FOLLOWING THE DISAPPOINTMENTS and frustrations of 1958—the worst year of his life, Eisenhower called it—he rallied, took command, and led his people with all the instincts of the good steward. Soon columnists were talking about a “new” Eisenhower, a man who asserted himself more powerfully than he had ever done before.1
The most dramatic expression of Eisenhower’s rally from his 1958 experiences was his handling of the Berlin situation, which was masterful throughout. A major characteristic of his diplomacy was his openness, his willingness to be conciliatory, his refusal to treat the situation as a crisis, and most of all his exercise of command and power. He would not be stampeded, despite—as will be seen—intense pressure. His insistence on a calm, measured, low-key approach was based on a principle that he explained to congressional leaders, who were demanding more action. As John Eisenhower recorded it, “The President pointed out the phrase in the Declaration of Independence which stated as one of the human rights, that of the pursuit of happiness. The President applies this to the present situation by stating that we should not worry the public unnecessarily.”2
In addition to his Berlin management, the “new” Eisenhower was noticeably friendlier toward the Soviets, more willing to see issues from their point of view, more willing to take some risks to achieve a first step toward a test ban, more willing to consider a summit meeting, than he had ever been before. Some observers attributed this development to the absence of Foster Dulles, but that was only partly true at best. A number of factors had come together by February 1959, when Dulles took his leave of absence, that were pushing Eisenhower toward a summit and some form of accommodation with the Soviets.
First of all, after November 4, 1958, he had his last election behind him. The next one belonged to Nixon. This put Nixon in the awkward position of having to be simultaneously a loyal member of the Administration, a supplicant, and his own man. It put Eisenhower in the worrisome position of realizing that in two years he would have to hand over the Presidency to Nixon—or, worse, the Democrats. Were the opposition to take charge, Eisenhower anticipated an orgy of spending on defense and on social programs combined with a tax cut—a prospect he regarded with horror.
Nor could he regard a Nixon succession with optimism. After six years of a standoffish relationship, Eisenhower remained ambiguous about Nixon. He did not doubt the man’s loyalty, or honesty, or even ability, but he did worry about Nixon’s ambition. On June 11, Whitman recorded in her diary that Eisenhower had breakfast with Nixon. The Vice-President asked the President if he would take some of Nixon’s friends—all rich men, potential contributors—for a weekend on a Navy yacht and play some golf with them at Quantico. Eisenhower, who prided himself on not mixing politics and his social life (although of course he did), flatly refused. Later, the President told Whitman, “It is terrible when people get politically ambitious.”3
One difficulty for the relationship was the difference in their ages. Eisenhower, born in the nineteenth century, saw things differently from Nixon. Nixon’s emphasis was on what had been lost, Eisenhower’s on what had been gained. At a Republican leaders’ meeting, when the discussion was about a tax exemption for tuition payments to private schools, Nixon declared, that “what’s involved is the whole erosion of the middle class.” He pointed to Britain as an example of the leveling that could take place, and said that in America “the very wealthy do very well, but the middle class is sinking.” Eisenhower contradicted him. The President said the middle class had not disappeared, but the proletariat had. The laboring man had become middle class, and was sending his sons to college. Nixon wanted to speak for what he regarded as a dispossessed middle class, for the professional and small-business man who resented the advances of the working class. Eisenhower wanted to deny the existence of any class differences at all.4 At a news conference, in response to a question on organized labor, Eisenhower said he was “disturbed by what seems to be becoming habit in this country, to adopt certain theories that Marx advanced. One is that there is inevitably a bitter and implacable warfare between the man that works and the man that hires him. To my mind this is absolutely and completely un-American.”5
Another problem in their relationship was that Nixon wanted to do more, be more visible, shoulder more responsibilities, but Eisenhower would not let him.6 What really made a close relationship impossible, however, was the nature of their concerns. Nixon’s position forced him to concentrate all his attention and energies on the 1960 election; Eisenhower’s position forced him to concentrate all his attention and energies on what he could accomplish in the next two years. The irony was that Nixon had to make his decisions on a short-term basis of the election, while Eisenhower’s short time remaining led him to make his decisions on the basis of long-term considerations. Nixon’s goal was votes. Eisenhower’s goals were peace, a test ban, disarmament, reconciliation.
But whatever Eisenhower’s reservations about Nixon, he hoped to be turning the government over to him. He doubted that Nixon, as President, could achieve what he might be able to achieve in 1959 and 1960. He therefore set himself to the task of bringing peace to the world as his last act of statesmanship.
• •
In striving for a genuine peace, Eisenhower not only had to reach out to the Russians, but simultaneously to hold back his own JCS. On February 12, after an NSC meeting, Twining, McElroy, and Quarles stayed behind to talk to the President. They wanted to discuss the U-2. The President had been allowing only a small percentage of the flights that the JCS wanted to carry out; now the Defense people had a new argument for a more liberal policy on flights. McElroy pointed out that Symington and the other critical Democratic senators took as their starting point inadequate American intelligence. No matter how often Eisenhower had Allen Dulles give a briefing to one of the Democrats, the critics would never believe Dulles’ reassurances about the missile gap unless Dulles produced some hard information. McElroy wanted to show them additional photographs, and he wanted more overflights to get the pictures.
