DREW

PAPERS

THE

William R. Hersch

Lieutenant Colonel, USAF

13

Images of

Inherited War

ree American Presidents

in Vietnam
Air University

David S. Fadok, Lieutenant General, Commander and President

School of Advanced Air and Space Studies

Jeffrey J. Smith, Colonel, PhD, Commandant and Dean
AIR UNIVERSITY

SCHOOL OF ADVANCED AIR AND SPACE STUDIES

Images of Inherited War

Three American Presidents in Vietnam

William R. Hersch

Lieutenant Colonel, USAF

Drew Paper No. 13

Air University Press

Air Force Research Institute

Maxwell Air Force Base, Alabama
Project Editor

Jeanne K. Shamburger

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Hersch, William R., 1972–

 Images of inherited war : three American presidents in Vietnam 

/ William R. Hersch, Lt. Colonel, USAF.

 pages cm. — (Drew paper, ISSN 1941-3785 ; no. 13)

 Includes bibliographical references.

 ISBN 978-1-58566-249-4

 1. Vietnam War, 1961–1975—Public opinion. 2. Vietnam War, 

1961–1975—United States. 3. Kennedy, John F. (John Fitzgerald), 

1917–1963—Public opinion. 4. Johnson, Lyndon B. (Lyndon 

Baines), 1908–1973—Public opinion. 5. Nixon, Richard M. 

(Richard Milhous), 1913–1994—Public opinion. 6. Political 

culture—United States—History—20th century. 7. Public 

opinion—United States—History—20th century. I. Title. 

 DS559.62.U6H46 2014

 959.704’31–dc23

 2014034552

Published by Air University Press in February 2014

Disclaimer

Opinions, conclusions, and recommendations expressed or implied 

within are solely those of the authors and do not necessarily represent the official policy or position of the organizations with which 

they are associated or the views of the School of Advanced Air 

and Space Studies, Air Force Research Institute, Air University, 

United States Air Force, Department of Defense, or any other US 

government agency. This publication is cleared for public release 

and unlimited distribution. 

This Drew Paper and others in the series are available electronically 

at the AU Press website: http://aupress.au.af.mil.

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The Drew Papers

The Drew Papers are award-winning master’s theses selected for publication by the School of Advanced Air and Space Studies (SAASS), Maxwell 

AFB, Alabama. This series of papers commemorates the distinguished career 

of Col Dennis “Denny” Drew, USAF, retired. In 30 years at Air University, 

Colonel Drew served on the Air Command and Staff College faculty, directed 

the Airpower Research Institute, and served as dean, associate dean, and professor of military strategy at SAASS. Colonel Drew is one of the Air Force’s 

most extensively published authors and an international speaker in high 

demand. He has lectured to over 100,000 students at Air University as well as 

to foreign military audiences. In 1985 he received the Muir S. Fairchild Award 

for outstanding contributions to Air University. In 2003 Queen Beatrix of the 

Netherlands made him a Knight in the Order of Orange-Nassau for his contributions to education in the Royal Netherlands Air Force.

The Drew Papers are dedicated to promoting the understanding of air and 

space power theory and application. These studies are published by the Air 

University Press and broadly distributed throughout the US Air Force, the 

Department of Defense, and other governmental organizations, as well as to 

leading scholars, selected institutions of higher learning, public-policy institutes, and the media.
Please send inquiries or comments to

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iv
v

Contents

Foreword vii

About the Author ix

Acknowledgements xi

Abstract xiii

 1 Introduction 1

 2 From Quarks to Cognition: An Overview of Image Theory 9

Quantum Physics and Model-Dependent Realism 10

Schema, Analogies, and Problem Representation 12

Security Schemas of the Vietnam Era 15

Image 20

Conclusion 26

 3 Kennedy: “Containment” from Camelot to Cam Ranh Bay 33

Presidential Image 34

Images of Vietnam, Total War, and a New Generation 35

From Inheritance to Legacy: Kennedy’s New Table 48

 4 From Texas to Tet: Johnson’s Posse of Lies 69

Johnson Saddled 69

Image of a New Frontiersman 71

A New Seat, a New President, and a New War 79

“Limited War” and the Arc of Perception 97

Johnson Rides Away 109

 5 From San Clemente to Saigon: Nixon’s Five O’Clock Shadow 125

A “Winning Image”: Beards, Boy Scouts, and the Ugly King 125

A New Myth for an Old War 131

The Utility of Madness 142

The Hammer of Peace 143

The Hollow Peace 153

On Image, Nixon, and Inheritance 155
vi

 6 Conclusions 165

Final Thoughts 170

A Note for Future Study 170

Abbreviations 173

Bibliography 175
vii

Foreword

The American experience in Vietnam casts a shadow that extends well into 

the present century. In fact, if one were to search for parallel context and 

present relevance in the history of this country’s wars, Vietnam might offer 

the most compelling case. Such relevance becomes even more acute if one is 

interested in how American wars progress from one presidential administration to the next. 

Inherited war is indeed the fate of three American presidencies in the Vietnam era, and the psychology of inheritance is the subject of this study. Lt Col 

William Hersch illuminates the importance of cognition in over a decade of 

conflict by projecting the personas of Kennedy, Johnson, and Nixon onto the 

war they inherited. In a word, Hersch’s analysis boils down to image. Image 

conditions agenda, and agenda leads to outcome. While image is not everything, it is indeed central to the formulation of policy in the transition of 

embattled administrations. Thus, we should not be surprised to find elements 

of Camelot in Kennedy’s war or Texas politics in Johnson’s and even a little of 

Nixon’s five o’clock shadow in the denouement of the conflict. In each case, 

cognitive forces that derive from baggage inherited from the previous administration, as well as the life experience of the incumbent, dominate structural 

and social factors in shaping the course of the war. 

Images of Inherited War: Three American Presidents in Vietnam reflects 

thorough research, imaginative conceptualization, and an engaging literary 

style. These qualities garnered for it the 2011 First Command Financial Planning Prize for the best School of Advanced Air and Space Studies thesis in the 

field of leadership and ethics. Colonel Hersch not only sheds new light on the 

Vietnam conflict but also sets the stage for some hard thinking about contemporary American conflicts that became legacy for more than one president. 

Stephen D. Chiabotti, PhD

Vice Commandant

School of Advanced Air and Space Studies

ix

About the Author

Lt Col William Hersch is a B-1B instructor weapons system officer and 

completed this study as part of the graduation requirements for a master’s 

degree in military philosophy from the School of Advanced Air and Space 

Studies at Maxwell AFB, Montgomery, Alabama. A graduate of Colorado 

State University with a degree in English literature, Colonel Hersch also holds 

a master’s in business administration and is a graduate of Air Command and 

Staff College with a master’s degree in military arts and sciences. Colonel 

Hersch is an Air University doctoral candidate pursuing a PhD in military 

strategy. He has accumulated nearly 2,000 flight hours in multiple aircraft and 

is a decorated veteran of Operations Enduring Freedom and Iraqi Freedom. 

He and his wife have a three-year-old son.

xi

Acknowledgments

I would like to acknowledge several people whose patience, understanding, and assistance made this endeavor not only possible but also infinitely 

less painful. Dr. Stephen Chiabotti’s guidance and patience as my thesis adviser 

were instrumental. He made sure that the project was “well fed,” and his creative 

mixture of both “carrots and sticks” kept me moving and on track. I also want 

to thank Dr. James Forsyth for his help in shepherding my study from inception 

to completion. 

Additional thanks are owed to Dr. James Kiras, Dr. Thomas Hughes, and 

the rest of the School of Advanced Air and Space Studies faculty for their 

empathetic ears and suggestions. Like any writer, I stood on a lot of shoulders. 

In particular, I leaned on the academic works of Dr. Jeffrey Kimball and Dr. 

Stephen Randolph for their excellent coverage of Pres. Richard Nixon during 

the Vietnam era. Dr. Randolph’s early encouragement and advice also provided much-needed momentum. Michael Beschloss’s recently released book 

on the Johnson tapes was also an excellent source. These authors supply the 

bedrock for any study of the presidents during the Vietnam era. 

Most of all, however, I wish to thank my wife. In the end, what lies herein are 

just words, and during the course of my labor to tease out the right ones, she ran 

everything else, and it was through her that all of the real work was done.

xiii

Abstract

This study examines how cognitive forces shape grand wartime strategy 

across successive presidential administrations. By analyzing Vietnam through 

the lens of image and cognitive theory, the author attempts to answer the 

question, How did presidential image affect agendas and outcomes during the 

Kennedy, Johnson, and Nixon administrations? Specifically, the author examines the presidencies of Kennedy, Johnson, and Nixon through key decision 

points and policy shifts during the Vietnam War in an effort to unveil the 

substantial cognitive forces with which presidents must contend, and often 

counter, when they inherit war. It is the author’s hope that revealing the confluence of images, agendas, and outcomes during the Vietnam War will make 

current and future decision makers more aware of the impact that cognitive 

forces have in shaping war’s trajectory. Moreover, he hopes that by examining 

Vietnam through the lens of presidential image, a broader conceptualization 

of “war as inheritance” will emerge. Ultimately, this study may help minimize 

current and future cognitive pitfalls in the development and execution of 

grand strategy, particularly when policy makers face the daunting challenge 

of inherited war. It also establishes the foundation for a larger project that not 

only examines Vietnam more broadly but also analyzes how image and inheritance influenced grand strategy in Afghanistan.

1

Chapter 1

Introduction

After the brilliantly successful air campaign in Operation Desert Storm, 

Pres. George H. W. Bush exclaimed, “By God, we’ve kicked the Vietnam Syndrome once and for all.”1

 The same President Bush told the New York Times in 

1992 that he hesitated to get involved in Bosnia because he did “not want to 

see the United States bogged down in any way into some guerrilla warfare. 

We’ve lived through that once already.”2

 After the Dayton Agreement that 

ended the conflict in Bosnia and Herzegovina, President Clinton reflected on 

the resistance he encountered arguing for American peacekeepers, commenting that “everybody said, oh, it was going to be just like Vietnam. It was going 

to be a bloody quagmire, even though there was a peace agreement.”3

 Within 

19 days of the start of the air campaign in Operation Enduring Freedom, 

press reports and pundits circulated conjecture that the United States was 

risking another Vietnam. “It’s a flawed plan,” wrote William Kristol in the 

Washington Post, and on 31 October the New York Times headlined R. W. 

