A Timely Friend in Need

THE PRESIDENCY

The fear has been buried in champagne toasts (Roederer Cristal) and broad presidential smiles and the haunting strains of Tchaikovsky by the Marine Band.

But it is there, an insoluble hard lump in the hearts of the men who know how the world works. Is this the last act of summit virtuosity that Richard Nixon will be able to perform? In the next weeks he could be destroyed by Watergate or so diminished that he could never again face the world from his pinnacle, having lost confidence and influence at home and prestige abroad. In another of those oddities of this time, the old Communist Leonid Brezhnev was in town doing what he could to shore up the President's prestige.

Nixon is still, after all, the world's top statesman, in command of the most powerful military machine (which the Soviets still respect) and the most productive economic apparatus (which they want to duplicate). And Nixon last week was in his special arena. He is awfully good at summitry. He was across the table from another tough leader who has knocked his way to the top and knows the destructibility of politicians and their dreams. The press and the public were far enough away not to bother, and Nixon could spar with Brezhnev even while signaling that as a member of the summit fraternity he understood Brezhnev's problems back home.

They signed all the papers and talked about all the subjects they were supposed to talk about and then they soared across the United States on smiles. But all of this could not dispel the doubts of Watergate, and in subtle ways even emphasized those doubts. Brezhnev had been briefed on Watergate. His heightened exuberance, his emphasis on personal rapport, were signals that he was trying to give his beleaguered host a bit of a boost in a tough time and, of course, protect the Brezhnev investment in Richard Nixon.

Maybe the first sign that he intended to be the best friend Nixon had last week came when Henry Kissinger went to see Brezhnev at Camp David the night before he went to the White House. Brezhnev bounded up to Kissinger, gave him a special bear hug and a kiss on the cheek, something Kissinger has heretofore received only from starlets.

In his private moments with his American hosts, Brezhnev grew mellow and a bit misty as he talked about the revolution and the war and his hopes for his people and all people. There was an urgency about the man, now 66, an understanding that time was getting short and he wanted to leave his monument.

The Soviet leader talked of his youth and hard work. His father, a metallurgical worker, had always told him, he said, that they ought to build a huge monument on a mountain to the man who brought peace. Brezhnev the engineer seemed a man driven by his past to achieve something beyond just power and dominance. He wanted to build, and he wanted Richard Nixon around for the next summit and the one after that.

He queried Kissinger at some length about whether the cottage at his country retreat, Zavidova (the equivalent of Camp David), would be appropriate for Nixon, or should the Soviets build something new along the lines of Camp David? Kissinger, who has stayed at Zavidova, thought the quarters were just fine. But at the White House dinner, Brezhnev sent his interpreter over to whisper in Kissinger's ear, asking if he thought the Soviet leader could tell Mrs. Nixon, his dinner companion, about the cottage.

Weeks ago Brezhnev was asked what gift he wanted. A Lincoln Continental, came the reply. They hid the car at Camp David, drove it out during one of the sessions, and when it was in place Nixon suddenly halted the meeting, took Brezhnev out to see the auto. He was delighted. Nixon suggested they go back to the meeting. Brezhnev insisted on a spin. He put Nixon inside, ignored the idea he stay on the Camp David roads and roared out on the highway. That too--automobiles and highways--seemed a part of the future, as Brezhnev saw it, in partnership with Nixon.

When the President pointed out one morning at the White House a 6-ft. 4-in., 250-lb. Iowa Congressman and said, "That's Bill Scherle, he's agriculture," Brezhnev leaped at Scherle, looking up a full head above himself. How are crop prospects? Brezhnev wanted to know. Yes, he remembered Roswell Garst, who lives in Scherle's district, the man who had brought hybrid seed corn to Russia. They were studying productivity of crops and cattle-building up, Brezhnev told Scherle. When he moved on, Brezhnev left no doubt that during summit No. 4--that would be in 1975--he would like Richard Nixon around to take him out to the corn belt for a firsthand look.

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