Eisenhower demurred. He thought that reconnaissance satellites were “coming along nicely.” He wanted U-2 flights “held to a minimum pending the availability of this new equipment.” Quarles said the satellites would not be ready for eighteen months to two years. Eisenhower replied that he was not swayed by that argument, because he doubted Soviet ability to build a first-strike force of ICBMs in the near future. McElroy disagreed, citing latest estimates. Eisenhower reminded him that four years ago the CIA estimate was that by 1959 the Russians would have a huge bomber force, but “as it turned out, the threat has been far less than had been initially estimated.”
Then the President handed down his decision. He said that the U-2 flights constituted “undue provocation.” He added, “Nothing would make him request authority to declare war more quickly than violation of our airspace by Soviet aircraft.” (A remarkable statement by a man who since 1956 had been sending U-2 flights over the Soviet Union.) Twining countered that “the Soviets have never fired a missile at one of our reconnaissance aircraft.” McElroy and Quarles insisted that more flights were critically necessary. Eisenhower backed down a bit; he said that “while one or two flights might possibly be permissible he is against an extensive program.” As the delegation was leaving, Eisenhower reminded his advisers of “the close relationship between these reconnaissance programs and the crisis which is impending over Berlin,” and told them again that he did not want to be provocative.7
But he also did not want to make it possible for Symington and the others to continue to cry “missile gap,” and the U-2 was his best way to disprove the charge. Symington’s friends among lower-level officials in DOD and the CIA were feeding him information based on partial information that did not include the U-2 photographs (which showed that the Soviets were not building ICBMs on a crash basis). At a meeting with the PSAC, Eisenhower commented “on the way irresponsible officials and demagogues are leaking security information and presenting a misleading picture of our security situation to our people. Some of our senators in particular seem to be doing this. In turn,” Eisenhower complained, “the munitions makers are making tremendous efforts toward getting more contracts and in fact seem to be exerting undue influence over the senators.” He specifically noted that Symington was often seen in deep discussion with the vice-president of Convair.8
So, in order to disprove the missile gap, the U-2s had to fly; but to fly the U-2 was to be provocative at a time when the President wanted to be conciliatory. In the early spring of 1959, Eisenhower authorized two or three flights, then changed his mind. On April 11, he called in McElroy and Richard Bissell, the CIA official who was in charge of the U-2 program, “to tell them that he had decided not to go ahead with certain reconnaissance flights for which he had given tentative approval the preceding day.” He said he wanted to give them his reasoning. His first and fourth reasons were censored out of the Goodpaster memorandum on the meeting when, in 1981, the NSC and the CIA declassified portions of it. His second reason was that “there seems no hope for the future unless we can make some progress in negotiation.” His third reason was, “We cannot in the present circumstances afford the revulsion of world opinion against the United States that might occur—the U.S. being the only nation that could conduct this activity.” Summing up, the President said “he did not agree that this project would be worth the political costs.”
McElroy and Bissell protested. Eisenhower agreed that there was a need for information, especially because of the “distortions several senators are making of our military position relative to that of the Soviets,” but returned to his worry over “the terrible propaganda impact that would be occasioned if a reconnaissance plane were to fail.” And he repeated his concern about timing, pointing out that it now appeared that Khrushchev was ready to meet at the summit to reduce tensions. McElroy then admitted that “it is far easier for Cabinet officers to recommend this activity than for the President to authorize it, and that he accepted the President’s decision very willingly.”9 But of course he did not. Within a few days, DOD, the JCS, and the CIA were back, requesting more flights. In addition, the JCS were proposing to get more funds for themselves by cutting back on Eisenhower’s favorite project, mutual security. It made the President angry. At a Republican leaders’ meeting, he thundered that “I might have to relieve them all and appoint a new group.”10
• •
But of course Eisenhower could hardly dismiss all his top military commanders, as each of them had his own constituency and supporters in Congress and among the press and public. Among the JCS, Twining was the strongest Eisenhower supporter. He was less bellicose than Radford had been, less likely to urge the use of atomic weapons, and more inclined to accept Eisenhower’s basic proposition, that a proper defense posture included a healthy economy and a balanced budget. In March 1959, the other Chiefs tried to use the Berlin situation to strengthen their forces and their appropriations. Twining came to the Oval Office and, with only John Eisenhower and his father present, warned the President that “some members of the JCS (Twining does not concur) fear that we are not going far enough in responding to the Berlin crisis. Some of the Chiefs have recommended actions which General Twining considers provocative.” In addition, the Chiefs were going to go before Congress and, while defending the overall Defense budget, claim that they could not meet their own responsibilities without more money, and hint that mutual-security funds could be used to make up the difference.
Eisenhower told Twining to go back to the JCS and tell each man “that the military in this country is a tool and not a policy-making body; the Joint Chiefs are not responsible for high-level political decisions.”11
• •
By no means was the pressure to increase military spending limited to Symington or the JCS. There was a general impression around the country, one that was assiduously spread by the huge Pentagon propaganda machine, the arms industry, the Democrats, and columnists, that Eisenhower was underreacting to the Berlin crisis. There were serious demands, from serious people, that he order a general mobilization. Nor were the advocates of activism limited to the JCS or the opposition. C. D. Jackson was nearly beside himself with excitement. He bombarded (his own word) Allen Dulles with letters, one a week through the months-long crisis, full of specific suggestions on going over to the offensive. He wanted Dulles to stir up the satellites. “There is one thing that still haunts the Kremlin,” he declared, “and that is a general uprising in the Eastern European satellite belt.” Jackson wanted to go back to liberation, which he said “is not an ugly word; it is a good word; it is an American word; it is an unambiguous word. It is the one word the Kremlin fears.” Stirring words, but not Eisenhower’s policy, and he had Dulles send noncommittal replies.12
But although Eisenhower ignored him, Jackson nevertheless spoke for millions of Americans. The national mood, at least as it was being expressed in the halls of Congress and in the media, was impatient. People wanted to get moving again, to take the offensive in the Cold War, to stop reacting and start acting. Many were eager to shoot the way through to Berlin and teach the Soviets a lesson.