Apple Jr.’s article “Could Afghanistan Become Another Vietnam?”4

 The second 

Bush administration’s aversion to any formal nation-building mission also 

stemmed from wanting to avoid the kind of dubious and protracted military 

missions and objectives that plagued Vietnam.5

 Vietnam analogies so permeated the public discourse of the Afghanistan war that when Mazar-i-Sharif fell 

in November 2001 and US progress became apparent, Defense Secretary 

Donald Rumsfeld famously joked with the press corps, “ ‘The suggestions that 

things had not gone well initially were uninformed. It looked like nothing was 

happening. Indeed, it looked like we were in a’—the Secretary paused so that 

the reporters could complete his sentence in unison—‘quagmire’ ” (emphasis 

in original).6

In February of 2009, during a National Security Council (NSC) review of 

potential options in Afghanistan, the Obama administration debated whether 

it should send more ground troops in support of Gen David McKiernan’s 

emerging counterinsurgency strategy. Richard Holbrooke brought the debate 

to an abrupt halt when he asserted that “history should not be forgotten,” 

referencing the same discussions President Johnson and his advisers had had 

over Vietnam 44 years earlier.7

 “Ghosts,” Obama whispered into the “confused 

silence.”8

 The Vietnam War has embedded itself deep within the American 

political and military psyche. Whether decision makers invoke Vietnam for 

points of caution or contrast, the war lingers. One of the central books for 
INTRODUCTION

2

Obama and his advisers in framing their agenda for the war in Afghanistan 

was Gordon M. Goldstein’s Lessons in Disaster, a candid assessment of presidential and institutional decision making during the Vietnam War.9

 Vietnam’s 

ghosts come in many shades. Some literary works, such as Lewis Sorley’s A 

Better War, see the specters of failed political objectives that compromised 

valid military strategy and undercut victory. Others, like David Halberstam in 

The Best and the Brightest, point to a policy that was too smart for its own 

good, blaming arrogance and deception by the ruling elite for America’s illfated slide to defeat. In Dereliction of Duty, H. R. McMaster laments that the 

“disaster in Vietnam was not the result of impersonal forces but [of] a uniquely 

human failure, the responsibility for which was shared by President Johnson 

and his principal military and civilian advisers . . . and, above all, [the result 

of] the abdication of responsibility to the American people.”10 Robert Pape 

calls the American civilian and military leadership’s failure to pay sufficient 

attention “to the relationship between American military action and the enemy’s 

goals [the] decisive error” in Vietnam (emphasis in original).11

Undoubtedly, a litany of perspectives and nuances on Vietnam is refracted 

through history’s prism. But no historical reflection, as George Kennan points 

out, can give us the answer: “The historian can never prove that a better comprehension of realities would have prevented any specific calamity or obviated 

any of the major human predicaments. He can only say that in the law of averages it should have helped.”12 History can tell us what might have been helpful 

or unhelpful, but it can’t tell us, for certain, that if only the actors had done 

this or that, things would have turned out exactly as desired. Policy and war 

are sticky. Information is certainly never perfect, and strategy is rarely flawless. 

Unlike baseball, there is no “perfect game.” Then again, even in baseball, 

perfection is elusive—as fans and players discovered in June 2010 following 

the game between Detroit and Cleveland. After the game, consensus could 

not be reached on whether Detroit pitcher Armando Galarraga did in fact 

pitch the 21st perfect game in history after instant replay revealed that umpire 

Jim Joyce mistakenly called Cleveland’s runner safe.13 The ultimate decision 

not to award Galarraga with a perfect game angered as many as it satisfied, 

demonstrating that “truth” is rarely without caveat. What this all means, 

really, is that not just politics but anything involving people is sticky. No matter 

the strength of conviction, there is no absolute truth, solution, or satisfaction. 

Otherwise, wars’ problems would fold neatly in their boxes to be shelved. 

There would be no need to dredge up the past repeatedly, thinking that maybe, 

this time, if we hold them just right and shine the light just so, wars’ confounding mysteries will finally give themselves up. If there were such absoluteness, we could just tally the wins and losses and get on with our lives. But 
INTRODUCTION

3

there isn’t. There are only shades. And those shades of Vietnam still echo and 

rattle and haunt our halls of power. As alluded to in the opening of this paper, 

images of Vietnam ripple under the surface of current policy just as they have 

done for decades. The war is part of our national schema, which filters and 

shapes how we think about conflicts today and informs the how, where, and 

why of American foreign policy—as very well it should. 

At the war’s peak in 1968, more than 537,377 American servicemen were 

deployed to Vietnam, and by its end more than 58,000 troops had died.14 The 

United States spent nearly $200 billion ($660 billion in current US dollars) on 

Vietnam.15 In addition to the costs in men and material, Vietnam incurred 

great spiritual costs. Resentment, disillusionment, and even an occasional 

nationalistic amnesia have colored post-Vietnam America, spawned a wide 

body of literature, and burrowed into the minds of citizens, Soldiers, and 

decision makers.16 That Vietnam was such an inflective event means any analysis 

of the war is ripe with both opportunity and danger. Though no two wars are 

alike—and no claim is here made that Afghanistan is like Vietnam—contemporary 

lessons can most certainly be drawn from “America’s longest war.” The danger 

comes in trying to uncover the real story and the real lessons. Politics and war 

are convoluted, and truth is elusive. How individuals image events initially 

may be very different from reality, and both image and reality evolve. For our 

part, we will accept that the true story and lessons change over time. Vietnam 

may well be frozen in the past, but it continues to live and evolve through history. 

As mentioned, countless books and documents exist on the Vietnam War; 

this paper neither makes any claim to encapsulate or do justice to them nor 

attempts to overthrow one school of thought for another. Instead, given the 

influence that Vietnam continues to exert, I thought it appropriate to shake 

the hornet’s nest once again and see what flies out. 

Despite the many contrasts between Vietnam and Afghanistan, one undeniably congruent aspect links both wars—each war spans several presidential administrations. Additionally, Vietnam and Afghanistan cost far more in 

money, people, and time than was ever initially intended, and presidents of 

both parties were forced to wrestle with these conflicts. Vietnam provides the 

opportunity to examine war as inheritance from the vantage point of history 

through a lens of our choosing. In so doing, we might find value for modern 

decision makers wrestling with their own inherited conflicts. Since Vietnam 

is today so embedded in our national political and military schema, with both 

decision makers and pundits drawing on their own images of the conflict, it is 

appropriate to examine how Kennedy, Johnson, and Nixon themselves saw 

the war. How did each of these three Vietnam-era presidents’ images of Vietnam shape their agendas and outcomes? What was pushed forward across 
INTRODUCTION

4

administrations, and how did each ascending president contend with the 

war’s inertia and subsequently formulate his own image to represent the Vietnam problem? What might each president’s image reveal about the metaconstruct of containment strategy and the overarching tenets and “truths” of 

the Cold War? Most importantly, perhaps, and the central questions of this 

essay: How did each president’s image shape agendas, drive outcomes, and 

determine his successor’s inheritance? What can decision makers today learn 

from this process? 

To that end, we examine primary and secondary sources, drawing out each 

president’s image of the war, his agenda, and the outcomes of his approach. In 

the parlance of political science, we attempt to treat the Vietnam War as the 

dependent variable while presidential images and agendas serve as the independent variables. Though we draw on documents, literature, perspectives, 

and correspondences involving various actors, institutions, principals, and 

advisers, our units of analysis are the presidents themselves, who represent 

the aggregate of the foreign policy establishment. The presidents provide the 

lens through which we seek to ascertain the relationship among image, 

agenda, and outcomes in national decision making and the degree to which 

this relationship affects subsequent administrations. Today’s battlespace may 

in fact swell with ever-increasing networks of machines, weaponry, and information and communication technologies, yet war remains a distinctly human 

affair. As such, the study of war not only leads to but also demands sober 

consideration of the cognitive forces that drive and shape it. By examining the 

relationship among image, agendas, and outcomes, current and future decision makers might better anticipate predispositions and minimize the degree 

to which predilections subvert policy and dissuade effective representation of 

problems. “We must be clear-sighted in beginnings,” wrote Montaigne, “for, 

as in their budding we discern not the danger, so in their full growth we perceive not the remedy.”17 War is seeded in image, so it is in image where we 

must look for our clearer beginnings. The following is the road map for this 

paper:

Chapter 2 establishes an overview of image theory. While it is not the purpose of this study to establish and subsequently prove a theoretical model for 

explaining presidential behavior and policy, it warrants a review of cognitive 

theory. Neither this study nor the theories it reviews purport to offer a comprehensive explanatory model for political behavior in war or in peace. However, since it is a purpose to inspire a keener awareness of the influences that 

cognitive forces have on decision making, some foundational concepts will 

prove useful. To that end, we explore Stephen Hawking’s theory of modeldependent realism; cognitive theories from Robert Jervis, Yuen Foong Khong, 
INTRODUCTION

5

and others; as well as Kenneth E. Boulding’s image theory. Cognitive processes in international decision making afford a wide body of literature. We 

review some of the more salient aspects as a way to present the Vietnam 

War as a “problem” both defined and “solved” through the belief structures 

of the presidents. 

Though the United States had been involved in Vietnam throughout the 

Eisenhower administration, chapter 3 begins with an analysis of John F. 

Kennedy’s administration. While Kennedy refrained from the overt commitment of US combat troops to Vietnam, he did greatly increase America’s commitments there as he simultaneously pursued a grander vision. Kennedy 

pushed for broader, unconventional military capabilities, interpreting the 

new fronts of the Cold War as aligning with “wars of national liberation.” 

Kennedy’s approach to Vietnam, like that of all presidents of the era, was also 

very much informed by Cold War containment theory. Kennedy broached a 

new dimension, however, by departing from Eisenhower’s policies of massive 

retaliation and sought a nimbler position through what became known as 

flexible response. Despite Kennedy’s “triumph” in 1961, when he resisted 

pressures from the joint chiefs for combat troops, the young president did 

increase the number of US advisers from 400 to over 16,000. Additionally, his 

correspondence with South Vietnamese president Ngo Dinh Diem, speeches, 

and policy papers reveal his increasing concerns over Vietnam and his sense 

of the growing importance of the country to US security interests. These facts, 

combined with the somewhat complicit nature of the United States’ role in the 

coups and ultimate assassination of Diem in 1963, transformed US commitment from a toehold to a foothold. Vietnam became a “laboratory” not only 

for new theories on limited war and counterinsurgency but also for the 

emerging ideals of Kennedy’s generation on governance and for the United 

States’ role in the world. Ultimately, Kennedy’s zeal set the United States on a 

course from which there was “no turning back.”18

Chapter 4 examines how Pres. Lyndon Johnson tackled the issues he inherited. 

The assassination of Kennedy on the heels of Diem’s murder left Johnson with 

some large shoes to fill. In his first speech to the nation, Johnson committed 

himself to the continuance of Kennedy’s policies. The problem was that 

though Kennedy’s policies had firmly planted US boots in Vietnam, the exact 

shape of the foot to fill them was still not decided. Like many of his political 

generation, Johnson was committed to protecting the world from Communism. Johnson was determined not to let Kennedy’s and the Democrats’ rise 

to power flail under his watch, and a successful Vietnam policy was critical. 

