TIME - Man of the Year/CompactPublishing-TimeMagazine-TimeManOfTheYear-Win31MSDOS.iso/moy/kennedy/kennedy.07a

Text File | 1992-08-29 | 12.9 KB | 249 lines

                                                                                July 5, 1963

THE PRESIDENCY

Not Necessary, but Nice


     Before President Kennedy took off on his trip to Europe,
many a voice at home and abroad was raised in an old question
with new overtones: Is this trip necessary? The impetus for the
journey came from a January invitation from Italy's Premier
Amintore Fanfani, but Fanfani's government had since fallen, and
the President would be visiting an Italy in political turmoil.
In West Germany he would be calling on a lame-duck Chancellor;
in Britain his host would be the unhappy head of a
scandal-rocked Tory government. There were problems at home
that needed the President's attention. But by last week's end,
after completion of more than half the trip, it was clear that
while it may not have been necessary it certainly was nice.

     On the surface it gave Jack Kennedy the chance to perform
his best role -- as a political campaigner. For all of Europe to
see, he moved through cheering throngs as if he were running for
the Bundestag or the Dail.

     "Yours & Ours." Far deeper than this campaign triumph,
Kennedy made at least two substantive points. First, and most
important, he reasserted in clear, forceful terms the major aim
of U.S. policy toward Europe: to help Western Europe become a
strong, independent force of its own, linked by bonds of
friendship to a strong, independent U.S. To achieve that aim he
offered full risk by the U.S. "My stay in this country will be
all too brief," he said in Bonn, "but in a larger sense the
United States is here on this continent to stay so long as our
presence is desired and required: our forces and commitments
will remain, for your safety is our safety. Your liberty is our
liberty; and any attack on your soil is an attack upon our
own." In Frankfurt's historic Paulskirche (St. Paul's Church),
he expanded on the theme: "The first task of the Atlantic
Community was to assure its common defense. That defense was and
still is indivisible. The U.S. will risk its cities to defend
yours because we need your freedom to protect ours. Hundreds of
thousands of our soldiers serve with yours on this continent as
tangible evidence of this pledge." Emphasizing the need to
create "a fully cohesive Europe," he said that "the future of
the West lies in Atlantic partnership -- a system of
cooperation, interdependence and harmony whose people can
jointly meet their burdens and opportunities throughout the
world. Some say this is only a dream, but I do not agree."

     In his other major thrust, Kennedy took dead aim at
France's Charles de Gaulle, whose lofty vision of a future
Europe not only excludes U.S. influence but presupposes that
the U.S. would not make good its promises to help defend the
Continent: "Those who doubt our pledge, those who would
separate Europe from America or split one ally from another,
would only give aid and comfort to the men who make themselves
our adversaries and welcome any Western disarray. It is not in
our interest to try to dominate European councils of
decision...I repeat again, so that there may be no
misunderstanding: the choice of paths to the unity of Europe is
a choice which Europe must make."

     To the Heart. There seemed to be a danger that Kennedy's
straight talk might even further acerbate Franco-American
relations. But at a time when West Germany might be drawn to De
Gaulle's point of view, that risk was worth taking. The
immediate French reaction was a shrug, with a hint of a sniff.
France's Minister of Information Alain Peyrefitte said that his
government does not really distrust Kennedy's resolution to
defend Europe. But, he said, France does have a right to
question Kennedy's ability to impose his policies on his
presidential successors. "France," he said, "would have wished
in 1914 to have the United States at her side, as also in 1939,
when war broke out."

     But 1963 is not 1914 or 1939, and Charles de Gaulle knows
it. And he could not help realizing that Kennedy, in his clear
restatement of U.S. ambitions for a strong, independent Europe
and of unwavering U.S. determination to defend European
integrity by arms if necessary, reached the heart of Western
Europeans.


Campaigner in Action

     Konrad Adenauer's old face, long locked in the glacial
freeze of history, suddenly melted. "You see," he said, almost
chortling, to the President of the U.S., "there are some people
who want to see you."

