In late 1959, the most pressing issues on the international front were the recent takeover of Cuba by the Communist Fidel Castro and the conflict between the Western allies and Soviet premier Nikita Khrushchev about the future of Berlin. That first week I was at the White House, I was informed that President Eisenhower and his staff were planning a trip in December, built around a meeting in Paris between the Big Four Western allies—the United Kingdom, France, Germany, and the United States. It was an ambitious and historic journey that would encompass three continents, eleven countries, and over 22,000 miles in nineteen days. Three Boeing 707 jets had recently been acquired for the presidential fleet—the first jets available to any president—and clearly Eisenhower was determined to make good use of them.
On the evening of December 3, 1959, President Eisenhower appeared live on national television from the White House, less than an hour prior to our departure. Bidding farewell to the American people, he outlined the nature of the trip while stressing the unbreakable connection between economic stability at home and the maintenance of peace through strength around the globe. With his wire-rimmed glasses dangling casually from his right hand, the president looked straight into the camera, knowing that every American who had their television on was watching him.
“Good evening, fellow Americans,” he began.
Dressed in a three-piece suit with a crisp white shirt and tie, he looked every bit the country’s chief executive officer, confident and in control. He placed the glasses on his face and continued, with the soothing voice of a wise and comforting grandfather.
“I leave in just a few minutes on a three-week journey halfway around the world.” Glancing intermittently at the notes on the podium in front of him, he explained to the American people the purpose for his journey to Italy, Turkey, Pakistan, Afghanistan, India, Iran, Greece, Tunisia, France, Spain, and Morocco.
“During this mission of peace and goodwill, I hope to promote a better understanding of America and to learn more of our friends abroad. In every country, I hope to make widely known America’s deepest desire—a world in which all nations may prosper in freedom, justice, and peace, unmolested and unafraid. We have heard much of the phrase ‘Peace and Friendship.’ This phrase, in expressing the aspirations of America, is not complete. We should say instead, ‘Peace and friendship in freedom.’ This, I think, is America’s real message to the world.”
It was his mission to use his last year in office to improve America’s image by convincing people around the globe that the United States was sincerely searching for a world peace formula, with no ulterior motives or aggressive designs.
For me, accompanying President Eisenhower on this international trip was beyond my wildest dreams. Other than a brief one-day visit to Canada during my temporary White House Detail assignment, I had never been anywhere outside the United States and here I was, about to embark on a historic trip visiting countries and cities I had only read about in books. In preparation, I’d been given a myriad of shots and inoculations to meet the health regulations of every country we would visit, courtesy of the White House physician’s office, and was issued a diplomatic passport. Notable by its green cover embossed with gold, indicating I was an official representative of the United States government, the passport included my photograph and identification, followed by dozens of blank pages that would soon be filled with entry and exit stamps from countries all over the world.
We had four airplanes in the entourage—the presidential plane with tail number 86970, which became “Air Force One” when the president was aboard; the backup plane with tail number 86971; and two press planes—one provided by Pan American World Airways and one by Trans World Airlines. At 8:15 p.m., the caravan of aircraft departed Andrews Air Force Base, and after a brief refueling stop in Goose Bay, Labrador, at 1:00 a.m., we flew directly to Rome, Italy.
It was raining heavily as we were attempting to land at Ciampino Airport around noon, local time. The city was filled with banners and signs greeting the American president, and despite the rain there were large, welcoming crowds at the airport and all along the motorcade route.
It worked out that my shift was on midnight rotation for the first portion of the trip, so we were immediately taken to the hotel to rest, while the day shift accompanied President Eisenhower in the motorcade through the city to an official lunch with President Giovanni Gronchi. Most of us had slept on the flight, and since our shift duty didn’t begin until midnight, we realized we had the opportunity to sightsee for a few hours. So we dropped off our bags at the hotel and headed to the U.S. Embassy, where we exchanged our dollars for Italian lira.
The embassy staff wanted to do everything they could to help us, and when they offered to provide cars with drivers to show us around Rome, we readily accepted. We drove all around the city, stopping at the major tourist sights—the Trevi fountain, the Spanish Steps, the Forum—and ended up at the Colosseum, where we had a private guided tour. I had never seen structures so old or walked on streets made of cobblestone. I was struck by the blending of the modern and the ancient, to see motorbikes whizzing around contemporary office buildings standing next to two-thousand-year-old marble structures and ruins. It was a whirlwind tour, with just enough time to get a taste of Rome and to buy a few postcards before returning to the hotel to get some sleep before our shift.
President Eisenhower was staying at the four-hundred-year-old Palazzo del Quirinale, the official residence of the president of Italy, for his two nights in Rome, accompanied by his son, Major John Eisenhower, and John’s wife, Barbara. Mrs. Eisenhower had elected not to come on the trip, largely, I suspected, because of her aversion to flying. A black-tie dinner and reception for nearly three thousand was held in honor of President Eisenhower at the palace that first night, and after a long day, he retired for the evening to his palatial apartment suite at around 10:30.
I quickly realized that being on the midnight shift in Rome was like drawing the lucky straw. Our duty entailed standing post while the president slept in an exceptionally secure environment, while the agents on the other two shifts were having to work twelve to fourteen hours a day covering the president’s activities in this unfamiliar locale. Protecting the president in a foreign country was very different from protecting him on our own soil. Not only did very few people speak English, but also we were guests of the people of Italy and had to make sure there was a cooperative effort on the part of the Italian authorities that blended with our protective operation.
The rain continued through the night, and it was still coming down when we were relieved by the day shift. While the other shift agents covered President Eisenhower as he visited the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and attended meetings with various Italian leaders, we on the midnight shift, once again, were able to play tourist. The president was scheduled to have an audience with His Holiness Pope John XXIII at the Vatican the following day, and as we were trying to decide where to go sightseeing, the agent who had conducted the advance with the Vatican piped up and asked if any of us would be interested in a tour there.
A few phone calls were made, and the next thing I knew we were being introduced to members of the Swiss Guard, our counterparts to the pope. Public access was limited as a result of the tight security around President Eisenhower’s visit, so we were able to experience St. Peter’s Basilica, the great halls of the Vatican Museum, and the glory of the Sistine Chapel almost completely by ourselves. The pièce de résistance was a tour of the back rooms of the Vatican Treasury, an area not available to the general public, which housed the priceless jewels, ornaments, and gold accumulated by the Catholic Church over the centuries.