Losing Vietnam, in Johnson’s words, would result in “a mean and destructive 

debate . . . that would shatter my Presidency, kill my administration, and damage 
INTRODUCTION

6

our democracy.”19 Despite Johnson’s concern over losing Vietnam, the war 

was ultimately a distraction from his real “mistress,” the Great Society programs. And just like a man with multiple wives or a penchant for illicit liaisons, 

Johnson’s Vietnam policy was dubious, surreptitious, harried, and fraught 

with intrigue. Johnson was a deft politician, and his closed and even secretive 

leadership style contrasted sharply with Kennedy’s more open forum for debate. 

Johnson wrestled with the inheritance he desired—fulfilling Roosevelt’s New 

Deal legacy—and the inheritance he had, which was the United States’ commitment to Vietnam. The policy debates of 1964 and the ultimate decision in 

1965 to send combat troops (and the manner in which it was conducted) 

provide ample insight into Johnson’s image and how his perceptions interacted with “reality.” By 1968 Johnson’s behind-the-scenes policy development 

was exposed, and he confronted overwhelming domestic forces. Johnson’s 

treatment of protestors and the disparity between how he had portrayed 

progress in Vietnam and how the public came to perceive the war there ultimately ended his presidency. 

Chapter 5 explores how Pres. Richard Nixon’s images of the US role in 

Vietnam influenced how he led his administration. Before even taking office, 

Nixon sponsored a RAND study and strategic review of Vietnam. Convinced 

that Johnson’s undulating policies were weak and reflective of a poor understanding of the real international environment, Nixon ascended to office with 

the vision of aggressively and succinctly putting an end to Vietnam. Nixon 

and Kissinger had a grand vision for rearranging the world and saw Vietnam 

as a springboard to make that vision a reality. Nixon’s ascendance to the presidency also represented yet another resurrection of his political career, and he 

simultaneously attempted to re-create himself while he redefined the war. Unable 

to suppress his obsession with “winning,” Nixon soon prosecuted a “savage 

policy” aimed at ending the war quickly. The disparity between “the New 

Nixon” and how he conducted the war exposed him to even more criticism 

than his predecessor, however, which he was never able to fully reconcile. 

Still, Nixon continued to pursue and eventually won his “bigger game” 

through détente and a vigorous air campaign that facilitated America’s withdrawal from the war. Nixon formed a new relationship with China and was 

the first US president to set foot in the Kremlin since the start of the Cold 

War. At home, however, Nixon attacked his critics and his rivals with the same 

ferocity thrown against North Vietnam, and ultimately his “honorable peace” 

is overshadowed by its brutal tactics.

The final chapter summarizes findings on the relationship between image 

and agendas and attempts to make general conclusions regarding the role that 

image played in each administration. It also explores broader implications 
INTRODUCTION

7

concerning the relationship among presidential image, war, and inheritance. 

The study of Vietnam as an inherited war may inform policy makers as they 

wage America’s current wars; furthermore, the findings may also demand a reevaluation of the inherited assumptions that led us to battle in the first place. 

Notes

(All notes appear in shortened form. For full details, see the appropriate entry in the bibliography.)

1. Lambeth, Transformation of American Air Power, 12.

2. Henriksen, NATO’s Gamble, 73.

3. Ibid., 85.

4. Woodward, Bush at War, 278–79. Apple wrote that “their role sounds suspiciously like 

that of the adviser sent to Vietnam in the early 1960s” and referenced the Soviet Union’s failures 

in Afghanistan despite “their good tanks in great numbers.” For additional press reports and 

questions, see ibid., 262, 269, 283. 

5. Ibid., 41, 220, 310.

6. Ibid., 313.

7. Woodward, Obama’s Wars, 97.

8. Ibid.

9. Ibid., 79, 129–30, 254, 332. Goldstein derives six lessons from his analysis of the Kennedy 

and Johnson administrations between 1961 and 1965: (1) counselors advise but presidents 

decide, (2) never trust the bureaucracy to get it right, (3) politics is the enemy of strategy, 

(4) conviction without rigor is a strategy for disaster, (5) never deploy military means in pursuit of indeterminate ends, and (6) intervention is a presidential choice, not an inevitability. See 

Goldstein, Lessons in Disaster. 

10. McMaster, Dereliction of Duty, 334.

11. Pape, Bombing to Win, 210.

12. Kennan, American Diplomacy, 90.

13. Walker, “Selig Won’t Overturn Call.” 

14. Thomas and Barry, “Surprising Lessons of Vietnam,” 39. See also Kerry, “Beware the 

Revisionists,” 40. 

15. Bowman, World Almanac of the Vietnam War, 358. 

16. Herring, America’s Longest War, 272–81.

17. McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 29.

18. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 84, 106, 109–10. 

19. Goodwin, Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream, 252–53.

9

Chapter 2

From Quarks to Cognition:

An Overview of Image Theory

It is an illusion to believe that leaders gain in profundity while they 

gain experience. . . . The convictions that leaders have formed before 

reaching high office are the intellectual capital they will consume as 

long as they continue in office.

—Henry Kissinger, 1979

Wars are by nature inflective political, social, and psychological events and 

tend to hyperexcite both the polity and public. They exacerbate individual 

and organizational behaviors, processes, and predilections and the fissures 

and bonds within and among the various bodies of the democratic decisionmaking processes. This contention assumes that if war truly is “policy by 

other means,” then war is waged not just to solve policy problems. How it is 

conceived and conducted reflect a particular perception of the world. Subsequent chapters examine the administrations of Presidents Kennedy, Johnson, 

and Nixon not only to identify how each man’s image influenced his war poliicies but also to trace in part the lineage and effects of presidential image 

across administrations. Once in office each president faces a fundamental 

tension between institutional and policy inertia (what Stephen Randolph and 

others describe as the “state of play”) and his own agenda.1

 Inherited wars offer 

a unique opportunity to examine the nexus of these two sometimes countervailing and sometimes complementary forces. 

 There are two general schools of thought, or “lumps” as John Gaddis terms 

them, about the interplay between the individual and the institution in the 

formation of grand policy.2

 Some argue that inertia and events quickly overtake individual agendas and that structural forces inevitably dictate presidential decisions. Others believe that individuals can make a difference and that 

their perceptions drive outcomes. This paper’s position is that although the 

interplay between individuals and structure is iterative, individual perceptions matter. Therefore, while the structural state of play during the Vietnam 

era is covered, how individual perceptions influence events is the focus. As 

such, the analysis requires understanding key concepts from cognitive theory 

in foreign-policy decision making and clarifying what is meant by “presidential image.” To that end, we first look briefly at Stephen Hawking and Leonard 
FROM QUARKS TO COGNITION

10

Mlodinow’s theory of model-dependent realism to demonstrate how theoretical 

advances in modern physical science correlate to cognitive theories in international relations. We then review key literature of Robert Jervis, Yuen Khong, 

and others for background on cognitive and schema theory in foreign-policy 

decision making. Finally, we analyze Kenneth Boulding’s image theory as his 

definitions are used to frame this paper’s use of the concept of image. The 

purpose here is not to develop a new cognitive theory or model. Rather, this 

work draws on and summarizes major aspects of the existing literature to 

provide a lens through which to view cognitive influences on presidential 

agendas and outcomes. 

Quantum Physics and Model-Dependent Realism

In their book The Grand Design, Hawking (theoretical physicist and cosmologist) and Mlodinow (physicist) draw on theoretical and proven concepts 

from quantum theory to establish what they describe as a theory of modeldependent realism. Quantum theory emerged in the 1920s as a reaction to the 

inability of classical Newtonian science to accurately explain and predict the 

behavior of atomic and subatomic particles.3

 While Newtonian science proved 

quite efficient at predicting the movements of large bodies, scientists discovered 

that matter at the microlevel exhibited wavelike properties that existing scientific laws could not account for. Newtonian physics was “built on a framework 

reflecting everyday experience in which material objects have an individual 

existence, can be located at definite locations, follow definite paths, etc.”4

 In 

short, Newtonian physics ascribed to objects behaviors that had to comply 

with an objective set of laws and assumed that, once discovered, those laws 

afforded accurate predictions of the past, present, and future. Experimenting 

with and observing subatomic particles, however, demonstrated that matter 

can and does change its behavior in unpredictable and unforeseeable ways.5

The framework for quantum physics thus introduced “a completely different 

conceptual schema . . . in which an object’s position, path, and even its past 

and future are not precisely determined.”6

Two key principles emerge from quantum theory that inform Hawking 

and Mlodinow’s concept of model-dependent realism, in turn correlating the 

physical sciences and cognitive theory. The first is the uncertainty principle, 

stating that “no matter how much information we obtain or how powerful our 

computing capabilities, the outcomes of physical processes cannot be predicted with certainty.”7

 The second principle comes from physicist John 

Wheeler’s “delayed choice” experiment, proving that observing a system actually alters the course of that system.8

 If a system’s past, present, and future are 
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11

uncertain and if observation influences the course of a system, then a system 

“has not just one history, but every possible history.”9

 Furthermore, as opposed 

to Newtonian physics in which theory derives from an objective reality, reality 

now becomes the effect of theory. Or as the two physicists posit, reality becomes a reflection of the model used to describe it. A significant consequence 

of their proposal is that the point of finding an objective “reality” becomes 

moot and that models have meaning only insofar as they are valuable to the 

user. Each model is also the product of an individual’s physical and cognitive 

processes so that usefulness is not a matter of accuracy but of function. As 

such, models will endure so long as they provide functionality for the user 

and are reflections of a particular reality. Hawking and Mlodinow further 

clarify that model-dependent realism 

is based on the idea that our brains interpret the input from our sensory organs by making 

a model of the world. When such a model is successful at explaining events, we tend to 

attribute to it . . . the quality of reality or absolute truth. . . . But there may be different ways 

in which to model the same physical situation. . . . If two such models accurately predict 

the same events, one cannot be said to be more real than the other. . . . Our perception—

and hence the observations on which our theories are based—is not direct, but is shaped 

by a kind of lens, the interpretive structure of our human brains.10

They explain that both physical and cognitive processes determine how the 

human brain creates models. During the vision process, for example, signals 

are transmitted along the optic nerve to the brain. These signals are incomplete and of poor quality due to the blind spot where the optic nerve attaches 

to the retina. The data is further obscured because the high fidelity of the human eye is limited to about one degree around the center of the retina.11 The 

data the brain receives through the optic nerve is “like a badly pixilated picture with a hole in it.” To translate the incomplete and blurry data into useful 

information, the brain combines the data from both eyes and fills “in gaps on 

the assumption that the visual properties of neighboring locations are similar.”12 Through a process of interpolation and assumption, the brain translates 

an incomplete array of two-dimensional data into a three-dimensional model 

of reality.13 Reality is thus created through the process by which the brain patterns data. The human brain invokes what it knows to fill in the gaps for what 

it cannot see. When the brain is confronted with data that grossly contradicts 

its own understanding of reality, it will even go so far as to align incoming data 

to correspond to preexisting and known patterns. As an example of this phenomenon, Hawking and Mlodinow describe how individuals were given eyeglasses that inverted incoming images so that the world appeared upside 

down. Over time, without having to remove the glasses, the test subjects’ own 

brains “righted” the world and countermanded the effects of the glasses.14
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12

Dovetailing on quantum theory and the peculiar and sometimes ambiguous, 

paradoxical behavior of subatomic particles, they outline some of the key 

physiological aspects and limitations of the human brain. Through the concepts described in model-dependent realism, they also illuminate how the 

human brain collects, arranges, and even invents data to create a complete 

picture of reality. The reality that is created is necessarily model-based because that is how the human brain works. Cognitive theorists describe the 

belief structures that influence perceptions and decisions in foreign policy in 

much the same way that The Grand Design describes model-based realities. 

