1958 ELECTIONS
Off-year elections for the House, Senate, and state houses are often even more bitter and divisive than presidential elections. This was particularly true in 1958. As the year began, the economy was turning downward. Heated intraparty battles were taking place in a number of key states, including California. In this summer of discontent for the Republican Party, Eisenhower’s popularity sank below 50 percent for the only time in his eight years in the White House.
Eisenhower, always reluctant to involve himself in partisan politicking, would be able to do even less than in 1954 because of his health. And once again most of the Cabinet members were planning to sit out the campaign.
In the aftermath of Caracas, my popularity was now at its highest point. If I wanted to run for the presidency in 1960, it would be risky to put myself again in the position of Eisenhower’s political point-man. Tom Dewey was almost passionately insistent that I not become involved: “I know that Ike won’t do it, and I know that all those old party wheelhorses will tell you stories that will pluck your heartstrings, but you’re toying with your chance to be President. Don’t do it, Dick. You’ve already done enough, and 1960 is what counts now.”
But I was deluged by appeals from across the country to appear on behalf of Republican candidates. In the end, I took on the task because it had to be done, and because there wasn’t anyone else to do it.
In the campaign I traveled all over the country, doing what little I could. Some of the candidates were personal friends and good men who deserved to be elected or re-elected to Congress. But the more I traveled the more I appreciated the truth of Richard Rovere’s observation in The New Yorker that I was “climbing into harness with a bunch of wheel-horses scarcely capable of drawing their own weight.” In the last weeks of the campaign I labored under a feeling of total hopelessness.
The defeat was massive, and November 4, 1958, was one of the most depressing election nights I have ever known. The statistics still make me wince. In the Senate, the Democratic majority increased by 13 seats, bringing the proportion up to 62 to 34. They increased their majority by 47 seats in the House, thus outnumbering the Republicans by a whopping 282 to 153. Republicans won only 8 of 21 gubernatorial contests, and the Democrats now controlled 34 of the 48 state houses. The defeats in crucial states, among them California and Ohio, meant that the party would have to face the formidable task of rebuilding its state organizations if I was to have any hopes of carrying them in 1960. The reasons for the defeat were fairly easy to analyze, but the disappointment was still great. I knew that this defeat would make the campaign coming up in less than two years the most difficult of my career.
The next morning I heard that one television commentator had told his viewers that the big winner of 1958 was Nelson Rockefeller—who had been elected governor of New York by a wide margin—and the big loser was Richard Nixon. It seemed that the worst fears of my friends and advisers had been realized. My campaigning had had little visible effect, had gained me little thanks or credit, and had tarred me with the brush of partisan defeat at a time when my potential rivals for the nomination, Rockefeller and Barry Goldwater, were basking in the glory of victory. Perhaps Dewey had been right: I should have sat it out.
After the depressing ordeal of the 1958 disaster, I welcomed the opportunity to represent Eisenhower at the dedication of the American Chapel in St. Paul’s Cathedral in London.
My major speech on this trip was to the English-Speaking Union at London’s historic Guildhall on November 27.
I said that a new kind of battle was being fought, especially in the countries of Asia, the Middle East, Africa, and Latin America, where the leaders of those countries were struggling to satisfy their peoples’ desire for the physical well-being and material comfort advanced nations enjoy. They would prefer to attain these objectives and retain their freedom—but if they believed that was impossible, they would choose progress even without liberty. “No people in the world today,” I said, “should be forced to choose between bread and freedom.”
I closed by saying that we should speak less of the threat of communism and more of the promise of freedom; that we should adopt as our primary objective not the defeat of communism but the victory of plenty over want, of health over disease, and of freedom over tyranny.
The trip gave me an opportunity to meet with and obtain the views of Britain’s major political leaders on foreign policy issues. I was particularly impressed by the high intelligence and common sense that Prime Minister Harold Macmillan displayed in a long discussion we had on what policy we should follow in dealing with the Soviet Union.
While we were in London I met with Winston Churchill at his house in Hyde Park Gate. I was surprised by how old and feeble he had become. As we talked about world affairs, however, he became more animated and by the end of our conversation there were flashes of the old brilliance.
After almost an hour, I said that I would not impose upon him any longer. He insisted on seeing me to the door. I was sad to see that he could not move without the assistance of his aide, who supported him as he walked. As the door swung open, we could see the lights from the movie cameras and all the reporters and photographers standing on the step. With sudden surprising strength, Churchill pushed his aide aside and almost seemed to puff himself up as he stood beside me. The cameras rolled and the flashbulbs popped, and the picture of the scene shows the proud, strong, upright Churchill of people’s memory rather than the sad reality of time and age that I had just seen in private in his sitting room.
CASTRO: 1959
On January 1, 1959, Fidel Castro led his rebel army in triumph through the streets of Havana. He had defeated and ousted the repressive Batista regime, and he promised justice and freedom for the people of Cuba.
