The Few Months Left

. . . a stone, a leaf, an unfound door.

--Thomas Wolfe

President Eisenhower's view of what he wanted most to be remembered for in office changed subtly in his 7 1/2 years as President. He ended the Korean war; he prided himself in taking some of the acrimony of partisanship out of the U.S.atmosphere; and fiscal economy was always in his mind. But increasingly, Ike envisioned himself as engaged in one overriding personal mission, to bring a "just and lasting peace." He ran for reelection, he told friends, because "I want to advance our chances for world peace, if only by a little, maybe only a few feet." He told a press conference in 1955: "There is no place on this earth to which I would not travel, there is no chore I would not undertake, if I had any faintest hope that, by so doing, I would promote the general cause of world peace." The determination became more compelling after the death of John Foster Dulles. "I have relatively few months left," he said, before starting on his eleven-nation world tour last December, "and such prestige and standing as I have in the earth, I want to use it. I am going to work on this in every possible way I can."

After months of turning a leaf, a stone, the President's quest took him to Paris last week and what he had hoped was the unfound door. In the cabinet room of the Elysee Palace, he sat silent, his facial muscles taut, red splotches of anger flashing in his face, as Nikita Khrushchev slammed shut the door in his rage. Three hours later, Ike walked from the room. "For the first time since I gave up smoking," he said, "I wanted a cigarette just to give myself something to do." In the privacy of the U.S. embassy later, Ike loosed his pent-up temper, swore vigorously, muttered over and over again, "I'm just fed up."

"Incredible!" The President was hurt ("A lot," said an aide), but no one was allowed to know how much. He sat, dignified and stern, with De Gaulle and Macmillan while the three waited for Khrushchev to show up (see FOREIGN NEWS). Although his own prestige was involved in the U-2 issue, there was no thought of degrading concessions once Khrushchev lit into him. Next afternoon, in his two-room suite at the U.S. embassy, the President read the wire-service reports of Khrushchev's wild press conference. "Incredible!" he said as he leafed through the bulletins, "Unbelievable!"

He left Paris with a perfunctory statement sharing "the disappointment of my colleagues that we have not been able to begin the work for which we came."

"Tighten Our Belts." In Lisbon he got the lavish affection that he needed to buoy his spirits. Arriving four days ahead of schedule, the President found that the Portuguese had nevertheless got their welcome ready in time: there were warm greetings from President Americo Tomas and Strongman Antonio de Oliveira Salazar, a 21-gun salute, and enthusiastic thousands lining the streets to see him. "I'm sure glad to be here and away from there." he said. But despite his happy mood, his staff caught flashes of concern in his face, and in his stumbling arrival speech.

The concern flushed to the surface as he spoke informally to 150 Lisbon-based U.S. military and State Department workers and their families. "Did you see that cartoon not long ago where it says, 'The next speaker needs all the introduction he can get'? Well, I rather feel that way, after coming from this last meeting in Paris. While none of the world--certainly none of the free world--thought that there was going to be any great revolutionary gains, still, we had a right to hope, I think, there would be some further amelioration of those conditions that seem to cause so much disorder and tension in the world.

"Perhaps leaders here and there may make mistakes, but at least they certainly never make the mistake of deprecating or of minimizing the value of the work you people are doing. So I say, rather than being dismayed, we have to tighten our belts, put our chins up a little higher, and if we can, be more eloquent in telling the story that we have.''

The Visage. Leaving Lisbon the next day, the President seemed rested, and smiled frequently, but there was a gravity in his face that seemed to pull each smile back into a lined, discouraged expression. He bade farewell to Tomas and Salazar, turned to climb the ramp into his plane. Then, as if suddenly aware that he was headed home, he stopped after three steps; his face sagged, and he stood still for a full four seconds. Then, with an effort, he pulled his shoulders back, and turning to face the airport crowds, he grinned and clasped his hands together overhead. The crowd applauded and cheered, and Ike turned again and slowly mounted the steps.

The door of the 707 jet opened again at Washington's Andrews A.F.B.; there, as Ike came down the ramp, 2,000 people cheered and applauded, and a military band blared welcoming marches. His grim expression melted at the sounds, and Mamie Eisenhower grasped her husband's shoulders, and tears came to her eyes as she kissed him. Ike turned to meet the dozens of officials who made up the informal receiving line. Democratic and Republican leaders alike shook his hand; 24 officials from foreign embassies, who had come to the airfield on their own, added their greetings. The whole group lined the red carpet that Ike trod, reached out, shouting encouragement.

Visibly touched, the President told of his gratitude for the support of the Western nations, of the NATO Council, of his own friends at home, but warned the U.S. to "be watchful for more irritations.'' For example, said the President, just 30 minutes before landing, he had got word that a U.S. Air Force C-47 was missing in West Germany. "In the atmosphere in which we now have to think, we cannot be sure but that the worst has happened.'' (The plane, it turned out, had strayed off course in bad weather and had been forced down by Red fighters in East Germany, where the Communists were holding the five-man crew, three servicemen and a woman.) Then Ike got into his car and rode into downtown Washington. Passing cheering throngs of 200,000 people, he waved and smiled, and when he got to the White House, he once more raised his clenched hands in salute, and disappeared.

Leaps of Trust. As a man who has given much to history, Dwight Eisenhower's deepest personal hurt must have been that Khrushchev had denied him the role in history that he coveted most. He knew that his personal prestige in the U.S. permitted him to make leaps of trust with the Russians--even to inviting Khrushchev to the U.S. within three years after Hungary--when other Americans, Democratic or Republican, dared not. To make future negotiations possible, he had made it his policy not to return offense at Russian insults. He had no wish to capitulate to the Communists, but wanted, if possible, to encourage them in a more favorable direction. All of Eisenhower's personal receptivity to finding a common path to peace, Nikita Khrushchev had chosen to expend in one angry week. Now conventional diplomacy would have to begin again.

Left unspent, though made more despairing, was Eisenhower's passion to find that stone, that leaf, that unfound door, beyond which is real peace.

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