Sometimes referred to as long-term memory, belief structures exist as “mental 

models” whose architecture is comprised of “a network of linked nodes [of] 

conceptual information.”15 New information and stimuli received from the 

external world are processed through short-term memory and given meaning 

and context when the incoming stimuli are attached to the preexisting cognitive architecture—much like atoms bonding to a molecule.16 Belief structures 

fill in the gaps between individual information packets, and thus cognitive 

processes contextualize meaning and shape subsequent behavior. 

Whether intended or not, Hawking and Mlodinow provide a bridge between 

the physical sciences and psychology and illustrate how theories in physical 

sciences have recognized the important influences of perceptions on individual realities and their effects on the physical world. Revolutions in quantum 

theory and the experiments they cite as proof of its efficacy not only demonstrate how perceptions and cognitive processes create individual realities but 

also illuminate how the application of perceptions (through observation) can 

affect the physical world. The relationship the authors establish between 

observer and reality provides a useful backdrop to the following discussion 

on cognitive theory because it demonstrates the quantifiable tie between the 

conceptual and the existential world. If through observation human beings 

can affect particle behavior, and if quantum theory reliably proves the existence of an infinite number of past and future universes limited only by the 

imaginings of the human mind, then turning to the perceptions of some of 

the world’s most powerful leaders as a way to understand a war is not only 

justifiable . . . but essential.

Schema, Analogies, and Problem Representation

Much has been written on the influence of cognitive forces on decision makers. Both Jervis and Khong have contributed tremendously to the literature and 

to the understanding of the role cognitive forces play in foreign policy. Khong’s 

analogical explanation framework draws extensively on schema theory and 
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13

brilliantly delineates how analogies influence policy decisions and provide 

critical cognitive devices to help policy makers perform six central decisionmaking tasks.17 Schema theory assumes that the “mind organizes and processes 

information around some type of internal perceptual or cognitive structure.”18

Schemas persist in the face of contradictory evidence, acting as “cognitive 

misers,” and are the “building blocks of cognition.”19 When North Korea invaded the South in 1950, for example, President Truman’s “cognitive structure” interpreted the North’s actions in light of other instances where the West 

failed to act against aggression, and the aggression continued. Khong observes that “Truman thus arrived at the axiom that aggression unchecked 

means general war later.”20 A more recent example is found in the belief of 

Pres. George W. Bush’s administration that the Clinton administration’s retaliation for the 1998 embassy bombings was weak and invited future attacks: 

“The antiseptic notion of launching a cruise missile into some guy’s, you 

know, tent, really is a joke. . . . People viewed that as the impotent America.”21

Schemas are cognitive frameworks that tend to codify anticipations and influence how events are interpreted. Just as the schema of Newtonian physics inspired assumptions on the predictable behavior of matter, so do schemas in 

international policy offer predetermined departure points for how decision 

makers interpret and respond to particular events.

The significance of schemas as a departure point for decision makers 

should not be underestimated. When assumptions and predilections are effectively entrenched in the minds of leaders, the process of deciding how to deal 

with particular policy issues starts downstream of the assumptions embedded 

within the schema. Jervis describes how schemas are built around preconceived notions of “self ” and “other” that lead decision makers to interpret 

events and behaviors as those preconceived notions would dictate.22 Expectations create a perceived reality where “ambiguous and even discrepant information” is assimilated to reinforce that reality.23 The influences of predispositions on decision makers are particularly acute when events force a 

confrontation between a positive self-image and a negative or hostile other. 

During the Korean War, for example, the United States overlooked the fact 

that its actions on the peninsula could be interpreted as aggressive and threatening to China’s national security.24 China responded in much the same way 

the United States would probably respond if the Chinese army were suddenly 

massed along the Canadian border, yet China’s actions were immediately interpreted as hostile. The United States’ positive self-image denied consideration of the possibility that its own actions could be perceived as contentious. 

The United States’ general foreign policy schema during the Cold War characterized America and its capitalist allies as “good” and the Soviets and their 
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14

Communist allies as “bad.” Interpretation of, and response to, behaviors and 

events started downstream of these general assumptions. 

The Cold War era has many such examples. Graham Allison describes the 

Soviets’ decision to deploy SS-20 intermediate-range missiles that targeted 

Europe in the late 1970s as “the most fateful force posture decision of the Soviet 

government before its collapse.”25 The SS-20 case is compelling because it 

demonstrates how the Soviet Union’s self-image muted consideration of the 

West’s perspective. Further, the United States’ reaction to the missiles shows 

how policy makers failed to understand the SS-20s as part of routine Soviet 

modernization. Allison describes America’s vehement response to the SS-20s 

as a product of “organizational repertoires and programs.”26 In another 

instance, when Czechoslovakia consolidated under the Soviets in 1948, 

Washington interpreted the move as expansionist, despite having approved 

Soviet occupation in 1945 and the “elevation of an already dominant Czechoslovak 

Communist Party.”27 By 1948 American perceptions of the Soviet Union had 

evolved from potential ally to a personification of a growing Communist 

threat. Such historical examples testify to the influence perceptions and schemas 

have on how policy makers interpret and react to events. Perhaps most importantly, schemas shift the starting point for problem representation downstream of the assumptions embedded within the schema. As such, event interpretations and policy decisions may emanate from a faulty or misaligned 

premise and start events down a path preordained not by objective factors 

but by subjective perceptions. In this way, perceptions effectively create their 

own reality. 

Another way that policy makers build realities and fill in the gaps when 

confronted with major policy questions is by drawing on historical analogies. 

Khong examines how Johnson’s use of historical analogies (Munich, Dien 

Bien Phu, and Korea) influenced his 1965 decision to commit combat troops 

in Vietnam. He targets policy makers’ “use and misuse of history” through 

their cognitive processes.28 Using key findings and theories from social-cognitive 

research, Khong establishes how decision makers use analogies because the 

similarities (real or imagined) between events simplify understanding of 

complex situations.29 He also ascribes principles from schematic processing 

theory to President Johnson’s decision-making process. Through schematic 

processing, once an analogy is accessed, it “(1) allows the perceiver to go 

beyond the information given, (2) processes information ‘top-down,’ and 

(3) can lead to the phenomenon of perseverance.”30

Similar to the way Hawking and Mlodinow describe how the brain fills in 

the gaps with known patterns during the vision process, analogies provide 

“knowledge structures” that help decision makers cope with enormous amounts 
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15

of ambiguous information.31 However, as both Khong and Jervis point out, 

the gaps are sometimes “a bridge too far,” and analogies are overstretched. To 

use a sports comparison, knowledge structures often “outkick their coverage,” 

and the results are overly “simplistic and mistaken [in their] interpretations of 

incoming stimuli.”32 According to Khong’s study, when Johnson confronts the 

1965 decision to commit combat troops in Vietnam, he misuses the Korean 

War analogy and allows the assumptions of that analogy to influence his policy 

despite substantial contrary evidence.33

Jervis attributes the decisions of Johnson and others to Max Weber’s maxim 

that it is “not ideas but material and ideal interests [that] govern men’s conduct.”34 He further argues that no political theology based on interest can “explain interventions in countries such as Vietnam.” Vietnam makes sense, Jervis 

says, only if “decision-makers either place a high intrinsic value on seeing 

insignificant states remain non-communist or believe in the domino theory.”35

Belief structures, schemas, and the images that constitute them move policy. 

Alexander George proposes that all political leaders have an “operational 

code” or “a set of assumptions about the world, formed early in one’s career, 

that tend to govern without much subsequent variation the way one responds 

to crises afterward.”36 Building on George’s theories, John Gaddis extrapolates 

a set of “strategic” or “geopolitical codes” that he suggests define presidential 

“assumptions about American interests in the world, potential threats to 

them, and feasible responses that tend to be formed either before or just after 

an administration takes office.”37 Between 1948 and 1975, the policy of containment was the overarching schema that moved US strategic decisions, and Gaddis 

argues that five distinct geopolitical codes, each one a variation of an overall 

containment strategy, define America’s grand strategy after World War II.38

Security Schemas of the Vietnam Era

Gaddis divides each containment strategy into distinct eras that stretch 

from Truman to Carter. The first era, 1947–49, is characterized by George 

Kennan’s original strategy of containment that he describes in the Charles R. 

Walgreen Foundation Lectures and in his two essays “The Sources of Soviet 

Conduct” and “America and the Russian Future.”39 The second era stems from 

tenets in the NSC’s policy paper no. 68 (NSC-68), reflecting the Korean War’s 

effects on American policy between 1950 and 1953.40 Secretary of State Dean 

Acheson captured the theme of NSC-68 in a speech to the National War College in 1952: “What we are trying to do is to find ways in which our power as 

a nation may match our responsibilities as a nation. . . . The job before all of 

us today is to learn the ins and outs of power and policy so that our nation’s 
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16

intentions and the capacities to achieve these intentions may be brought into 

balance.”41 During the era of NSC-68, decision makers wrestled with how to 

effectively incorporate nuclear weapons into productive foreign policies. Reconciling the need to contain Communism with the threat of nuclear Armageddon proved difficult and expensive, and when Eisenhower took office, he 

initiated the “New Look” policy in an effort to satisfy both growing strategic 

initiatives and budgetary restraints. 

The New Look under Eisenhower describes Gaddis’s third era of containment, between 1953 and 1961. Truman had been unable to develop a “clear 

strategy for deriving political benefits from . . . nuclear weapons,” and Eisenhower wanted to “regain the initiative.”42 Buoyed by technological breakthroughs yet challenged by their costs, the Eisenhower administration determined in 1953 that “the dependence that we are placing on new weapons 

would justify completely some reduction in conventional forces.”43 Eisenhower was obsessed with not letting the means destroy the ends and believed 

Truman’s policy of retaliation equated to little more than a tit-for-tat strategy 

that could not be economically sustained. Eisenhower also felt that Truman’s 

policies forced the United States to be reactive instead of proactive. Thus, he 

advocated a more diverse policy that would draw on American technology 

and international partnerships to counterbalance, thwart, and deter Communist 

aggression. In his inaugural address, Eisenhower states that the “defense of 

freedom” is “indivisible” and that all people and continents (Communists 

excluded) are “equal” and could not be forgotten.44 The central idea of Eisenhower’s New Look was that the United States could provide a technological 

umbrella for its partners that would make Soviet Communist aggression so 

costly that total war would become nearly impossible. A massive American 

nuclear arsenal, backed by the will to use it, would deter the Soviets. The arsenal 

would also facilitate an affordable strategic posture since it would alleviate 

large-scale deployments. 

