No MAN CAN EVER be truly ready to take over the office of the President, but Eisenhower was more ready than most. Ironically, this was in part because he was so keenly aware of the limits on the President’s power. Having been a prime maker of policy himself, in war and in peace, he realized that “this idea that all wisdom is in the President, that’s baloney. I don’t believe this government was set up to be operated by anyone acting alone; no one has a monopoly on the truth and on the facts that affect this country.”1
A major, critical part of presidential leadership, Eisenhower knew, was selecting the right men for the right jobs and working with them. He wanted competent, proven administrators, men who thought big and acted big. Always impressed by successful businessmen who had made it on their own and knew how to run huge organizations, he sought out the high achievers, men he could turn to for advice and with whom he could share both responsibility and praise.
Personal friendship counted for nothing. In selecting his Cabinet and White House staff, Eisenhower did not pick a single old friend. Some of the most prominent selections were of men he had never met; the others were men he had met only during the course of the campaign.
His first selection was for the premier post of Secretary of State. His choice was John Foster Dulles, and he never seriously considered anyone else. The appointment was, indeed, inevitable. In 1919 Dulles had been a part of the American delegation to the Versailles Peace Conference; he was a senior partner in Sullivan and Cromwell, the law firm that represented many of America’s greatest corporations in their international dealings; he had written the Japanese Peace Treaty; he had been the Republican spokesman on foreign policy for the past decade. “Foster has been in training for this job all his life,” Eisenhower explained to Sherman Adams.
Eisenhower had first met Dulles at SHAPE, in April 1952. He appreciated Dulles’ commitment to NATO, foreign aid, and internationalism. Further, Eisenhower was impressed by Dulles’ comprehensive knowledge of world affairs. Eisenhower once told Emmet Hughes, “There’s only one man I know who has seen more of the world and talked with more people and knows more than he does—and that’s me.”2
In addition, Eisenhower actually liked Dulles. In this he was virtually unique. Nearly everyone else found Dulles impossibly pompous, a prig, and unbearably dull (according to a popular saying, “Dull, duller, Dulles”). Dulles loved to give sermons, to moralize, to monopolize conversations. But Eisenhower appreciated Dulles’ penchant for hard work, his mastery of detail, and his willingness to serve.
Eisenhower wanted Lodge to serve as either Assistant to the President (really, Chief of Staff) or Ambassador to the United Nations. Lodge chose the latter post, which Eisenhower elevated to Cabinet rank with seniority just below that of the Secretary of State. Eisenhower then asked Adams to be the Assistant to the President, also according that position Cabinet rank. He had thought of Brownell for the post, but decided he wanted Brownell—one of the top lawyers in New York and Dewey’s closest associate—to be his Attorney General. Dewey, still the governor of New York, told Brownell he did not wish to be considered for any position in the Administration.
Dewey’s running mate in 1948, Earl Warren, was also a serving governor, in California. Eisenhower called him on the telephone to say that he had been considering Warren for Attorney General, but had decided instead to appoint Brownell. Warren replied that Brownell would make a splendid choice. Eisenhower then said, “I want you to know that I intend to offer you the first vacancy on the Supreme Court.” It was something Eisenhower had discussed with Brownell, who—like Eisenhower—was much impressed by Warren’s bearing, character, and knowledge. Eisenhower told Warren, “That is my personal commitment to you.”3
For Secretary of Defense, the man who would head the department that was the world’s biggest employer and purchaser, Eisenhower picked Charles E. Wilson, president of General Motors, the world’s largest private corporation. As the reputedly highest-paid executive in American business, Wilson presumably would know how to run the vast Pentagon empire. For Secretary of the Treasury, he selected George M. Humphrey, president of the Mark A. Hanna Company of Cleveland, a far-flung conglomerate. Eisenhower had never met either man, but he accepted them on his advisers’ recommendation. He found Wilson to be narrow and simplistic, but he liked Humphrey enormously. Indeed, Humphrey was the only man in the Cabinet—save Dulles—with whom Eisenhower established a warm and close personal relationship. They were almost exactly the same age, had the same horror of deficit financing, and shared a love for hunting and fishing. At their first meeting, Eisenhower grinned at the balding Humphrey, stuck out his hand, and said, “Well, George, I see you part your hair the same way I do.”4
For Secretary of the Interior, Eisenhower picked the outgoing governor of Oregon, Douglas McKay. Before entering politics, McKay had been a successful automobile dealer. Sinclair Weeks, another conservative businessman, from Massachusetts, became Secretary of Commerce. After one of their first meetings, Eisenhower wrote of Weeks in his diary, “[He] seems to be so completely conservative in his views that at times he seems to be illogical. I hope . . . that he will soon become a little bit more aware of the world as it is today.”5 Eisenhower offered Arthur Summerfield, the chairman of the Republican National Committee (RNC), a choice—he could continue in that post or become Postmaster General. Summerfield chose to become Postmaster General. For the sprawling Department of Agriculture, Eisenhower turned to Milton for advice, based on Milton’s many years of service in the department. Milton named Ezra Taft Benson, a member of the Council of Twelve of the Mormon Church, agent for farm cooperatives, and a conservative who had supported Taft for the nomination.
