The Unexpected Guest

THE PRESIDENCY

Insulated and isolated at the pinnacle of power, the President of the U.S. is nonetheless under unremitting and microscopic scrutiny. Once, a President could get away from it all with relative ease -- as U. S. Grant did with his regular evening strolls down Pennsylvania Avenue to smoke a cigar, undisturbed, in a corner of the lobby of the now-doomed Willard Hotel; or, as Teddy Roosevelt did, with the "lonely walks" that he took at every opportunity. To day the ever-present eyes of newsmen and the TV camera -- not to mention the vastly increased authority of the presidency in world affairs--make such forays virtually impossible beyond the confines of a private estate.

Escape Route. A case in point occurred during Lyndon Johnson's recent visit to Manhattan to address the National Urban League. Lady Bird was being feted at a private party, a sit-down dinner for 18, and the President decided to drop by to pick her up. That simple excursion from the Hotel Pierre to an apartment on the West Side turned into a major production, the sort that has frayed Johnson's patience--and is certain to fray that of his successor. As L.B.J. described the caper to friends afterward:

"The press was milling around on the ground floor, and the Secret Service wanted to find a way out for me without running into the reporters. They took me to a private room and locked me up like a convict. They scouted the top floor and finally found an escape route. They brought me down on a freight elevator, then walked me through the kitchen to my limousine. But just as I got through the kitchen, some maid spotted me and let out a whoop. I ducked and hid my face. The last thing I wanted was for someone to start applauding then. But she'd recognized me, and damn if the whole place didn't start clapping."

Self-invited. When the unexpected guest arrived at the party, attired in a trendy grey dinner jacket, blue-grey evening shirt and black evening slippers, a hush settled over the elegant living room. Johnson greeted the diners, who included Attorney Edward Bennett Williams, Actor Douglas Fairbanks Jr., Designer Mollie Parnis, Playwright Marc Connelly, ex-White House Aide Jack Valenti (now the $125,000-a-year president of Hollywood's Motion Picture Association). Soon Johnson fell into conversation with Williams and two other guests. He reminisced for a bit about the Old West and Artist Frederic Remington, one of his favorites. Then he spoke of the vast relief he would feel when he turned his office, with all of its pressures, over to his successor.

"Poor Nixon," said Johnson. "He's discovering he can't go anywhere without a hundred good friends from the press following him. Every time I'd go to the washroom I'd meet 40 of them on the way." The President removed his gold-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I haven't been sleeping so well, you know, what with the bombing and all. Neither has Rusk. Poor Rusk. He came in the other night for a late conference with a terrible cold. I've had one, too, for the last six months. I told him to go home and sleep and forget about the Tuesday lunch [Johnson's weekly meeting with Rusk, Defense Secretary Clark Clifford, CIA Chief Richard Helms and others]. He looked awful."

Finally the President rose. "I'm like the small boy who didn't get an invite to the party and just wrote his own and came anyway," he told the hostess. On his way out, he paused and mentioned to no one in particular that he was staying at the Pierre, where President-elect Nixon has established his Manhattan headquarters. "Nixon has very good judgment about hotels," he mused. "I hope he has as good judgment about running the country. Because he's the pilot now, and we're all on the same plane"

With that, the President and the First Lady went home to bed via the Pierre's front door and the main elevator.

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