The United States and the West, from Eisenhower’s perspective, would develop 

asymmetric technological advantages and blend “nuclear deterrence, alliances, psychological warfare, covert action, and negotiations” that could in 

aggregate minimize costs and provide the security and time necessary for 

freedom to blossom in Communism’s stead. Despite Eisenhower’s metered 

economic policies, the New Look was certainly ambitious. In a letter to Winston 

Churchill, Eisenhower describes how every Communist advance was a threefold loss for the West: where the West lost an ally, the Communists gained an 

ally, and Western prestige was compromised. That Eisenhower held such a 

broad, zero-sum view of the contest between East and West reveals the amount 

of faith he placed in the New Look’s umbrella. The New Look departed from 
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17

NSC-68 in that it intimately tied the defense of US interests to security policy 

instead of focusing just on “the repulsion of transitory threats.”45 Eisenhower 

also conceptualized broader, albeit cheaper, means by which the United States 

could pursue its containment objectives. By 1959, however, events in Vietnam 

and elsewhere undermined the purported efficacies of Eisenhower’s New 

Look. Communism appeared on the march, and Kennedy entered office seeking a less binary containment strategy that was both more expansive and flexible. 

Kennedy desired to deter not only total war but all wars.46

Where Eisenhower had sought asymmetry through technology, Kennedy 

turned containment strategy back toward a symmetrical approach that could 

better accommodate and match Communist nuclear capabilities as well as 

their conventional and unconventional capacities. As Kennedy’s presidential 

adviser Walt Rostow put it, “We have generally been at a disadvantage in crises, 

since the Communists command a more flexible set of tools for imposing 

strain on the Free World—and a greater freedom to use them. . . . We are often 

caught in circumstances where our only available riposte is so disproportionate 

to the immediate provocation that its use risks unwanted escalation or serious 

political costs. . . . We must seek, therefore, to expand our arsenal of limited 

overt and covert countermeasures.”47 Kennedy wanted the ability to “act at all 

levels, ranging from diplomacy through covert action, guerrilla operations, 

conventional and nuclear war.”48 Eisenhower’s administration did open up 

additional spigots for American power, pursuing both nuclear dominance 

and an assortment of unconventional and covert operations. But these efforts 

were always tempered by Eisenhower’s sense of economics and did not go far 

enough from Kennedy’s perspective. George Herring writes that “the exigencies 

of the nuclear age” revived the theory of limited war in the mid-twentieth 

century, marking a significant evolution in and departure from the “American 

way of war.”49

Limited-war theorists such as Robert Osgood and Thomas Schelling insisted 

that governments must limit political objectives and use military action as a 

way to communicate with the adversary. Military objectives were to “exact 

good behavior or . . . oblige discontinuance of mischief, not destroy the subject 

altogether.”50 To facilitate the kind of proportionality and precision limitedwar theory demanded, Kennedy relied on more expansive civilian controls 

and a broader array of military instruments. Eisenhower departed from Truman 

when he sought greater political utility from nuclear weapons. Kennedy, in 

turn, departed from Eisenhower when he attempted to wrest US political 

options out from under policies that were overly reliant on nuclear weapons—

ushering in the policy of “flexible response.” 
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18

The flexible-response era, 1961 to 1969, manifested itself in both the Kennedy 

and Johnson administrations. Though Kennedy and Johnson distinctly differed 

in how they pursued flexible-response strategies, the overarching assumptions 

of the policy were the same. In contrast to World War II paradigms, in which 

the military served as the “final arbiter of kings,” flexible response required that 

military force be woven into negotiations. Instead of seeking the adversary’s 

blanket capitulation, flexible response and limited war introduced an ebb and 

flow of military and nonmilitary actions whereby nonmilitary instruments of 

containment became “at least as important as their military counterparts.”51 A 

key aspect of flexible response was the tight civilian control over military action 

and the sometimes excruciatingly metered means by which military force was 

applied. Both Kennedy and Johnson believed that “force could be orchestrated 

in such a way as to communicate precise and specific signals.”52

Such an orchestra required a high degree of calibration or fine-tuning in 

the types and uses of forces. On the one hand, Kennedy emphasized and intensified special forces and covert operations in Vietnam. Johnson, on the 

other hand, greatly expanded traditional military forces yet curtailed how 

they were used.53 Whether one views flexible response as “purifying” military 

force by tying it so intimately to political objectives or sees it as corruptive and 

undermining military force, the fact remains that the advent of flexible response marks a distinct shift in the way policy makers pursued containment 

strategies. When Richard Nixon ascends to office in 1969, he again reorients 

containment strategy and initiates the era of détente.54

Nixon ushered in a détente policy, marking a distinct shift in the relationships between the great powers during the Cold War. The conceptual roots of 

this new strategy came from Nixon and Kissinger’s belief that containment 

could be better served “based on a new combination of pressures and inducements that would, if successful, convince the Kremlin leaders that it was in 

their country’s interest to be ‘contained.’ ”55 Nixon wanted to create an intersection of interests that would serve the purposes of containment as well as 

dampen the severity of Vietnam’s impact on American policies. Ironically, 

after having built his career as a staunch anti-Communist, Nixon decoupled 

(or at least greatly reduced) the tie between ideology and negotiations. 

Where Kennedy and Johnson had prosecuted a flexible strategy based on 

means that could face down Communism on all fronts, Nixon made the interests 

themselves more flexible. His overtures to China and Russia were possible in 

large part because he was so well known as a Republican crusader against 

Communism, and he used this reputation as a bulwark against attacks from 

American hawks. At the same time, his more reasonable approach to relations 

with American adversaries appeased the more dovish coalitions. Kennedy 
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19

had reacted to the perceived rigidity of Eisenhower’s policies, which he believed were too dependent on nuclear weapons, and Nixon reacted to the 

rigidity of Kennedy’s policies, which he believed were too dependent on the 

transformation of America’s adversaries. “No country,” writes Kissinger, “can 

act wisely simultaneously in every part of the globe at every moment of 

time.”56 Unlike Kennedy and Johnson, Nixon did not automatically equate 

“democratic governance” with “good governance” and believed that the degree 

to which America could transform nations internally was limited.57

Détente is discussed in more detail in chapter 4 as Nixon’s containment 

strategy was an integral part of how he sought to reframe the Vietnam War. 

Nixon’s détente strategy is also a key element in the paper’s argument that he 

sought to cultivate and exploit others’ perceptions of him to effect his agenda; 

those points are better reserved for the chapter dedicated to him. The containment strategies of Eisenhower, Kennedy, and Johnson are introduced in 

greater depth here to provide the background for their world image and subsequent policies. Introducing the different containment strategies is instructive 

because they illustrate that within the metaconstruct, subcategories mirror 

images among presidential administrations. 

Containment formed the basic security schema for each of the Vietnam-era 

presidents, yet the nuances and delineations between each substrategy (operational code) reflect the distinctive way in which each president pursued the 

same ends. Eisenhower was committed to reducing the costs of containment 

through technology yet broadened US commitments. Kennedy and Johnson 

sought to temper military means within specific political objectives, yet they 

both expanded the means by which the United States would pursue those 

objectives. Flexible-response strategies and the theory of limited war manifested themselves throughout the 1960s in the Dominican Republic, the Bay 

of Pigs, and elsewhere.58 Still, even within the substrategy of flexible response 

that carried through both the Kennedy and Johnson administrations, each 

president emphasized different means—with Johnson shifting toward a 

greater emphasis on ground troops and airpower in Vietnam. Nixon reconceived US interests and the threats to those interests, incorporating Moscow 

and Beijing into joint efforts for stability through détente. Where Kennedy 

and Johnson put Vietnam on the front line in the total war against Communism, Nixon moved Vietnam back into the interior lines of the Cold War. 

For each administration during Gaddis’s five geopolitical eras of containment, the primary objective remained combating Communism and transforming Communist behavior on the macroscale. Containment was the overarching schema, yet each Vietnam-era president perceived how to best effect 

containment differently and brought to Vietnam his respective image of 
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20

means and strategies. These contrasting images are reflected not only in 

shifts within containment strategy but also in how presidents viewed the adversary and allies and pursued their particular agendas in Vietnam. With a 

basic understanding of schema and some of the larger belief structures and 

strategic context of the Vietnam era, we turn now to the theory of image invoked in this paper.

Image

The Cold War was certainly dominated by powerful images and schemata. 

Perhaps due to the stakes of potential nuclear conflict and the sheer breadth 

and number of actors involved in the precarious balance between East and 

West, the Cold War was first and foremost a cognitive war.59 The evolution of 

game theory and other literature during and after the Cold War reflects the 

emphasis decision makers placed on the iterative, psychological interactions 

between states.60 According to Goldstein and John Freeman, internationalrelations models fall into three general categories: game theory, psychological 

theory, and quantitative-empirical theory.61 Despite the differences among 

the three categories, states conceive their strategies through two consistent 

initiatives: reciprocity and cooperation.62 Psychological theory emphasizes 

the role perceptions play in calculating strategies of reprisal and collaboration.

As such, psychological theory affords a more predominant role concerning 

the influence of individual images on how policy makers interpret, define, 

and behave in response to policy problems. Based on psychological theory, 

problems are defined through cognitive constructs and processes that determine a discrepancy between “the preferred state and the perceived current 

state.”63 In this way, belief structures not only define the desired end state but 

also define the problem. Inherited war spans administrations and thus provides multiple opportunities for decision makers to represent and rerepresent 

both the war and the solutions to it.64 Over time, policy makers must decide 

whether to (1) continue the present course, (2) change the basic course but 

make adjustments, (3) change course but not problem representations, 

(4) rerepresent the problem, or (5) reconsider fundamental goals.65 Since belief structures vary from president to president according to the amalgam of 

their individual images, no two worldviews and no two perceptions of either 

a war or its solutions will be exactly the same. Additionally, when and how 

presidents decide whether to stay the course, change the course, or reconsider 

fundamental goals depend on their perceptions. If perceptions shape both 

how a war is defined and should be solved and derive from a worldview com-
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21

prised of a collection of individual images, then understanding the makeup of 

image is necessary. 

In 1957 Kenneth Boulding developed a theory of behavior based on an 

individual’s image of the world. According to Boulding, image is created 

through an individual’s accumulation of subjective knowledge. Individuals 

perceive themselves as located in a particular space and time; in a network of 

human relationships, organizations, and emotions; and in a “natural world” 

that operates according to a set of assumed and “reasonably” reliable operational laws.66 Every locus of subjective knowledge also has layers and can be 

visualized as a series of concentric rings, expanding out from small to large. 