Eisenhower told his advisers he wanted one woman in the Cabinet. They selected Mrs. Oveta Culp Hobby, a Texas newspaper publisher and one of the Texas “Democrats for Eisenhower” who had helped make his nomination possible. Eisenhower had known Hobby during the war, when she was the head of the Women’s Army Corps. He told her he planned to ask Congress for the consolidation of health, welfare, and education responsibilities into a single department, and that when it was done he would name her as its head. Meanwhile, he wanted her to serve as head of the Federal Security Agency, and she accepted.
One of the most difficult appointments was that of Secretary of Labor. The Republicans anticipated trouble with organized labor, which was demanding wholesale changes in, if not outright repeal of, the Taft-Hartley Act. Eisenhower wanted a man from the ranks of labor itself; he picked Martin Durkin of Chicago, head of the AFL plumbers’ union. Durkin was the only Democrat in the Cabinet, and the only Catholic.
So the Cabinet was selected. The New Republic commented, “Ike has picked a cabinet of eight millionaires and one plumber.”6 What was more remarkable about it was the absence of any experienced administrators in government (but then having been out of power since 1933, the Republican Party had none to offer). But without exception, they were all highly successful businessmen, or lawyers, or plumbers, and nearly all self-made men.
• •
In New York, the Eisenhowers continued to live on Morningside Heights, home of the president of Columbia University. Mamie’s life was a hectic one of buying clothes for the inaugural and preparing to move once again. She had the consolation that this time, for the first time in thirty-five years, she could count on living in the same house for four straight years. Barbara and the three grandchildren were visiting at Morningside Heights for the holidays, which made Christmas Eve and Day especially nice. Ike gave Mamie a gold bracelet with three heart bangles inscribed “David,” “Barbara Anne,” and “Susan.” On Christmas Day, however, even as Ike was carving the turkey, Mamie fell ill. Dr. Howard Snyder, who had lived with the Eisenhowers for years and was their personal physician, gave her sulfa and confined her to bed. There she stayed for the next few days, meanwhile trying to arrange for the shipment of furniture from New York to Washington. A major problem was remembering which items belonged to her, which to Columbia.
In early January, Mamie learned that John was coming home for the inaugural ceremonies. She asked her husband who had ordered John to leave Korea; he asked Omar Bradley, the Army Chief of Staff; Bradley did not know. John’s arrival did for Mamie what the sulfa had not accomplished; her health improved and she was out of bed. After their reunion, John went up to Highland Falls for a few days with his family, then brought his wife and children back to Morningside Heights. During the ten days before the inaugural, Mamie and Barbara shopped, while John attended meetings with his father.
Eisenhower was leading a hectic life, but he was accustomed to it. He had long since learned what it was like to live a life in which virtually all of his time was scheduled, with meetings, interviews, appearances, speeches, working lunches, and trips. Nevertheless, he tried to live by regular habits and insofar as possible did so.
