On Top Down Under

Pravda sneeringly called it a "Holly wood panorama." Indeed, President Johnson's Asian odyssey did at times seem more like a Bob Hope extrava ganza (The Road to Manila?) than a diplomatic errand of potential historic significance. The star of the show basked in all the attention he was getting from Hawaiian hula dancers and Samoan chieftains, spear-brandishing Maori warriors and confetti-throwing Aussies. His hand was puffed and bleeding from countless handshakes, his voice hoarse from scores of official and unofficial speeches, his feelings bruised by catcalling Vietniks and placards bearing such slogans as THE YELLOW ROGUE OF TEXAS. Even so, Lyndon Johnson was clearly relishing almost every moment of his first overseas trip as President.

In the first week of the President's 17-day, six-nation swing through Asia, he seized every opportunity to talk seriously to his audiences abroad and back home as well. He emphasized that his trip, far from being an electioneering gimmick, was undertaken with the compelling purpose of redefining America's role in the Pacific while encouraging Asia's emerging nations toward a new spirit of regional unity and cooperation. Whether or not they can succeed, Johnson repeatedly made clear, is a question that cannot even be asked until the war is ended. Yet at the very beginning of his trip, even before leaving Dulles International Airport, the President emphasized that the problems of pacification and reconstruction in Viet Nam--not just of military strategy--were uppermost in his mind.

No Rabbits. Air Force One was loaded with Texas-sized steaks, low-calorie Dr. Pepper soda, tapioca pudding, and tons of communications gear. Ahead flew a jet cargo plane carrying the bubble-top limousine and the Secret Service's ponderous "Queen Mary." Behind flew two jets with 130 newsmen. Below, U.S. Navy vessels were strung out at protective intervals of 100 miles; all land-based U.S. military establishments en route were on alert until the presidential craft passed.

As soon as Johnson reached Honolulu, White House Press Secretary Bill Moyers, returning from a scouting trip of Asia, reported the unsettling news that many people anticipated spectacular developments at this week's seven-nation conference. Hastily, the President wrote some cautionary lines into his arrival speech. "We do not expect to pull any rabbits out of any hats at Manila," he said. "We know that the greatest weapons in Viet Nam are patience and unity."

Grasping Realities. At the East-West Center on the University of Hawaii's campus, the President noted that while the U.S. was once interested in Asia chiefly as a trade outlet, and had thus pursued the policy of "the open door," its policy today "must be the policy of an open mind." He added: "I am convinced that we have now reached a turning point in Asia's history, in Asia's relations with the U.S., in Asia's relations with the rest of the world." More and more, he said, Asia is "casting off the spent slogans of narrow nationalism" and "grasping the realities of an interdependent Asia." Those realities, he noted, are that: 1) "the security of every nation is threatened by an attack of any nation," 2) "political power held by the few and the rich within a nation is power that will not survive," and 3) "Asia's destiny lies in the hands of Asians."

The President held out a tentative hand to Peking--and a warning as well. "We do not believe in eternal enmity," he said. "We look to the day when the policies of mainland China will permit reconciliation. But we are not prepared to pay for peace with the price of freedom."

Pago `a Go-Go. When the presidential party touched down for a 115-minute refueling stop at Pago Pago (pronounced pongo pongo or pahgo pahgo) on the American Samoan isle of Tutuila next day, nearly one-fourth of its 22,000 people turned out, carrying umbrellas and banyan branches against the blazing sun. Along the tapa-cloth welcome mat, 50 bare-chested chiefs and their wives took part in the Pago `a Go-Go, draping the President with ulas--Samoan leis--made of shells. In an even more honorific ritual, the Johnsons were offered coconut shells filled with a bitter concoction made from pulverized roots and known as kava. Lyndon barely touched the cup to his lips; but Lady Bird, offered the cup by a chief with a hibiscus tucked behind his ear, gamely gulped about a teaspoonful (she allowed later that "it had a medicinal taste").

Heartening as were the turnouts in Honolulu and Pago Pago, the President's greatest reception awaited him after he crossed the international dateline. At New Zealand's Ohakea Royal Air Force Station, a grimacing Maori with a poised spear advanced on the Johnsons in the traditional "friend or foe?" challenge. In tribute to the first U.S. President to visit his country, the warrior dropped two darts at his feet (Queen Elizabeth rates three).

Astounded Wellington. In the handsome, hilly, normally staid city of Wellington, the President found that he was indeed regarded as a friend. There was some razzing from Viet Nam protesters; and the BOBBY KENNEDY FOR PRESIDENT banners that were to plague him throughout the area--including a huge one draped on a mountainside outside Wellington--began appearing. But the enthusiasm of the lunch-hour crowds that stood six and eight deep along Customhouse Quay and Lambton Quay outweighed the undercurrent of dissent. If the reception delighted Johnson, his reaction astounded New Zealanders, who are accustomed to the aseptic pomp of visits by British royalty. L.B.J. charged out of the bubble-top at practically every corner to shake hands, raised his hands over his head in a gesture made famous by Dwight Eisenhower, and delivered a few hundred choice words at every opportunity.

At a parliamentary lunch in Wellington, the President spoke of Viet Nam. "It is tragic that this war, this war of terror and bloodshed, must be fought before Asia can be fully free to wage the other war--against hunger and disease," he said. He put a question to the leaders of North Viet Nam: "What can be gained by continuing a war you cannot win? What can be lost by joining with your brothers in Southeast Asia in a different kind of war--a war for human dignity, a war for health and enlightenment, a war for your children and generations of children to come?"

