As RICHARD NIXON noted, Dwight Eisenhower “was not the kind of man who appreciated undue familiarity.” He would give chilling looks to anyone who tugged at his arm or tried to slap him on the back. Lyndon Johnson was not the kind of man who could resist pulling, tugging, slapping, or punching the people he was talking to. Jerry Persons remembered the time, in 1959, when Eisenhower had an appointment with Johnson. “I want you to stand between Lyndon and me,” Eisenhower told Persons. “My bursitis is kicking up, and I don’t want him to grab me by the arm.”1
But grab Johnson did, figuratively if not literally. At their meeting the day after Kennedy’s assassination, Johnson indicated to Eisenhower that he intended to call on him regularly for advice and support. As a beginning, he asked for a memorandum containing specific suggestions. Eisenhower responded that night with a dictated message. He urged Johnson to consult with Robert Anderson on general subjects, and particularly fiscal and financial matters. In addition, he advised Johnson to meet regularly with Gordon Gray and Andy Goodpaster. “For the abilities and patriotism of these two men,” Eisenhower said, “I personally vouch.” He suggested that Johnson call a joint session of Congress to make a speech of not more than ten minutes. “Point out first that you have come to this office unexpectedly and you accept the decision of the Almighty,” Eisenhower advised, then promise that “no revolution in purpose or policy is intended or will occur.” Further, promise a balanced budget.2
During his first year as President, Johnson concentrated on domestic affairs. In that area, his policies and programs were far too liberal for Eisenhower. Knowing this, Johnson did not ask Eisenhower’s advice or opinions, although he did send birthday and anniversary presents, Christmas greetings, and the like, always writing in a humble and subservient manner. His attempts to ingratiate himself included innumerable invitations to come to the White House for lunch or for dinner parties, sending Mamie flowers on any excuse, and promoting Goodpaster to three-star rank (not that Goodpaster did not deserve it, but Johnson was careful to let Eisenhower know that he had done it as a favor).3 In February 1964, Johnson went hundreds of miles out of his way to pay his respects at Palm Desert.
In June 1964, Johnson made his first call on Eisenhower for political help. He wanted Eisenhower to urge the Republican leadership to get behind the Mutual Security appropriation. Eisenhower was both amused and irritated. He called Michigan Congressman Jerry Ford on the telephone and said, “I can remember LBJ whimpering and crying that Senator George was defeated because of his support for Mutual Security and he was afraid he would be too when I asked his support.” Nevertheless, Eisenhower’s commitment to Mutual Security was so strong that he did as Johnson wished, sending a strong telegram on the need for the program to Halleck and Dirksen.4 But as Johnson began putting his Great Society legislation through Congress, in the summer of 1964, Eisenhower was most unhappy, and scathing in his judgments. He told one caller that “Johnson is unreliable and has no moral courage whatsoever.” In large part, Eisenhower’s hostility toward Johnson in that first year was pure and simple partisanship. The presidential election of 1964 forced the two men to stay at arm’s length. When George Humphrey expressed the fear that Johnson would win by a landslide, and that the size of his vote would “reduce his backbone to stand up to Walter Reuther,” Eisenhower said, “He never had any.”5
• •
Reporters and commentators were saying that Eisenhower was the one without a backbone, because of his refusal to endorse a Republican candidate, and even more because of his refusal to lead the fight against Senator Barry Goldwater, who was in the process of capturing the Republican Party and the nomination. To many members of the press, and to many East Coast Republicans, it was inconceivable that Eisenhower would stand aside while Goldwater returned the Republican Party to the principles of Herbert Hoover, thereby repudiating Eisenhower’s middle-of-the-road, moderate policies. But stand aside he did, at least in public.
