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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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11208900.064
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1990-09-19
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WORLD, Page 33The PresidencyPresent at the ConstructionBy Hugh Sidey
All summer long John Kennedy had brooded, waiting for Nikita
Khrushchev to make good on his threat to get rid of "the bone in
my throat" -- partitioned Berlin. But he had not anticipated what
would happen on that warm August afternoon in 1961 when he set out
from Hyannis Port, Mass., on the yacht Marlin loaded with family
and his favorite picnic dish, fish chowder.
When the flash came from Washington that the Wall was going up,
the Army major on duty became so agitated that he walked into the
surf in full uniform to deliver the bulletin to Brigadier General
Chester Clifton, the President's military aide, who was swimming
just offshore.
Clifton signaled the Marlin back and handed Kennedy the terse
message. "You all go ahead," J.F.K. told his family. "I won't be
out." He climbed into a golf cart with Clifton and in silence rode
to his house. "Why in hell didn't we know about it?" he blurted,
not expecting an answer. "What can we do?" he asked, turning to
Clifton. "What can the military do?" Clifton told him that out of
some 40 contingency plans for Berlin, he could not recall a single
one dealing with a wall being built between the Soviet and Allied
sectors. In fact, there was not much he could do.
Later, in the Oval Office, he sighed that the Wall would stay
until the Soviets tired of it. "We could have sent tanks over and
knocked the Wall down," he mused. "What then? They build another
one back a hundred yards? We knock that down, then we go to war?"
When Kennedy did see the Wall, the event became one of the
great spectacles of the cold war, his speech one of the most
memorable in his presidency. When Kennedy flew into Berlin that
June morning, he had a text that did not please him. "You think
this is any good?" he asked the U.S. Berlin commander, Major
General James Polk, who had joined the Kennedy caravan. Polk
scanned the speech and replied bluntly, "I think it is terrible."
Kennedy agreed and began to write a new one. But before he taunted
the builders of the Wall, he rode four hours through the streets
of West Berlin in the midst of a human fury of adoration
intensified by the city's constant isolation. Nothing before in
Kennedy's exuberant political life had approached this
demonstration of between 1 million and 2 million cheering, roaring
Germans.
At Checkpoint Charlie he asked that family members and other
guests not climb up to the viewing stand. Mouth set, Kennedy
studied the strange, gray emptiness before him. Then, in far
windows in East Berlin apartments, three women appeared waving
handkerchiefs. "Isn't that kind of dangerous?" wondered Kennedy.
Yes, he was told. Kennedy stood several seconds in tribute to those
tiny figures.
The crowd that waited for him to speak in front of West
Berlin's city hall occupied every foot of the square and all the
connecting streets. Kennedy raised his jaw and chopped the air with
his hand, his voice growing ragged as he shouted his challenges to
the other world and answered with his famous refrain, "Let them
come to Berlin." In that moment the tribute Kennedy gave to those
people was as honorably held, as profoundly pure as anything he had
ever said. It was made of truth and given to history. "Ich bin ein
Berliner."