THE LAST TEN WEEKS of the Eisenhower Administration were a period of marking time. Because Eisenhower’s role was that of caretaker, he undertook no new initiatives. Instead, he worked to keep the options open, so that on such issues as nuclear testing, balance-of-payments problems, Indochina, Berlin, and Cuba the incoming President could make his own decisions. One place where Eisenhower did try to tie Kennedy’s hands, however, was the budget. Starting with his vacation at Augusta, he labored over the budget. He told Slater, “You know, I’m going to insist on a balanced budget no matter what Kennedy says he wants. And if he feels otherwise he’ll have to declare himself. There just won’t be enough money to pay for the already committed things and his new ideas too.”1
While working on that final budget, Eisenhower was told that such-and-such a program could not be cut. Goodpaster noted, “The President commented that if he were a dictator he thought he could cut the budget before him 20 percent without damage to the country—by knocking out many sacred cows and completely useless but well-established activities.”2 At another budget meeting, this one with Gates and the Defense people, Eisenhower bemoaned the emphasis Kennedy and his advisers were putting on Maxwell Taylor’s idea of “flexible response.”
Eisenhower’s concern was the same in 1961 as it had been in 1953—keeping the economy sound. Goodpaster recorded that Eisenhower said, “We have constantly got to ask ourselves whether we are cutting out everything that can be cut out. For example, he is clear in his mind that the only way we are going to win in the present struggle is by our deterrent. There may be some use in having a few mobile elements but he cannot see any ‘little wars.’ More and more the matter is a question of big war and the deterrent.”3
Eisenhower knew, however, that his views had already been examined and rejected by the Kennedy team, which certainly did intend to spend more than it took in, to cut taxes, and to dramatically increase defense spending, both in nuclear arms and delivery systems and in conventional arms, so as to create a “flexible response” capacity. Eisenhower therefore wanted no hint of approval by his team toward the incoming Administration. Thus when Kennedy approached Under Secretary of State Douglas Dillon to inquire as to Dillon’s availability for the post of Secretary of the Treasury in the new Administration, Eisenhower strongly urged Dillon not to take the job. The President warned that if he joined Kennedy, Dillon would be classed among the radicals, as he would not be free to pursue sound money policies.4
By early January, Eisenhower was getting thoroughly fed up with the press, which was treating Kennedy almost like a savior, as reporters and writers tried to outdo one another in extolling the virtues of the President-elect. In a January 3 letter, Eisenhower said he was amazed at the “constant deterioration in the tone of Ralph McGill’s writings.” He had always entertained a high opinion of McGill’s work, but “now it seems to me that he has sold himself on a naïve belief that we have a new genius in our midst who is incapable of making any mistakes and therefore deserving of no criticism whatsoever. It appears as if he has almost adopted a cult, surrendering completely his own critical ability and his power of analysis.”5
• •
Despite Eisenhower’s resentment at Kennedy’s favorable press treatment, and the absence of any critical comment, he had no personal rancor toward his successor, as he had had toward Truman. It helped that Kennedy had carefully, and wisely, refrained from any direct attacks on Eisenhower personally during the campaign. It also helped that when Kennedy came to the White House on December 6, at Eisenhower’s invitation, for a briefing from the President, he arrived sitting alone in the back seat of his limousine. Eisenhower and his staff had feared he would show up with a group of assistants preparing to celebrate their victory. The President was also pleased by Kennedy’s manner. As John Eisenhower recalled, Kennedy’s “warmth and modesty were impressive.” At the meeting in the Oval Office, Kennedy listened carefully and intelligently as Eisenhower explained the way the White House functioned.
Turning to the biggest of all the government’s operations, the Department of Defense, Kennedy said he had a report from Eisenhower’s old nemesis, Stu Symington, that was shocking in its assertions. Eisenhower had seen the report and thought it was “so useless as to be ridiculous,” but he did not say so to Kennedy. He did urge Kennedy not to make any changes in a hurry, indeed not to act “until he himself could become well acquainted with the problem.” And he warned Kennedy that without a well-organized personal staff, detailed problems would march up to the President for decision in an endless row.