In August 1963, Henry Cabot Lodge accepted the post of ambassador to South Vietnam. In November, after Kennedy’s death, Eisenhower urged Lodge to come home to run for President as the “common sense” candidate. The two men talked; The New York Times reported their conversation on the front page; the assumption was that Eisenhower would back Lodge. But a few days later, on his way to Palm Desert, Eisenhower had his private car shunted to a siding in the railroad yards at Harrisburg, where he had dinner with the Republican governor of Pennsylvania, William Scranton. The general pressed Scranton to enter the race. He explained that what he wanted was an open convention, with a number of contestants for the party to choose from for its candidate. Meanwhile, Goldwater continued to pile up delegates.6
By early May 1964, the moderate Republicans were growing desperate. A number of them urged Eisenhower to ask Lodge to return from Saigon to stop Goldwater. Eisenhower refused. He would not endorse Lodge, he said, although he would welcome him home if Lodge would resign and become an active candidate. Until then, Eisenhower declared, his position was that “if you want to canter you have to have a horse.” He told Walter Cronkite, who had become one of his confidants, that “if Lodge decides to come back fine, the more the merrier.”7
With Lodge in Saigon, and Scranton in Harrisburg refusing to campaign, the only horse available—other than Goldwater—was Rockefeller, who was even more objectionable to Eisenhower than Gold-water. Nevertheless, in late May, when the Herald Tribune asked Eisenhower to describe the ideal Republican candidate, Eisenhower devised a formula that seemed to fit Rockefeller. The Tribune published it on the eve of the last primary, in California. Reporters guessed that Eisenhower’s strategy was to give Rockefeller a boost in the primary. A defeat for Goldwater in California would, presumably, block his nomination; meanwhile, Goldwater’s pledged delegates would never accept Rockefeller. The result would be a stalemated convention, out of which a moderate, middle-of-the-road candidate, either Lodge or Scranton, would emerge. But Goldwater won a narrow victory in California, which gave him a commanding delegate lead going into the San Francisco convention.8
Moderate Republicans were distraught and desperate. Goldwater’s extremism seemed certain to result in a devastating Republican defeat. For his part, Eisenhower was most concerned about Goldwater’s stance on civil rights. The senator had voted against the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and appeared to be actively courting the “white backlash” vote. Eisenhower told Jim Hagerty over the telephone that “if the Republicans begin to count on white backlash, we will have a big civil war.” He also talked to the head of CBS, Bill Paley, on the subject. “I have no sympathy with the ‘white backlash.’ I will not encourage it and if it is encouraged I will vote for the other side.” Paley asked him if he would go on national television to express his views. “Not right now,” Eisenhower replied. “Let things simmer for a week or two. Maybe later.”9
On June 6, Scranton drove to Gettysburg to spend the afternoon in conference with the general. They agreed that a Goldwater nomination would have a disastrous effect on all Republican candidates, as well as assuring Johnson a landslide. Scranton got the impression that Eisenhower wanted him to declare his candidacy and would endorse him. Newspapers the following day reported that Eisenhower had finally chosen his candidate. George Humphrey, who was supporting Goldwater, called Eisenhower on the telephone to apply pressure on Eisenhower to remain neutral. Eisenhower then called Scranton. He was concerned, he said, that there had been a misunderstanding. Eisenhower said he would not participate in a stop-Goldwater “cabal.” He would not endorse Scranton. Later, Eisenhower said, “I was never trained in politics; I came in laterally, at the top. In the service, when a man gives you his word, his word is binding. In politics, you never know.” As Peter Lyon comments, on this occasion “it was Scranton who was bewildered.”10
Scranton did announce that he was a candidate. Eisenhower talked with reporters. He said he felt strongly that the GOP wanted a candidate who favored civil rights for Negroes, and that he had serious reservations about Goldwater’s ability to conduct foreign policy. He also issued a statement: “A free, fair, and active competition among party personalities . . . is good for the health and vigor of the party . . . I welcome the entry of Governor Scranton, whom I have long admired, into the contest.” But he stayed neutral.
At the convention, Milton Eisenhower made the nominating speech for Scranton. It was a stirring speech, Milton at his best, and received a highly favorable response—except among the delegates, who were bored. Eisenhower, meanwhile, carefully retained his neutrality by appearing on ABC television on a regular basis. Although he was handsomely paid for the interviews, his gang was opposed to the whole idea, because, as Slater said, the members feared “he would demean himself” by appearing as a commentator. But they thought he did well.
On July 16, Goldwater won the nomination. In his acceptance speech, he proclaimed: “Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice! . . . Moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue!” Eisenhower protested that Goldwater’s vice and virtue statement “would seem to say that the end always justifies the means. The whole American system refutes that idea.” But he pledged to “do my best to support” Goldwater.11
Never had Eisenhower appeared so bumbling or ineffective. Never had he gone so far in appeasing the Old Guard of the Republican Party. Never was he so roundly criticized. He was, however, in an awkward position. With Nixon resolutely on the sidelines, the only man who had a reasonable chance of stopping Goldwater was Rockefeller, who was anathema to Eisenhower and who in any case had lost all hope with the California primary. What the 1964 convention revealed, above all else, was how completely Eisenhower had failed in his eight-year effort to modernize the Republican Party and broaden its base. The result left him with no choice. Having failed as President to form a third party, he could hardly do so now, and he could never bring himself to support the Democrats, especially Democrats led by Lyndon Johnson. So he endorsed Goldwater, and during the campaign he made a television special at his Gettysburg farm. Goldwater was with him; sitting on chairs on the lawn, they discussed the “silly notion” that Goldwater was a right-wing extremist. It was a dismal performance, about which the less said the better. In November, Goldwater and the Republican Party suffered a humiliating defeat.
• •
A much happier experience for Eisenhower in 1964 was the establishment of a project at Johns Hopkins University to publish his papers in a scholarly multivolume set. The original idea came from historian David Donald at Hopkins. Donald approached the head of the university, Milton Eisenhower, to point out that there was a pattern to the treatment of former Presidents by American historians. When a President left office, Donald said, his reputation was usually at its lowest point. It stayed there for two decades or more. Then his personal and official papers were opened to scholars, who began to see the President’s problems, options, and choices from the President’s point of view. At that time, his reputation began to rise. Donald suggested that in the case of Milton’s older brother, whose reputation was shockingly low among intellectuals, the process of raising it could be speeded up through an early publication of his papers.
