Not long after Eisenhower returned to Washington from the failed summit, Khrushchev began turning up the heat in the Cold War. At a Kremlin news conference in early June, he mocked President Eisenhower, calling him “completely lacking in willpower” and “dangerous.” But more serious than his verbal attacks against Ike were his chilling threats to retaliate against any air base that facilitated U.S. spy plane activity over the Soviet Union with an immediate nuclear attack.
All plans for President Eisenhower’s visit to the Soviet Union in June had been scrapped, but a tour through Asia that had been scheduled in conjunction with that visit was still on the agenda, with stops planned in the Philippines, Taiwan, Japan, and South Korea. Khrushchev’s latest vitriolic rhetoric, however, was riling up Communist sympathizers, especially in Japan, where large protests were being organized against Eisenhower’s visit and the Japan-U.S. security treaty that had just been signed between Ike and Premier Nobusuke Kishi. Despite concerns for his safety, the president was adamant about visiting Japan, so a pre-advance team was sent to Tokyo to evaluate the situation. The purpose of a pre-advance team is to visit the proposed venues and to confer with the host officials regarding the possible visit. They decide if the visit is feasible and worthwhile from the White House point of view before sending an advance team to make the final arrangements.
On June 10, press secretary Jim Hagerty and appointments secretary Thomas Stephens flew to Tokyo, accompanied by Secret Service agents Floyd Boring and Jack Holtzhauer. U.S. ambassador Douglas MacArthur II was there to greet them, but as the group departed the airport a frenzied mob swarmed their car. Five thousand protestors, most of whom were students armed with bamboo sticks, shouted “Goddamn Eisenhower!” and “Yankee go home!” as they surrounded the vehicle. Police were quick to get to the area, but even though they clubbed the students with heavy truncheons, they couldn’t gain control of the situation. The Americans were trapped in the limousine for more than an hour until a helicopter piloted by a U.S. Marine came to the rescue. As Japanese police and the two agents formed a protective shield around Hagerty, Stephens, and MacArthur to move them from the car to the helicopter, the mob pelted them with rocks. Finally, they were able to scramble into the chopper and it flew them to safety.
We got news of the incident almost immediately, and it obviously gave the Secret Service grave concern about President Eisenhower’s trip and how we could protect him if a similar situation were to occur, because when you are in a foreign country, you are really at the mercy of the local law enforcement. The president insisted on continuing the trip despite the risks, so plans moved forward, and two days later we were headed to the Far East. As the rotation worked out I was on the day shift for this trip, so I would be right in the middle of the action.
I was assigned to one of the charter planes, along with members of the press. Although not as comfortable, it was much more relaxed on the press plane than on Air Force One, and it was on these long trips that the Secret Service agents and the press really got to know one another. Many of us were about the same age—in our late twenties or early thirties—and although our jobs had two entirely different missions, we all had a keen sense of how privileged we were to be traveling with the President of the United States on these historic adventures.
Air Force One flew to Clark Field in the Philippines, where the president changed to a smaller aircraft, the propeller-driven Columbine III, for the flight into Manila. Meanwhile, our plane flew straight to Manila to await his arrival.
It was mid-afternoon, and as soon as I stepped out of the aircraft, I felt like I was walking into a sauna. Dressed in my normal working attire of a suit and tie, I immediately started perspiring, and soon my eyes were stinging from the droplets of sweat that streamed down my forehead. By the time the president’s plane landed, I was drenched with perspiration, and I had to continually blink my eyes to be able to focus in the bright sunlight. I thought Washington summers were hot, but this was extreme. My Norwegian, North Dakota–raised blood was unaccustomed to this tropical weather.
Once the president deplaned, there was the conventional arrival ceremony: host country president meets and greets President Eisenhower, pleasantries are exchanged with members of the reception committee, the honor guard is toured, and an open car is entered for the motorcade into the city. The entrance into Manila, however, was anything but typical.
Four million people lined the route—four million!—the largest crowd ever before assembled in the Philippines, and the most people we in the Secret Service had ever encountered. It was a wildly exuberant atmosphere that indicated how extremely grateful the Philippine people were to President Eisenhower and the United States for all that had been done for them. Everywhere you looked there were people waving, cheering, whooping, clapping. On top of buildings and hanging out windows, people tossed streamers and threw so much confetti it was as if we were in a cloud of swirling colored paper. At street level, they were fifty to one hundred deep on either side of us, packed in so tightly that they clogged the streets right up against the presidential vehicle so that we were forced to proceed at a crawl. The motorcycle police had started in a perfect diamond formation out front, but at times they were swallowed up by the crowd that kept pressing in, trying to get close to the American hero.
The only thing we could do was walk alongside the presidential vehicle as an additional barrier between the crushing horde and the president. People were pushing and reaching to try to touch President Eisenhower as we inched forward, and we had no choice but to forcefully shove them away. The adrenaline was on overload as we scanned the millions of faces surrounding the motorcade in front, behind, around, and above for anyone who looked out of place amid the enthusiasm. But the fact was, being encircled by such a tremendous mob, if someone had wanted to cause harm to the president, there was hardly anything we could do. We were at the mercy of the local law enforcement, and they were unable to control the situation. Through it all, President Eisenhower stood, beaming, in the open-top car, taking in all the glorious admiration and respect. He appeared to have no fear, yet through much of the motorcade he kept one hand firmly on the shoulder of Special Agent in Charge Jim Rowley, who crouched like a human shield directly in front of him.
The ten-mile drive from the airport to Malacañang Palace took well over an hour, but we finally got President Eisenhower safely into his suite. All of us looked like we had been through a war—drenched with dirt and sweat, our clothes ripped and soiled—and thankful that the motorcade was over.
