his collector of customs and Nicaragua's credit strengthened steadily. Lindberg got $10,000 a year, living expenses, one of the best houses in Managua, and two months' vacation in the U.S. each year. No man to throw his money around, the customs collector skipped the dictator's all-night poker parties. But in 1944, when a sit-down strike of businessmen threatened Somoza's power, Lindberg came to Tacho's aid by declaring that no striking shop owner would get any dollars for imports.

Time for a Reckoning. Tacho gave him the presidential medal, appointed him an honorary cabinet member, and promoted him to general, a rank previously held only by himself. "If you're the only other general in the country," Tacho is supposed to have said when pinning on the stars, "I'm safe."

Lindberg loved his new uniform. He also loved publicity and took to giving interviews freely to visiting newsmen. His stateside trips grew longer until they lasted as long as half a year. Politicos, whose mouths had watered for years at the thought of the $5,000,000 annual customs traffic, growled that it was time for a reckoning with the deplorably high-minded, highhanded yanqui.

Time for a Trip. Suave Finance Minister Leon Debayle wrote Lindberg asking for figures on his departmental expenditures for use in the new budget. Lind-berg's reply was short on details. "I want to know about those dollars," cried Debayle righteously. Managua's press joined in the hue & cry.

Last week, while 62-year-old Irving" Lindberg visited the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn. for a checkup and surgery, government accountants were going over the customs books. "Lindy's my friend," said Dictator Tacho. "I don't think there's anything wrong with his accounts. But Lindy's getting old." It looked very much as though the last survivor of the U.S. occupation was on his way out.

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