Meanwhile, despite the inclement weather, President Eisenhower was drawing huge crowds, with Rome’s streets lined with people huddled under drenched umbrellas, waving and cheering wherever he went. At one point as the presidential motorcade drove by, two hundred young student priests from a Catholic seminary broke into a chant of “We like Ike!” His visit was impacting the people of Italy exactly as he had hoped. One Italian journalist stated just how much this country thought of the American president in a local newspaper report: “He represents a moral conscience, a spiritual force. The world must be inspired by his goodwill mission.”
By Sunday morning the rain had passed, and the sun shone brightly against a blue sky for President Eisenhower’s last day in Rome. The clear weather brought out thousands more spectators than had been seen the previous two days, and gave President Eisenhower the opportunity to ride in an open car as he drove from the Quirinale to the Vatican. An Italian motorcycle escort paved the way for the president’s convertible, and as the motorcade entered St. Peter’s Square, the enormous crowd erupted into cheers, prompting the president to stand up and wave his hat in appreciation. Immediately following the services, President Eisenhower was escorted to the papal apartment on the second floor of the Vatican, where he had an audience with Pope John XXIII. The twenty-six-minute meeting was hailed as a coming together of two scions of peace, and capped off what was by all accounts a very successful visit.
From Rome we flew directly to Ankara, the capital of Turkey. Although Eisenhower had traveled to Ankara during the war in his capacity as Supreme Allied Commander, this was his first visit to the country as president. But more important, it was the first time any American president had ever visited the Republic of Turkey.
When we landed at Esenboga Airport, dozens of American flags flapped in the wind alongside Turkish flags, along with a large banner that said WELCOME IKE. Turkish president Celal Bayar was there to meet President Eisenhower with a full military reception, and then the two leaders climbed into a 1934 Lincoln convertible, furnished by the Turkish government, and drove the twenty miles into downtown Ankara. As the motorcade entered the Turkish capital, I could hardly believe the sight.
As far as your eyes could see, there were people. Masses of people. They lined Ataturk Boulevard, often twenty people deep on both sides, while still more waved from open windows, and up above, balconies and rooftops were packed with bodies, the majority of them waving small American flags. As the motorcycle escort came into view of the crowds, the people erupted with a roar of cheers and clapping. Overcome with gratitude, President Eisenhower stood up, took off his hat, and waved to the throngs of admirers as the motorcade proceeded through the city.
Fences had been set up on the side of the street with a strong showing of Turkish police stationed intermittently to keep the large crowds contained, but a few times groups of people would try to break through and run alongside the cars. There were banners draped across the street showing President Eisenhower and President Bayar side by side, and on one building a six-story canvas painting of Eisenhower hung down. It felt like we were in the middle of a circus parade as the crowds shouted “Yasha! Yasha!”—“Long Live!”—while bands played and groups of performers in traditional costumes danced and sang all the way to our destination of the Turkish government guesthouse where the presidential party would stay overnight. Estimates were that nearly 700,000 people came out to welcome President Eisenhower to Ankara. It was remarkable.
From Ankara we flew to the port city of Karachi, Pakistan. President Eisenhower had never visited Pakistan and was looking forward to the visit with great anticipation. As we approached our destination, there was a sudden thundering roar outside the aircraft at about 25,000 feet. A dozen U.S.-built jet fighters of the Pakistani air force were flying in formation to escort us as we landed at Mauripur Air Force Base. It was a high honor to President Eisenhower, and part of the preauthorized plan, but also a clear example of how much trust and confidence the Secret Service must place in the relationship with the host country and their security forces.
President Eisenhower was beaming as he stepped off the plane and strode down the steps to greet President Muhammad Ayub Khan, who was waiting at the bottom of the ramp. The two shook hands and began an animated conversation that indicated their genuine fondness and respect for each other, despite this being their first meeting.
Formed as an Islamic Republic just a few years earlier, Pakistan was a young country, and President Ayub Khan had only recently become its leader in a military coup. Ayub Khan had pledged a strong alliance with the United States from the outset, and Eisenhower’s visit was a boost in prestige for the fifty-two-year-old Pakistani president.
After the formal arrival ceremonies at the air base, Eisenhower and Ayub Khan got into the backseat of a white open-top convertible for the motorcade into downtown Karachi. After seeing the reception for President Eisenhower in Ankara, I expected there might be a similar reception in Karachi, and there was—except that here the crowds were twice the size, and almost completely made up of men and boys. Everywhere you looked there were hundreds of thousands of Pakistani males dressed in long tunics and loose trousers shouting and waving as the cars rolled by.
“Eisenhower Zindabad!” they chanted. “Long Life to Eisenhower!”
In response to the tremendous outpouring of affection, President Eisenhower rose up out of his seat and stood so the people could see him better, his arms outstretched, waving with his hat in his hand. More than a million people were packed along the roadways, perched on balconies and rooftops, hanging out every window of every building, cheering and clapping for this American president.
Throughout the downtown area, the Stars and Stripes and Pakistan’s green and white crescent flag waved from poles and arches, intermingled in a show of solidarity between the two nations. As the motorcade came to a halt in a broad corner square near the U.S. Embassy, thousands of Pakistanis pushed and shoved their way into the square to get a better view. With just a handful of agents covering President Eisenhower, it could have been a disastrous situation, but fortunately the Pakistani police force kept control over the people, keeping them a safe distance from the two presidents.
In front of the embassy, Eisenhower and Ayub Khan switched from the convertible to a royal-looking red and gold coach drawn by six black horses, ridden by members of the military bedecked in knee-length red jackets adorned with brass buttons. As the procession moved slowly toward the presidential residence, President Eisenhower stood erect in the carriage, grinning broadly as he waved to the exuberant crowds amid a constant roar of cheers and clapping. Secret Service agents and Pakistani security agents walked between the carriage and the mass of spectators, while Special Agent in Charge Jim Rowley rode in the carriage with the president and Ayub Khan. Even though the crowds were well behaved, the exposure of the president at such a slow speed was very precarious.