Milton liked the idea and arranged for a meeting between himself, Donald, and Eisenhower. The former President was enthusiastic and gave his consent. Hopkins raised the money for the project and Milton hired Dr. Alfred D. Chandler, Jr., as the editor. Chandler gathered a staff and began work immediately. In 1970 the first five volumes of The Papers of Dwight David Eisenhower were published by the Johns Hopkins Press. They covered the war years, and exactly as Donald had predicted, they added immeasurably to Eisenhower’s reputation. By the end of that decade, when four additional volumes covering Eisenhower’s career to 1948 had appeared, and the documents from the Eisenhower Administration began to become available, there was a flourishing “Eisenhower revisionism” under way, as American historians began to discover that Eisenhower was not the lazy, ineffective, simpleminded “chairman of the board,” a nice guy with a big grin and an empty head, that they had thought he was.
For Eisenhower, one of the nicest things about the Hopkins’ project was that it gave him an opportunity, and an excuse, to spend more time thinking about the war years. He enjoyed going over his wartime papers with Chandler and the other editors, answering questions, recalling this or that incident, reliving Overlord and the other great events. In general, in the mid-sixties, historians were relatively uninterested in his Presidency, partly because they wrote it off as a time when nothing happened, mainly because the great bulk of the documents remained classified and unavailable. But, except for the Ultra secret, the correspondence, memoranda, orders, and reports from World War II were available, and there was a flourishing industry around the writing of the history of the war. Nearly all of those doing the writing wanted an opportunity to interview General Eisenhower, and he was generous with his time. He tried to grant interviews to every serious scholar who asked for one.
Milton was in Gettysburg one afternoon in 1965. Eisenhower had spent most of the day doing interviews with historians. After they had all left, as Milton was pouring cocktails, Eisenhower let out a big sigh. Milton remarked on how tired he looked, and Eisenhower admitted that he was exhausted. Milton said it must be a burden on him, answering all those questions, searching his mind, recalling incidents long since forgotten. “Well, that’s right,” Eisenhower replied. Then he took a drink, grinned, and said, “But it would be worse to be forgotten.”12
He was finding the life of a gentleman farmer to be all that he had hoped it would be. If he had a complaint, it was that he did not have enough time to oversee the operation. His cattle herd was prospering. He entered his best Angus bulls and cows in various livestock shows in Maryland and Pennsylvania, where they won numerous grand championships, which gave him bragging rights that he fully exercised. The winters in California were a joy to him too, especially because his gang and other friends would fly out and spend a week or two. Golf and bridge remained his great passions. In 1967, he shot his first hole in one. “The thrill of a lifetime,” he gloated, thereby putting Overlord and the Presidency in their proper perspective.13
• •
After the 1964 election, public life in the United States was dominated by Lyndon Johnson and the war in Vietnam. The man, and the event, became the national obsession. Eisenhower got caught up in it too, because once the election was passed, Johnson increasingly turned to him for advice and support. In December, Johnson called Eisenhower in Palm Desert to invite him to the inaugural. Eisenhower explained that because Mamie refused to fly, they could not make it. Johnson said he understood, then went on to say that he hoped Eisenhower would give him the benefit of his advice and counsel. He “did not want to make a nuisance of himself,” Johnson said (“DDE thanked him for that,” Eisenhower’s new secretary, Rusty Brown, wrote in her summary of the conversation). But, Johnson added, “If he got his ‘tail in a crack’ he would come running to DDE on foreign affairs.”14
Johnson meant what he said. As he began to escalate the American effort in Vietnam, he started a practice of writing or calling Eisenhower on the telephone before every significant act, both to report on what he intended to do and to seek Eisenhower’s support and to ask his advice. Although Johnson’s letters to Eisenhower were so full of overblown praise and gratitude as to be obsequious and phony, Johnson was quite sincere in his requests for Eisenhower’s counsel, to which he gave great weight. Johnson had, after all, come to the White House almost completely innocent of any experience in foreign affairs. All through the fifties he had deferred to Eisenhower’s judgment on virtually every foreign-policy crisis. Like almost everyone else in politics, he regarded General Eisenhower as the nation’s greatest and wisest soldier. He was obviously aware of how valuable Eisenhower’s public support of his Vietnam policy could be to him, and he was not above using Eisenhower for his own purposes in this regard, but the record makes it absolutely clear that as Johnson made his crucial decisions on the conduct of the war in Vietnam, he both sought and was influenced by Ike’s advice—except on the basic question of the wisdom of fighting in Vietnam.
It is equally true that Eisenhower’s advice was consistently hawkish, and that the main thrust of Eisenhower’s criticism of Johnson on Vietnam—insofar as he was critical rather than supportive—was that Johnson was not doing enough. That had also been true of Eisenhower’s criticism of Kennedy’s foreign policy; in both instances, Eisenhower was far more belligerent, more ready to take extreme action, as an outsider than he had been when he was the man on the spot.
Johnson had not consulted Eisenhower before sending the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution to Congress, in August of 1964, or on the other early commitments to Vietnam. Before the next significant escalation, however, early in 1965, he asked Eisenhower to come to Washington for a thorough discussion and consultation. By then the U.S. was at war, so the only concern was how to wage it. Johnson wanted General Ike’s advice, not President Eisenhower’s. On February 17, 1965, in the Cabinet Room, Eisenhower met for two and one-half hours with Johnson, Robert McNamara, McGeorge Bundy, and Generals Earle G. Wheeler and Goodpaster. The notes of the meeting remained top secret until August of 1982, when they were declassified.