One’s knowledge of his position in space, for example, might include seeing 

himself at his desk, in his office building, in downtown Manhattan, in New 

York City, in New York State, in America, on planet Earth, in the Milky Way 

Galaxy, and so forth. An individual’s perceived locations in time and within 

organizations and human networks in the past are similarly layered. 

People reflect upon a past as they remember it, project onto a future as they 

conceive it, and live in a present as they perceive it. The temporal aspect of 

image blends with one’s identity within and one’s perception of organizations 

and human networks. A doctor with children might concurrently consider 

herself a mother, a brain surgeon, a hospital employee, the member of a profession, and a wife. Comingled with the doctor’s image are a litany of past 

experiences and affiliations as well as anticipations for the future, based on 

the different ways she identifies herself, the organizations she works for, and 

those she competes with and for. How individuals locate themselves and perceive the various human networks of which they are a part is exceptionally 

complex. Human interactions swirl around a continuously evolving image of 

self and other. Bounding conceptions of time, space, self, and human networks are sets of natural laws. These laws, either overt or tacit, provide boundaries 

and define sets of assumptions that build an architecture within which human 

beings are reasonably able to adapt behaviors and expectations. Gravity, thermodynamics, the progression of time, and the combustion engine all characterize 

natural laws upon which people generally rely to frame their reality and to 

conduct their everyday lives. Individuals’ understanding of natural laws and 

the interpretative conclusions they draw from knowledge of their location in 

space, time, and human networks create a set of expectations. Individuals use 

these expectations to formulate a calculus of behavior that seeks to apply the 

aggregated knowledge set to their best advantage.67

The disparity between expectations and outcomes can be small or large, 

but the existence of a gap is an important characteristic of image theory. Although Boulding asserts that image is comprised of knowledge, he purpose-
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22

fully refrains from terming his hypothesis “a theory of knowledge.” “Knowledge,” 

says Boulding, “has an implication of validity, of truth. What I am talking 

about is what I believe to be true: my subjective knowledge.” Behavior is 

governed not necessarily by reality but by perception. Since perceived knowledge 

comprises image and since that knowledge affects behaviors, Boulding’s central 

proposition is that behavior depends on image.68 Robert Jervis draws on this 

very concept in his study of perception in international politics when he 

argues that the real question is not whether a particular perception is correct 

but how perceptions translate information into decision and action.69 Recall 

the anomalous behavior of subatomic particles encountered by early quantum physicists. Prior to quantum physics, expectations, scientific theories, 

and experiments were based on a reality perceived through Newtonian science. 

That scientists were not aware of some of the unique aspects of the atomic 

world did not mean that these aspects did not exist—quantum mechanics was 

just not yet a part of their existing image of reality: “The image is built up as a 

result of all past experience of the possessor of the image [and] part of the 

image is the history of the image itself.” When individuals encounter stimuli 

that lie outside their experience, the image must account for them. How image accounts for new information forms the basis for Boulding’s second 

proposition—that the meaning of information (message) is the change it produces in the image.70

An iterative relationship exists between image and the information it receives. Every experience, every piece of information, interacts with an existing image in one of three ways. First, the new information can be discarded. 

Much of what individuals perceive or encounter is in fact discarded as insignificant or “noise.” The human brain is capable of processing only so much 

information at a time and will filter out what is deemed unimportant or superfluous. Consider the amount of information that floods the senses every minute 

of every day. As Khong and Jervis demonstrate, this overload is also why 

analogies and predilections are so prevalent in decision making. Preconceived 

notions and comparisons provide cognitive shortcuts and a means by which 

policy makers can quickly understand, interpret, and react to floods of information. Images help decision makers make sense of the world. Just as the eyes 

and ears tend to ignore background noise or objects that they are not purposefully attuned to, image orients perception so that individuals are inclined 

to become aware of and latch onto reaffirming experiences and stimuli. Robert Billings describes “new information” as “any signal from the environment 

perceived by decision-makers after their most recent decision.”71 Like noise, 

disconfirming information may be discarded or overridden. 
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23

The second way that new information may interact with image is by adding 

to it: “New information may change the image in some rather regular and 

well-defined way that might be described as simple addition.”72 Information 

that is additive expands image but does not transform it. For example, an 

individual might understand that Mars is farther from the sun than the earth. 

After taking an astronomy class, she might discover that Mars is roughly 40 

million miles farther from the sun than the earth. The astronomy student’s 

image of the solar system is subsequently refined with this knowledge, but her 

fundamental conception of the solar system remains unchanged. The student 

may also have learned that light travels at a set speed and that travel beyond 

the speed of light is not possible. Travel to Mars—relatively close in cosmic 

terms—would not be proscribed by such a limit, but travel to other suns or 

galaxies certainly would be. The student would thus have an understanding of 

the vast expansiveness of space and some of the natural laws that govern and 

limit humans’ mobility within it. If, however, scientists discovered a way to 

exceed the speed of light or uncovered a mode of travel that relied not on 

propulsion but on the actual bending of space so that object could be brought 

to the traveler rather than the traveler going to the object, then the student’s 

image of space would be transformed. Transformation is the third possible 

effect that new information can have on image.

Transformation is a “revolutionary change” to image whereby “a message 

hits some sort of nucleus or supporting structure . . . and the whole thing 

changes in a quite radical way.”73 Transformation may completely alter how 

individuals perceive themselves in space, time, or an organization and can 

alter their understanding of natural laws. Thomas Kuhn’s description of paradigm shifts in science correlates to how images transform: “Large-scale paradigm destruction and major shifts . . . [are] generally preceded by a period of 

pronounced professional insecurity” as existing paradigms fail to solve an 

increasing number of important problems. Copernican astronomy and quantum physics both represent scientific paradigm shifts. Scientific instruments 

for astronomy did not radically change immediately following Copernicus’s 

new paradigm, yet what astronomers discovered and how they viewed the 

universe did. Kuhn also reflects that “the very ease and rapidity with which 

astronomers saw new things when looking at old objects with old instruments 

may make us wish to say that, after Copernicus, astronomers lived in a different 

world.” Kuhn also identifies the “gestalt switch,” a sudden or rapid transformation of the way individuals perceive the world wherein they may “pick up 

the other end of the stick.”74 Image transformation and reorganization are dramatic because images tend to be extremely resistant to change. Barring an obvious 
FROM QUARKS TO COGNITION

24

experience that blatantly and comprehensively contradicts image, such as the 

sudden arrival of aliens, images tend to require a fair amount of convincing.

Boulding notes that “when [an image] receives messages that conflict with 

it, its first impulse is to reject them as in some sense untrue.”75 Jervis describes 

this phenomenon as premature cognitive closure, where “actors are more apt to 

err on the side of being too wedded to an established view and too quick to 

reject discrepant information than to make the opposite error of too quickly 

altering their theories.”76 While such resistance to change often marries decision makers to predetermined courses of action, it also provides a stabilizing 

effect. If every piece of disconfirming information caused a sudden abandonment of image, there could be no order, predictability, or consistency, and 

policies would oscillate chaotically. Additionally, against the backdrop of assumptions and expectations, anomalies are starker and more readily identifiable. However, a multitude of variables affects how anomalies are handled. 

Personal investments in past decisions, varying degrees of certainty, fear of 

being wrong, and the strong desire for particular outcomes are just some 

factors that can cause individuals to overcommit to existing images.77 Thus, 

images of “fact” must contend with images of “value.”78

Boulding points out that how images locate objects “at a certain point in 

space and time” clearly differs from how images assign value. Imagining Tucson 

in Arizona, for instance, is different than imagining Tucson as a “good place 

to live.” Images of value are “concerned with the rating of the various parts of 

our image of the world, according to some scale of betterness [sic] or worseness” (emphasis in original), and these “scales of valuation” depend on context, experience, and outcomes of particular actions. Value scales are “the 

most important single element in determining the effect” information has on 

image and subsequent behaviors. The value placed on a particular belief or 

perception directly relates to the degree of resistance that perception exhibits 

toward disconfirming information and/or behavior contrary to that perception. For example, a person of average Christian faith might renounce the 

existence of God if a gun were held to his head and he were ordered to do so. 

A more devout Christian, however, might refuse, even if it meant a shot to the 

head, because his valuing of biblical teachings and of the afterlife is higher 

than the value placed on his current life. Conceptions of human networks, 

organizations, and one’s place in them are particularly sensitive to value scales 

because relationships and allegiances can be exceptionally dynamic. Even the 

senses, argues Boulding, mediate incoming information through a certain 

value system that translates raw data into what the brain “knows” to be true: 

“When an object apparently increases in size on the retina of the eye, we interpret this not as an increase in size but as movement. . . . We consistently 
FROM QUARKS TO COGNITION

25

and persistently disbelieve the plain evidence of our senses.”79 As previously 

noted, Hawking and Mlodinow echo Boulding’s descriptions of how the brain 

translates sensory data.

Context-dependent and dynamic value systems imply that “there are no such 

things as facts” for individuals or organizations; instead, perceived realities are 

adjusted to match individual valuation scales.80 It is true that individuals, 

groups, or organizations may share values that result in a common “public” or 

group image of the world. Human beings are differentiated from the rest of 

the animal kingdom, however, by their ability to organize information into 

large, complex images and their capacity for self-reflection and abstract 

thought.81 As such, human beings continuously “initiate and receive messages 

themselves” and internalize the valuation process.82 Therefore, while a group 

may have the proclivity to imagine a certain way due to peer pressures or organizational norms, it is the aggregation of individual valuation processes and 

individual images that facilitate the group image. The interaction between 

individual and group image is an important aspect of the political process as 

described by Boulding’s theory.

Boulding describes political decision making as “a process of mutual modification of images through the processes of feedback and communication.” 

Political leaders, such as presidents, retain a powerful role in the political process because of the “number of people affected and the magnitude of the effect 

when decisions are made.” Like any other individual, a president’s worldview 

is woven from his accumulated experiences and subjective perceptions. Images 

of self, others, values, time, space, society, and the organizations he presides 

over all formulate a presidential world image, which he then invokes when 

setting agendas and making decisions. In democracies, presidential authority 

comes from below, so while presidents decide, they can do so only after an 

iterative discussion process that theoretically includes everyone from the 

woman on the street to the man in the White House. Successful decision 

making in democracies, therefore, “must exhibit a degree of convergence toward common images of the whole organization,” where the organization includes governmental institutions and the society they represent.83 From his 

vantage point, a president may be able to change or shape common organizational images. However, whether common organizational images are of his own 

making or external to his manipulations, he is always accountable to them. 

The interaction of two key processes affects the dynamics between presidents 

and the societies they symbolize: “The first is the process whereby political images 

are created and distributed [and the] second is the process whereby specialized 

skills and knowledge are distributed among the people of the society,” according 

to Boulding. Individuals within a society form political images of leaders, 
FROM QUARKS TO COGNITION

26

policies, and world events based in large part upon the source of their information. This does not mean, as some more contemporary information theories 

posit, that political images are simple reflections of different media outlets. Individual experiences, backgrounds, histories, skill sets, and relationships all affect 

political image. That politicians can “get the message out” and distribute their 

brand is true, but political images are a subset of the larger world image, which 

“is the great interleaving variable between incoming and outgoing information.”84 So both message distribution and the individual interpretations of those 

messages help form political images. Presidents, therefore, must account for the 

perceptions of the organization they represent and be mindful of the congruency between how their images are projected and perceived. 

