Operation Amigo

As the President landed back on U.S. territory he brought home with him still another remarkable diplomatic triumph for the nation. His grueling ten-day journey through four free Latin American republics had turned out to be, with rare exception, a carnation-strewn show of affection for Dwight Eisenhower and the people he represents. Somehow--with flashing smile that never faded, with dignity that never truckled, with simple words that went down as well in Argentina as they do in Abilene--the President got across the message of creative friendship and collective responsibility in the name of the long-misunderstood "Colossus of the North."

In Argentina, the press made much out of reporting that the enthusiastic reception at seaside Mar del Plata had moved the President of the U.S. to a public display of warm and very human tears. In Brazil, acting Foreign Minister Fernando Ramos de Alencar reflected that "to us who shook hands with him, it was like being visited by Santa Claus." In Chile, lanky, Lincolnesque President Jorge Alessandri toasted Eisenhower: "You have conquered our hearts." In Uruguay, Eduardo Victor Haedo, a federal councilman who will rotate into the council presidency next year, said: "Eisenhower's personal history and the policy of his Government, which rectified many errors of previous Administrations that I personally denounced many times, contribute to the strengthening of the Uruguayan people's confidence, which Eisenhower has won."

The Most Successful. What were the secrets of the President's personal diplomacy? How had he managed to communicate what a whole nation stands for -- communicate it to the peoples of Latin America, just a few months after he had accomplished the same in Europe and Asia? There were no secrets--but plenty of reasons. Some of them showed that Eisenhower has more than a sparkling personality; in the era of personal diplomacy, he is the world's most successful international politician. Items:

P: During his many motor parades, the President cast his blue eyes and directed outspread arms not only left and right but also up high and around, sweeping in the welcomers perched atop roofs and on balconies, acknowledging the cheers of even the smallest groups. Days after he left, streetcleaners and cops, housewives and bartenders were still chattering about El Viejito Sonriente (The Smiling Old Man) and insisting that he had personally waved to each one of them.

P: He addressed his fellow Latin American Presidents as co-partners. He conspicuously sought their advice on world problems, e.g., disarmament, so that he could-go to the forthcoming summit conference "with a clear understanding of the views of our friends in this region." (Editorialized Rio's Journal do Brasil: "This is the first time that we talk to the U.S. on equal standing.") He also endorsed some of the Presidents' pet projects. Example: in Chile, he laid the groundwork for President Alessandri's plan for hemisphere disarmament by promising immediate U.S. military aid if any hemisphere nation is attacked. And behind the scenes, hand-picked U.S. experts mapped follow-up actions with Latin leaders (see THE HEMISPHERE).

P: He said the right thing at the right time. A speech by Chile's President Alessandri moved Ike to say feelingly that "I have never heard a more statesmanlike speech." A reception in Santiago prompted him to remark that "I can't remember when I have been so deeply moved." The President also bowed to his hosts' pride in their own culture and language. "There seems to be no word in the English language," he said in Santiago, "which would permit me to express the feeling I have for the affection I believe I saw in the crowds along the route here today."

P: He identified himself with the people. In his closest exposure to the grinding poverty of many Latin Americans, Ike took 90 minutes off to tour Santiago's U.S.-aided San Gregorio development of 1,500 tiny, low-cost (about $500) houses. Thousands of proud, hopeful householders lined the straight, dusty streets to chant "Eye-kee, Eye-kee." When the President spotted some sunflowers popping out of one backyard, his face lit up, and he broke ranks to chat with the householder. Said Ike: "We had sunflowers in my boyhood state." He asked a teacher how many nurses there were to care for San Gregorio's 1,500 families. Answer: Ten. Said Ike: "You ought to have 50." He made a few small contributions to a school and a church ($20 each--though advisers had told him beforehand not to give more than $10).

P: He disarmed and charmed critics by responding intelligently and gracefully. The 25,000-member Students' Federation of Chile sent to Ike a long open letter, critical of U.S. policies, e.g., of "looking benevolently on dictators." To the students' pleasant amazement, the President not only acknowledged the letter but promised a detailed reply upon his return to the U.S. Meantime, he said that "we repudiate dictatorship in any form, right or left." This scored a point with the students, many of whom lean leftward. But the President really carried the day with his declaration: "We are not saints--we know we make mistakes--but our heart is in the right place."

P: He stayed cool in a few hot spots. At Montevideo, the unabashed Uruguayans gave the most hectic welcome of all to Ike. About 400,000 strong, they showered him with homemade confetti and what the daily El Pais called "tremendous applause . . . addressed to the man . . . and to the symbol." But some 100 university students--including diehard Trotskyites and foggy anarchists led by tough nonstudent Communist elders--had unrolled an anti-American streamer, hurled tin cans and books at the President's fast-moving (30 m.p.h.) motorcade. Police drenched the demonstrators with fire hoses and tear-gas bombs, and military bands struck up with music. Through this madhouse scene, Ike stood unperturbed in his open car, turned his back on the demonstrators, and waved his arms as the crowds redoubled their cheers. Then the President caught some tear gas in his eyes and throat. He sat down, blinking. Moments later he was up again. At ride's end, a beaming Dwight Eisenhower observed that he was well used to student demonstrations, called this one "only a small thing." "

To Hell with It." The minor flare-up in Montevideo was a wisp of a reminder that the President's mission of far-ranging personal diplomacy is accomplished at the cost of some personal risk. The point was underscored on the return flight. Six miles above the wild Mato Grosso jungle of Central Brazil, about two hours before the scheduled refueling stop at Paramaribo in the former Dutch colony of Surinam, the right outboard engine of the presidential Boeing 707 began losing oil. The President's pilot, Colonel William Draper, nursed it for about an hour, passed the yellow Amazon River at 550 m.p.h., then decided to cut the engine when he began to get an amber oil-pressure warning light. Draper, on the radio, alerted air-sea rescue units, then notified the President about 15 minutes out, went on to make his three-engine landing uneventfully. The President put the extra 45-minute stopover to good use, lunched with local officials before taking off in the spare jet that had tagged along for just such an emergency, flew to Puerto Rico. He landed tired and hoarse.

"The more I have seen of foreign relations," said Dwight Eisenhower in an off-the-cuff speech to families of the U.S. embassy at Montevideo just before leaving South America, "the more I have come to the conclusion that America is judged by what each of us does, says and how he acts. Now this is in the mass so terribly important that each individual is often very apt to forget it. And they say, 'To hell with it--this is my life and I'm going to live it as I please.' But when you undertake service, particularly in the United States Government, to a certain extent you have adopted a code--a code of conduct that demands the best you have in spirit and intelligence and perseverance." And that was as good an explanation as any of the secret of Dwight Eisenhower's remarkable success in personal foreign relations.

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