His day began early, around 6 A.M. He got up quietly, so as not to wake Mamie, went to his dressing room, and selected a suit from those Moaney had laid out. Most of his extensive, custom-made wardrobe was given to him by New York clothes manufacturers; he seldom wore a suit more than twice. Over a light breakfast he would read the morning papers. Although it was one of his little conceits to claim that he never read the papers, in fact he pored over them. An extremely fast reader, he could get the essential stories quickly. He usually read the Washington papers, The New York Times, and the Herald Tribune (by far his favorite).
Eisenhower was in his office by 8 A.M. and worked without a break until 1 P.M. Most of his lunches were working affairs. He would then work at his desk until 6 P.M., sometimes later. There was a wide variety to the type and scope of the problems that came to him for decision. He tried to hear all sides before deciding, to expose himself to every point of view, which required a great deal of reading, listening intently to oral presentations, and asking penetrating questions. It was hard work, in other words, that required him to use his mind constantly and intensively.
After a day in the office, he would relax with a cocktail. He was strict with himself about the use of alcohol; his usual limit was a single highball before dinner. Food, unless he had done the cooking, was of little interest to him. To Mamie’s continuing distress, he bolted down whatever was put in front of him. In 1952 he started another practice that Mamie had to resign herself to—eating off a TV tray while watching the evening news. After dinner, if he had no speaking or other engagements, he would study papers, reports, proposals, until about 11 P.M., when he enjoyed an hour of painting before going to bed. His bedside reading still consisted of Wild West stories. In them, there were no complications, no complexities. Decisions were clear-cut, because they were based on easily answered questions of right and wrong. To read such stories, Eisenhower had to suspend all his critical faculties and enter into a fantasy world. By doing so, he could clear his mind for its necessary rest. The stories were, for Eisenhower, the most effective sleeping pills available.
More complete relaxation came from his hobbies—fishing, painting, golf, and bridge. They all allowed him complete escape, because they required complete concentration. Whether trying to decide which fly to use, or which color to put on a painting, or what iron to select for his next shot, or how to bid an unusual hand, he was momentarily free of the burdens of his duties and responsibilities. Ellis Slater, who played a great deal of both golf and bridge with Eisenhower, noted that “I don’t believe I’ve ever known a person with such concentration. When doing anything . . . he has an ability to completely lose himself.”7
He had always lived in a world of men. The only genuine relationships he had ever formed with women revolved around role images that he felt comfortable with, specifically those of mother, wife, and secretary. No one can look at a photograph of the general with his mother, or of the general and his wife, and doubt that he had a perfect love for Ida and Mamie. But his relationships with them were limited. He never discussed his professional life with either of them, or otherwise shared his concerns.
His relationship with Mamie was happy, uncomplicated, and old-fashioned. Except during World War II, they had always slept together, and planned to do so in the White House. In 1946, at Fort Myer, Mamie had ordered a huge double bed specially built. In 1948 it had been shipped from Washington to New York City. Mamie was going to install it in the White House, saying that she liked to reach over in the middle of the night “and pat Ike on his old bald head anytime I want to.”8
That bed was her command post. She enjoyed staying in it until noon at least, sometimes all day. From it, she answered her correspondence, ran her household staff, and received visitors. Eisenhower enjoyed pampering her, which added to a general impression that she was lazy, spoiled, and more or less empty-headed. In fact, like her husband, she was hardworking. She was also devoted to him. Although she never engaged in Eisenhower’s business, she nevertheless provided him with crucial support, in public as well as in private. When her husband became a world figure, she overcame her natural shyness and became a major asset in his career. She entertained his rich and powerful friends and their wives; she presided over numerous large and formal social affairs; she carefully answered every letter written to her; she made certain that every member of the small army of aides, advisers, and secretaries that existed to do Eisenhower’s bidding was remembered with gifts at birthdays and Christmas. She appeared cheerfully, well groomed and beautifully dressed, at the general’s side on public occasions. She did, in short, all that Eisenhower wanted a wife to do, and more. If her share in his life was limited, it was nonetheless satisfying, rewarding, and giving.