Eisenhower, however, thought much of this aggressiveness was artificially created, by the same forces that created an artificial demand for more missiles, bombers, and other weapons. “I’m getting awfully sick of the lobbies by the munitions,” he told the Republican leaders. After looking at the advertisements Boeing and Douglas had published, Eisenhower said “you begin to see this thing isn’t wholly the defense of the country, but only more money for some who are already fat cats.” Eisenhower also thought, “This seems to be a hysteria that is largely political.”13 (Then he had to endure one hour of listening to Congressman Jerry Ford arguing for a contract for a Michigan firm in the missile business.)
But whether artificially created or not, the popular impression that more had to be done ran very deep. As Eisenhower had feared would happen, people had become afraid, and in their fright their instinctive response was to strengthen their military. Although they trusted Ike, they were confused by his policies. He talked about being firm in Berlin, but simultaneously announced a cut of fifty thousand men from the armed services. Senator Fulbright spoke to the point at a March 8 meeting, when he “brought up the problem of his constituents. They asked him why we are cutting the Army. The Senator admits that . . . to him it looks strange.” Eisenhower told Fulbright to go explain to his constituents the theory of deterrence and point out to them that the Administration was increasing the budget for ICBMs. “The President expressed wonder why human sense cannot keep up with human inventive ingenuity. Senator Fulbright hastily added that his constituents do not keep up. They do not understand ICBMs, but they do understand fifty thousand soldiers.”
Senator Russell was also concerned about the reductions. He told Eisenhower that the mutual-security funds were “a most wasteful expenditure of money” and should be spent instead on keeping up America’s defenses. Eisenhower shot back that “the U.S. military services are far more wasteful than our mutual-security program. Therefore, by Senator Russell’s criterion, we should do away with our military forces.” He said he was saving $250 million by reducing the troop strength, and asked Russell to “consider what that would do if spent on the Turk military.” Scornfully, “The President stated that if we desire to abolish mutual security and to provide instead some eighty or ninety divisions, deployed around the Soviet Union, this course of action will solve our unemployment problem, but will ensure that we are a garrison state.”14
• •
As Khrushchev’s May 27 deadline approached, a war-scare fever began to sweep the country, one reminiscent of those over the Far East in 1954 and 1955, only even more serious because this one pitted the United States directly against the Soviet Union, and the arsenals had quadrupled or more since 1954. More than any other individual, the man who held the Berlin crisis in check was Dwight Eisenhower. His was an absolutely bravo performance, a combination of a master diplomat, statesman, and politician at his best. He gave Khrushchev the room to retreat, he mollified his allies, he kept the JCS, C. D. Jackson, and the other hawks in check, he kept the risks at a minimum level, he satisfied the public that his response was appropriate, and he kept the Democrats from throwing billions of dollars to the DOD. His most basic strategy was to simply deny that there was a crisis. His most basic tool was patience, as he carefully explained, over and over, fundamental truths about the nuclear age.
Along the way, he seemed to be almost alone. Treasury Secretary Anderson, who hated spending money, consistently supported him, as did Twining and a few others. But Dulles was in the hospital, Herter was feeling his way into his responsibilities, McElroy was on the side of his JCS, and Eisenhower was generally on his own. Even the White House press corps, normally so friendly, turned on him, asking hostile and even insulting questions. On March 4, Merriman Smith wanted to know why, “against the background of continuing tension,” SAC was not on an airborne alert. Eisenhower explained, “An air alert would be really worse than useless as defense against bombers. You would be much better to have your bombers on the ground.” Well, then, John Scali wanted to know, what about Dean Acheson’s suggestion that NATO go to full mobilization? Eisenhower gave another elementary lesson: “Now, did you ever stop to think what a general mobilization would mean in a time of tension? . . . Now, if you are going to keep a general mobilization for a long time in countries—democracies—such as ours, well, there is just one thing you have and that is a garrison state. General mobilizations . . . would be the most disastrous thing we could do.”
Garnett Horner asked about McElroy’s testimony that week before a congressional hearing; McElroy had hinted at launching an American first strike. Eisenhower replied with an admonishment: “I don’t think we ought to be thinking all the time, every minute, that while we are sitting here, we are very apt to get a bombing attack on Washington.” He did not even want to discuss an American first strike, he said, “because I believe we create more misapprehension than we do understanding.”15
One week later, at his March 11 news conference, the hostile questioning continued. May Craig was the worst. She opened by instructing the President on the Constitution, then asked, “Where technically do you get the right to thwart the will of Congress, for instance in cutting the Army and the Marine Corps . . . or for not spending the money which they give you for missiles, submarine missiles, or whatever they be?” Other reporters also expressed their concern about the reduction in the size of the Army.
