Under Guard, but Still on the Road

Gerald Ford is a courageous and stubborn man who resents any attempt to intimidate him. So despite the two attempts upon his life within 17 days, the President once again left the secure confines of the White House to tour the U.S. "I can only say that two-way communication with my friends and fellow Americans is for me an essential part of doing the job properly," he told an audience in Chicago. "I intend to keep my communications open, not in any foolhardy spirit, but by every prudent and practical means."

Despite Ford's genuine desire to meet his countrymen, the extraordinary security measures that shrouded his trip showed how deeply his freedom had been at least temporarily restricted. One symptom of the new nervousness around the White House: the entourage of newspaper reporters jumped from the regular eight or ten to 26, including correspondents from four British and three Australian newspapers.

Ford flew first to Chicago, where the Secret Service had requested the local police to impose the tightest security in the city's history: some 1,000 patrolmen and plainclothesmen were assigned. Also on hand were at least 100 Secret Service agents and an undisclosed number from the FBI. The area outside the

Conrad Hilton Hotel, where the President was to address a G.O.P. fund-raising dinner, was patrolled by hundreds of uniformed police, scores of detectives equipped with walkie-talkies, undercover agents in jeans and leather jackets, plus plainclothes policewomen in slacks.

Closed Windows. Armed with metal detectors, police scanned the crowds outside on Michigan Avenue as well as the 1,000 Republicans inside the hotel, who lined up patiently to be electronically frisked for weapons before ascending an escalator to the grand ballroom for the dinner. For blocks around the Hilton, policemen on rooftops restlessly searched the area with binoculars. Every window in the 19-story Y.M.C.A., one block south of the Hilton, was ordered closed. Some guests in the Hilton insisted on peering out of their windows to see what all the commotion was about. When they did, they were blasted by police loudspeakers: "On the eighth floor of the Hilton, please close your window. This is a police order." At one point, a guest left his window open too long. "If you don't close your window right now," boomed the loudspeaker, "you will be arrested." The window slammed shut.

A crowd of 700 gathered expectantly at the Michigan Avenue entrance to the

Hilton, the traditional gateway for Presidents, Kings and heads of state. But all they got was a fleeting glimpse of Ford's motorcade zooming past on its way to the rear service entrance, normally used by maids and waiters. The small crowd clustered there saw Ford for perhaps five seconds. Reported TIME'S Midwest bureau chief Benjamin Cate: "He alighted from the presidential limousine, forced a smile across his face and waved sheepishly while security men swarmed around him. The wave seemed almost a gesture of embarrassment, as though Ford were saying to those watching that he'd like to do more but had been ordered not to do so. Then the gray steel door of the Hilton slammed shut behind the President, leaving him in the relative safety of the back corridors of the hotel."

The Republicans who paid $125 a plate to attend the dinner heard Ford do his wooden best to raise party morale with his vow that he would continue to travel the country. Ford also promised full production for the farmers, predicted more grain sales to the Soviet Union and criticized the Democrats in Congress for "inflationary spending." Soon after his speech was over, Ford departed as furtively as he had arrived. Slipping out a side entrance, he waved at the crowd 30 yards away and disappeared into his limousine. Total time that he was visible: about five seconds.

Led by squads of gleaming new blue-and-white patrol cars, the Chicago police escorted Ford north out of the city. At one point his route paralleled the tracks of an elevated rapid transit line. To keep the platforms clear of people, the trains were ordered to stop between stations while he sped by.

Half an hour later, Ford's motorcaravan arrived in suburban Skokie (pop. 66,200) and pulled up before the 13-story North Shore Hilton. Half of the city's 61-man police force joined the cordon of Secret Service agents protecting the hotel. To help out, a dozen men who had been fired from the force in a contract dispute last summer joined their former colleagues on guard. About 500 of the city's residents stood shivering in the night outside the hotel when Ford arrived, and he waved for about 30 seconds to acknowledge their cheers.

Safe Soil. Next morning Ford met with 33 small-town and suburban mayors from the Midwest. He urged them to push Congress hard to extend the revenue-sharing program, which is due to expire at the end of 1976. During his relaxed and freewheeling exchanges with the mayors, Ford also reinforced his refusal to rescue New York City from its financial crisis (see page 20). Said the President: "Your constituents wouldn't tolerate it if you ran your city as badly as New York City has been run."

That afternoon Ford flew to Offutt Air Force Base near Omaha, and within the fenced confines of the base he finally was able to do the crowd mingling he loves. After 15 relaxed minutes on safe Air Force soil, Ford was driven under heavy guard to a downtown hotel, where he attended a conference of business and civic leaders set up by the White House to discuss domestic and economic problems. In a television interview that evening, Ford broadly hint ed that he would favor renewing individual income tax cuts in 1976 if Congress would hold down spending (see ECONOMY & BUSINESS). Then, after 28 hours of tension and constraint, Ford flew back to Washington.

No one leveled a gun at the President during the trip, but there were a number of sharp encounters along the way. During the Chicago visit, a policeman near the Hilton asked to look into the purse of Carmen T. Pulido, 37, and found a .25-cal. pistol. She was arrested for carrying a concealed weapon, although she protested that she needed the gun for self-protection on her job as the manager of a currency-exchange outlet. "I'm no Squeaky Fromme," the woman protested. "I'm a notary public and tax accountant."

In Skokie police became suspicious of Thomas Weber, 23, because he was standing near Ford's hotel with his hands jammed into his pockets. When Weber mulishly refused to show his hands, he was wrestled to the ground by anxious policemen.

Throughout Ford's trip, the Secret Service and the local police were haunted by the fear that they might have overlooked another would-be assassin. The scope of their problem was emphasized last week by Treasury Secretary William Simon, who pointed out in testimony before a Senate subcommittee (see following story) that the number of threats against the President had tripled during the first 20 days of September, jumping from the 100 or 110 that might have been considered routine to a new total of 320. Simon put part of the blame on the publicity given to Squeaky Fromme and Sally Moore: "When these people are glamorized on the front pages of our national magazines, I think this does great harm."

While Ford was touring the Midwest, law-enforcement authorities were trying to run down a spate of new reports about potential assassins. One mysterious phone call warned that three people were driving from Montreal in a blue station wagon to kill Ford and the visiting Emperor Hirohito (see page 30).

Federal agents were also striving to locate a lone man--name withheld--who was said to be stalking Ford. He was reported to be a member of the American Indian Movement, armed with three high-powered rifles and a Russian-made AK-47 automatic rifle.

Every State. Despite this welter of threats, President Ford last week showed no sign of wanting to call off his barnstorming. He still liked to cite the number of states he had visited, the Governors and mayors he had met, the miles he had traveled, as though they somehow were proof of his leadership.

In Chicago, Ford told his audience of Republicans that he hoped to visit every state by the end of 1975. When he arrived back in Washington he had eleven still to go--Alabama, Delaware, Hawaii, Idaho, Mississippi, New Jersey, New Mexico, North Dakota, Tennessee, West Virginia and Wyoming.

On Saturday, the indefatigable President knocked two more states off his list. He went to New Jersey to address yet another G.O.P. fund-raising dinner.

That same day he took part in the kind of event that is better suited to Congressmen than Presidents. As the honorary grand marshal, Ford rode in the Mountain State Festival parade in Elkins, W. Va. (pop. 8,287). Three times along the parade route Ford could not resist the urge to leave his limousine and pump hands. The President's good friends as well as his critics might fairly ask whether right now Jerry Ford should take part in a festival, no matter how entertaining it might be.

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