Meanwhile, in Japan, an entirely different scenario was taking place. As a result of the helicopter rescue of the American dignitaries in Tokyo, the Japanese government had initiated stricter security measures ahead of President Eisenhower’s visit, but rather than deterring the protestors, the police reinforcements incited violent riots. Tens of thousands of Communist-led demonstrators overwhelmed the security forces, broke through the exterior gates, and besieged the Parliament buildings. Clearly, the Japanese government could not guarantee President Eisenhower’s safety in this volatile environment, and just days before he was to arrive in Tokyo, Premier Kishi withdrew the invitation. While the cancellation was a relief to the Secret Service, it required the entire schedule to be revised midway through the trip.
The next stop was Formosa (Taiwan), the Republic of China island nation located one hundred miles off the coast of Communist-controlled Mainland China. When we arrived in Taipei, the weather was as stifling as it had been in Manila, with 90-degree temperatures and unbearable humidity, and yet the people had come out in droves to welcome the American president to their fortress nation. Enormous crowds lined the wide thoroughfares of the parade route, while every balcony and open window in every building was filled with people enthusiastically cheering, waving, and throwing confetti as President Eisenhower and President Chiang Kai-shek rode together in an open car into the capital city. It was like we were traveling through a Chinese carnival with dancers positioned all along the route, some waving colorful Chinese dragons, while others wore traditional costumes singing with drums and flutes. Fortunately, the boulevards through Taipei were nice and wide, and the local authorities were able to keep the masses of cheering people well contained along the sidelines. It was just the way we liked it—friendly crowds with outstanding security by the host country, which allowed us to proceed swiftly and without incident to our destination.
The timetable had been revamped, and the next day we traveled to Seoul, South Korea, for a one-night visit, two days ahead of the original schedule. The Secret Service had flown cars to Japan in anticipation of the presidential visit to Tokyo, but when that visit was canceled, the cars were hastily transported to Seoul. This turned out to be a wise decision.
The itinerary called for a motorcade from Yongsan Golf Club, where the president had arrived by helicopter, to Kyung Mu Dai, the presidential residence. When my shift arrived in Seoul on the charter plane, we were immediately transported to the palace in three U.S. Army automobiles to establish security for President Eisenhower’s arrival. Upon arrival at the palace, we were advised to park the cars outside the palace gates and proceed inside. We had a short window of time to get everyone in place, and although the communications we had were very poor, they were good enough that we were able to track the movement of the president, and we did not envision any problems.
Because President Eisenhower had played a key role in ending the Korean War, the South Koreans viewed him as a hero, and it seemed the entire country had gathered in Seoul to get a glimpse of the revered American president. Upward of one million people were crammed in the open areas along the motorcade route, cheering and shoving in a giant swarm, desperate to see President Eisenhower.
The police were unable to control the mass of humanity, and over the radio we heard the sounds of chaos as the roaring crowd inundated the vehicles in the motorcade. The situation was becoming more perilous by the minute, and in a quick-thinking move, SAIC Rowley ordered the driver to make a detour and head straight for the American ambassador’s residence, bypassing the palace altogether.
Suddenly we were scrambling to get out of the palace and back into our cars to join the presidential party at the new destination. In the short time we had been inside the palace, an enormous crowd had formed outside in anticipation of the president’s arrival, and a mass of people was flowing through the gates onto the palace grounds. The three vehicles we’d left parked were now surrounded by the huge throng, and there was no way we could move them.
Our shift leader, Art Godfrey, a fearless World War II veteran who had earned both a Bronze and Silver Star, was not about to let anything stand in the way of our mission. “Come on!” he yelled. “We’ve got no choice but to walk.”
Guided by the U.S. Army agents, we began to shove our way through the sea of people on foot. It felt like we were slogging through a stampede in the wrong direction, and in an effort to get around the crowd, we jumped over fences, walked through chicken-filled yards, and even traipsed through some private homes to reach the embassy residence.
Meanwhile, one of our agents, Ron Pontius, was trapped inside the palace grounds, still trying to get out. A pair of Korean police officers on horseback rescued him and brought him to join the rest of us. As for the cars, one was destroyed when the throng of people, unable to get around it, trampled over it. The weight of thousands of people literally compacted the car nearly to the ground. The other two were battered and dented, but were able to be salvaged later.
Seoul, Korea, was one more lesson in how any crowd, even a friendly one, can easily spiral out of control when you least expect it. Even with the most diligent and thorough advance planning, you can never anticipate every possible scenario, and the key is to remain flexible, always prepared to adjust according to the situation.
Seoul was the last stop on the journey, and I know without a doubt that everyone on the trip was eager to get home. We departed Seoul at 8:15 p.m., and after flying all night and crossing the International Date Line, it was just after noon the same day when we arrived in Honolulu. It was a long flight at the end of a sixteen-thousand-mile journey with a grueling schedule, and the press noted that President Eisenhower, understandably, appeared weary as he stepped out of Air Force One.
Hawaii had officially become the fiftieth state less than a year earlier, and 100,000 people had shown up at the Honolulu airport to bid a rousing aloha to the president. Everyone on the trip was exhausted, the press included, but there was the obligatory arrival ceremony, followed by a one-hour-and-ten-minute drive to the Kaneohe Marine Corps Air Station, where President Eisenhower intended to relax for the next several days. It was my first time to Hawaii, and while the scenery was simply breathtaking, all I wanted to do was sleep.
I fully expected the president would take it easy that afternoon, but two hours after arriving at Kaneohe, no kidding, he was on the golf course. At least there were no crowds, no screaming and cheering; just the sound of the ocean breeze blowing through the palm trees and the occasional curse word after a flubbed shot.