Karachi is a large port city and, at that time, it was the capital of Pakistan, and overflowing with people living in extreme poverty. Because of the poor conditions in the city and the lack of appropriate hotel accommodations, a United States ship had been brought into port to be used as the housing facility for the agents and the staff. About an hour before my shift started, we went ashore and were driven to President Ayub Khan’s residence, where the president was staying. As we drove through the dark city, the car’s headlights illuminated an astonishing sight. Hundreds of people were lying, unmoving, along the side of the road. The next morning when we returned to the ship, government trucks were driving slowly through the streets with workers walking alongside them, kicking the people on the side of the road to determine if they were alive or dead. We watched with horror as the workers picked up the dead bodies and threw them, like sacks of potatoes, into the backs of the trucks. Some of the trucks were piled high with dead bodies, and we realized this was most likely a daily occurrence. It was almost hard to comprehend; a real eye-opener about how fortunate we were in the United States.
By the time President Eisenhower’s activities began in the morning, the bodies had all been removed, as if they were never there. Ayub Khan took great care to present his country in a good light, and had arranged nonstop events from morning until late evening for the two-night stay of his esteemed guest. There was a cricket match between Australia and Pakistan at the National Stadium, a horse show at the Polo Field, and black-tie dinners capped off with entertainment by turbaned sword dancers. At each event and all around Karachi, people waved American flags and held banners proclaiming: THANK YOU AMERICA! and WE LIKE IKE!
After two nights in Pakistan, we were off to the neighboring country of Afghanistan. The flight to Kabul was just over an hour, and as we descended toward Bagram Airport at around 8:30 in the morning, I was struck by the harshness of the terrain. The city of Kabul was situated at nearly six thousand feet, and appeared to be a sprawling array of primitive structures that might have dated back to the time of Genghis Khan wedged into a narrow valley between the craggy, snow-covered Hindu Kush mountains.
At the time, Afghanistan was a monarchy ruled by forty-five-year-old King Mohammed Zahir Shah, and although it was a neutral country, there was mounting Soviet influence, which was exemplified by the Russian-built airstrip and paved road leading to the capital city. Eisenhower’s visit was scheduled to be just six hours, with no overnight stay, and although my shift was not on duty, we had all decided to ride into the city out of pure curiosity.
The two agents who had been sent ahead to Kabul a couple of weeks earlier to do the advance had, we soon found out, been violently ill with dysentery. Both Larry Short and Paul Rundle looked like they had each lost about ten pounds, and although there wasn’t much color in their faces, they handled the president’s arrival with the utmost professionalism, and everything went off without a hitch. King Zahir met President Eisenhower at the airport, and after a simple ceremony, which included some children dancing in native costumes to traditional music, we set off by motorcade into downtown Kabul.
The temperature was near freezing, and yet tens of thousands of villagers lined the route from the airport to Kabul. The vast majority of the onlookers were long-bearded men dressed in ankle-length tunics with wool wraps and turbans, and you could tell from their leathered skin that life here was hard, and the people were a tough breed. It appeared that many of the tribesmen had been waiting for hours, warming themselves with small bonfires, and as our motorcade rode along the same route that had been traveled by Alexander the Great and Genghis Khan, the people waved and cheered.
President Eisenhower and King Zahir rode in the backseat of the king’s 1947 Lincoln convertible, and as we entered the downtown area, the crowds got denser and denser, making it difficult for the Afghan police motorcycle riders to keep the path open for the cars following behind. Men and young boys crowded around the slow-moving motorcade, waving small American flags and throwing streamers and confetti, trying to move in closer to see President Eisenhower. The situation got so bad that Agents Jim Rowley and Dick Flohr were perched on the back fender of the car, and at times they had to physically throw overly exuberant young men back into the street as they tried to reach in and touch President Eisenhower. Fortunately, the motorcade made its way to the Chilstoon Palace, and President Eisenhower was scurried into the safety of the king’s residence without any major incident.
A luncheon was held at the palace, and then a private meeting between President Eisenhower and King Zahir. Eisenhower expressed concern about the large amount of resources the Afghan king had accepted from the Soviets, but the end result of the meeting was a strengthening of the relationship between our two countries, with Eisenhower committing $145 million in U.S. aid to help build roads and a new airport in Kandahar.
Meanwhile, those of us who weren’t on duty wandered around the city, curious to witness daily life in such a remote location. People filled the streets, haggling for foodstuffs from vendors selling fruits and vegetables from baskets and bins along the side of the road. One man had a couple of pigeons in a cage, and next to them a dozen rabbits, all presumably destined to become dinner, while still other vendors cooked flatbread in large cast iron skillets over open fires. Camels were a common sight, being led by their masters, their backs piled high with blankets and burlap bags stuffed to the seams. I felt like I had been transported back in time.
The downtown was a mix of rustic mud buildings, ornate mosques, and modern low-rise structures, and at the edge of the city ramshackle houses were clustered precariously on the surrounding hillsides. People greeted us with smiles and offered us food, but having seen the condition of our colleagues Rundle and Short, we didn’t dare try any of the local delicacies. Our time on the ground in Kabul was just six hours, and at 2:00 p.m. we were airborne for New Delhi, India.
Of all the stops on this tour, President Eisenhower was most excited about visiting India. After the tremendous receptions he had received in Rome, Ankara, Karachi, and Kabul, we were expecting large, enthusiastic crowds, but nothing could have prepared us for what happened in New Delhi.
I slept for the entire two-and-a-half-hour flight, and the next thing I knew it was 5:00 p.m. and we were landing at Palam Airport in New Delhi. Our plane arrived several minutes ahead of Air Force One, and I could hardly believe what I saw when I stepped off the aircraft. People were stacked twenty deep behind rope lines, and still thousands more were seated in bleachers, as if the arrival of the American president were a sporting event. There had to be nearly seventy thousand people waiting on the tarmac—more than could fill Yankee Stadium. The crowd cheered when Air Force One landed, and then, moments later, when the door opened and President Eisenhower stepped out to the top of the stairway, there was a thunderous roar. Ike broke into an enormous grin at the rousing welcome of flags waving and people clapping, cheering, and whistling.
