The Presidency

By Hugh Sidey

It was a dinner meeting of America's board of directors, heavily from the midland where they grow things and make things. Now that the Gorbachev glow has faded and the glitz is gone, George Bush and his crew have the tougher job of helping the Soviet Union gear up for the open world and the marketplace.

Bush called in some of capitalism's and democracy's best "workers" and thinkers to show Gorbachev his enthusiasm and sincerity, which is what official entertaining has been about since John Adams opened up the house. The guests journeyed into Washington by corporate jet (Ford's chairman, Harold Poling) and Amtrak (Princeton's legendary Soviet expert George Kennan). Washington Post publisher Donald Graham could not get his car past the befuddled White House police, so he hoofed it up the sidewalk.

Gorbachev's limousine was no longer than Armand Hammer's, and had the Soviet President put on black tie, he would have blended totally with the bankers and industrialists. "Gorbachev is old friends with more than half the people here," whispered one guest as he watched him clap the arm of NBC's Tom Brokaw (who interviewed him for U.S. television) and wring the hand of Dwayne Andreas, the world's soybean king, who sells the Soviets millions in beans and grains each year.

The White House served up native corn bread, lobster, beef and raspberries. Gorbachev ate it all with gusto. Clean-plate man. Former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger eyed him across the State Dining Room and thought the Russian looked remarkably serene given his troubles back home. Other Soviet experts listened to Gorbachev's long toast of muted optimism, almost a plea for true friendship, and sensed that he was a little less confident than on his Washington visit in 1987. Showtime is over, and a political animal like Gorbachev has a hard time descending to the boiler room where the work must be done.

^ "We need a road map for the future," Gorbachev told one guest. Nice to say, muttered a businessman, but tough to draw up. As the cabernet sauvignon flowed, other Soviets at the dinner declared themselves "looking for answers" to almost everything.

Billy Graham, his long hair trimmed up, sat right beneath the toasting Gorbachev; as the Russian, an official atheist, talked on about "a humane and just world," the Rev. Mr. Graham looked positively saintly.

The Hollywood contingent, out of the cast of Driving Miss Daisy, was low key. Gorbachev gave a discreet glance at Morgan Freeman's diamond earring, Jessica Tandy's ponytail, and said nothing. Gorbachev surveyed Senate majority leader George Mitchell, pronounced him "looking good." Mitchell promptly hustled the Soviet boss to come around to his native Maine on the next visit. The U.S. trade czar, Carla Hills, sat at Gorbachev's right but offered only a beatific smile when asked if she had cut any deals over the mixed spring salad. In the White House, candlelight and the aura of history soften the edges, bringing everyone closer together. That magic was at work Thursday night.