In large part, Americans view the president as serving a particular role. 

Images of the role of the president derive partly from the Constitution, partly 

from history, and partly from the performance and perceptions of those who 

occupied the office. The role of president is “the center of a complex network 

of communications both in and out, part of which each occupant . . . inherits 

and a part of which he creates for himself,” states Boulding. Just as the organization assumes an image of the presidential office and of the man who inhabits 

it, each president has brought to his station his own images of the office, of 

himself, and of what he might accomplish through his office, based on a particular view of the world. Symbolic images permeate the political world, and 

the presidency has been as much an American symbol as it has been a protector 

and purveyor of symbols. Acting on their individual images, presidents have 

sought to bridge the gap between the world they preferred and the world they 

perceived. If, under presidential direction, the Eagle has not flown in search 

of monsters to destroy, it certainly has sought out its share of Bears and Dragons. By viewing presidential pursuits in war through the lens of image, not 

only may understanding of the Vietnam War sharpen but also America’s perceptions of itself and of the world. Although there is some truth to the notion 

that nations are “the creation of their historians . . . who give rise both to the 

image of the present and the future,” it is perhaps truer that the “shared experience of danger [has] more than anything else created the national spirit.” 

Nations, then, are not the creation of their historians “but of their enemies.”85

Conclusion

This chapter discussed the correlation between physical sciences and cognitive theory and explored how schemata and belief structure influence decisionmaking processes. It examined containment theory as an overarching security schema that pervaded the Vietnam era, yet the chapter also revealed that 
FROM QUARKS TO COGNITION

27

each president effected that strategy differently, as described by Gaddis’s five 

eras of geopolitical codes. Boulding’s image theory was elucidated to demonstrate how image applies in the political process. According to Boulding, image 

is a summation of subjective perceptions that attempt to locate self, others, 

beliefs, and organizations along a dynamic value scale punctuated by temporal 

and geographic factors and in accordance with “reliable” natural laws. Such 

laws themselves may be subjective and unpredictable. Image is determined 

through an iterative information process in which the history of the image 

interacts with incoming messages and reconciles them with the existing image. 

Information has meaning only to the degree that it results in a change to the 

image. Information may be discarded, additive, or transformative, but images 

are resistant to change and often discard or dampen disconfirming information. Through this iterative process, image builds upon itself and continuously 

recreates “reality,” constantly balancing between forcing information to fit into 

the image and adjusting the image to fit and adapt to external conditions. 

Limitations in the processing capacity and physiology of the human brain 

lend to individuals developing analogies and belief structures. Invoking such 

strategies allows decision makers to make sense of a complex world. The brain 

naturally and necessarily patterns information and fills in the gaps. This occurrence is illustrated by the sensory processes that Hawking and Mlodinow 

as well as Boulding describe and in the cognitive processes that Khong, Jervis, 

and others portray. The strong correlation between the physical sciences and 

cognitive theory, using elements from quantum physics as well as from Kuhn’s 

theory of scientific revolutions, lends credence to the idea that perceptions 

have tangible effects on the physical world. Schema and existing physiological 

and psychological patterns are significant because they often act as departure 

points in decision making. When presidents inherit war, they not only pick 

up fighting the war at a point downstream of their predecessors but also must 

contend with policies and organizational momentum spawned from the schematic premises of their predecessors. How far back presidential heirs reach to 

evaluate their predecessors’ assumptions affects how the new president represents the war and how he develops solutions to it. Additionally, each president 

has his own set of assumptions that affects how he defines and represents the 

war. The confluence of both the momentum spurred by his predecessor and 

his own subjective starting point based on his own presidential image dictates 

the architecture upon which he builds his own war policies. Presidential image, then, is both sire and heir to war policy in Vietnam. 

Arthur Schlesinger asserts that the “American system of self-governance . . . 

comes to focus in the presidency” and that “the turmoil perennially swirling 

around the White House illuminates the heart of the American democracy.” 
FROM QUARKS TO COGNITION

28

Woodrow Wilson called the presidency the “vital place of action in the system,” 

and Schlesinger posits that the “executive branch alone is capable” of taking 

the initiative required to break the tendency of the American system toward 

“inertia and stalemate.”86 Presidential image plays a central role in American 

politics. Image shapes presidential agendas, affects decisions, and provides 

both motive and opportunity for potentially the most proactive and influential 

branch of the US government. Given the power of perceptions and the outcomes they shape in the physical world, while image is not the only lens, it is at 

the very least a meaningful and useful one—particularly when examining the 

phenomenon of inheriting war. 

Notes

1. Dr. Stephen Randolph, professor, National Defense University, Washington, DC, to the 

author, e-mail, 30 November 2010. 

2. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, vii–viii. Gaddis characterizes historians as either 

“lumpers” or “splitters.” His portrayal is adapted here to show the general—albeit overly simplified—

division between individualists and structuralists. 

3. Hawking and Mlodinow, Grand Design, 50–60. Quantum physics—also referred to as 

quantum mechanics or quantum theory—emerged in the 1920s coincident with the scientific 

exploration, observation, and manipulation of atomic and subatomic particles. Traditional 

Newtonian science was unable to dependably explain or predict the behavior of subatomic 

particles. Two discoveries of particle behavior were of central significance. First, observation 

influenced particle behavior. Second, particles existed in multiple states simultaneously. In 

concert, they defied the objective reality and prescriptions of Newtonian science. Major contributors to the field include Erwin Schrödinger, Niels Bohr, Max Planck, and Richard Feynman. 

For more reading on quantum physics, see Alastair I. M. Rae, Quantum Mechanics (New York: 

Taylor Francis Group, 2002); Kenneth W. Ford, The Quantum World: Quantum Physics for Everyone (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2004); and James Gleick, Genius: The Life and 

Science of Richard Feynman (New York: Pantheon Books, 1992). 

4. Hawking and Mlodinow, Grand Design, 622–24.

5. Ibid., 585–602. Austrian physicists in 1999 demonstrated how alternately firing molecules at two slits in a barrier proved that matter behaved differently depending on whether one 

or both slits were open. (This “two-slit experiment” was originally performed with light waves 

in the 1930s.) Newtonian physics would dictate that the same number of molecules would flow 

through each slit whether or not the other slit was open or blocked. However, scientists found 

that the number of molecules flowing through each slit would change when the other slit was 

open. It appeared as if the molecules were “choosing” an alternate path, contradicting Newtonian 

assumptions that matter behaves in accordance with natural mandates. 

6. Ibid., 625–29.

7. Ibid., 665–72. The uncertainty principle was first formulated by Werner Heisenberg in 

1926. Heisenberg tells us that “there are limits to our ability to simultaneously measure certain 

data, such as position and velocity” (ibid., 666). 

8. Ibid., 806–15.

9. Ibid., 56–62. 
FROM QUARKS TO COGNITION

29

10. Ibid., 60–65, 450–52.

11. Ibid., 453–54. High resolution is limited to an area of about 1 degree around the center 

of the human retina.

12. Ibid., 454, 457–58.

13. Ibid., 459.

14. Ibid., 458–61.

15. Taber, “Interpretation of Foreign Policy Events,” 31.

16. Ibid., 31, 33–34.

17. Khong, Analogies at War, 9–10. Khong adds that “analogies (1) help define the nature of the 

situation confronting the policymaker; (2) help assess the stakes; and (3) provide prescriptions. 

They help evaluate alternative options by (4) predicting their chances of success; (5) evaluating their 

moral rightness; and (6) warning about dangers associated with the options” (ibid., 10).

18. Ibid., 42–43, as adapted from Markus and Zajonc, “Cognitive Perspective,” 143, 201. 

19. Khong, Analogies at War, 25, 27, as adapted from Rumelhart, “Schemata: The Building 

Blocks of Cognition,” 33–34. 

20. Khong, Analogies at War, 26.

21. Woodward, Bush at War, 38. President Bush as quoted during an interview with Bob 

Woodward. 

22. Jervis, Perception and Misperception, 68.

23. Ibid.

24. Ibid., 72–73.

25. Allison and Zelikow, Essence of Decision, 184–85.

26. Ibid., 185. 

27. Jervis, Perception and Misperception, 73–74.

28. Khong, Analogies at War, 255.

29. Ibid., 13–14. For summaries of the cognitive psychological research experiments and 

theories that Khong draws on, see Markus and Zajonc, “Cognitive Perspective”; and Vosniadou 

and Ortony, Similarity and Analogical Reasoning. 

30. Khong, Analogies at War, 14.

31. Ibid., 13.

32. Ibid., 14. The notion of knowledge structures “outkicking their coverage” is this author’s 

own, but it is consistent with what Khong describes as “the phenomenon of perseverance” 

(ibid.). Jervis describes the theory of “cognitive consistency” in which “belief structures tend 

toward consistency or balance.” According to Jervis, rational consistency does not imply that 

interpretations and subsequent behaviors accurately reflect reality but that interpretations and 

behaviors are consistent with existing belief structures. See Jervis, Perception and Misperception, 117–21; and Verba, “Assumptions of Rationality and Non-rationality,” 94. 

33. Ball, “How Valid Are the Assumptions?,” 36.

34. Weber, Gerth, and Mills, From Max Weber, 280.

35. Jervis, Perception and Misperception, 9.

36. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, viii, as adapted from George, “Case Studies and Theory 

Development,” 43–68. 

37. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, ix.

38. Ibid. Gaddis characterizes these codes as (1) George Kennan’s original strategy of containment implemented by the Truman administration, 1947–49; (2) the assumptions surrounding NSC-68 following the Korean War, 1950–53; (3) the “New Look” of the Eisenhower-Dulles 

administration, 1953–61; (4) the era of “flexible response” in the Kennedy-Johnson administrations, 
FROM QUARKS TO COGNITION

30

1961–69; and (5) the Nixon-Kissinger strategy of détente, 1970–79 (ibid). Gaddis compares the five 

geopolitical codes to delineate patterns in US grand strategy. This paper draws on Gaddis’s structural divisions of US grand strategy into eras of containment to help define the larger Cold War 

context within which each Vietnam-era president imagined and tried to solve the Vietnam War. 