Eisenhower stressed to Kennedy the seriousness of the balance-of-payments problem (and later subjected Kennedy to a forty-five-minute lecture from Robert Anderson on the subject). “I pray that he understands it,” Eisenhower wrote in his diary. He was pleased that Kennedy’s attitude “was that of a serious, earnest seeker for information.” Eisenhower told him that because of the gold outflow, and because of his own conviction that America was carrying far more than her share of the free-world defenses, he intended to let the NATO community know that the United States planned to redeploy some troops out of Europe, unless the Europeans pitched in to stop the outflow of gold. Eisenhower assured Kennedy that he would make the announcement of his intention in such a way as to leave Kennedy a free hand in reversing the policy (which Kennedy did a week after taking office). Kennedy then asked about Eisenhower’s personal thinking about Macmillan, de Gaulle, and Adenauer. Eisenhower replied that Kennedy ought to go out of his way to meet them and talk with them individually and as a group; if he did “he would be impressed by their ability and their integrity.”
Toward the end of the meeting, Kennedy asked Eisenhower whether he would be prepared to serve the country “in such areas and in such manner as may seem appropriate.” Eisenhower replied that of course, “the answer was obvious,” but he added that he hoped it would be in the area of serious conferences and consultations on subjects that Eisenhower knew something about, “rather than errands which might necessitate frequent and lengthy travel.” Kennedy understood. Finally, Kennedy asked if he could hold Goodpaster for two months or more into the new Administration. Eisenhower was opposed. He said Goodpaster wanted to return to active duty with troops, that a spot was being held for him, and that he wished Kennedy would appoint someone right now who could sit at Goodpaster’s side for the final month. But Kennedy replied that “he would be handicapped” without Goodpaster. Eisenhower reminded Kennedy that he would soon be the Commander in Chief and he could then order Goodpaster to do any duty he wished. Kennedy indicated that he would hold the active-duty spot open for Goodpaster. The meeting ended on that pleasant note of agreement. It had been much smoother than the preinaugural meeting Eisenhower had had with Truman back in 1952.6
• •
One of the subjects Kennedy had wanted to discuss was Cuba. Eisenhower had responded with a brief summary of a meeting he had held a week earlier. At that meeting, attended by Anderson, Gates, Dillon, Dulles, Bissell, Persons, Goodpaster, Gray, and General Lyman Lemnitzer, chairman of the JCS, the Administration had considered the options with regard to the CIA’s program for Cuba. Gray kept the notes. He recorded: “The President said he wished to ask two questions: (1) Are we being sufficiently imaginative and bold, subject to not letting our hand appear; and (2) are we doing the things we are doing, effectively.” Without waiting for a response, Eisenhower “adverted to the impending transfer of government responsibilities and said that we would not want to be in the position of turning over the government in the midst of a developing emergency.”
Dulles reported that there were some 184 different groups among the refugees, each demanding to become the recognized government-in-exile. “The President asked how might we proceed to bring them all together and Mr. Dulles responded that this was impossible.” Eisenhower remarked that the CIA should not “be financing those we cannot get to work in harness. Mr. Dulles said we would find it necessary to continue to finance some . . . notwithstanding.”