• •
There was one woman with whom he did share his professional life. She occupied a specific, well-defined role, that of secretary. Her name was Ann Whitman. Ann had joined Eisenhower’s team “for a few days” just before the 1952 campaign began; she stayed with him for more than eight years. She was competent at her job, highly intelligent, comfortable to be around. She knew his professional concerns intimately. He could, and often did, comment to her in detail on matters of world importance. He knew she would understand the most cryptic remark; even better, he knew she would be completely on his side, because her devotion to him was unquestioning. He drove her like a slave, dawn to dusk. He made impossible demands on her—have this paper out by so-and-so, he would say—and she met those demands. Ann gave him an outlet for that big gutsy laugh, or for that terrible temper. With her, he could be as angry or as contemptuous toward another man as he wished, without having to fear that the story of his outburst would be all over town the next day.
• •
On November 29, 1952, Eisenhower flew to Korea. He took with him Bradley, Wilson, and Brownell. En route, they were joined at Iwo Jima by Admiral Arthur Radford, Commander in Chief, Pacific. Radford so impressed Eisenhower during the next few days that Eisenhower decided to name him as Bradley’s replacement when Bradley’s tour as chairman of the JCS ended in August 1953. The decision on Radford was one of the few positive results of the trip.
Indeed, what was most noteworthy about the Korean inspection was what Eisenhower did not do. South Korean President Dr. Syngman Rhee was anxious to convince Eisenhower that a renewed invasion of North Korea could work, that it would unify the country, turn back the Communists, and contribute to stability in Asia. But Eisenhower practically ignored Rhee; he met with him only twice, for a total of one hour, and gave Rhee no opportunity to present his plans for an all-out offensive.
Mark Clark, Commander in Chief of the U.N. forces in Korea, also had worked out plans for an offensive designed to drive the Chinese back across the Yalu River and unify Korea. To Clark’s admitted surprise and probable astonishment, Eisenhower never gave him an opportunity to present his plan. Instead, for three days, Eisenhower did what he had done so often during World War II; he visited front-line units and talked with the senior commanders and their men. Despite the bitter cold and snow-covered ground, Eisenhower bundled up in a heavy pile jacket, fur-lined hat, and thermo boots to see for himself. He flew a reconnaissance mission over the front. He studied an artillery duel with his binoculars, chatted with the troops, ate outdoor meals from a mess kit, and came to the conclusion that the situation was intolerable.
That was the real result of the trip. Not that Eisenhower had not already made up his mind that the Korean War had to be ended, as quickly as possible on the best terms he could get, but that this instinctive judgment was reinforced by his study of the terrain. He regarded Rhee’s and Clark’s plans for an all-out assault as bordering on madness. “In view of the strength of the positions the enemy had developed,” he wrote, “it was obvious that any frontal attack would present great difficulties.”
With the offensive option eliminated, the remaining choices were to negotiate seriously (armistice talks had been under way for nearly two years, but no agreements had been reached because of the POW issue) or to continue the military stalemate, neither accepting a negotiated peace nor seeking victory. The trouble with a negotiated peace was that, aside from having to agree to a forcible repatriation of the Chinese POWs, it would abandon North Korea to Communism, and this by an Administration that had pledged itself to seek liberation for Communist satellites. The trouble with accepting continued stalemate, however, was even worse; as Eisenhower later wrote, “My conclusion as I left Korea was that we could not stand forever on a static front and continue to accept casualties without any visible results. Small attacks on small hills would not end this war.”9
• •
On January 18 Eisenhower, his wife, son, daughter-in-law, grandchildren, and aides traveled by train to Washington, where the party settled into the Statler Hotel. There his brothers and closest friends met him for a joyous reunion with the family and gang.
On Inauguration Day, January 20, 1953, the Eisenhower family, accompanied by 36 relatives and some 140 members of the incoming Administration, attended services at the National Presbyterian Church. When they returned to the Statler, Eisenhower said to Mamie, “You always have a kind of special sense of propriety in such matters. Do you think it would be appropriate for me to include a prayer in my Inauguration Address?” Mamie was enthusiastic about the idea, whereupon Eisenhower took ten minutes to write a prayer.10
Then it was time to drive to the White House to pick up Harry and Bess Truman. Since the brief meeting in November, Eisenhower had sent only one communication to the President, a telegram of January 15. Eisenhower said in it that he had read in the papers that Truman intended to take the train to Independence, Missouri, immediately after the swearing-in ceremony, and “it occurs to me that it may be much more convenient for you and your family to make the trip in the Independence rather than in the Pullman.” If Truman wanted the airplane, Eisenhower said he would “be more than glad to express my desire to the Air Force that they make the plane available to you.”11 Truman did not reply (and on January 20, after the ceremonies, he and Bess took the train home).
