The Man with the Answers

(See Cover]

For four days Dwight Eisenhower stayed close to his cliffside room in the Hotel Thayer at West Point, gazing out on an ice-choked Hudson River and the snow-covered hills. Outside his third-floor "presidential" suite, an MP stood guard. Downstairs in the basement grill, several hundred college girls and their cadet dates devoured cheeseburgers and malted milks while a juke box thumped out Goodnight, Irene.

In khaki shirt-sleeves and suspenders, the general prowled the red carpet of his sitting room, conferred with one or two aides, talked by direct phone to Washington, and treated a slight cold with applications of Vicks. Then he faced his stupendous task.

In three weeks, accompanied by Lieut. General Alfred Maximilian Gruenther, his chief of staff, he had covered twelve capitals of Europe. On the basis of that survey, he would undertake to answer the questioning going on in the U.S. The main questions were two. Can Western Europe be defended? Has Europe the heart to fight?

He was well aware of what his answers would mean to the nation. What made his assignment so overwhelming was the fact that his answers would be believed. The word of no other man would be taken so unquestioningly, so much on faith. His was a position almost unique in U.S. history. A dozen years ago, Dwight Eisenhower, of Abilene, Kans., was a lieutenant colonel serving as military assistant to Douglas MacArthur, then a field marshal of the Philippines and military adviser to the Island Commonwealth. In less than six years, Eisenhower had become a five-star general in command of the most gigantic war machine in history. Three years ago he had turned down a glittering political gamble, the presidency of the U.S. (which many people thought he could have won easily),* and settled himself spiritedly into the presidency of Columbia University. Destiny had again plucked him out. Now, at 60, he bore the title of Supreme Allied Commander, Europe. His words would be heeded not only by the U.S. but by most of the world, friendly and hostile.

Three Ribbons. At midweek Ike had finished his report. He bundled his wife Mamie and his mother-in-law Mrs. Doud (who had joined him at West Point) into his Constellation and flew to Washington in muck and driving sleet,* landed at the National Airport and saluted the extraordinary committee of welcome--shivering generals, ambassadors, members of the Cabinet--and the President of the U.S., who wrung his hand and led him to his limousine, shooing off photographers with the anxious comment, "We can't give this fellow pneumonia." President and general drove off to the White House to lunch, to give Eisenhower a chance to say what he had to say first to his Commander in Chief.

Within the next few hours, he hurried on to confer with the Cabinet and the Military Committee of NATO (the North Atlantic Treaty Organization), dressed in well-creased pinks and OD jacket with a single row of ribbons (the Distinguished Service Medal with three Oak Leaf clusters, the Navy's Distinguished Service Medal, the Legion of Merit). Then he was ready for his first public report to the nation.

To Take the Risk. A full representation of the 82nd Congress had jammed into the auditorium of the Library of Congress. Leaders of both parties sat on the platform: Speaker Sam Rayburn, frowning at the newsreel lights; the Republicans' Kenneth Wherry, scowling over his thoughts; beetle-browed Joe Martin, wearing the rubbers he had cautiously donned to wade through Washington's slush. What did they expect? Some of them had come hoping for a kind of miracle, an authoritative sweeping-away of all confusions and doubts. What they heard was an unadorned, informal discourse delivered from one page of notes. What Eisenhower had to say was not so much a report as an earnest homily.

"I have one object in view," he said--"the good of the United States." From that premise he had examined the whole problem of joining in the defense of Europe. The U.S., Eisenhower had concluded, had to join in; there was no alternative. Its own good was bound by blood and kinship and practical exigencies to the good of Europe.

The loss of Western Europe would mean losing to the enemy an industrial capacity second only to the U.S., and losing the skilled labor of its 200 million people; it would mean the ultimate loss of all those other areas of political dependency, from which the U.S. draws manganese, copper, uranium, etc. If the U.S. had to stand alone in a world dominated by Communism, "our system would have to wither away. We would suffer economic atrophy and then finally collapse."

"We Must Have Cooperation." This was the exigency; what was to be done about it? The general sniffled and pre-occupiedly pinched his nose. "I do not believe," he said, "that the United States can pick up the world on its economic, financial and material shoulders and carry it. We must have cooperation . . ." This was the nub of the discussion. Would Europe cooperate?