• •
Johnson opened the meeting by asking for Eisenhower’s thinking about the situation in South Vietnam. Eisenhower said the first thing that should be done was to get the support of the NATO allies for the American effort in Indochina. His second point was that South Vietnam’s security could not be brought about by creating a “Roman wall” composed of American forces. The Vietnamese themselves had to stop the infiltration of supplies to the Viet Cong; the proper role for American forces was to “destroy the will of the enemy to continue the war.” Morale was the key, not only in the negative sense of striking at the enemy’s morale, but in the positive sense of doing “everything possible to raise the morale of our own side.” Eisenhower said he did not believe that air strikes against the North, such as the JCS were proposing and Johnson was considering, would be effective against infiltration. “The strikes can, however, discourage the North, and can make them pay a cost for continuing their aggression.” He warned Johnson against a start-stop approach, pointing out that the air strikes following the Tonkin Gulf incident in August had raised morale, “which then suffered when there was no follow-up.”
Again and again during the meeting, Eisenhower reverted to the question of air strikes. “He said that in his opinion these retaliation actions have helped the situation a great deal. However, he felt it is now important to shift to a campaign of pressure. Targets should be struck north of the border . . . He thought such strikes could be well justified before the world.”
Switching to the political situation in South Vietnam, Eisenhower said the many changes in the government there “have been bewildering . . . From his experience in the Orient, however, he thought it was important to find someone who is promising and try to bolster him.” He regretted Diem’s assassination, because Diem “was a capable man . . . The removal of Diem resulted in a great setback for our cause.”
Taking up the possibility of Chinese or Soviet intervention, Eisenhower said “that if they threaten to intervene we should pass the word back to them to take care lest dire results occur to them. . . . He thought we should let them know now what we are seeking to do in South Vietnam, and that we would act against them if necessary. This should not be done publicly, but rather very quietly.” As to the possibility of negotiations with North Vietnam, “General Eisenhower felt that negotiation from weakness is likely to lead only into deceit and vulnerability, which could be disastrous to us. On the other hand, if we can show a fine record of successes, or real and dramatic accomplishment, we would be in good position to negotiate. He advised not to negotiate from a position of weakness.” Prime Minister Harold Wilson of Great Britain had been urging Johnson to negotiate; Eisenhower commented that Wilson “has not had experience with this kind of problem. We, however, have learned that Munichs win nothing; therefore, his answer to the British would be ‘Not now boys.’ ”
When Eisenhower finished, Johnson began asking questions. He asked Eisenhower whether he thought the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution “was strong enough, and ample to fill the need.” Eisenhower said it struck him as being very much like his own Formosa Resolution of 1958, “which had left a large area of discretion and flexibility to the President, and that he thought that this is the way it should be.” Johnson assured him that the Formosa Resolution had been his model for the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution.
McNamara asked Eisenhower for further comments on escalation of the military effort, on the ground as well as in the air. Eisenhower replied that “we should be sure that the enemy does not lack an appreciation of our stamina and determination to keep nations free by whatever means required. He thought that if they find we are ready, they will not come in in great strength.” He pointed out that America had put her prestige “onto the proposition of keeping Southeast Asia free. We cannot let the Indochinese peninsula go. He hoped it would not be necessary to use the six to eight divisions mentioned, but if it should be necessary, so be it.”
Johnson asked how Eisenhower had managed to get the Chinese to stop their aggression in Korea and agree to an armistice. Eisenhower replied that it was simple. “There was a gentlemen’s agreement between us and our allies after the very early days of the war—well known to the Chinese—that we would not cross the Yalu or even strike the bridges on the Yalu, nor would we use nuclear weapons.” Eisenhower said he had let the Chinese know, by various means, that the “gentlemen’s agreement” was off after he became President, and that if the war continued, “he would not feel constrained about crossing the Yalu, or using nuclear weapons.” He said that in the present situation in Vietnam, the “greatest danger is that the Chinese get the idea that we will go just so far and no further in terms of the level of war we would conduct. That would be the beginning of the end, since they would know all they had to do was go further than we do.”