Dillon spoke up for the State Department, saying that “the State concern was the operation was no longer secret but is known all over Latin America and has been discussed in U.N. circles.” Eisenhower responded “that even if the operation were known, the main thing was not to let the U.S. hand show. As long as we pursued that course he was not too concerned.” He added that he did not share the State Department concern about “shooting from the hip as he thinks that we should be prepared to take more chances and be more aggressive.”7
In late December, Dulles and Bissell reported to Eisenhower on their progress. The brigade was up to six hundred men, which stretched the capacity of the training camp in Guatemala. The refugees were highly trained and motivated. Eisenhower asked about political progress: Did the Cubans have a recognized and popular leader yet? No, Bissell replied, not yet. Eisenhower said that he would not approve of any military plans for the utilization of the paramilitary force until there was a genuine government-in-exile. He hoped he would be able to recognize one before he left office.8
Castro, however, moved before Eisenhower could do so. On January 2, 1961, Castro ordered most of the State Department personnel in the embassy in Havana to leave the country within twenty-four hours, charging that they were a den of spies. The next day, Eisenhower met with his top advisers. He announced that “the U.S. should not tolerate being kicked around,” and indicated that he was inclined to bring every member of the embassy home and withdraw diplomatic recognition of the Cuban government. Herter mentioned the various problems that such a course of action would create. Treasury Secretary Anderson said that rather than break relations, he favored vigorous action, now, “to get rid of Castro.” He wanted the CIA to get going. Dulles remarked that Bissell’s paramilitary force would not be ready to move until early March. The problem of finding a legitimate government-in-exile remained acute, meanwhile, and there was another difficulty—finding an excuse for an American-sponsored intervention in Cuba. Herter suggested that “we should stage an ‘attack’ on Guantánamo,” copying the technique Hitler had used in 1939 on the German-Polish border before he invaded Poland. Bissell warned that whatever was decided, it had to be done soon, because he did not think he could hold his paramilitary force in Guatemala together beyond March 1. He explained that the CIA agents who were supervising the training “think morale will suffer dangerously if action is not taken by early March.”
Eisenhower said that it was his opinion that “we had only two reasonable alternative courses of action: (1) Supporting Cubans to go in March or (2) to abandon the operation.” He strongly favored the first course. “When we turn over responsibility on the twentieth,” he declared, “our successors should continue to improve and intensify the training and undertake planning when the Cubans are themselves properly organized.” Meanwhile, he wanted Bissell to increase the size of the force of refugees. “We should permit the Cubans to expand the forces already planned and then find ways to give arms to broader groups.” As to the immediate future, he had decided to withdraw recognition from the Cuban government that day, even though no government-in-exile had emerged. Eisenhower said he was ready to “recognize in a great hurry the leader whenever we do find him.” Goodpaster warned that a relatively large military force was being created by the CIA that was not responsible to nor connected with any government, and that the operation was building a momentum of its own which would be difficult to stop. Eisenhower replied that the CIA was only creating an asset, not committing the United States to an invasion of Cuba or anything like that. Whether the refugees would be used or not depended entirely on political developments. There was no need to worry.9
• •
For themselves, the Eisenhowers had many chores to do, but they were such old hands at moving that this would be a relatively easy move, physically if not emotionally, because everything was already set up at Gettysburg. Slater spent the first weekend in January at the White House. As he was walking down the hall on Sunday morning, Mamie called him into her bedroom. She was still in bed, but told him she had been up since 5:30 A.M. trying to balance her checkbook. She had already packed the paintings and knickknacks in their bedroom; looking around, she commented to Slater, “Don’t things look bare.”10
Probably no family has ever moved out of the White House gladly, but there were compensations to becoming private citizens. The day after Christmas, 1960, Eisenhower wrote to the members of his gang, and a few other close friends, an identical letter. “During my entire life,” he began, “until I came back from World War II as something of a VIP, I was known by my contemporaries as ‘Ike.’ ” He continued, “I now demand, as my right, that you, starting January 21, 1961, address me by that nickname. No longer do I propose to be excluded from the privileges that other friends enjoy.”11
But of course no former President is simply a private citizen. Already Eisenhower was being bombarded with requests that he speak to this club or that charity, to this organization or that university. Honorariums of $1,000 and more were being offered. One such request came from Edgar out in Tacoma, who was rather pleased with himself at being able to extend to his brother a fee of $1,000 for a twenty-minute speech at the University of Puget Sound. Eisenhower replied that Edgar’s letter “shows how little you know your younger brother. I have made it a practice for years never to accept an honorarium for any talk; this policy I adopted right after World War II.”12
He had no financial worries in any case. Pete Jones and other friends had done a good job of investing his Crusade money for him; Gettysburg was paid for; he had his full pension; there was plenty of money. Besides, he still had a high income potential, even without speaker’s fees. Given Eisenhower’s continuing popularity, given the turbulent years he had just presided over, and given the great success of Crusade, every publisher in the country wanted to produce his White House memoirs. Eisenhower decided to stay with Doubleday, primarily because of his friendship for the president, Doug Black. He did not sign a contract, but did make an informal arrangement with Black, trusting that Black would treat him fairly, even generously. There was no package deal involved, as there had been with Crusade; this time, Eisenhower would receive royalties and pay taxes on a regular basis.