“What would you do with more ground forces in Europe?” Eisenhower replied rhetorically. “Does anyone here have an idea? Would you start a ground war?” Speaking with great emphasis and deep emotion, he proclaimed: “We are certainly not going to fight a ground war in Europe. What good would it do to send a few more thousands or even a few divisions of troops to Europe?” Chalmers Roberts wanted to know if Eisenhower thought the American public was “sufficiently aware of the possibility of war in this situation?” Indeed, Eisenhower replied, he thought it was too aware. “What I decry is: let’s not make everything such an hysterical sort of a proposition that we go a little bit off half-cocked.” Then it was back to those fifty thousand troops—what if Congress forced him to take them? “Where will I put them?” Eisenhower asked in his turn. “Well, just some place where it’s nice to keep them out of the way, because I don’t know what else to do with them.” Edward Folliard asked Eisenhower to comment on the widespread assumption that the Administration “puts a balanced budget ahead of national security.” Suppose, Folliard said, there were more money in the budget—would Eisenhower then spend more on the military? Eisenhower replied, “I would say that I would not spend [such] money on the armed forces of the United States . . .”
Eisenhower’s responses left the reporters frustrated. Peter Lisagor asked the last question, and he spoke for the others when he expressed his puzzlement. Lisagor quoted the President’s previous remark about “nuclear war doesn’t free anyone,” noted that he had ruled out the possibility of a ground war in Central Europe, and wondered if there was “an in-between response that we could make.” The questions gave Eisenhower an opportunity to use the news conference not only to calm the American people, but to send a message to the Soviets. “I didn’t say that nuclear war is a complete impossibility,” he replied to Lisagor’s question. “I said it couldn’t as I see it free anything. Destruction is not a good police force. You don’t throw hand grenades around streets to police the streets so that people won’t be molested by thugs.” But you just might use them if the Soviets blockaded Berlin.16
• •
One of Eisenhower’s major tasks was to calm people down. In March, on three separate occasions—to the JCS, to the Republican leaders, and to the Democratic leaders—he made the same point. As recorded by John Eisenhower at the JCS meeting, “The President then stressed the necessity to avoid overreacting. In so doing we give the Soviets ammunition. The President stressed the view that Khrushchev desires only to upset the United States. He expressed once again his view that we must address this problem in terms, not of six months, but of forty years.” The Soviets would always attempt to keep America off balance, Eisenhower said. First, Berlin. Then Iraq. Next Iran. Wherever they could stir up trouble, they would, and “they would like us to go frantic every time they stir up difficulties in these areas.”17 The reason, as Eisenhower explained to the Republican and Democratic leaders, was that—as he claimed anyone who had ever read Lenin knew—“the Communist objective is to make us spend ourselves into bankruptcy.” It was wrong to dramatize Berlin, he declared. “This is a continuous crisis . . . that the United States has to live with certainly as long as we are going to be here.”18 He dismissed liberation of Eastern Europe as an illusion, then explained what America’s most realistic hope was: “The President went into our long-term policy of holding the line until the Soviets manage to educate their people. By so doing, they will sow the seeds of destruction of Communism as a virulent power. This will take a long time to settle.”19
It was one of the oddities of the Cold War that each side expected the other to collapse as a result of its internal contradictions. Eisenhower believed deeply that in the end freedom would prevail, but he also recognized—indeed counted on—Khrushchev’s equally firm belief that Communism would win. Thus he told his Cabinet on March 13, “There is good reason to believe that the Russians do not want war,” because they felt they were winning already. This gave Eisenhower an opportunity to follow a policy of both conciliation and firmness.
The firmness came first. From the beginning, Eisenhower stressed that the United States was not going to abandon the people of West Berlin. He was ready to face the possible consequences of that stand. As he told the Cabinet, “The United States has to stand firm even should the situation come down to the last and ultimate decision, although neither I nor the State Department believe it will ever be allowed to go to that terrible climax. You should not think of this as the beginning of the end, but don’t think it is possible to end tension by walking away from it.”20 In innumerable ways, the President conveyed that message to Khrushchev.
Then came the conciliation. It came hard, because at times even Eisenhower’s patience ran out and he allowed himself to fantasize a bit about how he might stick it to those impossible Russians. He had no thought of bombing them into the Stone Age, but he did call Herter to ask for a “little study” of what the effects would be of breaking diplomatic relations with the Russians. Eisenhower enjoyed the thought immensely: “Throw out all the Russians in this country,” he exclaimed. “Stop all trade . . . who would be hurt? There may be some other things. If we broke relations we could throw the Russians out of the U.N. and deny them visas.” Herter interrupted the President’s fantasy before he got too carried away by reminding him that “we have a freedom of access agreement in the U.N.”21
Conciliation, not confrontation, was what Eisenhower wanted anyway, whatever his dreams. He let Khrushchev know that although he was standing firm, he was willing to negotiate Berlin’s status. He made new concessions on a test ban, as will be seen, and tried in other ways to reach out to Khrushchev. But his most important act was the declaration of willingness to negotiate, and the hints that he would be willing to attend a summit. The act of negotiation would, in itself, be an agreement to Khrushchev’s position that the situation in Berlin was abnormal. But then of course it was—Eisenhower was only admitting the truth—and Eisenhower was ready to discuss a free-city status, so long as the discussions also included reunification of Germany.