As they prepared to adjourn for lunch, Eisenhower made his final comment. “We must look at the effect of our actions on the whole world,” he said. “When we say we will help other countries we must then be staunch. It is, of course, necessary to work out our tactics, and we should not be unnecessarily provocative.”15
Shortly thereafter, Johnson began Operation Rolling Thunder, the bombing of North Vietnam. He also began sending in American combat units, as opposed to advisers. On March 12, Eisenhower wrote him to pledge his full support and to assure him that he was doing the right thing. Johnson replied that “you are in my thoughts always and it is so valuable to me to have your thoughts, interest, and friendship.”16
Beginning in April of 1965, Johnson sent Goodpaster to Palm Desert or Gettysburg on a biweekly basis to give Eisenhower a detailed briefing on what was happening, and to seek his advice. These meetings usually lasted two to three hours. At the first such meeting, Eisenhower told Goodpaster that “he strongly recommended getting rid of restrictions and delaying procedures. These result in many cases from attempts to control matters in too much detail from Washington. Such practices normally result from inexperience on the part of governmental officials.” Eisenhower urged Goodpaster to tell Johnson to “untie Westmoreland’s hands.” The President should give Westmoreland, who had recently become the commander in Vietnam, whatever he requested, then leave him to fight the war. He thought this was “absolutely essential.”17
On May 13, 1965, at Gettysburg, Goodpaster told Eisenhower that Johnson had “asked me to tell him that many of the views he has given have been among the best received and are now being carried out.” Johnson had just instituted the first of his many bombing pauses, with the hope that the North Vietnamese would take the opportunity to begin negotiations. The President wanted to know what Eisenhower thought about the pause. Eisenhower replied that “he just did not feel in a position to judge . . . He was clear, however, that if the Communists fail to respond, and we do resume our attacks, we should hit them heavily from the outset, using ‘everything that can fly.’ ” Goodpaster also told Eisenhower that Johnson wanted him to come down to Washington, or phone him, whenever he had a comment to make. The President was making a helicopter available for Eisenhower for that purpose. Eisenhower was “very appreciative.” As a final point, Goodpaster noted, “He asked me to convey a comment to the President that he should not be too surprised or disturbed at the ‘chatter’ from certain quarters over the firm course the President is pursuing . . . A certain amount of this has to be expected . . . So long as the policies are right, as he believes they are, too much attention need not be given to these people.”18
At a June 16 briefing in Gettysburg, Goodpaster said that the President wanted Eisenhower’s views on the proper use and size of reinforcements being sent to Vietnam. The JCS wanted to send only one brigade of the air mobile division, and use it to defend coastal base areas. Westmoreland wanted the entire division, and he wanted to use it to operate offensively within South Vietnam. Eisenhower “considered the matter at some length.” He then commented that “we have now appealed to force in South Vietnam, and therefore we have got to win. For this purpose, simply holding on or sitting passively in static areas will not suffice. He added that there is no use building bases if they are not put to full use. The only reason for creating them is to make it possible to take the offensive and clear the area. He thought . . . we should undertake offensive operations ourselves,” and he therefore concluded “General Westmoreland’s recommendation should be supported.” He added that “he was strongly impressed by General Westmoreland,” and that “he very definitely supported operations of the kind he proposed, and thought the first one should be carried out as soon as practicable.”19
On July 2, 1965, Eisenhower called Johnson on the telephone. Senators Robert Kennedy and Mike Mansfield were becoming increasingly critical of the escalation. Eisenhower urged Johnson to ignore them. “When you once appeal to force in an international situation involving military help for a nation,” he said, “you have to go all out! This is war, and as long as the enemy are putting men down there, my advice is do what you have to do!” He advised Johnson to tell the Russians that if they did “not bring about some understanding we will have to go all out.”
At this point Johnson asked Eisenhower, in a plaintive voice, “Do you really think we can beat the Viet Cong?” It was his first confession of uncertainty, at least to Eisenhower. Eisenhower was cautious in his reply. He said it was hard to tell, that it depended on how far the North Vietnamese and Chinese were willing to go, and what Johnson was willing to do. As far as Eisenhower was concerned, “We are not going to be run out of a free country that we helped to establish.” Johnson, still gloomy, said that if he escalated further, “we will lose the British and Canadians and will be alone in the world.” Eisenhower snapped back, “We would still have the Australians and the Koreans—and our own convictions.”
Then, as Rusty Brown recorded the conversation, “President Johnson said he wanted General Eisenhower to think about this as he wanted the best advice possible and General Eisenhower is the best Chief of Staff he has.” Eisenhower’s advice was to go for victory.20
Through August of 1965, Eisenhower remained extremely hawkish. On the third, he told Goodpaster, “We should not base our action on minimum needs, but should swamp the enemy with overwhelming force.” He wanted to “mine the harbors without delay, telling the world to keep shipping out of Haiphong and making clear that there is to be no sanctuary.” He complained that “there seems to him to be too much of a brake on everything we do.” Goodpaster said the JCS were worried about getting overextended in Vietnam, which might tempt the Russians to attack in Europe. “General Eisenhower said he was not concerned over this point. If we were to become involved in war in Europe, he would not be for sending large forces into the area, but would be for using every bomb we have.”21 On August 20, after Goodpaster reported on a “search and destroy” mission in Chulai, Eisenhower said that that was “the way to do it. It was highly professional, overwhelming and quick.” He told Goodpaster to tell Johnson “that there is no question about his support for what the President is doing. He supports it strongly.”22
All of this was highly appreciated by Johnson, who increasingly felt like a man under siege. He wrote Eisenhower, “No one knows better than you the accumulated demands of the Presidency. No one gives more attention than you to the best interests of our country. Whatever course of action you believe to be right is the course to which you give your approval and the massive weight of your prestige and wisdom . . . History will surely record that President Dwight D. Eisenhower, both in and out of office, never swerved from what he believed to be the truth nor from giving his courage and his energy to the people he serves as patriot, soldier, President, and now as wise counselor to the nation.”23
By October 1965, Johnson’s major ground reinforcements were beginning to move into Vietnam. Eisenhower was enthusiastic. He told Goodpaster, “We must now be sure to put in enough to win. He would err on the side of putting in too much rather than too little. He thought that overwhelming strength on our side would discourage the enemy, as well as keep down casualties.”24 Eisenhower did warn that sending conscripted troops to Vietnam would cause a major public-relations problem, and he thought Johnson should try to avoid it by sending only regulars or volunteers. Goodpaster responded that there just were not enough of either category.25
In January 1966, Johnson wanted Eisenhower’s advice on a suggestion that some of the “old heads,” retired general officers from World War II, be consulted about operations in Vietnam. Eisenhower was opposed. “He stated that there is no better man than Westmoreland. The thing to do is give him the means and let him alone to the maximum possible extent.”26 Two weeks later, Johnson asked, through Goodpaster, what Eisenhower thought about the idea of adopting an “enclave” strategy, i.e., digging in around the bases and cities while abandoning offensive operations in the hinterland. “General Eisenhower indicated he would have nothing to do with such proposals. They would put us in a situation where hope of a successful outcome would be lost. They in fact could only result in complete failure on our side.”27
In March 1966, Johnson wrote Eisenhower to say that he was the only other man in the world “who fully understands the problems that come to this desk . . . I cannot tell you adequately my gratitude for your wisdom and your counsel. And, for the fact no one has found it possible to divide you and me.