Ike's answer was a firm yes. He had found in Europe, bruised as it was by four years of Nazi occupation, some "pessimism bordering on defeatism." But he also found among Europeans the evidence of "a rejuvenation ... a spirit again to try to live the lives of free men, to do their part and to take the risk."

The Norwegians had told him that "resistance to the point of destruction is preferable" to another occupation. He had been encouraged by what he saw in France, by the "stiffening resolve" of Italy. Belgium and Denmark were increasing their efforts.

As for West Germany, he thought the first thing for Germany was "earned equality" on a political basis. Then would be the time to talk about German military units. "I, for one commander, want no unwilling contingents," he said, "no soldier serving in the pattern of the Hessians, in any army of my command."

"What Is in the Hearts." What was to be the U.S. contribution? Not large numbers of troops. Said Eisenhower: "We cannot concentrate ... in any one sector, even when one is as important as Western Europe. We must largely sit here with a great mobile, powerful reserve, ready to support our policies . . . wherever they may be endangered in the world."

The major U.S. contribution to Europe should be equipment.

Ike went on, in his clear, rapid way. The allies must accept the disadvantage of their position, he said. The aggressor could pick the day and arm for it.

But the greatest contribution of everyone must be confidence. "We are talking about what is in the hearts," said Eisenhower. ". . . Nobody can defend another nation by itself. The true defense of the nation can be found in its own soul." Why is the Western world, with its great potential, frightened? Because of the enemy's unity of purpose, "a unity achieved by force, by ignorance and by the NKVD." The only answer to that challenge is an answering unity of free men.

The Unwavering Point. When he had finished, his audience applauded respectfully and shuffled out into the slush. Their feelings were mixed. Joe Martin was impressed. Colorado's Democratic Senator Ed Johnson cracked: "The general character of the general's report was very general." Ike had given them no ringing phrases, no new facts or figures. The discourse contained none of that Olympian reporting with which Winston Churchill was accustomed to bolster his great wartime addresses.

In the end, Eisenhower had reported little more than his own hopes. But he had presented them well--and had presented his absolute conviction of the necessity of defending Europe, and his belief in the availing strength of the Western world if it would only rise to the crisis. That was his unwavering point.

Exactly how the point is to be made a fact will be the continuing problem of the Administration and Congress. The general could only convey his own optimism. It was up to them to work out their detailed confusions. His job is to lead the NATO army, navy and air force, just beginning to emerge from the phantomlike phase of historical conferences and splendid promises into something actual--measured in fleets, squadrons and divisions, noisy with the clank of weapons and marching feet (see box). But it is an army existing only on paper until the governments give it weapons and men.

For Flexibility. Before the week was out, shunted mercilessly between congressional committees, the general did supply a few more facts, a few more guarded-opinions. He told a closed joint session of the Senate Foreign Relations and Armed Services Committees (over which Texas' Tom Connally presided, roaring warnings about the secrecy of the meeting) that the acceptable goal for the allied European army would be 40 divisions, 1,600,000 men, by the end of 1952. Within 18 months, Ike declared cautiously, the defenders of Europe would begin to have a chance of success.

He said that France would have 15 fully equipped divisions by that time. He said he would "welcome" the inclusion of Spain's half-million troops. He gave his approval to the idea of a foreign legion. He repaired one grievous omission in his congressional speech. He had neglected to mention the rearmament effort of Britain. Now he emphasized that Britain is contributing "very powerfully."

Unwillingly, Ike was drawn into the Great Debate--whether Congress should have veto power over the President's right to dispatch troops (as proposed by Senator Wherry), whether there should be a ceiling on numbers, or a fixed ratio of U.S. troops to Europeans (as proposed by Paul Douglas and Robert Taft). Under the glowering stare of Wherry, a member of neither committee (and there "on sufferance," Connally growled), the general properly sidestepped direct answers, arguing merely for "flexibility" in military planning. Before the House Foreign Affairs and Armed Services Committees, he said again that the "major and special" contribution of the U.S. should be equipment but thought that six U.S. divisions should be in Europe by the end of 1951. He was against fixed ceilings and arbitrary ratios.

He stressed the importance of sending some U.S. troops to Europe at once.