     There certainly were -- by the hundreds of cheering
thousands. On the first leg of his European trip President
Kennedy's reception swept almost beyond the bounds of reality.
From Cologne to County Cork, in Bonn and Berlin, in Dublin and
Dunganstown, the emotional experiences built up. Some were
framed in laughter, others in tears -- and still others in
bitter reminders of man's inhumanity to man. There was tea in an
Irish barnyard and a mighty buss from a motherly country cousin.
There was a hushed moment as two men of different ages and ideas
-- Kennedy and Adenauer -- knelt and prayed together in the
vaulted, 14th century Cathedral of Cologne. There was, as viewed
from a West Berlin platform, the grim edifice of the Wall. More
than anything else, there were the crowds, crying, "Ken-ah-dee!
Ken-ah-dee! Ken-ah-dee!" And in their ecstasy of admiration,
they pummeled the President in a fashion that must have given
his doctors heart failure.

     The Wave. When he stepped down from his plane at Wahn
Airport near Bonn, the first stop on his journey, Kennedy
appeared weary. But no sooner did his motorcade start passing
through the thundering throngs than the campaigner revived. And
throughout West Germany, the crowds responded. Women fainted;
indeed, in Frankfurt, one gave birth right on the street. In
Hanau, a schoolboy cried: "He looks like a young Siegfried!"
Everywhere, homemade signs danced in the air: HURRAY FOR JOHNNY
and HI JOHN, THANKS AND KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK. Hand-held
American flags fluttered by the hundreds of thousands.

     To the citizens of Cologne, Kennedy brought greetings "from
America, including the citizens of Cologne, Minnesota; Cologne,
New Jersey; and even Cologne, Texas. As a citizen of Boston,
which takes pride in being the oldest city in the U.S., I find
it sobering to come to Cologne, where the Romans marched when
the Bostonians were in skins. [Kennedy was off by almost a
century. St. Augustine, Fla., was founded in 1565, as against
Boston's birth date of 1630. History Buff Kennedy pulled at
least two other historical gaffes. Speaking of Chancellor
Adenauer, he said: "Two years after his birth [in 1876],
General Custer and 500 of his cavalry were to be wiped out by
Sitting Bull and the Sioux Indians." Custer actually made his
last stand in 1876. Later, addressing the Irish Parliament,
Kennedy presented the Irish Republic with a Civil War battle
flag of the Irish Brigade. The brigade, said he, fought at
Fredericksburg, Md., on Sept. 13, 1862. The date was actually
Dec. 13, 1862. And it was Virginia, not Maryland.] May I greet
you with the old Rhenish saying: Kolle Alaff! [Hurray for
Cologne!]."

     In Frankfurt, Kennedy rode with Vice Chancellor Ludwig
Erhard, who is to take over from Adenauer next fall. Inspired by
the crowds, the President turned impulsively to Erhard. Said he:
"Let's stand up and wave." Asked a surprised Erhard, who is
unaccustomed to U.S.-style political caravans: "Was?" But
Kennedy, after first instructing Erhard about how to wave with
one hand and then the other to avoid tiring, finally persuaded
the future West German Chancellor to rise. By the end of the
Frankfurt motorcade, Erhard was outwaving Kennedy.

     The Wall. All this was in prelude to the deeply dramatic
visit to West berlin. There the Kennedy motorcade beat its way
for four hours along 35 miles of smiling humanity. Women broke
through the barricades, children grabbed for the President's
coat, people threw torrents of flowers. But Kennedy was grim as
he approached the Wall. The East Germans had deliberately
stretched three huge flags across the Brandenburg Gate so that
the view was obscured.

     The President mounted a specially built platform at the
Gate, gazed across at the stark, grey Communist city. Driving
over to Checkpoint Charlie, another part of the Wall, Kennedy
again mounted a platform, talked to U.S. Major General James
Polke, who pointed out key sites on the Eastern side. From
windows and from other sites, a few East Germans furtively waved
down handkerchiefs. When Kennedy stepped down, he looked like
a man who had just had a glimpse of Hell.