Castro had received a generally favorable press in the United States as the leader of a successful revolution against a right-wing dictator. Within the Eisenhower administration, however, opinions about him were mixed. Most of the State Department’s Latin American experts advocated immediate recognition of Castro’s government. But Allen Dulles and others in the CIA and NSC felt that we should delay such action until we had a better fix on Castro: was he an unwitting front man for the Communists, or perhaps even a Communist himself?
Eisenhower had not yet made a decision on this issue when Castro accepted an invitation to speak in Washington at a meeting of the American Society of Newspaper Editors on April 17, 1959. The President refused to see him, but Herter urged that I meet with Castro informally as I might be able to gain for the administration additional information about his background and insight into his views. On Sunday, April 19, we met alone in the Vice President’s formal office in the Capitol, and for three hours we discussed his political views, his attitude toward the United States, and other international issues.
After that meeting I dictated a long memorandum for Eisenhower, Herter, and Foster and Allen Dulles summarizing our conversation and describing my impressions. In it I noted Castro’s reaction to my urging that he declare himself in favor of elections at the earliest possible time:
He went into considerable detail as he had in public with regard to the reasons for not holding elections, emphasizing particularly that “the people did not want elections because the elections in the past had produced bad government.”
He used the same argument that he was simply reflecting the will of the people in justifying the executions of war criminals and his overruling the acquittal of Batista’s aviators. In fact he seemed to be obsessed with the idea that it was his responsibility to carry out the will of the people whatever it might appear to be at a particular time. . . .
It was this almost slavish subservience to prevailing majority opinion—the voice of the mob—rather than his naïve attitude toward communism and his obvious lack of understanding of even the most elementary economic principles which concerned me most in evaluating what kind of a leader he might eventually turn out to be. That is the reason w
hy I spent as much time as I could trying to emphasize that he had the great gift of leadership, but that it was the responsibility of a leader not always to follow public opinion but to help to direct it in the proper channels—not to give the people what they think they want at a time of emotional stress but to make them want what they ought to have. I pointed out that it might be very possible that the people of Cuba were completely disillusioned as far as elections and representative government were concerned but that this placed an even greater responsibility on him to see that elections were held at the very earliest date, and thereby to restore the faith of the people in democratic processes. Otherwise, the inevitable result would be the same dictatorship against which he and his followers had fought so gallantly. I used the same argument with regard to freedom of the press, the right to a fair trial before an impartial court, judge, and jury, and on other issues which came up during the course of the conversation. In every instance he justified his departure from democratic principles on the ground that he was following the will of the people. I, in my turn, tried to impress upon him the fact that while we believe in majority rule that even a majority can be tyrannous and that there are certain individual rights which a majority should never have the power to destroy. . . .
Whatever we may think of him he is going to be a great factor in the development of Cuba and very possibly in Latin American affairs generally. He seems to be sincere. He is either incredibly naïve about communism or under Communist discipline—my guess is the former, and as I have already implied his ideas as to how to run a government or an economy are less developed than those of almost any world figure I have met in fifty countries.
But because he has the power to lead to which I have referred, we have no choice but at least to try to orient him in the right direction.
Castro’s actions when he returned to Cuba convinced me that he was indeed a Communist, and I sided strongly with Allen Dulles in presenting this view in NSC and other meetings. In early 1960 Eisenhower became convinced we were right and that steps should be taken to support the anti-Castro forces inside and outside Cuba. I was present at the meeting in which Eisenhower authorized the CIA to organize and train Cuban exiles for the eventual purpose of freeing their homeland from the Communists.
The irony, and the tragedy, of Castro’s coming to power was that the Cuban people were rid of a right-wing dictator only at the cost of accepting a left-wing dictator who turned out to be far worse. From the U.S. point of view, Batista at least was friendly; Castro turned out to be an implacable and dangerous enemy.
KHRUSHCHEV AND THE “KITCHEN DEBATE”
Early in 1959 Eisenhower approved a recommendation by the United States Information Agency for me to represent the United States at the opening of the American National Exhibition in Moscow in July.
It may be difficult for those who do not remember the late 1950s to understand the nature of the relations between the Communist nations and the free world then. Russia was still shrouded in much of the sinister mystery of the Stalin era. The Iron Curtain was pulled tight across Europe, and Soviet missiles were feared in Bonn, Paris, London—and in Washington.
Nikita Khrushchev, a crude bear of a man who had risen from the ranks, was the leader of the Communist Party. Khrushchev’s rough manners, bad grammar, and heavy drinking caused many Western journalists and diplomats to underestimate him. But despite his rough edges, he had a keen mind and a ruthless grasp of power politics.
Bluntly ignoring Western invitations for disarmament and détente, Khrushchev openly continued to stockpile missiles, build submarines, and test nuclear weapons. The bellicose way in which Khrushchev flaunted his new leadership in rocketry made many believe that he would have no qualms about using it to unleash a nuclear war.
Few foreigners had been invited to meet Khrushchev, and those who did were often deeply disturbed by him. At times he was almost seductively charming; at other times he was boorish and obtuse. Some visitors came away swearing that he was the devil incarnate; others came away swearing that he was just a drunk. All thought he was a bully.