The President’s proposed solution for this greatest of the outstanding problems left over from World War II, the division of Germany, was to hold nationwide free elections. The Soviets insisted on reunification through merger at the top. Adenauer’s position was that reunification was his principal goal, and that no recognition of any sort of the East German regime was possible, but most observers, on both sides of the Iron Curtain, disbelieved him. Khrushchev once told Eisenhower categorically “that Adenauer’s support of unification was nothing but a show . . . merely a ruse on Adenauer’s part to stay in power.”22 Christian Herter told Eisenhower exactly the same thing. On April 4, over the telephone, Herter reported that Bonn was opposed to talking about free elections at any Foreign Ministers’ or summit meeting, although Adenauer was not saying so publicly. “Herter said it was obvious that what Adenauer and the Christian Democrats were scared of was that in a reunified free election the opposition Socialist Party in West Germany would form a coalition with certain East German parties and throw the Christian Democrats out of office.” Eisenhower’s reply, at least for all those who believe in democracy, was perfect: “The President said if they get a true free unification, then they have to take their chances on politics.”23
• •
Conciliation included not only declaring a willingness to talk about Germany, but also some concessions on a test ban. These also came hard to Eisenhower, who in February was on the verge of breaking off the talks (currently in recess) in Geneva on a test ban because of the intransigence of the Russians on a veto that would make any inspection system worthless. At a February 18 meeting with Herter and Goodpaster, “The President said we should not tell anyone we are preparing to pull out. Instead we should say we believe negotiations are about to break down because of Soviet insistence on the veto.” Eisenhower added that if no agreement on an inspection system could be reached, “he would rather handle the testing problem simply by making a unilateral statement” that the United States would hereafter refrain from testing in the atmosphere.24
But Eisenhower did not want to act unilaterally. He had come to a position of placing his hopes on a step-by-step approach to the disarmament problem rather than the all-or-nothing approach the United States had followed up to this time. He wanted an agreement, almost any kind of an agreement, that could serve to start the process of trust and accommodation. So, through February and March, he backed down from his insistence on a comprehensive, verifiable ban to one that sought to achieve something, anything positive.
On February 25, he told Killian and Goodpaster that he was losing his interest in on-site inspection teams. He thought that if the United States could detect explosions in the atmosphere, and large ones underground, “then the idea of teams . . . seems rather secondary in importance.” A ban on only large underground and atmospheric tests could be monitored by a small number of instruments in fixed stations.25
The President’s movement toward an accord with the Soviets was accelerated by a meeting he held on March 17 with the PSAC, Quarles, and Twining, called to discuss the missile program but quickly broadened into more general considerations. On missiles, it was Killian’s sad duty to report that the ABM idea had not worked out. Accordingly, dispersal, hardening of airfields and ICBM sites, improved warning and reaction time “all seem more promising than active defense.” Killian thought that “passive tactics were cheaper than active.” John Eisenhower was keeping the notes, and did not record his father’s reaction, if any. But Eisenhower must have thought to himself about all the arguments he had had over the years with Strauss and the AEC and the DOD about the need for testing. They had always cited the ABM possibilities as a major reason. All that money, wasted. All that fallout, created for nothing.
Killian and the DOD people went on to explain some of the costs involved in building a hardened ICBM force that would match the projected Russian force. Eisenhower protested that they were exaggerating Soviet missile production. “He added that if we ever get to the place where these missiles will rain down out of the skies on the United States, much of what we are planning will be useless anyhow.” Undaunted, the advisers went on to talk about hardening B-52 airfields, and other measures, including building more nuclear weapons. Eisenhower interrupted to “comment again that when we begin talking of weapons up to certain very great figures, the discussion loses all meaning . . .”26
Eisenhower believed there could be no winner in an arms race. Even if it never came to war, the world would bankrupt itself if it did not first destroy itself through fallout. This last was getting to be a worrisome point with Eisenhower, who told Herter on March 20 that he had been doing some reading on strontium 90 and fallout effects, and was therefore “coming to the conclusion that our position should be that we will not test in the atmosphere.” He instructed Herter that he would no longer insist on including underground or outer-space tests in a treaty. He explained, “My thinking is that we should go for a system which both sides agree will work,” because if there were too many more atmospheric tests, the Northern Hemisphere might become uninhabitable.27
Accordingly, on April 13, the day the Geneva negotiations resumed, Eisenhower wrote Khrushchev, announcing that the United States no longer insisted on a comprehensive test ban, but would be willing to move “in phases, beginning with a prohibition of nuclear weapons’ tests in the atmosphere.” This would require only a simplified control system.28 Khrushchev, although he denounced a partial test ban as “misleading,” nevertheless indicated a willingness to talk, and the negotiations went on.
• •
On a daily basis, Eisenhower was calling Dulles in the hospital to keep him informed of the test-ban progress, a cause to which Dulles had committed himself so strongly. In one of their last conversations, Eisenhower expressed his desire to halt the “terrific” arms race by at least stopping tests in the atmosphere. “In the long run,” Eisenhower concluded, “there is nothing but war—if we give up all hope of a peaceful solution.”29
Dulles’ sinking was extremely painful for Eisenhower, made all the more so by the sniping of some Democrats. In late February, shortly after Dulles took his leave of absence, Democratic senators began attacking his policies and demanding his resignation. Eisenhower told the Republican leaders it just made him sick, that he had “heard nothing quite as cheap as this sudden personal attack.” Dulles had once told James Reston that “I did not ask to be liked,” but then neither had he asked to be kicked when he was down. Eisenhower reported that “he’s very sensitive to some of these bitter attacks. He wonders if he is doing the right thing [by not resigning]. I tell him I’m the one to decide that.” Still, even the Republicans wanted to know when he would step down. Eisenhower replied, “When Dulles says he can’t do his best, he’ll be out. When he feels like working, he’ll be there.”30
On March 20, Macmillan came to town for a visit. Along with Eisenhower, Macmillan made his first call on Dulles in Walter Reed. For an hour they talked. Dulles was his old self, warning against appeasement (which he suspected Macmillan of, as Macmillan had just returned from Moscow where he had joined in the call for a summit and seemed to indicate a readiness to back down on Berlin). Dulles said the United States was spending $40 billion per year on weapons; “if appeasement and partial surrender are to be our attitude,” he continued, “we had better save our money.”