     "Let Them Come to Berlin." From Checkpoint Charlie,
President Kennedy drove to West Berlin's city hall, where he
addressed 150,000 people. Said he: "There are many people in
the world who really don't understand -- or say they don't --
what is the great issue between the free world and the
Communist world. Let them come to Berlin. There are some who say
that Communism is the wave of the future. Let them come to
Berlin. There are some who say in Europe and elsewhere, `We can
work with the Communists.' Let them come to Berlin. And there
are even a few who say that it's true that Communism is an evil
system but it permits us to make economic progress. Lass sie
nach Berlin kommen!"

     Throughout Kennedy's German journey, he and Erhard got
along famously -- thereby laying the groundwork for even closer
U.S.- German relations after Erhard takes power. And Konrad
Adenauer, who had been suspicious of the young American
President's determination to wage and win the cold war, was
finally conquered. Said he in a formal toast: "I don't
particularly like to make such acknowledgments, but let us face
it. Historic honesty requires that we say that the war which
destroyed Germany was provoked by Germany, that the United
States has shown the great vision to help the defeated enemy,
which was really a deed that is only very rarely found in
history." Kennedy, said Adenauer, was a noble heir to that
vision.

     Leaving Germany, Kennedy told Adenauer that he would leave a
sealed message at the White House for the next U.S. President to
open "when things aren't going well." It would contain only
three words: "Go to Germany."

     Irish Ayes. Next came Ireland -- and what a reel. After
all, reflected a Kennedy aide, "Germany was business. But
Ireland is fun." In his ancestral land, John Kennedy was Sean
(pronounced Shawn), of the good old clan O Cinneide. [The
Gaelic spelling of the name. This version and the anglicized
"Kennedy" have been used more or less interchangeably for
decades in County Wexford. Among those who still use the Irish
tongue, it is still O Cinneide, or just plain Cinneide.] The
Irish obviously considered Kennedy their own personal property.
Indeed, there were so many proud officials who wanted the
distinction of saying a few lovely words of welcome that the
Irish politicians took to arguing about who would be saying
what and when -- and for how long. A group of students lay down
on their backs to spell out the Gaelic word Failte --
"Welcome." Schoolchildren sang the rousing Boys of Wexford ("We
are the Boys of Wexford/ Who fought with heart and hand/ To
burst in twain the galling chain/ And free our native land").
Kennedy, a Wexford boy, his hair tousled, his face soft with
smiles, was delighted by it all.

     In his talks, Kennedy recalled that his great-grandfather
Patrick Kennedy "left here to become a cooper in East Boston. He
carried nothing with him except two things, a strong religious
faith and a strong desire for liberty. I am glad to say that all
of his great-grandchildren have valued that inheritance. I am
glad to be here. It took 115 years to make this trip, and 6,000
miles, and three generations."

     In Dunganstown, where Patrick Kennedy came from, the
President found Cousin Mary Ryan, sixtyish, and her two
daughters waiting for him. Their little farm had been
transformed only a few days before: the dirt yard had been laid
with concrete, and plumbers had installed an indoor bathroom
(wags dubbed it "John's john"). U. S. Secret Service Men
literally had to use force to break the grips of hands that
clutched at Kennedy. There were countless exchanges of gifts,
including a sheepskin mat, presented to Kennedy by his cousins.
"This," explained Old Family Doctor Martin Quigley, "is to be
put beside Mrs. Kennedy's bed for the arrival of twins in
August."

     Huge success that it was, Kennedy's sentimental journey in
Ireland lasted at least 24 hours too long. By the time he left,
the whole business had begun to get a little boring. At week's
end, as he flew over the Irish Sea on his way to England, even
Sean O Cinneide may have looked forward to a change of pace.
There he began quiet talks with Prime Minister Harold Macmillan,
who would surely welcome a chance to get his mind on something
other than his own government's troubles.