When the Eisenhower car arrived at the portico of the White House, the President-elect showed his animosity toward the President by refusing an invitation to come inside for a cup of coffee; instead, Eisenhower waited in the car for Truman to appear. They rode together to the Capitol in a frosty atmosphere. According to Truman, Eisenhower broke the silence by remarking, “I did not attend your Inauguration in 1948 out of consideration for you, because if I had been present I would have drawn attention away from you.” Truman snapped back, “Ike I didn’t ask you to come—or you’d been here.” Eisenhower denied that any such exchange took place. He did recall asking Truman who had ordered John back from Korea for the Inauguration. According to Eisenhower, Truman simply replied, “I did.” According to Truman, what he said was, “The President of the United States ordered your son to attend your Inauguration. The President thought it was right and proper for your son to witness the swearing-in of his father to the Presidency.”12
Three days after the ride to the Capitol, Eisenhower sent Truman a letter “to express my appreciation for the very many courtesies you extended to me and mine during the final stages of your Administration . . . I especially want to thank you for your thoughtfulness in ordering my son home from Korea . . . and even more especially for not allowing either him or me to know that you had done so.”13 That was his last communication with Truman, just as January 20 was the last time they were together, except for George Marshall’s funeral, until after Eisenhower himself had left the Presidency.
• •
Eisenhower and Truman walked through the Rotunda to the east front of the Capitol, where a platform had been erected for the ceremonies. The crowd was huge—the largest for an inaugural in American history—and festive. The Republicans were there to celebrate with unabashed joy; as movie actor and future Republican senator George Murphy put it, “It is all just so wonderful, it’s like walking into bright sunshine after being in darkness for a long time.”14 And indeed, the sun had broken through the clouds—Eisenhower luck, everyone agreed—to turn it into a pleasant, if chilly, day. Eisenhower wore a dark-blue double-breasted overcoat and had a white scarf around his neck. At 12:32 P.M., Chief Justice Fred Vinson administered the oath of office.
As Eisenhower turned to deliver his Inaugural Address, his grim, determined expression gave way to that famous grin, and he shot his hands over his head in the old V-for-Victory sign. After the cheering stopped, he read the prayer he had composed that morning, asking Almighty God to “make full and complete our dedication to the service of the people in this throng, and their fellow citizens everywhere.” Not forgetting the Democrats, he added, “May cooperation be permitted and be the mutual aim of those who, under the concepts of our Constitution, hold to differing political faiths; so that all may work for the good of our beloved country and Thy glory. Amen.”
Then he began his Inaugural Address. “The world and we have passed the midway point of a century of challenge,” he said. The challenges that had to be faced now, he insisted, were those of the dangers of war and aggressive Communism. In a speech devoted exclusively to foreign policy, he promised that his Administration would “neither compromise, nor tire, nor ever cease” to seek an honorable worldwide peace. But people had to realize that “forces of good and evil are massed and armed and opposed as rarely before in history.” The urgency of seeking peace in such a climate of hostility was all the greater because “science seems ready to confer upon us, as its final gift, the power to erase human life from this planet.”15
Taken all together, the speech was hardly what the Old Guard wanted to hear from the first Republican elected to the Presidency since 1928. There was no denunciation of the New Deal, nor of Yalta, no promise to cut taxes or balance the budget. Instead, Eisenhower had summoned the American people to yet another crusade; in so doing, he sounded far more like Truman announcing the containment policy than he did like Taft or indeed any other Republican. Senator Lyndon B. Johnson, the new Democratic minority leader, called it “a very good statement of Democratic programs of the last twenty years.”16
But for the moment, it hardly mattered. Taft praised the speech, and the Republicans prepared to celebrate. The parade took forever; “Not until nearly seven o’clock,” Ike complained, “did the last two elephants go by.”17 Then he and Mamie drove to the White House, and as she took his arm, they walked together into their new home.
