by Hill, Clint
ANKARA
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.
KARACHI
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!
KABUL
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 h
ours, 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.
INDIA
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 su
perb 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.