One additional reason Eisenhower made his arrangement with Black was that Black said he could arrange first serial publications in The Saturday Evening Post. Eisenhower had been addicted to that magazine when he was a boy—he claimed he read every issue—and he got a great kick out of the idea of appearing in the magazine. C. D. Jackson was miffed. He wrote Eisenhower a long, hurt letter—after all that Time-Life had done for Eisenhower, after all that Henry Luce had done for him, after all that C. D. had done for the President, how could he turn to the Post? Eisenhower replied with a long, defensive letter, saying he had accepted Black’s proposal because of “my boyhood devotion” to the Post, and that he had not intended to slight C. D. or Luce.13
In January, by special act of Congress, Eisenhower regained the five-star rank he had resigned in 1952. Sam Rayburn and Lyndon Johnson took the lead in getting the legislation into law. As a former President, Eisenhower was entitled to a $25,000 per year pension, plus $50,000 for office expenses, which was much more than he would receive as a five-star general. The special act gave him the best of both worlds—he got his rank back, and Congress stipulated that he should receive the full presidential pension and allowance. Further, he got to retain the services of Sergeants Dry and Moaney and Colonel Schulz, as aides, their costs to be deducted from the $50,000 allowance.14
• •
On December 14, Whitman typed up a note and sent it into the Oval Office. “Norman Cousins called,” she told the President. “His suggestions: that you give a ‘farewell’ address to the country . . . reviewing your Administration, telling of your hopes for the future. A great, sweeping document.”15 Eisenhower liked the idea. He also liked the work of a young political scientist from Johns Hopkins, Malcolm Moos, who had joined the staff in late 1958 as a speech writer. Eisenhower talked to Moos, set him to work on a speech, and over the following weeks consulted closely with him to make the text exactly right.
On January 17, 1961, at 8:30 P.M., Eisenhower went on national radio and television to deliver his Farewell Address. His theme was the Cold War. He spoke of war and peace, of police states and of freedom. “We face a hostile ideology,” he declared, “global in scope, atheistic in character, ruthless in purpose, and insidious in method.” The danger it posed was of “indefinite duration.” There would be many crises, and correspondingly many calls to find a “miraculous solution” by spending ever-increasing sums on research and development of new weapons. Eisenhower warned that every such proposal “must be weighed in the light of . . . the need to maintain balance . . . between cost and hoped-for advantage.”
The irony of the Cold War was that to maintain the peace and retain its freedom, the United States had to build a huge military establishment, but the cost of building it threatened to create a garrison state in which there would be no freedom. “Our military organization today bears little relation to that known by any of my predecessors . . .” Eisenhower said. In addition, until after World War II, the United States had “no armaments industry.” In earlier days, “American makers of plowshares could . . . make swords as well.” But because of the Cold War and the technological revolution, “we have been compelled to create a permanent armaments industry of vast proportions.”