Canine Greeters. In Australia, a fellow Texan--U.S. Ambassador Edward ("Big Ed") Clark--had taken pains to assure a smooth visit for the Johnsons and had a special 7-ft. bed installed for the boss. The Aussies did the rest. "He's a good bloke!" cried one old lady, and Lyndon felt that way about the blokes who lined the roads. Driving into Canberra, the President stopped his motorcade nine times to wade into cheering crowds, keeping Governor General Richard Casey waiting 30 minutes as a result. The performance left Prime Minister Harold Holt, who is up for re-election Nov. 26, in something of a daze. "I'm glad you're not standing for Prime Minister," he told Lyndon.

Roaring off to sedate Victorian Melbourne, Johnson found half a million people choking the streets. At one point, the President paused to review an honor guard of 57 canine greeters assembled by the Victoria Beagle Society and lifted one--not by the ears--onto the limousine's bubble-top. At another stop, Johnson stepped out for some handshaking, saw a young man with a placard reading L.B.J.--BLOODFINGER. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" chided the President. The boy put down his sign.

As the motorcade wound slowly through the streets, two brothers, aged 24 and 22, dashed out and dumped two plastic bags full of red and green paint over the windshield and top of the President's limousine. While Australian police hauled the men away, paint-spattered Secret Service Agent Lem Johns, who was unsure of what was happening, shouted to the President's driver, "Go...go...go...!" When the car drew up at Melbourne's Government House, the Johnsons emerged undaunted and undaubed (all the windows had been closed). "Well," cracked Lyndon, "we got a colorful reception."

In the Trenches. Sydney's welcome was even wilder--too wild, in fact. At the airport, the President enthused: "You've treated us like we really belong here." "You do, you do!" several men shouted in reply. Most Aussies plainly agreed. Cheering and waving, more than a million of them lined Johnson's eight-mile route into the city. But as his motorcade approached Hyde Park, several hundred demonstrators were waiting. They were well prepared. Australian intelligence reported that they had intercepted messages from Melbourne Communists advising sympathizers in Sydney on how to disrupt the President's visit. They tried hard enough, pelting the motorcade with toilet paper, black streamers and bomb-shaped balloons, screaming "Go home, fascist pigs!" and trying to hurl themselves in front of the slow-moving limousines.

It was the ugliest scene that Johnson has ever encountered. The Secret Serv ice decided to take no chances, ordered the cavalcade to gun through the streets at 30 m.p.h., leaving thousands of friendly Australians with no more than a disappointingly brief, blurred glimpse of the Johnsons as they whizzed by.

Despite the demonstrations, Johnson emerged on top after his days down under. Along with a planeload of gifts ranging from a brace of albino kangaroos to miniature Samoan canoes, he was accorded an impressive measure of approval--occasionally in spite of himself. Too often, the President seemed somewhat heavyhanded, particularly in his ponderous praise for Prime Minister Holt and his references to American affluence. He dwelt endlessly on his own limited wartime service in New Zealand and Australia; and his martial derring-do sounded more Mittyesque with each telling, until, at Melbourne's airport, he conjured up a picture of Navy Lieut. Commander Johnson side by side with the Aussies "in the trenches," battling the Japanese. Finally, at a Texas-sized barbecue (1,200 lbs. of steak, 800 double lamb chops, and strawberry ice cream in kangaroo-shaped molds) outside Canberra, the President turned up in full Western rancher's regalia--brown twill trousers, brown shirt, brown tie, brown jacket with brown leather presidential seal, cowboy boots and tan Stetson. The 750 guests, dressed in business suits and garden-party dresses, were slightly jarred by the sight.

Turning a Page. Winding up the first leg of his trip, the President flew to Townsville on Australia's northeastern coast to attend church, then flew into Manila to join Secretary of State Dean Rusk and the heads of state and Foreign Ministers of the six other nations attending the conference. The Philippine capital had a bright, brushed-and-combed look for his arrival: most of the potholes on main avenues had been filled; the pimps, prostitutes and "bini boys" (homosexuals) had been hustled out of sight; Malacanang Palace had been refurbished; and the aging Manila Hotel, where the delegations are holed up, got its first fumigation in memory.

In his prepared arrival statement, Johnson said: "I come to Manila at a moment when Asia and Asians are turning a page in history. With the government of South Viet Nam, six countries of Asia and the Pacific will take stock of the struggle against aggression. We each know that if aggression succeeds in Viet Nam, world peace is endangered as well as the national security of every nation in the region. For that reason we have each made the hardest decision a nation can make--we have sent our sons overseas to fight for the independence of another people."

In Manila--and during his subsequent visits to Thailand, Malaysia, Korea and possibly Viet Nam--the President intends to show that the U.S., like the nations of Asia, is also working toward new relationships. As South Korea's Foreign Minister Lee Tong Won told New York Times Correspondent Robert Trumbull last week, "Many people tend to think that Americans are high-nosed toward Asians. The Americans fail to realize, on the other hand, that among emerging Asian nations the U.S. has more influence on new patterns of life than, for instance, China."

Lyndon Johnson's Far Eastern mission is an attempt to change both attitudes. He hopes to rally U.S. support for his Asian policies--not least at the polls on Nov. 8--while seeking to persuade the world that the U.S., far from being "high-nosed," genuinely wants to ally itself with Asians as an equal, not as a dominant partner. He is determined to convince the nations of the region that America, as a Pacific power, has no intention of abandoning Asia, nor has it any ambition there but to help create a better life for Asia's people.

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