“I choose to believe that every decision I have taken in Vietnam has met your approval. It is important to me, for both guidance and inspiration.”28 Two weeks later, he wrote again: “I need your wisdom and judgment in these decisions which the President must make and whose depth and solemn agony only you really understand.”29
By September of 1966, however, Eisenhower was finding it more difficult to approve of “every decision” Johnson had made in Vietnam. His impatience over Johnson’s gradual application of pressure on the Communists, and his concern over the way in which the Johnson Administration centralized the decision-making power, not allowing Westmoreland the free hand Eisenhower thought he had to have, were growing daily. Further, Eisenhower was beginning to worry that as the war dragged on, popular support for it would wane. On September 19, Goodpaster recorded that “General Eisenhower said he had been seeing various statements implying that ‘small wars,’ or hostilities such as those in Vietnam, could go on almost indefinitely. Some comments in fact suggest that such a condition must be regarded as normal, and that our society must be geared to support this as well as other ongoing problems.” Eisenhower would not accept such a view. “He felt this is not something that can go on and on, but is something that should rather be brought to an end as soon as possible. He commented that our people inevitably get tired of supporting involvements of this kind which go on for a long time, with no end in sight.”30
But although he predicted and anticipated antiwar protests, as they increased in volume so did Eisenhower’s anger. “Frankly,” he wrote Nixon in October 1966, “it seems that the Vietnam War is creating more whimperings and whinings from some frustrated partisans than it’s inspiring a unification of all America in the solution of a national problem.”31 And he complained about “the selfish and cowardly whimperings of some of these ‘students’ who—uninformed and brash though they are—arrogate to themselves the right to criticize, irresponsibly, our highest officials, and to condemn America’s deepest commitments to her international friends.”32 No matter how strident the antiwar protests, however, Eisenhower could not believe that America would cut and run. In February 1967, he wrote George Humphrey (who had told him that his fear was that Johnson would negotiate an agreement and “bring the boys home,” thereby winning re-election), “America has invested a lot of lives in Vietnam. I cannot believe the nation will be satisfied with any agreement that our people would recognize as ‘phony,’ or which the Communists would soon, and with impunity, violate.”33
Eisenhower wanted victory, not negotiations. And he wanted it soon. In April 1967, he told Goodpaster to tell Johnson that “a course of ‘gradualism’ . . . is bound to be ineffective.” To make his point, he used one of his favorite examples: If a general sent a battalion to take a hill, he might get the hill, but would suffer heavy casualties in the process, whereas if he sent a division, the casualties would be minimal.34 But even if Johnson was sending battalions rather than divisions, at least he was proclaiming his resolution to stay the course, and on that basis Eisenhower was willing to give him his support. Indeed, in July he told Jim Hagerty over the telephone that “he wouldn’t mind if the man were elected if he won the war, except for his fiscal policies.” But he also responded to Hagerty’s remark that “orders come from Washington for every battle” with the comment that “I have pleaded for decentralization.”35
Also in July, Eisenhower’s frustrations were such that he told reporters how opposed he was to a “war of gradualism,” and urged Congress to declare war against North Vietnam. That war, he said, “should be given first priority. Other goals, however attractive, should take second place.”36 In October, he said the country should “take any action to win.” Asked if he would draw the line at the use of nuclear weapons, he replied, “I would not automatically preclude anything. When you appeal to force to carry out the policies of America abroad there is no court above you.”37 The comment caused great excitement, and required clarification. Tom Dewey, who was present when Eisenhower made it, explained that Eisenhower simply meant “you don’t inform the enemy on what you intend to do.” Two weeks later, at his seventy-seventh birthday party at Gettysburg, Eisenhower himself told reporters that the idea of using nuclear weapons in Vietnam was “silly.” He pointed out that they would destroy friend as well as foe. But he also told Arthur Larson privately that if the Chinese came into the war “we would have to use at least tactical atomic weapons.”38
For that seventy-seventh birthday, Johnson sent Eisenhower a watch with an alarm clock in it and a tie clasp, each bearing the Presidential Seal. In a covering letter, Johnson commented: “Each passing day, we are stronger in purpose and firmer of faith for the unity we continue to find in your example and voice. You offer us the courage of the soldier and the counsel of the statesman. Each is priceless to our search for peace. But what we treasure most is your wise advice . . . Your friendship will always be cherished.”39