Then, in ringing phrases, Eisenhower spoke the sentences that would be the most quoted and remembered of his Farewell Address, indeed of his entire Presidency. The sentences summed up his deepest feelings, gave voice to his greatest fears. They were the words of a soldier-prophet, a general who had given his life to the defense of freedom and the achievement of peace. “This conjunction of an immense military establishment and a large arms industry is new in the American experience,” he said. “The total influence—economic, political, even spiritual—is felt in every city, every statehouse, every office of the federal government.” Then, the direct warning: “In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist.” The MIC should never be allowed to “endanger our liberties or democratic processes. We should take nothing for granted.”
Eisenhower next spoke of another great change that had occurred in America in his lifetime, and the dangers that change brought. The solitary inventor, working on his own, had been replaced “by task forces of scientists in laboratories and testing fields.” Further, in the old days, universities were “the fountainhead of free ideas and scientific discovery.” But today, “partly because of the huge costs involved, a government contract becomes virtually a substitute for intellectual curiosity.” Therefore, Eisenhower issued a second warning, not so well remembered later as was the military-industrial complex phrase, but equally prophetic. “The prospect of domination of the nation’s scholars by federal employment, project allocations, and the power of money is ever present,” he said, “and is gravely to be regarded.”
Another warning: “We—you and I, and our government—must avoid . . . plundering, for our own ease and convenience, the precious resources of tomorrow. We cannot mortgage the material assets of our grandchildren without risking the loss also of their political and spiritual heritage. We want democracy to survive for all generations to come . . .”
An apology: “Disarmament . . . is a continuing imperative . . . Because this need is so sharp and apparent I confess that I lay down my official responsibilities in this field with a definite sense of disappointment. As one who has witnessed the horror and the lingering sadness of war—as one who knows that another war could utterly destroy this civilization which has been so slowly and painfully built over thousands of years—I wish I could say tonight that a lasting peace is in sight.” But the most that he could say was that “war has been avoided.” He concluded by praying that “all peoples will come to live together in a peace guaranteed by the binding force of mutual respect and love.”16
• •
The speech got a highly favorable reception, which put Eisenhower in a good mood the next morning, when he held his 193rd, and last, press conference as President. He thought the transition was going “splendidly,” he praised Congress for its cooperation [sic!], he wished Kennedy “Godspeed in his work,” he said his greatest disappointment was the failure to achieve peace, he explained his retirement status, and he answered a question about what specific steps he would recommend in dealing with the military-industrial complex. Eisenhower said every citizen should keep well informed, because “it is only a citizenry, an alert and informed citizenry which can keep these abuses from coming about.” He added that the potential abuses of power and influence by the arms makers could come about “unwittingly, but just by the very nature of the thing.” Every magazine you picked up had an advertisement of a Titan missile or an Atlas or what have you, which represented “almost an insidious penetration of our own minds that the only thing this country is engaged in is weaponry and missiles. And, I’ll tell you we just can’t afford to do that.”
Robert Spivack asked if, over the years, Eisenhower felt the reporters had been fair to him. Eisenhower grinned and shot back, “Well, when you come down to it, I don’t see what a reporter could do much to a President, do you?”