That evening, the Eisenhowers attended two inaugural balls (the crowds were so large that one hall could not hold them all). Finally at 1 A.M.—accompanied by John, Barbara, and the grandchildren—the Eisenhowers drove home and went to bed.
The next day, Eisenhower got started on his job. At the end of the day, he took a minute to make an entry in his diary. “My first day at the president’s desk,” he wrote. “Plenty of worries and difficult problems. But such has been my portion for a long time—the result is that this just seems (today) like a continuation of all I’ve been doing since July 1941—even before that.”18
The contrast between Eisenhower’s confident attitude and that of his predecessor after his first day on the job could not have been greater. On April 13, 1945, Harry Truman had told reporters, “Boys, if you ever pray, pray for me now. . . . When they told me yesterday what had happened, I felt like the moon, the stars, and all the planets had fallen on me.”19
• •
Eisenhower’s preparation for the Presidency was, obviously, much better than Truman’s had been. Roosevelt’s death had thrown Truman into a whole new world, one completely strange to him. But Eisenhower was simply continuing a life that he had long since grown accustomed to leading. He had not had a private life since June 1942, when he arrived in London. He had had aides at his elbows and advisers behind him for ten years. He was used to being surrounded by reporters whenever he was in a public place, to having his photograph taken, to having his every word quoted. Most important of all, Eisenhower was accustomed to being held in awe, to being the center of attention, to having the power to make the decisions.
Eisenhower had resigned himself to the loss of many ordinary human pleasures, but also learned to accept the privileges that went with his station. Except for an occasional private banquet, he had not eaten in a restaurant in ten years. His schedule seldom allowed him sustained leisure for the serious reading of history he so loved to do. He had learned to take infrequent and short vacations, to expect them to be interrupted, and to take along plenty of work. To leave his mind and his time free, he had others to do the most basic of human chores for him. He did not dress himself—John Moaney, his valet, put on his underwear, socks, shoes, pants, shirt, jacket, and tie. Eisenhower did not drive a car, never had to worry about a parking place. He did not even know how to use a dial telephone. He had never been in a laundromat or a supermarket. He did not keep his own checkbook or manage his own finances. He handled money only when it was time to settle up on the golf course or at the bridge table, where he hated to lose and hated even more having to pay up. His travel arrangements were always made for him.
Eisenhower was also ready for the physical demands of the Presidency. Three weeks before the election of 1952, he had celebrated his sixty-second birthday. Despite his age, Eisenhower was in good health. At 175 pounds, he weighed only a few pounds more than he had when he played football at West Point. He ate and drank in moderation, and in 1949 he had quit tobacco cold turkey. He exercised regularly, either on the golf course or in a swimming pool. His face was usually sun-tanned, his complexion ruddy. His erect military bearing provided convincing evidence of his good muscle tone and strong constitution. Although he was of medium height (five feet ten inches) he somehow seemed taller. Wherever he went, he stood out, not only because of his reputation, but also because of his animation. His immense storehouse of energy and warmth was sensed, felt, communicated to everyone around him. His associates drew on that apparently inexhaustible source of energy; his political opponents were confounded by it.
Among most men, Eisenhower inspired confidence. Those who knew him well, and millions who did not, looked to him instinctively for guidance and leadership. But Harry Truman had his doubts about Eisenhower’s trustworthiness, and was certain that Eisenhower would not be able to provide the country with competent leadership. As prepared as Eisenhower was for the life-style the Presidency would force on him, he was not, in Truman’s view, at all prepared for the real work facing him in the task ahead. Reflecting on the problems the general-become-President would face, in late 1952 Truman mused, “He’ll sit here, and he’ll say, ‘Do this! Do that!’ And nothing will happen. Poor Ike—it won’t be a bit like the Army. He’ll find it very frustrating.”20
Whether it would be the ho-hum Ike who could handle the problems of running the country with the back of his hand, or the frustrated Ike who would learn that he commanded nothing, was now to be discovered.