As soon as he stepped off the ramp, he was draped with a garland of flowers that looped around his neck and hung to his shins. President Rajendra Prasad was the first to greet him, followed by Vice President Sarvepalli Radhakrishman, Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru, and his daughter, Indira Gandhi. The agents on shift kept their distance, allowing the president space while maintaining a carefully orchestrated envelope around him so that, should any trouble occur, they could pounce and shield him in an instant.
A small raised stage had been set up with a microphone for President Eisenhower to make a statement, and as he stepped up to the podium the crowd went wild with excitement.
“Mr. President, Mr. Prime Minister, Your Excellencies, and ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “As I set foot on the soil of India I am fulfilling a cherished wish held for many years. India won its freedom and its independence through peaceful means. This in itself was a great accomplishment, and one that has challenged the admiration of the entire world . . . the only alternative to global war is peace, for the other alternative is too horrible even to mention.”
At every pause, the people clapped and cheered, chanting, “Zindabad Ike! Zindabad Ike!” “Long Live Ike!”
A few minutes later the motorcade was under way, with President Eisenhower, Prasad, and Nehru riding in the backseat of an open-top two-door black Cadillac convertible, led by an Indian police motorcycle escort.
Since I wasn’t on duty, I was assigned to a car several cars behind the presidential vehicle, and as we exited the airport, I was amazed by the sheer number of people of all ages—men, women, and children—who had come to see the American president. The streets were lined with people as far as you could see, and where there was a higher vantage point, be it a roof, a balcony, or a tree limb, those spots too were jammed with people.
We hadn’t gone very far when the motorcade stopped, and I could see there was a commotion up ahead. People had broken past the police lines, filling the street so the cars and motorcycles couldn’t pass. The authorities were yelling and shoving people, trying to get them to clear a pathway, but the crowd had swarmed around the presidential vehicle and there was nowhere for anyone to go. The Indian security forces had completely lost control of the situation. Suddenly, Prime Minister Nehru got out of the car and started swinging a swagger stick at the people. I could hardly believe my eyes. The Indian prime minister was hitting his own people! As people struggled to move out of the way, they began trampling each other. It was a horrifying scene, but slowly the crowd inched away, clearing enough of an opening so the vehicles could begin moving again.
The ten-mile journey from the airport to Rashtrapati Bhavan—the president’s residence—took well over an hour, simply due to the overwhelming throngs. One and a half million people lined the route, and as a sign of respect and admiration, many were throwing handfuls of flower petals and even whole bouquets into the presidential vehicle. On several more occasions, the crowd pushed its way into the roadway, and each time, Prime Minister Nehru jumped out, swinging his swagger stick to clear the path. There was an enormous outpouring of affection, a massive crowd, yet still, despite the overwhelmingly positive nature of the people, it was on the verge of calamity, and there was always the possibility that one person, or an organized group, might have intentions of harming the president. It was intense, on-the-job training in how a crowd—even a friendly crowd—can quickly and unpredictably spiral out of control.
Even with the superb advance planning by two experienced agents, we were somewhat at the mercy of the local authorities. There is no way to predict what will happen in any given situation, so you have to be able to constantly adjust your security procedures. But it is very difficult when you have limited resources, you are in a foreign country, you are guests of that country, and they are unable to control their own people. Fortunately, the two presidents got through the crowd to their destination without any harm to either of them, but it was a priceless lesson for all of us on the detail that day. We were lucky the people were friendly. Had there been any animosity, I shudder to think what could have happened.
It had been a long, tiring day for President Eisenhower, so, shortly after arriving at Rashtrapati Bhavan, he retired to his private suite for the night.
All of the agents were given accommodations in the presidential guesthouse, and since I was still on the midnight shift, I went directly to my room. I knew I’d better use the few free hours I had before I went on duty to get some rest, so I undressed, set the alarm on my wind-up travel clock, got into bed, and promptly fell asleep.
Upon awakening to the sound of the alarm, I groggily got up, only to find that all my clothes were missing.
What the hell?
At that moment, there was a knock on the door. I grabbed a towel from the bathroom, wrapped it around my waist, and opened the door.
Standing before me was a very thin young Indian man, his arms outstretched, holding my undershorts, undershirt, dress shirt, suit coat, and pants, all freshly cleaned and pressed.
With a big smile and a British-tinged accent, he said, “Here you are, sir. Anything else I can do for you, sir?”
“Uh, no, thank you,” I said as I took my clothes.
“Please don’t hesitate, sir,” he replied. “I am pleased to be at your service.”
It turned out that he was the houseboy assigned to my room, and part of his job was to do my laundry, whether or not I requested it. I quickly learned not to leave any article of clothing lying around unless I wanted it cleaned and pressed.
We had designated security posts around the suite occupied by President Eisenhower, John, and Barbara, and throughout the night the agents on the midnight shift rotated posts every thirty minutes. In addition, members of the presidential protective unit of India had personnel in corresponding posts near each of us, presumably as our backup, but they spent most of the night chatting with each other, often loudly and with animation. We couldn’t understand a word they were saying, so we simply tried to ignore them and went about our normal protective procedures.
At around two in the morning, I happened to be standing at the post immediately outside the door to the presidential suite when the president’s son John came out.
“Agent,” he said, “will you please get those Indian guys to stop talking? Their voices carry right into the president’s bedroom and he can’t get to sleep.”
“Absolutely, Major Eisenhower,” I said. “I’ll take care of it.”
I was embarrassed that we hadn’t realized the noise might keep the president awake and hadn’t handled the situation earlier, but I immediately confronted the Indian guards and convinced them to move farther away, and to halt all conversation. We didn’t hear another word from inside the suite, so, presumably, after that the president was finally able to get some sleep.
WITH FOUR DAYS in India, once again, those of us on the midnight shift got a lucky break. When we were relieved by the day shift at eight o’clock in the morning, we had time to do a little sightseeing. While none of us knew much about Indian culture, the one thing about which we had all heard was the magnificent splendor of the Taj Mahal. Our contacts at the State Department provided us with a car and an Indian driver, so a few of us piled into the car and headed down to Agra.
At that early morning hour, the streets of New Delhi were coming alive, as shops opened and people went about their daily life. The streets were filled with people on bicycles—sometimes two or three people to one bike—riding every which way, interspersed with people walking alongside camels piled high with blankets and burlap sacks; tractors and rusty old trucks; and every so often a lone cow—sacred in India—wandering aimlessly among the chaos.