For this trip to the Soviet Union, I undertook the most intense preparation I had ever made for a trip or meeting. I read everything I could find about the Soviet Union and its peoples. Pat and I spent several evenings learning Russian words and phrases. I received briefings from the State Department and the CIA and familiarized myself with the backgrounds of the Soviet leaders I would be likely to meet. By the time I left for Moscow on July 22, I was prepared to discuss any of the more than a hundred topics or problems of Soviet-American relations that Khrushchev was likely to bring up.
I asked the few Westerners who had met and talked to Khrushchev what he was like and what I could expect from him. Many said that of prime importance was to leave absolutely no doubt in his mind about the sincerity of our dedication to peace. Khrushchev would be scrutinizing my conduct for any hints of belligerence, they warned, so, as Walter Lippmann put it, I should bend over backward not to rock the boat. Others, equally expert, felt that Khrushchev would fasten on any sign of weakness or appeasement on my part and exploit it to his advantage.
I wanted to get the advice of Foster Dulles, who was then in Walter Reed Hospital with terminal cancer. When I arrived he was sitting in a wheelchair, a red plaid bathrobe covering his shrunken frame. His voice was weak, and between sentences he would suck on an ice cube to dull the burning in his throat.
“What above everything else should I try to get across to Khrushchev?” I asked him.
As usual he took time to consider his answer, and he expressed his thoughts with customary firmness and logic.
“Khrushchev does not need to be convinced of our good intentions,” he said. “He knows we are not aggressors and do not threaten the security of the Soviet Union. He understands us. But what he needs to know is that we also understand him. In saying that he is for peaceful competition, he really means competition between his system and ours only in our world, not in his. He must be made to understand that he cannot have it both ways. Point the record out to him, that we have concrete proof of the Kremlin’s activities around the world. He should be told that until he puts a stop to such activities, his call for reducing of tensions and for peaceful coexistence will have a completely false and hollow ring.”
We chatted a little longer. Then Dulles looked out the window. “It’s too fine a day for you to be in here,” he said. “You should be out golfing.” Those were his last words to me. He died four days later, on May 24, 1959.
Foster Dulles and I were friends. Although there were considerable differences in our ages and backgrounds, we shared a fascination with the world and the same basic outlook on America’s role in it. Dulles was by no means politically inexperienced or naïve, but as Secretary of State he was frequently traveling and always busy, so he used me as his political eyes and ears to keep him abreast of what was going on in Washington, especially in Congress. Many nights I would have cocktails or dinner with him, and then we would sit for hours talking our way around the world. It was an incomparable opportunity for me to learn from one of the great diplomats of our time.
Most people who did not know Dulles thought him severe, dour, almost ascetic. The press generally presented him as a cold fish, devoid of human emotions, who talked with abstract righteousness about “massive retaliation” and about going to the “brink of war.” Dulles was, indeed, a brilliant, disciplined, and deeply religious man who saw many dimensions of principle and logic in every issue he encountered. But he was also a man who thought that the life of each individual on earth was important and precious because it was the gift of God.
Dulles appreciated the considerable leeway Eisenhower gave him in the conduct of foreign affairs, and he was constantly aware of the responsibilities and obligations involved. “I never want to be a burden on the President,” he would say to me when a controversy was brewing. “As a friend, I want you to tell me whenever you believe that I have become a burden, either polit
ically or otherwise.” He recognized the fundamental truth a public man must never forget—that he loses his usefulness when he, rather than his policy, becomes the issue. In this respect Foster Dulles was perhaps the most conscientious public man I have ever known.
At a time when the political and intellectual climate in the West appeared to be moving slowly but steadily toward advocacy of shortsighted and opportunistic arrangements with the Soviets, Dulles was made to seem and sound like a throwback to cold war rigidity. But he saw his work as a high calling, and a few months before his death he said, “Communism is stubborn for the wrong; let us be steadfast for the right. A capacity to change is indispensable. Equally indispensable is the capacity to hold fast to that which is good.”
World leaders and heads of government came to Dulles’s funeral, as well as the foreign secretaries and foreign ministers who were his opposite numbers. Few came because they loved him; most had often disagreed with him. But they all respected him for his integrity and for his profound dedication to the principles of peace, freedom, and justice that motivated every decision he made.
Shortly before I left for Moscow, Congress passed the Captive Nations resolution, as it had every year since 1950. Eisenhower issued the proclamation provided for in the resolution urging Americans to “study the plight of the Soviet-dominated nations and to recommit themselves to the support of the just aspirations of those captive nations.” While the fact that Eisenhower issued the proclamation just a week before I left for Moscow was coincidental, I knew that Khrushchev might interpret it as an intentionally belligerent action.
We left Friendship Airport in an Air Force jet on July 22. The reception awaiting us in Moscow was cool and controlled. Deputy Premier Frol Kozlov gave a long welcoming speech while the American and Soviet flags hung limp in the warm afternoon air. But there were no bands, no anthems, and no crowds.
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