After the visit, Eisenhower and Macmillan went to Camp David for talks. Macmillan informed him that Khrushchev, despite all his bombast and grandiloquent speeches, was willing to be conciliatory too. He had told Macmillan that the May 27 deadline on Berlin was in no sense an ultimatum. Facing an election, Macmillan was much more willing to commit to a summit than Eisenhower was; the President’s position was that there should not be a summit unless and until the Foreign Ministers held a successful meeting. They eventually compromised by agreeing to a Foreign Ministers’ meeting, to be followed by a summit if developments justified it.31 On March 30, Khrushchev accepted that proposal. The Foreign Ministers’ meeting would begin in Geneva on May 11.
Dulles, meanwhile, was failing to regain his strength or respond to treatment. On April 13, he talked to Eisenhower on the telephone, saying that he had drafted a letter of resignation. Eisenhower sadly decided that he “could not oppose what seemed inevitable.” Dulles recommended Herter as his successor. Eisenhower said he had been thinking of Lodge, Anderson, or Allen Dulles. Foster Dulles held out for a promotion from inside. Eisenhower was worried about Herter’s arthritis. Dulles said that if it were an appointment for a long term, he would not recommend Herter on the grounds of his health, but for the short time remaining he was much the best choice. Eisenhower agreed.32 On April 18, the appointment was made.
Herter’s first task was to prepare for the Geneva meeting. The issues were many: Berlin, the test ban, a limitation on the deployment of IRBMs in Germany, assurances against surprise attack, and the principles for a peace treaty with Germany. Given the size of the agenda, and the passion surrounding most of the issues, it was hardly surprising that no progress was made. Gromyko came in saying “Nyet,” and he kept saying it for the next three weeks. Eisenhower was close to breaking off the meeting in frustration, but Macmillan insisted on continuing to try.
On May 24, the end came for John Foster Dulles. Eisenhower’s sense of loss and grief was personal and painful. Dulles had served him faithfully and tirelessly for six years. He had frequently disagreed with the President, especially in the early years over policy in the Far East, but he had always acceded to the President’s judgment and carried out Eisenhower’s policies with skill and enthusiasm. They were never personal friends in any social sense; Dulles did not play bridge or golf, or spend weekends with Eisenhower at Gettysburg or Augusta. But they had deep personal respect for each other, and they enjoyed working together, because they shared common assumptions about the nature of the Soviet threat and on the need to stand firm to meet it. In Eisenhower’s judgment, Dulles was one of the greatest of Secretaries of State. That he could not convince others of that judgment was not for lack of trying.
One of the qualities of Dulles that Eisenhower appreciated most was his comprehensive knowledge. No matter what subject the President brought up, Dulles knew about it, had information and opinions to offer. This quality was best illustrated, albeit in a negative way, some months after Dulles’ death in an incident that also showed how on top of things Eisenhower was. Herter was doing a satisfactory job as Secretary of State, but he just was not Dulles. Eisenhower called Herter on the telephone one afternoon to complain about the leaks from the State Department. As Whitman recorded it, “Herter was ineffectual, said he did not read the Times this morning . . . Then the President asked Herter about the Konlon report, and there was a dead silence—then Herter said he did not know what it was.” Eisenhower informed him that it was a report from the Foreign Affairs Committee.33 Dulles would have known, would have read it, just as he never missed reading the Times.
• •
Dulles’ death brought the Foreign Ministers to Washington for the funeral, which ironically was held on May 27—the original “deadline” date Khrushchev had set for Berlin. Before the funeral, Eisenhower asked the Foreign Ministers to the White House for lunch. The President explained to a protesting State Department aide that “what he had in mind was simply to ask them in and tell them that it is, in his judgment, ridiculous that the world is divided into segments facing each other in unending hostility. He felt that decent men should be able to find some way to make progress toward a better state of things.”34
Later, Eisenhower made a diary entry on the luncheon. He said that Soviet Foreign Minister Gromyko “was personally agreeable, laughing frequently, and expressing the hope that real progress could be made. I told the group that I was personally anxious that such progress be accomplished, because only in this way could America agree to go to a summit meeting.” Gromyko, to Eisenhower’s surprise, did not disagree, even though it was well known that Khrushchev wanted a summit, whatever happened between the Foreign Ministers. Eisenhower decided that Gromyko’s response was an indication of the “relatively minor position held by Gromyko in the Soviet system. In that system there is only one boss and Gromyko is nothing but an errand boy.”35
When the talks in Geneva resumed, Gromyko was still saying Nyet, except about a summit, which he wanted. So did Macmillan. Eisenhower still insisted on progress by the Foreign Ministers first. The only concession Khrushchev was willing to make was to set another deadline, one year in the future, for the Allies to get out of Berlin. Later he changed it to a two-and-a-half-year deadline. Herter, on instructions from Eisenhower, refused to discuss any deadlines. Macmillan, ready to give up at Geneva, proposed an “informal” meeting of the heads of government. Eisenhower refused. He felt that if he surrendered to Khrushchev on this point, Khrushchev thereafter would regard him as a “pushover.” But, unlike Macmillan, he did not want to break up the Foreign Ministers’ meeting. Instead he proposed a recess. On June 20, the Foreign Ministers finally agreed on something—a three-week recess.36
Almost unnoticed in the publicity and hoopla surrounding the Foreign Ministers’ deadlock was the fundamental outcome of the Berlin crisis of 1958–1959—that Eisenhower had gotten through it without increasing the defense budget, without war, and without backing down. The situation in Berlin was unchanged.
