The Visitor

The bad weather that dogged him virtually ever since he left home was there with a vengeance as Dick Nixon climbed into a car in Vienna bound for the refugee camps near the Hungarian border. A thick mist scummed the windshields as the 39-car motorcade rolled eastward under the grey sky toward Andau, a scant kilometer from the border. The mud was ankle-deep along the roadside, and the heavy mist was raw and penetrating. The weather failed to daunt the 300-odd refugees gathered at the camp, and it equally failed to daunt the Vice President of the U.S. who stepped from the car, trim and neat in black shoes, black suit and black Homburg.

Good Fellowship. A Red Cross lunch of soup, bread, cheese and sliced sausage was about to be served when the visitor entered the camp dining hall. It was promptly forgotten as photographers and newsmen milled among the refugees who were swarming to greet the caller. Holding his own bravely in the melee, Nixon had a word or a smile or a handshake for anyone who could reach him. "I wish we had time to greet you all personally," he said. The refugees responded with a rousing, "Long live Hungarian-American friendship."

From Andau, the motorcade moved on to the bigger camp at Eisenstadt, through which about 60,000 refugees have passed en route to other lands. Ten thousand of them were at the camp when he arrived. Once again, there was the press of newsmen and refugees, the snatches of conversation, the handshakes and the good wishes, and once again on Nixon's part a winning display of cordial good fellowship. After that came Traiskirchen, another camp, another crowd. The visitor's one quiet moment came as he attended a Christmas party and play for the refugee children in the camp auditorium. When the play was done, the Virgin, a plump eight-year-old, and one of her angels sat happily on the Vice President's lap as all of them sang Silent Night.

Sneak to the Border. Next day Dick Nixon returned to Vienna to talk with hard-pressed Austrian officials, and to inspect the quarters where refugees seeking entry to the U.S. are processed. On leaving the headquarters, he insisted on abandoning his car to stroll along the crowded Vienna street and chat with passersby. The Viennese, like the Hungarians in the refugee camps, were astonished: the handshaking stroll, a fixture of the U.S. political scene, was a novelty to Europeans, but they appeared delighted.

In the middle of the night, telling newspapermen nothing about it, Nixon headed for the Hungarian border in a limousine, transferring to a tractor for the last muddy stretch. He arrived just as two Hungarian girls were sneaking across the border in the predawn light. He asked them, as he had asked many of the refugees, what made them want to escape. "A search for safety," was the reply through an interpreter. The girls were astonished to learn his identity. Said Nixon later: "It wasn't me, of course, but my office that impressed and surprised them--the fact that I was the second man to the President and was there to greet them."

Himself much impressed by all that he had seen, Nixon summed up his trip: "It is obvious that Austria, the U.S. and other free nations have done a great deal . . . However, I am convinced that the U.S. must do more than it already has done."

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