The city turned to countryside, where we rarely saw any sign of life, but then all of a sudden there would be a village, marked only by a row of outdoor produce stands and perhaps a one-pump gas station. The vast majority of the people were skeletal-thin and often barefoot, with a look of despair on their faces. Cooking was done over open fires that created heavy plumes of smoke, and when we asked our driver about the unusual stench, he told us it was from the elephant dung commonly used for fuel.
Finally we reached Agra, and the driver pulled up to a massive arched gate and parked the car.
“This is the Taj Mahal,” he said. “Come, I will show you.”
As we walked through the gate, suddenly the Taj Mahal was visible, and the sight was truly breathtaking. The white marble domed structure stood at the end of an extraordinary reflecting pool, like a beautiful queen staring into a mirror, oblivious of her timeless beauty. It was truly one of the most magnificent buildings I had ever seen. You couldn’t help but be overcome by a sense of awe as you approached the Taj, and as we walked, our driver explained how the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan was grief-stricken when his third wife, Mumtaz Mahal, had died during the birth of their fourteenth child. He commissioned the Taj Mahal to be built as a mausoleum to honor her memory, and after fourteen years of construction, the main building was completed in 1638.
The interior of the Taj was like an art museum, filled with intricate mosaics on the ceilings, walls, and floors, all encrusted with colorful, semiprecious stones. It was a masterpiece, a timeless tribute to the woman who was the love of the emperor’s life. I thought to myself, Damn, she must have been one hell of a woman.
Driving back to New Delhi, it was impossible not to notice the stark contrast between the splendor and riches of the ruling class—as exemplified by the Taj Mahal—and the numbing poverty of the masses. It was just one of the many times throughout this journey that made me realize how lucky I was to have been born in the United States of America.
IT WAS REALLY remarkable to me how much stamina our sixty-nine-year-old president possessed. The time change between Washington and New Delhi alone caused me a problem, but the president seemed not to be bothered at all by jet lag, and I wondered how he did it. He wanted to see as much of India as he could during his four-day visit, so the schedule was tightly packed. He was up early every morning, with one meeting, speech, or official function after another, dinners sometimes with five thousand guests, and as the guest of honor, the president always had to be on.
Sunday, December 13, was an example of how tiring, long, and complicated a day traveling with the president can be. The president arose at 6:00 a.m. and departed by car with President Prasad at 7:50 to attend services at the Protestant Church of India Cathedral. They returned to the Rashtrapati Bhavan at 9:00 a.m., and fifteen minutes later departed for Palam Airport with Prime Minister Nehru. They flew to the city of Agra and transferred to an open-top car, so the tens of thousands of people lining the route from the airport to the Taj Mahal could get a good view of the American president.
The three-hundred-year-old “temple of love” was something President Eisenhower had yearned to see ever since first reading about it as a young boy in Kansas, and while he told Nehru it was the thing he had looked forward to most of all on this entire trip, just thirty minutes were allotted in the schedule for his private tour. Then it was back in the helicopter for a flight to Bichpuri, where they transferred to a car for a brief tour of an agricultural training center at a college before driving to the rural village of Laraonda. People lined the dirt roads and stood on the thatched roofs of mud shacks, cheering the “prince of peace” as President Eisenhower waved from the backseat of the open convertible. The village headman greeted President Eisenhower with yet another long garland of flowers, introduced him to the town councilors, and then it was back in the car to Bichpuri, where the helicopter awaited. They choppered to Agra, transferred to a small airplane, and flew back to Palam Airport in New Delhi, landing at 1:20 p.m. It had already been a full day, but by the time the president motored back to Rashtrapati Bhavan, there was just enough time for a quick bite to eat and a short rest before the evening events.
At 4:15 p.m. Prime Minister Nehru arrived at the palace to accompany President Eisenhower to the Ramlila Ground, a sprawling park that separated Old Delhi and New Delhi, for what would be Eisenhower’s final public appearance in India. Fortunately, the Indian officials had learned from the near tragic arrival motorcade, as well as an incident the previous day when Indian police were forced to beat back crowds at the World Agricultural Fair, and sturdy fences had been erected around large pens in which to contain the people.
It was a wise decision, because by the time we brought President Eisenhower to the site, more than one million people had gathered for the farewell speech. Acres of solidly packed humanity stretched as far as I could see, and when President Eisenhower walked onto the elevated stage, the crowd broke into a roar of cheers. President Eisenhower captivated the audience with a stirring speech in which he repeatedly invoked the name of Mohandas K. Gandhi, the leader of India’s independence movement, in an effort to show the strong bond we shared in our dedication to freedom. There had never been a larger crowd assembled in the Ramlila Ground, and the fact that all these people had come to hear President Eisenhower left a lasting image in my mind about the enormous impact, and power, the President of the United States had. Because of all the great things Dwight D. Eisenhower had accomplished, both before and during his term of office, he had earned the respect of people all over the world. He was an ambassador of the highest order, instilling hope and inspiration, a true leader who reflected positively on the American people.
We left India before dawn on Monday, December 14, 1959, and headed for our next stop—Tehran, Iran. This was to be only a six-hour stop, but as usual there was a lot packed into a short amount of time. It was a short flight, with just enough time to review the advance agents’ report on the events and situation in Tehran.
Our shifts had rotated the day before, so for the next two weeks I would be working the 4:00 p.m. to midnight shift. There would be no more sightseeing, but that was fine with me. I much preferred being where the action was. Every country, every city, and every venue had its own challenges when it came to protecting the president, and the adrenaline was constantly flowing.
We landed at Mehrabad Airport right on schedule at 8:45 a.m. It was a frigid morning, but that hadn’t deterred thousands from coming out to meet the American president. Wearing a topcoat, scarf, and hat, the president smiled broadly as he stepped off the plane, waving to the cheering crowd as he descended the steps. A band was playing, and before us was a sea of little flags flapping in the wind. Seven hundred fifty schoolchildren stood bundled in coats and hats, half of them holding American flags and the other half waving red, white, and green Iranian flags. His Imperial Majesty Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, the Shah of Iran, was waiting at the bottom of the steps with a line of Iranian dignitaries, and as Eisenhower greeted them, three cannons fired off a twenty-one-gun salute. Suddenly there was a tremendous roar overhead as a group of military jets flying in tight formation spelled out “IKE” in the crisp blue sky. After a brief welcoming ceremony, President Eisenhower and the Shah got into the backseat of the open-top Cadillac convertible provided by the Iranian government, and the motorcade was under way.