And, of course, Johnson cherished Eisenhower’s support on Vietnam. He got it in the most public way possible on November 28, 1967, when Eisenhower and Bradley made a television broadcast from Gettysburg over NBC. Together with Truman, the two old generals had joined a short-lived group called the Citizens Committee for Peace with Freedom in Vietnam. Bradley defined the object of the committee as to help the American people understand the war, because “when they understand it, they will be for it, we think.” Eisenhower argued that a military victory was possible if certain changes in strategy and tactics were made. “This respecting of boundary lines on the map,” he said; “I think you can overdo it.” He suggested a foray into North Vietnam “either from the sea or from the hills . . . I would be for what we call ‘hot pursuit’ ” into Cambodia or Laos. He ended with a curt dismissal of the “ ‘kooks’ and ‘hippies’ and all the rest that are talking about surrendering.”40
But it was not just kooks and hippies who wanted out, as Eisenhower well knew. He told Goodpaster privately that “many of the people who see him—neither ‘hawks’ nor ‘doves’—are talking in terms of discouragement about the course of the war in Vietnam. They say that nothing seems to be going well and that, perhaps, it would be better to get out of it than to continue.” Goodpaster responded with a pep talk—things were going well, he insisted, and there was an end in sight. Eisenhower was encouraged. “He said he is optimistic that we can win this war.”41
Another presidential election was coming up. The agony of Vietnam was obviously going to be a major issue. In October 1967, Eisenhower spoke in general terms about the kind of candidates he wanted to see nominated. “I don’t regard myself as a missionary, and I don’t want to convert anybody,” he said. “But if any Republican or Democrat suggests that we pull out of Vietnam and turn our backs on the more than thirteen thousand Americans who died in the cause of freedom there, they will have me to contend with. That’s one of the few things that would start me off on a series of stump speeches across the nation.”42
In the early spring of 1968, Eisenhower wrote an article on the war for Reader’s Digest. “The current raucous confrontation,” he wrote of the antiwar movement, “goes far beyond honorable dissent. . . . it is rebellion, and it verges on treason. . . . I will not personally support any peace-at-any-price candidate who advocates capitulation and the abandonment of South Vietnam.”43
About that time, Johnson came to visit at Palm Desert. Afterward, he wrote Eisenhower, “I could not resist dropping in to draw on the strength of your wisdom and friendship again. . . . I will persevere, sustained by your support.”44 Simultaneously, the Communists launched their Tet offensive. They suffered extraordinarily heavy casualties, but the reaction in the United States verged on panic. No one had anticipated the offensive, or so it appeared, nor had they suspected that the Viet Cong were so numerous and well coordinated. It all reminded Eisenhower of the reaction to the Battle of the Bulge. He recalled that in December 1944, when he asked for reinforcements to follow up the victory in the Ardennes, the Allied governments had provided the men he needed to finish the job. But in 1968, rather than send Westmoreland the reinforcements he wanted to follow up his victory, the Johnson Administration put a ceiling on manpower commitments to Vietnam. In New Hampshire, meanwhile, Senator Eugene McCarthy, running on an antiwar platform, did surprisingly well in the Democratic primary against Johnson, and Senator Robert Kennedy entered the race against the President.
Johnson had promised Eisenhower that he would persevere, but he went on national television to announce that he was halting the bombing of most of North Vietnam, and that he was personally withdrawing from the presidential race. Eisenhower was livid with anger, his remarks about Johnson’s cutting and running unprintable.45 Goodpaster went on to a new assignment, and Eisenhower’s connection with the Johnson Administration came to an end.
• •
Vietnam was the main, but not the only, cause of unhappiness for Eisenhower in the mid-sixties. Longhairs, hippies, rock music, extensive drug use by teen-agers, and riots in the ghettos were, to Eisenhower, deplorable. He wrote a British friend in 1965, “Lack of respect for law, laxness in dress, appearance, and thinking, in conduct and in manner, as well as student and other riots with civil disobedience all spring from a common source; a lack of concern for the ancient virtues of decency, respect for law and elders, and old-fashioned patriotism.”46
Eisenhower was also disturbed by the problem of overpopulation. In 1965 Senator Ernest Gruening held hearings on the subject and asked for Eisenhower’s comments. Eisenhower called it “one of the most, if not the most, critical problem facing mankind today.” He admitted that when he was President, he had resisted attempts to get the federal government involved in programs of population control, either within the United States or in relation to the nations of the Third World. But, he said, he had “abandoned” that position, and had become convinced that without a program of population stabilization, no amount of economic aid would improve the lot of the poor at home and abroad.
