The Bretton Woods Conference

Abstract

One participant described it as ‘a quiet, green and soothing garden of the gods, circled by mountain ramparts’. A press reporter grew lyrical as he surveyed the scenery:

Viewed from this wicker chair on the curving porch of the Mt. Washington Hotel the Presidential range of New Hampshire etches zigzag indentations into the azure sky. A dark line against a twisting path of earthy green — that of the merging tracks of the world-famous cog railroad — climbs to the summit of New England’s highest peak, Mt. Washington. On its crest, Tip-Top House and the radio tower stand out like a village in a mirage. In the foreground the darker greens of pine and hemlock vie with the lighter shades of oaks and birch. Set in the midst of these the brilliant green of one of the golf fairways forms a grassy floor. A sand trap glistens in the morning sun. Directly below, the wild Ammonoosuc plunges unseen but noisily on its way to join the sea.¹