It was an impressive motorcade, with dozens of Iranian motorcycle officers in a V-formation ahead of the presidential vehicle, while our agents mixed with the Iranian protective detail in vehicles slightly to the rear on either side of the president’s car. We had been given our assignments by the Agent in Charge, and as I took my position in the follow-up car, I noticed a contingent of vehicles behind us filled with Iranian soldiers carrying submachine guns. It was a bit disconcerting, but one thing I had begun to realize on this trip was how much we had to rely on, and trust, our host government’s security procedures. This was their home turf.
Despite the freezing cold temperatures, more than three quarters of a million people lined the route from the airport to downtown Tehran. The crowds cheered as we drove past colorful banners celebrating Iran’s friendship with the United States, and while the people were exuberant, they were kept in order by thousands of soldiers standing intimidatingly with rifles, bayonets attached, slung over their shoulders.
As we neared the city, suddenly the road turned red. Huge, intricately woven Persian rugs had been placed end to end in the street—dozens of them for hundreds of yards—creating the largest and most beautiful welcome mat you can imagine. It seemed a shame to me that the motorcycles and cars drove right over these magnificent works of art, but that is exactly what we did. Talk about rolling out the red carpet.
The destination was the Shah’s palace, where the two leaders met privately for about two hours. Then President Eisenhower addressed a joint session of the Iranian Parliament, praising the people of Iran for refusing to stand on the sidelines in the free world’s fight against Communism.
“I know I speak for the American people when I say we are proud to count so valiant a nation as a partner,” he declared.
The members of Parliament listened intently to his every word, and at the end of his comments rose out of their seats in a standing ovation. From there it was on to an official luncheon in the Hall of Mirrors at Golestan Palace. The room was literally covered from floor to ceiling with mirrors and prisms that caught the light so that it looked like wallpaper made out of diamonds.
After lunch, there was another motorcade through the streets of Tehran back to Air Force One. On this, my first trip to Iran, there was no time for sightseeing. The overwhelming memory I have is the feeling of tension and adrenaline, scanning the massive crowds at the airport and the crowded streets of Tehran. My senses were focused on the people, not the art and architecture. That is the usual situation for an agent on duty. You may have visited some exotic place, but there is no time for exploration or enjoyment.
It was 4:40 p.m. local time when we landed at Hellinikon Airport outside Athens, Greece. Waiting at the foot of the ramp to greet the president were King Paul and his son Crown Prince Constantine, resplendent in their formal navy uniforms bedecked with medals, ribbons, and gold braid.
Once again, there was an elaborate arrival ceremony, which included a twenty-one-gun salute, greetings by Greek dignitaries, and an inspection of the honor guard, followed by a short speech by President Eisenhower in which he acknowledged the people of Greece and the warm friendship between our two nations.
King Paul guided President Eisenhower to the backseat of their designated car, a magnificent open-top Rolls-Royce touring sedan driven by a Greek military aide, with another Greek aide in the right-front passenger seat. It was unusual not to have one of our agents in the car with the president, but this is how the trip had been negotiated between the Greeks and our political and Secret Service advance team. Those of us on President Eisenhower’s detail took our predesignated positions in convertibles directly behind the Rolls-Royce, and the motorcade got under way.
The sun had gone down, and darkness was setting in as we made our way through the streets of Athens, making it difficult to see any unusual movement or activity within the throngs of people that lined the motorcade route. People were packed shoulder to shoulder along the boulevards, waving huge flags, clapping, and cheering, and up above people hung out open windows, jamming rooftops and balconies. It was estimated that 750,000 people had come out to welcome President Eisenhower—the largest gathering ever assembled in Greece for a visiting dignitary—and to show appreciation, President Eisenhower and King Paul both stood and waved from the back of the open car the entire length of the eight-mile route.
It felt like we were in the middle of a circus as people threw flowers and confetti, while others attempted to run into the street. Fortunately, the Greek police were out in force and were able to keep control of the excited crowd as we headed first to the Tomb of the Unknowns for a wreath-laying ceremony, and then, finally, on to the palace.
That night there was a formal dinner at the palace hosted by King Paul and Queen Frederika, and it was quite late by the time we got President Eisenhower safely into his suite. It had been a grueling twenty-two-hour day for everyone on the trip. Three countries, two flights, and five motorcades with exposure to more than one and a half million people.
THE NEXT DAY, President Eisenhower had a typically full schedule that included breakfast at the American Embassy residence, meetings with Greek prime minister Konstantinos Karamanlis, and a speech in front of the Greek Parliament. Meanwhile, the USS Des Moines, a heavy cruiser stationed in the Mediterranean, was waiting at anchor off the coast of Greece, its crew preparing the ship to transport the commander in chief on the next leg of his trip. The president would sail from Athens to Tunis, Tunisia; disembark in Tunis for a meeting with President Habib Ben Ali Bourguiba; and then return to the ship for a leisurely twenty-four-hour cruise to Toulon, a port city in the southeast of France. In Toulon, the president would board a private train and travel the 430 miles north to Paris.
By this point, everyone on the trip was ready for a little rest and relaxation. There was very limited space on board the Des Moines, so only minimal staff and a few Secret Service agents could accompany the president on this leg of the trip—which meant the majority of the presidential staff and most of the Secret Service agents would fly directly from Athens to Paris.
We flew to Paris, and with a day and a half of free time, we were determined to make the most of it. With the assistance of the French police officers with whom we would be working once the president arrived, we had the best tour guides one could find.
The first day, we had quick visits to all the famous tourist locations—the Cathedral of Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, and the Louvre—but one of the officers convinced us that if we wanted to experience the real Paris, we had to get up early in the morning.
“Trust me,” he said as he brought his fingers to his mouth with a kiss. “You love.”