Members showed their anxieties by their questioning. What if the Russians decide to invade Europe tomorrow or in six months? What could be done? Nothing, the general confessed. Then why risk losing thousands of soldiers by sending them to Europe at once, why not wait until the allies have a better chance of defending Western Europe? Because of the effect it would have on the Europeans Eisenhower argued. One "unit," he said (he did not specify size) would be worth two or three "units" sent later. He reiterated his major theme: the first job is to "create a climate and a will for self-defense."

Then Ike was off to a meeting of the Senate Preparedness subcommittee to add his voice to the Pentagon's plea for a realistic draft bill (see Armed Forces).

After 1776, 1951. At week's end, nerves on edge but still smiling and buoyant, somewhat worn by his man-killing schedule, which he himself had insisted upon, he turned his face and voice to the U.S. public. From the Pentagon's studio he went on radio and TV.

Reading his speech (printed in 1 1/4inch letters on 30-by-40 cards and held across the room by aides so that he did not have to lower his eyes to his desk), he gazed into the nation's living rooms. Watchers saw a grave, soldierly figure, hands clasped before him, a familiar, cornfed, expressive American face furrowed with the sincerity of deep conviction. He was a man in a hurry, with a mission, speaking in his rapid voice that grated occasionally with weariness.

"We strive to erect a wall of security for the free world," he said. He recalled the courage of free men in another day--the French at Verdun in 1916, the Italians at Vittorio Veneto,* the British in 1940 "when they stood alone against Hitler." For Americans he recalled Valley Forge. "Indeed, if each of us now proves himself worthy of his countrymen fighting and dying in Korea, then success is sure . . . "Each of us must do his part. We cannot delay while we suspiciously scrutinize the sacrifices made by our neighbors, and through a weasling logic seek some way to avoid our own duties. If we Americans seize the lead, we will preserve and be worthy of our own past ... It is not my place as a soldier to dwell upon the politics, the diplomacy, the particular treaty arrangements." He was merely an individual "with some experience of war and peace." He had confidence in America. "We know that 150 million united Americans constitute the greatest temporal force that has ever existed on God's earth." They must join in common understanding of their role. Then 1951 might be recorded in history as brightly as the year 1776.

After the Word, the Crusade. Some Americans hardly looked up from their poker games and the dinner dishes. Others went on with their private arguments. But millions of Americans listened. Few of them seemed to be deeply stirred, but most of them were impressed. Their reaction was a remarkable tribute to a remarkable man: if Eisenhower says so, then that's the way it is. The U.S. was ready to take Ike's word for it.

He had done for the President what

Harry Truman could not do for himself. Ike appeared to have routed the calamity-howlers and the super-cautious--the Hoovers, the Kennedys, the Wherrys, the Tafts. By the end of the week, congressional opposition to the Administration's main military plans had all but collapsed. Congress and the people were behind the second Eisenhower crusade.

After Winter, Spring. In Europe, the reaction was dramatic. Britain, appalled by Eisenhower's first failure to give her credit for her effort, breathed an almost audible sigh of relief. Italians remembered their past glories. The non-Communists of France were lifted up. The whole of Western Europe, living under the shadow of the great peril, was more heartened than at any time in four years of daily threats, unending scares. Eisenhower had presented no certainties either to Europe or to his countrymen. He had offered only a risk. Little had happened except that Eisenhower had said what he had to say--and the Western world felt better.

He had presented the West with the heartening proposition that what it had to do it could do. He had rejected pessimism and the hopeless statistics which proved that Europe is licked. No other man could have said it and been believed by so many different people and parties and governments. In the disconsolate winter of 1951, the Western world heard a first, heartwarming note of spring.

*According to George Gallup, Eisenhower is the U.S. public's current choice for "Man of the Year" (see PEOPLE). He was TIME'S Man of the Year in 1944, appears this week for the sixth time on a TIME cover.

*A circumstance which alarmed the capital. But the general has complete faith in his pilot, Captain William Draper. Once, during the European tour, when bad weather set in between Rome and Luxembourg, Draper flew up to Luxembourg and made two practice landings before he went back to get his boss, waiting in Rome: "It's O.K., general, let's go." They went. In Copenhagen, Draper landed Eisenhower's plane under a 100-ft. ceiling.

*The climax of the counter offensive in 1918 when the Italians under Diaz rallied, drove back and destroyed the invading forces of Austria.

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