• •
There were, of course, other foreign-policy issues to deal with in the spring of 1959. One was Castro. On the day Eisenhower informed Herter that he was to become Secretary of State, Herter told Eisenhower that “he was sorry in a way that the President had missed meeting Castro.” Fidel had come to the United States on April 17, on the invitation of the American Society of Newspaper Editors. (“I was more than irritated by the news of the invitation,” Eisenhower commented.37) About a week later, Herter reported that Castro was “a most interesting individual, very much like a child in many ways, quite immature regarding problems of government, and puzzled and confused by some of the practical difficulties now facing him. In English he spoke with restraint and considerable personal appeal. In Spanish, however, he became voluble, excited, and somewhat ‘wild.’ ” Herter said that Castro “made a plea for patience while his government tries to deal with the situation in Cuba.”38
The day after Herter’s report the CIA gave Eisenhower an evaluation of Castro’s situation. Castro had said that Cuba would stay in the Western camp in the Cold War, but he was unconvincing. The CIA thought that there was a “probability” that the land reform Castro was insisting upon “may adversely affect certain American-owned properties in Cuba.” The CIA charged that Castro “confuses the roar of mass audiences with the rule of the majority in his concept of democracy,” and said it “would be a serious mistake to underestimate this man . . . He is clearly a strong personality and a born leader of great personal courage and conviction.” The Agency admitted that “Castro remains an enigma,” but thought there was still a possibility “of developing a constructive relationship with him and his government.” Eisenhower scribbled by hand on the margin of the report, “File. We will check in a year!! D. E.”39
And, of course, there were the perennial domestic and political problems. Protecting the budget against Democratic assaults took much of Eisenhower’s time. He conducted one of his letter-writing blitzes to his friends, asking their support in holding back the big spenders, and he urged Republican leaders to stop any movement toward a tax cut. At one session, he said he wanted to tell a story “to see if I can get a smile here.” The other morning, it seemed, a friend had come to the Oval Office to tell Eisenhower how terrible taxes were. He took out a piece of paper and the first thing he wrote down was $913,000, his income for 1958. Eisenhower said, “Stop right there. Anyone feeling sorry for himself who makes that kind of money . . .” The man shamefacedly admitted that Eisenhower was right.40
The one place Eisenhower was willing to spend money was on roads. At every Republican leaders’ meeting that spring, he brought up the subject, stressing “the great need for catching up on the building of roads.” He said he wanted to stick to the original idea of finishing the Interstate System within thirteen years, and was appalled at the warnings that the program, which had gotten off to a fast start, would have to be stopped in its tracks because of insufficient financing. But costs were higher than anticipated, primarily because of the massive expenditures required to build superhighways through congested urban areas. Either the gas tax had to be raised, or the pay-as-you-go principle abandoned, or the construction stopped. Eisenhower said he was willing to raise gasoline taxes to keep the program going, but the Republicans warned him that a tax increase was out of the question. To Eisenhower’s great displeasure, highway construction slowed down.41
In holding down spending, other than on roads, Eisenhower relied increasingly on the southerners in the Senate. Ralph McGill, editor of the Atlanta Constitution and a man Eisenhower respected, wrote to urge Eisenhower to use the talents of the senators from the South more frequently. Eisenhower replied that he was already doing so, except for Senators Olin Johnston, Thurmond, and Eastland, whom he placed in a “special group.” Those three, he said, “reflect a viewpoint that is not only extreme but rigid. They seem so entrenched in their prejudices and racial antagonisms that they never show so much as a glimmer of a readiness to see the other side of the problem.” Otherwise, he said, he relied heavily upon the southerners, and hoped to get even more benefits from them, because they had “great opportunities . . . to rise to real heights of statesmanship.” Since their re-elections were practically guaranteed, they “need not worry too much about their political careers. If they should choose to use that ability with the single thought of promoting the national good, . . . they could become outstanding figures on the national scene, and in history.” He also wished they would break with the northern Democrats, but knew that they would not “when the prize of committee chairmanships remains so glittering and tempting.”
