The Presidency

By Hugh Sidey

The first time in history. Five raincoated, dark-suited, somber Soviet journalists showed up at the northwest gate of the White House. They were run through the magnetometer, their briefcases searched, waved on down the drive.

It was Halloween. The goblins of the White House press corps swarmed around, wanting to know how the Soviets felt about going to interview Ronald Reagan. ABC's Sam Donaldson shouted, "Are you going to ask him about 'the evil empire'?" The visitors, looking apprehensive, smiled determinedly, declined to answer and trudged through the horde.

Borovik, Kondrashov, Ovchinnikov, Shishkin, Shalnev--sounded like a backfield. But this was serious business. They were the boys from Novosti, Izvestiya, Pravda and TASS, where most of the Soviet Union gets its daily reading. They were the outriders of Mikhail Gorbachev. Never before had Soviet reporters gone to sit face-to-face in the Oval Office with the adversary. The world has become a giant echo chamber. One arms proposal brings a counterproposal, an interview in the Kremlin yields one in Washington.

Months ago, Larry Speakes, the President's spokesman, and Edward Djerejian, a deputy press secretary, were rankled. Soviet propagandists spouted on U.S. television. Gorbachev's TIME interview saturated the media. Speakes and Djerejian, trying to find a way to get Reagan equal time, prepared a letter suggesting a Reagan interview. They pressed it on Gennadiy Shishkin of TASS when he came by the White House in September. He read it on the spot and did not reject the idea. The world was changing.

Two weeks of silence. Then on Saturday morning in a deserted White House, Peter Roussel, another deputy press secretary, was suddenly aware somebody was standing at his door. It was the Washington TASS man, Alexander Shalnev. Could he come in and please close the door? a wide-eyed Shalnev asked. The Kremlin would accept the offer--well, sort of. Speakes & Co. wanted assurances the President's words would actually get to the Soviet people. The Soviets would only say that Izvestiya had "indicated an interest" in publishing the interview. Reagan said go ahead.

The four Soviet writers jetted to the U.S. to join Shalnev. They checked into the Madison Hotel, one of capitalism's lush decampments. The White House crew asked them to lunch at another sophisticated watering hole in the Jefferson Hotel. There was much laughter and goodwill and joking about Gorbachev's cutting down Soviet vodka and, of course, a hearty round of Bloody Marys for the occasion.

Events rush on. In the Roosevelt Room, outside Reagan's office, the Soviet visitors were nervous. When the interview began, they read carefully scripted questions that also were statements against American positions. Reagan covered familiar ground on arms reduction, Star Wars, the standard sore points. All very proper, very cool. He told them that there would be a fresh U.S. arms proposal, but otherwise he said nothing new. The novelty was the fact of the interview.

Then a break. Shalnev asked for the President's autograph. He lent Reagan his pen. The other four lined up for the same, and Reagan scratched out his signature with a wry smile.

The Soviets went out the gate, and suddenly they were by themselves, five men walking slowly down Pennsylvania Avenue on a blustery Halloween after changing history just a bit.