In this regard, Eisenhower was ready to take an extreme position. He suggested to Gruening that the Senate consider “the desirability, in certain cases, of sterilization.” Eisenhower explained that there were many cases of illegitimate children born to the same mother, “who has no source of income except the relief checks paid her from public funds.” He would not “want to condemn out of hand any woman who might have, because of any emotional reason, given birth to a child out of wedlock or deny to her needed support for its raising.” But, he added, “If the mistake should be repeated then I think the public should be guaranteed against the need of supporting more than two illegitimate children. I see no way this can be done except through compulsory sterilization.”47
Like most older Americans, Eisenhower was appalled by many of the trends of the 1960s. Why could not the youth of the sixties be more like the youth of his day? Why were not draft dodgers an object of scorn, as they had been during World War II? Why could not the kids get their kicks out of the fox-trot and beer and cigarettes rather than rock and roll, marijuana, and LSD? Why was not Norman Rockwell, rather than Andy Warhol, the most popular artist of the day? Eisenhower expressed his concern over the decline in “our concept of beauty and decency and morality,” over the use by Hollywood and book and magazine publishers of “vulgarity, sensuality, indeed downright filth, to sell their wares,” over the sort of painting “that looks like a broken-down tin lizzie loaded with paint has been driven over it.”48
A major reason for the decline in morality and good taste, he felt, was the decline in the quality of the nation’s leadership. That at least could be set right in the 1968 presidential election. He could not escape a sense of personal responsibility for the Republican debacle in 1964, because of his failure to denounce Goldwater or endorse a candidate of his own choosing, and he was determined not to make the same mistake again.
His candidate was Nixon, and in 1968, unlike 1960, he had no hesitancy about him. It was not so much that Nixon had gone up in his estimation—although he had—as it was a case of having no choice. The other contenders, Nelson Rockefeller, George Romney, and Barry Goldwater, were all for various reasons unacceptable, and in comparison to any Democratic candidate, Nixon was in Eisenhower’s view light-years ahead.
As early as 1966, Eisenhower made his opinion public. In November of that year, just prior to the congressional elections, Johnson had issued a blast against Nixon, who was speaking around the country for Republican candidates. Johnson called Nixon a “chronic campaigner” who “never did really recognize and realize what was going on.” As proof, Johnson had cited Eisenhower’s 1960 press-conference statement, “If you give me a week I might think of one.” Eisenhower called Nixon from Gettysburg and said, “Dick, I could kick myself every time some jackass brings up that goddamn ‘give me a week’ business. Johnson has gone too far . . . I just wanted you to know that I’m issuing a statement down here.”49
In the statement, which was widely reported, Eisenhower said he had “always had the highest personal and official regard” for Nixon, who was “one of the best-informed, most capable, and most industrious Vice-Presidents in the history of the United States and in that position contributed greatly to the sound functioning of our government. He was constantly informed of the major problems of the United States during my Administration. Any suggestion to the contrary or any inference that I at anytime held Dick Nixon in anything less than the highest regard and esteem is erroneous.” (It must be pointed out that somehow, whenever he talked about Nixon, Eisenhower could not get it to come out right. Thus in this case, in the key sentence, he did not say Nixon was “consulted” about the “major problems”; instead, the verb he used was “informed.”50)
On March 14, 1967, Eisenhower held an impromptu press conference at the Eldorado Country Club. The governor of California, Ronald Reagan, was with him. Reporters were clamoring for Eisenhower’s attention. From one side, a reporter asked his opinion of Reagan; another newsman, on his other side, simultaneously asked his opinion of Nixon. Eisenhower turned to the man who had asked about Nixon and remarked that “he is one of the ablest men I know and a man I admire deeply and for whom I have great affection.” Most of the other reporters, however, had heard only the question about Reagan, and assumed that Eisenhower was talking about the governor. Headlines the next day proclaimed that Eisenhower had said, “Governor Reagan is one of the men I admire most in the world.” Walter Cronkite reported it that way on the evening television news. Eisenhower called to straighten him out; Cronkite, according to Eisenhower, “was chagrined to admit that his information came from a newspaper and he hoped sometime to change it.” Eisenhower, however, was stuck; he could hardly issue a clarification saying that “Reagan is not one of the men I admire most in the world.” In any case, he did admire Reagan; he told Arthur Larson he did not believe Reagan to be as much of a right-winger as he was portrayed to be. Still, Nixon was his man.51
He made that clear to Republican politicians in private meetings and in his correspondence with them. His standard line (in this case to Fred Seaton of Nebraska) was, “I cannot think of anyone better prepared than Dick Nixon is to undertake the responsibilities of the Presidency.”52
That was a bit short of an unqualified endorsement. Eisenhower did not say that Nixon was “well prepared,” or “completely capable,” or anything like that, only that he was “better prepared” than anyone else. In March, when the gang came to Palm Desert for the annual visit with the Eisenhowers, the members got to talking politics. Slater recorded that “many of us are still resentful that Nixon did not run a better campaign in 1960 and all had one or more instances to report where things would have been better had he taken advice. The President [meaning Eisenhower] still doesn’t understand why Nixon and Lodge didn’t call on him for help and why they didn’t take the position of wanting to continue the Eisenhower philosophy of how the country should be run.” Still, considering the competition, Eisenhower and his friends concluded that “Nixon would probably make the best president.”53 Eisenhower indicated that he intended to do all he could to bring about a Nixon victory.