Turning to immediate problems, Eisenhower told McGill that while he believed wholeheartedly in equality before the law, he also believed just as strongly that “coercive law is powerless to bring about [integration] when in any extensive region the great mass of public opinion is in bitter opposition.” He cited the carpet-bag governments of the Reconstruction era and the Volstead Act as proof. Progress would be made, he concluded, only through enlightenment, education, persuasion, and leadership example.42
In public, he took the same position. At a May 13 news conference, he was asked to comment on the fifth anniversary of the Brown decision. Eisenhower asserted his belief that the United States government, “if it is going to be true to its own founding documents, does have the job of working toward the time when there is no discrimination made on such inconsequential reason as race, color, or religion.” But, he added, “Law is not going to do it. We have never stopped sin by passing laws; and in the same way, we are not going to take a great moral ideal and achieve it merely by law.”43
Many Negro leaders were mumbling that Eisenhower was willing to risk nuclear war over the rights of the people of West Berlin but would do nothing about the rights of Negro American citizens. Their criticism, and the general coolness of the Negro community toward the Republican Administration, genuinely puzzled Eisenhower. He recalled that he had integrated the last of the armed forces’ units, had integrated Washington, D.C., and the White House staff, had appointed Earl Warren, and had put through the 1957 Civil Rights Act. What more did the Negroes want? “It’s a funny thing,” Eisenhower told the Republican leaders. “There is no evidence that we have raised any votes with all we’ve done for the Negroes. The NAACP still fights us.” Charlie Halleck gave his opinion: “I never did think there was any political hay in civil rights.” Well, Eisenhower said, he was not really looking for votes anyway. He had helped the Negroes because “it is a matter of decency.”44
• •
Spring in Washington meant baseball. In May, Eisenhower took an afternoon off and together with Dr. Howard Snyder, George Allen, and his ten-year-old grandson, David, went to see the Senators play the Yankees. David knew every player’s batting average and was already an expert on the finer points of the game, but unfortunately he had not inherited his grandfather’s athletic ability, and was doomed to be a spectator, not a participant. He complained to Grandpa about how hard he had to work at sports, when the games came so easy to many of his friends.
With only a year and a half to go in office, Eisenhower’s mind turned increasingly to retirement and death. He told Slater he could not decide how he wanted to arrange his retirement—whether to take the President’s pension of $25,000 per year, with $50,000 in allowances, or go back to the Army as a five-star general, which would entitle him free of charge to the services of Colonel Schulz and Sergeants Dry and Moaney. He said he had gotten so accustomed to having those three around “it will be hard to get along without them.” Together with the gang, Eisenhower and Mamie talked about their eventual burial spot. They considered Arlington, West Point, or Abilene. Eisenhower liked the idea of Abilene, where a private foundation had already raised the money to build an Eisenhower Museum and was arranging financing for an Eisenhower Library. The gang urged him to choose Gettysburg, on the grounds that it was closer to the major population centers and was already a major tourist site.45
In June 1959, Eisenhower had one of the greatest pleasures any grandfather can have—the grandchildren came to live with him. Not at the White House, but the next best thing, as Barbara and the children moved in at Gettysburg, while John took a room on the third floor of the White House. John went up to Gettysburg on weekends, his parents joining him whenever they could.46
• •
Eisenhower needed the support of his family that June, because his southern friends let him down in the Senate and he suffered a blow that he described in his memoirs as “one of the most depressing official disappointments I experienced during eight years in the White House.”47 The issue was the confirmation of Lewis Strauss as Secretary of Commerce. Eisenhower had appointed Strauss to the position in October 1958, but confirmation hearings did not begin until March 1959, and they continued into May. Senator Clinton Anderson of New Mexico, a member of the congressional watchdog committee for the AEC, had frequently clashed with Strauss in the past, and now he led the fight against confirmation. Eisenhower was enraged by the bitter personal attacks made against Strauss (who in truth had few friends, especially in the Senate), and was still angry years later when he wrote his memoirs, where he gave over five full pages to refuting Anderson’s charges.
When the vote finally came, on June 18, the Senate refused to confirm Strauss by a vote of 49 to 46. The next morning, Eisenhower told Whitman that “this was the most shameful thing that had happened in the U.S. Senate since the attempt to impeach a President many, many years ago.” He put the blame on Lyndon Johnson, who had made it a party matter and instructed the Democrats to vote against confirmation. A number of Democrats, including Senators John Kennedy and Edmund Muskie, had promised to vote for Strauss, but capitulated to Johnson’s pressure. Johnson himself, Eisenhower’s aides felt, had nothing against Strauss personally, but he owed Anderson a favor, and Anderson had asked to have it paid off by opposing Strauss. Shaking his head, the President repeated, “This is the second most shameful day in Senate history.”
Eisenhower was not above a little retaliation. He told Whitman he wanted to start an investigation of the 27.5 percent oil depletion allowance that had made the Texas oilmen, including Johnson and his supporters, so rich.48 But it was an idle threat. Eisenhower was far too busy dealing with Khrushchev to be able to afford to devote time to Lyndon Johnson and the Texas millionaires.
Besides, he was beginning to lose a bit of enthusiasm and stamina. In April, he told Slater, “You know, one way I realize I’m not as young as I once was, is that I’m perfectly willing to have a big conference at ten in the morning—I even look forward to it—but the same situation faced at four in the afternoon finds me unhappy about the prospect.”49
His mind stayed young. In late June, dictating a letter to Whitman, he used the sentence, “I doubt whether a man of my age changes his habits of thinking and of speech.” Then he told her to cross out that sentence, and explained that “he had conscientiously tried to change his habits of speech. That since a child he had always thought faster than he could talk, which accounted for the fact that his tongue would ‘run away with him’ and he might not finish sentences, etc. Since his ‘difficulty’ of the last couple of years, he said he tried very hard to think before he would speak—to outsiders.”50