When night fell, the city turned absolutely magical. Tiny white lights were strung on balconies and draped around the bare tree branches so that it looked like twinkling chandeliers were hanging along the streets and the banks of the Seine. Store windows were decorated with gingerbread houses, Christmas trees, and fake snow, while carolers sang on street corners. We had been working so hard, we had almost forgotten it was Christmastime.
The next morning, we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into, but we followed the officer’s directions and found our way to Les Halles. It turned out that Les Halles was a market where the produce, cheese, and meats arrived from the countryside each day. It was before dawn, but the place was bustling with shopkeepers and farmers bargaining in French, a cigarette in one hand and a handful of francs in the other.
Our French police officer guide brought us to one particular stall and said something in French to the man behind the counter. Next thing we knew, out came individual crocks of steaming hot onion soup for each of us. A thick layer of crusty, gooey cheese was baked over the top, and the officer showed us how to dip in our spoon, twirl it around with the cheese, and then sop it all up with a piece of crusty baguette. I’ll never forget the morning I had authentic French onion soup for breakfast in Les Halles.
That evening, December 18, 1959, President Eisenhower arrived in Paris at 10:30 p.m. after a nine-hour train trip from Toulon.
The purpose of this visit was a summit of the leaders of the four largest Western countries—Charles de Gaulle, Eisenhower, Prime Minister Harold Macmillan of Britain, and West German chancellor Konrad Adenauer—and was dubbed the Four Power Conference. The goal was to outline a plan for a future East-West summit with Soviet premier Nikita Khrushchev and to come up with a solid allied Western front on nuclear disarmament, unifying Germany, and the status of West Berlin, which was isolated far inside Communist East Germany.
To have the four most important people in the free world together in one place required careful choreography between the various security groups. The biggest problems I had during this visit to France were my inability to speak French and the inability of most French security officials to speak English. Relying on hand gestures to communicate became a necessity as we worked together on security matters.
The Secret Service had flown one of our own cars—a large, heavy convertible with a distinctive glass-domed roof—to transport the president in Paris. This vehicle, which we called “4-B,” was a Lincoln sedan originally built in 1950 for President Harry S. Truman, but the see-through roof was actually President Eisenhower’s idea. Apparently, Ike was riding in the convertible on the way back to Washington from Richmond, Virginia, in May 1954, and it started raining. The agents put the canvas roof on the car to keep the president from getting soaked, but by doing this the hundreds of spectators along the route couldn’t see him. This really bothered Ike, who liked seeing the crowds, but more important, wanted them to have the opportunity to see him—especially during the presidential campaign. He suggested the car should have a glass roof for inclement weather, and the idea was turned over to the Ford Motor Company engineering group. The “all weather” top, made of four clear Plexiglas sections that fit together with aluminum bars, and which could be stored conveniently in the trunk, was delivered three months later. Additionally, a light was installed behind the center armrest so the president could be seen more clearly at night. The Secret Service had had little to do with the design, and nothing on the car was bulletproof. Indeed, President Eisenhower preferred to use the car as an open convertible whenever possible so he could stand up and be even more visible to people viewing the motorcade. Ike used the car extensively during the 1956 presidential campaign and during the 1957 Inaugural Parade, during which he stood in the open car the entire route through downtown Washington.
Here in Paris there were no grand parades or motorcades organized to generate crowds, but the eyes of the world were on the leaders’ every move as they met Saturday at the Élysée Palace, de Gaulle’s residence, and on Sunday at the Château de Rambouillet, thirty miles outside the city.
For me, it was a fascinating learning experience to see how heads of state and governments worked together for the betterment of all their people. I was pleased to see the respect each had for one another, knowing they all had different philosophies, but also realizing that if these men did not work together toward a common goal, the result could be the end of humanity as we knew it. They all bore heavy burdens, and took them seriously. In the end, each of the four Western leaders sent letters to Soviet premier Nikita Khrushchev inviting him to the first of a series of summit meetings to “consider international questions of mutual concern.”
When President Eisenhower departed Paris the afternoon of Monday, December 21, on Air Force One, it was clear that the long days of negotiation had been arduous, but nevertheless he was pleased that they’d been able to move forward on talks with the Soviets. We still had two more stops on his peace and friendship tour, so there was no time for any of us to rest. Next stop: Madrid, Spain.
The two-hour flight from Paris to Madrid gave me the chance to study the protective survey report for Madrid and prepare myself mentally for what challenges lay ahead. We would be landing at Torrejón Air Base and were expecting huge crowds along the motorcade route into Madrid, because this was the first time an American president had ever visited Spain, and it was not without controversy.
His Excellency Francisco Franco Bahamonde—commonly referred to as Generalissimo Franco—had been ruling by dictatorship since 1939 and was a pariah throughout Europe, for, although Spain was officially neutral in World War II, Franco did not hide his support for Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy. During his tenure, thousands of political opponents had been suppressed or killed. Because of its strategic location in defense against the Soviet Union, however, the United States had brokered a deal that allowed us to build three air bases and a naval base on Spanish soil in return for financial aid to Franco’s regime. When word leaked of Eisenhower’s planned tour through Asia and Europe, which originally did not include a stop in Spain, Franco took it as an insult and threatened that the future of the U.S. bases could be in jeopardy. Subsequently, the president decided to add the one-day stop in Madrid to the schedule, which, to many, appeared to be a U.S. stamp of approval on Franco’s politics.
It was 4:30 in the afternoon when we landed, and there to greet President Eisenhower was the usual reception committee, headed by Generalissimo Franco himself, in full military dress. Our Secret Service car 4-B had been flown to Madrid, and although it was quite cold, with a brisk wind blowing, only the rear portion of the bubble top was in place, allowing the middle section to remain open so the two leaders could stand and wave to the crowds if they desired. The purpose of the motorcade was, after all, to allow the people of Madrid to see President Eisenhower, and in return the city had made every effort to impress. Huge canvas photos of Eisenhower were draped from arches and buildings; on the side of the tallest building in the city, lights ten stories high spelled out IKE; and a plaza had even been renamed Plaza del Presidente Eisenhower.