William Knighton wanted the President’s opinion on the two-term amendment. “A funny thing,” Eisenhower replied, grinning again, “ever since this election the Republicans have been asking me this.” After the laughter died down, he said he had come to believe that the two-term amendment “was probably a pretty good thing.”17
• •
The following day, January 19, Eisenhower invited Kennedy to the White House for a final briefing. Eisenhower told Kennedy about the man with the satchel, a satchel that contained the communications equipment that connected the President with SAC and the missile forces. He was, Eisenhower said, “an unobtrusive man who would shadow the President for all of his days in office.” To give Kennedy an example of the services available to him, Eisenhower pressed a button and said, “Send a chopper.” In six minutes, a helicopter settled down on the lawn outside the Oval Office.18
Then they turned to subjects Kennedy wanted to discuss. First on his list was Laos. He wanted Eisenhower’s advice. Jerry Persons kept the notes; he recorded that “the President stated that unilateral action on the part of the United States would be very bad for our relations in that part of the world and would cause us to be ‘tagged’ as interventionists.” Herter then informed Kennedy that neither the British nor the French were willing to join in an intervention in Laos, and that if the United States tried to invoke the SEATO obligation, the only result would be that Britain and France would walk out of SEATO. Kennedy asked Eisenhower which he would prefer—a coalition government in Laos that would include the Communists, or an intervention through SEATO. Eisenhower was opposed to any attempt to settle the crisis in Laos through a coalition government, reminding Kennedy of what happened in China when General Marshall tried to form a coalition back in 1948. Intervention, however, would represent “a last desperate effort to save Laos.” Changing his domino image, Eisenhower added that “the loss of Laos would be the loss of the ‘cork in the bottle’ and the beginning of the loss of most of the Far East.”
Kennedy was confused. If Eisenhower opposed both a coalition government and intervention, except as a last desperate resort, how did he propose to keep the Chinese out of Laos? Eisenhower said the Chinese did not want a major war. “The President further stated that it is like playing poker with tough stakes and there is no easy solution.” He wished that the United States could persuade SEATO to act, but among other problems, there was de Gaulle. Eisenhower told Kennedy that de Gaulle’s “thinking on every matter is dominated by an obsession that a triumvirate of the United States, France, and Great Britain should decide on all these matters—that this triumvirate should be organized on a joint staff concept.” Eisenhower warned Kennedy against such an organization, because “any action of this type would break up NATO immediately.”
Next, Kennedy wanted Eisenhower’s judgment “as to the United States supporting the guerrilla operations in Cuba, even if this support involves the United States publicly.” Eisenhower replied “Yes,” it should be done, because “we cannot let the present government there go on.” He told Kennedy that the members of the OAS, who in public consistently spoke against any action designed to eliminate Castro, in private were urging the Administration to “do something.” Eisenhower discussed Bissell’s operation in Guatemala. He said that this would be a good time to miss “no opportunity to keep our mouths shut.” (The New York Times, a few days earlier, had carried a story describing the organization and training of the Cuban refugees.) Then Eisenhower outlined his attempts to “find a man who was both anti-Batista and anti-Castro” to head a government-in-exile. It was “very tough,” he said, to find a man of standing that satisfied all the refugees. Eisenhower said that Kennedy’s “first job would be to find who that man could be.” Then, when the paramilitary force of refugees went into Cuba, “it would have the appearance of a more legitimate operation.” No specific plans for an invasion had yet been made, Eisenhower added, and that should be done as soon as a government-in-exile was formed.
Kennedy asked about America’s limited-war capability. Eisenhower assured him that the armed services were more than strong enough to cope with any situation, then urged Kennedy to hold down the costs of defense, and to strive for a balanced budget (afterward, Eisenhower commented that “I must say that the President-elect did not seem to be impressed.”). Eisenhower returned to the subject of Cuba, telling Kennedy that it was his “responsibility to do whatever is necessary.” Clark Clifford, who took notes for Kennedy, saw no “reluctance or hesitation” on Eisenhower’s part. Indeed, five days later Clifford sent a memorandum to President Kennedy reminding him that Eisenhower had said “it was the policy of this government” to help the Cubans “to the utmost” and that this effort should be “continued and accelerated.”19
• •
Inevitably, Inauguration Day came. Inevitably, Eisenhower was leaving the Presidency with some reluctance. A few days before January 20, Henry Wriston came to the Oval Office to deliver the report of the Commission on National Goals, which Eisenhower had appointed a year earlier. With the New Frontier about to take over, the report was already a dead letter, of no interest to anyone. But it had to be received, and photographs taken. While that was going on, Eisenhower heard the clatter of hammers across Pennsylvania Avenue, where a reviewing stand was being constructed for the inaugural. “Look, Henry,” Eisenhower said, “it’s like being in the death cell and watching them put up the scaffold.”20
The morning of January 20, John Eisenhower remembered an “eerie” atmosphere in the White House. It had snowed heavily the night before, forcing many of the staff to spend the night in the basement. Secretary Gates assured Eisenhower that he would have every soldier in the Army shoveling snow to make sure the inaugural went ahead without a hitch. Eisenhower spent most of the morning leaning on his empty safe, reminiscing with Ann Whitman. The servants lined up, and Eisenhower and Mamie went down the line, saying goodbye to each of them. Many had tears streaming down their faces. The Kennedys, the Johnsons, and “a small entourage” of Democrats arrived for a short visit and a cup of coffee.21
At noon, before Chief Justice Earl Warren, the oldest man ever to serve as President to that date gave way to the youngest man elected to the office. After the ceremonies, when all the attention was centered on the Kennedys, the Eisenhowers sneaked away through a side exit. In so doing, Eisenhower later wrote, they made “a fantastic discovery. We were free—as only private citizens in a democratic nation can be free.” They drove to the F Street Club, where Lewis Strauss was the host for a luncheon for the Cabinet and Eisenhower’s close friends. Then it was off for Gettysburg, along the route they knew so well, and home to the farm.22
By special, unprecedented action on Kennedy’s part, Eisenhower was retaining the services of his personal Secret Service bodyguard, Special Agent Richard Flohr, for two weeks. Otherwise, he was as free as he felt. When they got to the farm, Eisenhower hopped out the car door to open the gate. For twenty years, he had had every physical need taken care of by others. He never wore his shoes while they were being shined, he had never been in a laundromat, or a barbershop, or a clothing store, or indeed a retail store of any kind. (Exception: Once, in Gettysburg, in 1958, he had taken David into a sporting goods store, where he picked out an assortment of rods and reels, hip boots, and so forth, for his grandson. He had them all bundled up and then just walked out, a Secret Service agent carrying the packages. The store owner was delighted to have the President for a customer, but he could not just let him walk out the store with hundreds of dollars’ worth of goods. Merriman Smith hurried forward from the press corps to assure the owner that although the President never carried any money, and had no charge cards, if the bill was sent to the White House, it would be paid.)
There were all sorts of things Eisenhower did not know how to do. Paying tolls at the automatic lanes on the turnpikes, for example. He had forgotten how to type, and had never learned how to mix frozen orange juice or adjust a television picture. He had no idea in the world about how to make practical travel arrangements, how to buy tickets or even where to buy them. He had told Slater, on January 7, that after a few days in Gettysburg following the inaugural, he wanted to go quail shooting down in Georgia at George Humphrey’s place. But, he said, “I can’t drive all that way and I’m just wondering how I’ll get there.” Slater assured him that he could “snitch a ride” on Pete Jones’s airplane.
Eisenhower did not even know how to place a telephone call. For the past twenty years, whenever he wanted to make a call, he told a secretary to put it through for him. The last time he had placed a call himself, in late 1941, he did so by telling the operator the number he wanted. So, the evening of January 20, he picked up the phone to call his son, tried to give the number, heard only a buzzing at the other end, shouted for the operator, clicked the receiver button a dozen times, tried dialing it like a safe, shouted again, and slammed the phone down. Frustrated, red-faced, he bellowed for Agent Flohr. “Come show me how you work this goddamned thing.” Flohr did. “Oh! So that’s how you do it!” exclaimed a delighted Eisenhower, fascinated by the way the ring clicked around the dial. He rather thought he might enjoy this business of learning to cope with the modern world.23
He would especially enjoy it because, even if he had to place his own phone calls, or get out and open a gate, or wonder how to get from one place to another on his own, he would do so as a private citizen. After a full one-half century in its service, the nation had finally allowed Dwight Eisenhower to retire. He was free.