As we made our way into the city, the crowds grew larger and larger—police estimated one and a half million spectators in this city of two million—and despite the raw wind, President Eisenhower stood the entire way, his arms outstretched, his face beaming at the jubilant reception. People were hanging out windows and lined up on rooftops and balconies, waving white handkerchiefs like they were cheering on a matador in a bullring and chanting “Ee-kay! Ee-kay!”—their way of saying Ike. It was wild.
A cordon of soldiers dressed in ankle-length wool topcoats, many of them armed with submachine guns, kept the exuberant crowds in order, but still the adrenaline was running high for those of us in the follow-up car, scanning the masses of people, searching for any sign of antagonism or that lone individual who just didn’t fit.
After an hour and forty-five minutes, we finally reached the Moncloa Palace, where President Eisenhower would stay the night. We got him secured in his suite and took our posts outside the doors. He had just a couple of hours to rest and get changed for the formal state dinner in his honor.
I had learned that the Europeans eat dinner much later than we Americans do, but here in Spain, dinner often didn’t start until ten o’clock. The dinner for President Eisenhower was scheduled to begin at nine at another palace, the Oriente, about three miles away, so we had one shift of agents move ahead to the Oriente while one shift stayed with the president.
The Oriente Palace contains the largest square footage within its walls of any palace in Europe. With 870 windows, 240 balconies, and 44 staircases in its 1,450,000-square-foot floor area, it was immense—and impossible for us to secure on our own. We had to rely on the Spanish security forces to secure the outer perimeter, while we stationed agents only in the areas where the president would be.
It wasn’t until after eleven o’clock that we finally got President Eisenhower tucked into his suite back at the Moncloa Palace, and those of us who had been on duty all day were relieved by the midnight shift.
Morning came early, as the schedule called for another rigorous day.
Every country we visited on this trip had been an eye-opening experience for me, but our seven hours on the ground in Morocco were certainly the wildest and most exotic.
It was 11:20 a.m. when we touched down at Nouasseur Air Base, a U.S. Air Force Strategic Air Command base outside Casablanca, and waiting to greet President Eisenhower was Morocco’s King Mohammed V. The king wore a peaked cap and was dressed in a long, hooded, brown wool cloak, known as a burnoose, and if I hadn’t been briefed, I never would have picked him out as the king, simply judging by his attire. The two leaders greeted each other warmly, and after a brief formal reception, Eisenhower and King Mohammed got into the back of a white Lincoln convertible for the motorcade into downtown Casablanca.
As we exited the air base, it felt like we were driving through a movie set for the Arabian Nights. The streets were lined with people of all ages, dressed in traditional Moroccan attire—women in long robes and headscarves of all colors, with white kerchiefs veiled across their faces, wailing with a shrill noise that sounded like “luh-luh-luh-luh-luh,” while scraggly-bearded men, also in long robes, each with a dagger at his waist, cheered and waved. But most striking of all were the Berber tribesmen—hundreds of them—who had ridden from their villages on horseback and were galloping along the roadside, firing rifles into the air as they lined up in formation to welcome the American president.
Watching from the follow-up car as President Eisenhower stood in the open car directly in front of us, waving and holding his arms out in appreciation, I was about as tense as I had ever been. The crowd was jubilant and welcoming, but with all those rifles firing into the air, I couldn’t help but imagine how quickly the situation could turn to disaster if one man decided to turn his gun on the president. It would be so easy, and there would be nothing we could do to stop it.
The motorcade stopped at the Town Hall where President Eisenhower was presented with dates and milk, followed by a luncheon at the palace and a private meeting between the leaders and their staffs. It was estimated that at least 500,000 Moroccans had come out to welcome Ike in a demonstration that surpassed anything I’d ever witnessed in my life. All the agents breathed a sigh of relief when we finally got the president back on Air Force One without incident.
Shortly after six in the evening, we were airborne, and after a brief refueling stop in Gander, Newfoundland, we touched down at Andrews Air Force Base at 11:30 p.m. on December 22, 1959. We had traveled 22,000 miles in nineteen days and visited eleven nations, and the president had appeared before millions upon millions of people who embraced him as a “prince of peace.” Everyone who had been on the trip, from the staff to the press to the agents, was worn ragged, and while we were all happy to be back on American soil, there was no denying that President Eisenhower’s effort had not only increased his personal popularity but also had raised the image of the United States in the eyes of all those we encountered. Diplomatically, he had strengthened relations with a number of countries, and there were high hopes that the East-West summit meeting in Paris scheduled for the spring could move the world closer to peace.
For me, personally, it had been an amazing adventure. To think that that was my first trip outside the United States. I was filled with pride and love for my country, and enormously humbled to be a Special Agent in the U.S. Secret Service. How did this kid from North Dakota get so lucky?
It was wonderful to see Gwen and Chris, to sleep in my own bed, and to be home in time for Christmas. I was eager to tell Gwen about everything I’d seen, but at the same time I realized that no matter how vividly I described what I had experienced, there was no way she could understand what it had really been like. I was cautious about what I shared with her—not for worry of divulging anything secret—but because the last thing I wanted was for her to get the impression that I’d been on a glamorous European holiday while she was at home taking care of all the household chores and parenting our son all on her own. So, in a way that was typical of my staunch Norwegian upbringing, I said very little.
Fortunately, Paul Rundle’s wife, Peggy, had introduced Gwen to the other White House Detail wives, and the women got together regularly for bridge games and lunches at one another’s apartments. Like the men on the detail, our wives developed a camaraderie because they were all in the same situation. With husbands gone for weeks at a time, they relied on one another for emotional support as well as sharing supermarket coupons, reciprocal babysitting, and casserole recipes.
I was back on duty at the White House the next day, and four days later, on Sunday, December 27, I was on a plane headed for Augusta, Georgia, where the president and Mrs. Eisenhower would spend the rest of the holidays. New Year’s Eve 1959 was a quiet night at Augusta National, and for the agents it was a relief not to be going somewhere, fighting a crowd. We appreciated the lack of excitement.
On January 4, as I walked along the serene golf course carrying a bag with two old golf clubs and a .30-caliber carbine—a world away from the Berber tribesmen, the elephant-dung fires in India, and the Four Power meeting in Paris—I thought back on all I had experienced in the past year and realized I had become an eyewitness to history in the making. It was my twenty-eighth birthday, and little did I know, the history had only just begun.