39. Ibid., ix, 24–27, 54, 64, 69. Kennan coined the term containment and postulated two fundamental objectives in foreign policy: (1) “to protect the security of the nation, by which is meant 

the continued ability of this country to pursue the development of its internal life without serious 

interference, or threat of interference, from foreign powers”; and (2) “to advance the welfare of its 

people, by promoting a world order in which this nation can make the maximum contribution to 

the peaceful and orderly development of other nations and derive maximum benefit from their 

experiences and abilities” (ibid., 26). Kennan was adamant that “complete security or perfection 

of international environment will never be achieved” and that the best policies indicated “direction” as opposed to final “destinations” (ibid.). For the Kennan lectures and essays, see Kennan, 

American Diplomacy. Gaddis summarizes the three stages of Kennan’s containment strategy as 

(1) “restore the balance of power left unstable by the defeats of Germany and Japan and by the 

simultaneous expansion of Soviet influence in Europe and Asia”; (2) discover and exploit the 

schisms between different Communist regimes and fragment “the international Communist 

movement”; and (3) change the Soviet Union over time by promoting a new conceptualization of 

international relations, convincing “Russian leaders that their interests could better be served by 

learning to live with a diverse world than by trying to remake it in their image.” See Gaddis, Strategies 

of Containment, 54–69. 

40. Ibid., ix, 88–92, 115. NSC-68 departed from Kennan’s version of containment by expanding US commitment from the defending of strategic “strong points” to a wider perimeter defense. 

NSC-68 more intimately coupled prestige, credibility, economics, and perceptions of national 

strength to balance of power theory, thus moving containment into nonmilitary domains. This 

policy document assumed “Western weakness”—that the West could not tolerate even shortterm advances by Communists, that alliances were key in preemptively combating Communist 

advances, and that Soviet behavior could actually help the Western image. It pivoted on the idea 

of collective security and expanded the aims of US containment strategy. Despite the expansion 

of containment strategy into nonmilitary domains, however, NSC-68 was still much more militarycentric than the containment strategy developed under Eisenhower. For more detail, see NSC-68, 

14 April 1950, in Foreign Relations of the United States (FRUS), 1950, vol. 1, 240. 

41. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 124, adapted from John Paton Davies, memorandum, 

22 September 1950, FRUS, vol. 7, 754; and Dean Acheson (address, National War College, 27 

August 1951), Acheson Papers, box 69, “Classified off the Record Speeches, 1947–52,” Harry S. 

Truman Presidential Library and Museum, Independence, MO.

42. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 144–46.

43. Ibid., 146, adapted from Hagerty Diary, 5 January 1954, James Hagerty Papers, box 1, 

Nautilus, Dwight D. Eisenhower Presidential Library and Museum, Abilene, KS. 

44. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 128. See also Eisenhower, “Inaugural Address,” 6. 

45. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 59, 129, 134, 152.

46. Kennedy, “Special Message to the Congress on Urgent National Needs,” 396–406.

47. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 213.

48. Ibid.

49. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 4. See also Weigley, American Way of War. 

50. Thies, When Governments Collide, 9.

51. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 5; and Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 222. 
FROM QUARKS TO COGNITION

31

52. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 5.

53. During the Kennedy administration, multiple covert operations against Hanoi and in 

South Vietnam were conducted. The most notable were those performed by Maj Gen Edward 

Landsdale. Kennedy authorized the introduction of 400 special forces Soldiers almost immediately in 1961 and cleared them for harassment and sabotage missions in South Vietnam as well as 

in the North. See Sheehan, Pentagon Papers, 80–81, 231–33. President Johnson originally limited 

Marine and Army actions to within 50 miles of their bases in Vietnam and was extremely restrictive on target selection and prosecution during Operation Rolling Thunder. 

54. According to Gaddis in Strategies of Containment, détente translates from French to mean 

“calm, relaxation, easing, but it can also mean the trigger of a gun.” In Russian, the closest term to 

détente is razriadka, which means “lessening” or “reduction and relaxation.” Razriadka can also 

mean “discharging” or “unloading.” Détente implies a releasing of tension (287). The “trigger” that 

was to release tensions between the Soviet Union and the United States under Nixon was a shift 

away from policies of “absolute security” toward policies that promoted “relative security.” In A 

World Restored, Kissinger wrote in 1957 that absolute security was not possible because for one 

state to be “totally satisfied,” all other states had to be “totally dissatisfied.” Therefore, Nixon’s containment strategy incorporated a shared “relative insecurity” among the United States, China, 

and the Soviet Union (144–46). 

55. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 287.

56. Kissinger as quoted in ibid., 277. 

57. Nixon, In the Arena, 301–5.

58. In 1964 President Johnson sent more than 20,000 American troops to the Dominican 

Republic to prevent the Communist military regime from retaining power in that country. 

59. Cottam and McCoy, “Image Change,” 117–19.

60. For reading on game theory and its influence on US grand strategy, see Thomas C. 

Schelling’s books The Strategy of Conflict (1960) and Arms and Influence (1966), published by 

Harvard University Press. For additional reading on evolutionary game theory and theories on 

collective cooperation and competition, see Robert Axelrod, The Evolution of Cooperation

(New York: Basic Books, 1984); and Mancur Olson, The Logic of Collective Action: Public Goods 

and the Theory of Groups (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1965).

61. Goldstein and Freeman, Three-Way Street, 6.

62. Ibid.

63. Billings and Hermann, “Problem Identification,” 54–56.

64. Ibid., 55. Problem representation consists of two key stages: the first stage, location, 

involves detecting the gap between goals and the perceived current state and then placing the 

problem into cognitive categories (threat, opportunity, etc.). The second stage, diagnosis, involves a more thorough assessment of the causes and consequences of the problem. Location 

and diagnosis in aggregate recognize a problem, categorize it, and then embed it in a more or 

less well-developed causal network. Since most policy problems and especially inherited wars 

are long term, policy makers are forced to revisit and reevaluate and possibly redefine the problem 

and solutions continuously. 

65. Ibid., 57.

66. Boulding, Image, 3–5.

67. “Advantage” is not meant to imply rote rationality or the blind pursuit of self-interest. 

Rather, individuals will seek behaviors that they perceive as most likely to preserve or attain 

what is believed to be most valuable. What individuals value most shifts and is context dependent. Value scales and their influence on image and behavior are discussed later in this section. 
FROM QUARKS TO COGNITION

32

68. Boulding, Image, 6.

69. Jervis, Perception and Misperception, 7–8.

70. Boulding, Image, 6–7.

71. Billings and Hermann, “Problem Identification,” 62–63.

72. Boulding, Image, 7.

73. Ibid., 8.

74. Kuhn, Structure of Scientific Revolutions, 44–45, 50, 63, 67–68, 85, 111, 115–16.

75. Boulding, Image, 8.

76. Jervis, Perception and Misperception, 187.

77. Billings and Hermann, “Problem Identification,” 62–68. Boulding also addresses the 

degree to which certainty, uncertainty, probability, improbability, clarity, and vagueness all play 

in how much or how little information transforms image. See Boulding, Image, 10–11. 

78. Boulding, Image, 11.

79. Ibid., 11, 12, 14.

80. Ibid., 14.

81. Ibid., 14–17, 20–28.

82. Ibid., 15.

83. Ibid., 98, 100–102.

84. Ibid., 28, 103.

85. Ibid., 104, 114.

86. Peters, Schlesinger, and Wilentz, Lyndon B. Johnson, xv–xvi, xviii.
33

Chapter 3

Kennedy: “Containment”

from Camelot to Cam Ranh Bay

Let every nation know . . . we shall pay any price, bear any burden, 

meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, to assure the 

survival and the success of liberty . . . knowing that here on earth 

God’s work must truly be our own.

—JFK Inaugural Address, January 1961

There’ll be great Presidents again . . . but there’ll never be another 

Camelot.

 —Jackie Kennedy, November 1963

During a 1963 interview with Life magazine writer Theodore H. White, 

Jackie Kennedy revealed that she and her late husband had been particularly 

enamored with the popular Broadway musical Camelot, written by Alan Jay 

Lerner. “Jack had this hero idea of history,” the former First Lady said, “the 

idealistic view.”1

 White had resurrected the 1,000-year-old Arthurian legend 

in the 1950s for his novel The Once and Future King.

2

 Following the publication of White’s interview with Jackie Kennedy, the JFK administration was 

inexorably linked with Camelot. Ever since, historians, political scientists, 

and analysts have produced scores of literature with contrary, overlapping, 

and shifting interpretations of this mythical kingdom. The literature simultaneously portrays Kennedy as a “martyred politician,” a betrayed king, a charlatan, the consummate Cold Warrior, a hero, a fool, rash, pragmatic, and the 

“unwitting or deliberate architect of a tragic war.”3

 Dean Acheson found nothing stirring in Kennedy, commenting that “he did not seem to me to be in any 

sense a great man.”4

 In 1993 Pres. Bill Clinton called Kennedy’s time in office 

a great and singular episode in “the history of our great Nation [that] changed 

the way we think about our country, our world, and our own obligations to 

the future.”5

 Robert McNamara asserts that had Kennedy lived, the United 

States would not have escalated its involvement in Vietnam while others insist 

that the debacles in Vietnam and Cuba define Kennedy’s presidency.6

The Camelot legend and the Kennedys’ enduring association with it are 

once again invoked to examine the kingdom JFK sought, the enemies he believed threatened it, and the mechanisms he imagined could build it. When 
KENNEDY

34

Kennedy took the mantle from Eisenhower in 1961, the presidency passed 

from the oldest elected president to the youngest, symbolizing a “generational 

imperative” and legitimacy not too dissimilar from the young and unlikely 

squire pulling Excalibur from the stone.7

 During his inaugural address, Kennedy 

said that man now “holds in his mortal hands the power to abolish all forms 

of human poverty and all forms of human life.”8

 The “different world” Kennedy 

describes in his inauguration speech invokes a sense that all things, good and 

ill, are possible and that both the new government’s potential and the threats 

it faces are of legendary, even magical, proportion. The legend of the Round 

Table is often invoked to describe Arthur’s noble and equitable leadership 

style, but it also reflects a king’s vision for how best to arrange and organize 

his knights. Kennedy’s rearrangement of governmental institutions bespeaks 

a president’s vision for how best to position and administer his agents. 

Kennedy’s vision for the world was perhaps both noble and inspirational, 

but what were the consequences of the image he held of his own presidency 

and of Vietnam? How did Kennedy’s image of the United States’ role in the 

world and of Vietnam’s place in the security environment drive agendas, and 

what were the outcomes of those agendas? In the Arthurian legend, Arthur is 

betrayed by his half-sister Morgan le Fay, who drugs Arthur so that he unwittingly couples with his other half-sister, Morgause. The child conceived 

through this betrayal was prophesied to destroy Arthur’s kingdom. Were 

Kennedy’s image and agenda themselves betrayed so that now in retrospect 

the ill-conceived offspring of Vietnam returns to destroy Camelot? If so, who 

or what were the betrayers? Who or what were the betrayed? To address these 

questions, we now examine Kennedy’s own presidential image of the war in 

Vietnam and how that image tied to agendas and outcomes. 

Presidential Image

For the purposes of this study, presidential image encompasses images of 

self, public perceptions, the office of the president and the institutions it commands, presidential values and agendas, perceptions of threats, and the means 

and methods the president perceives as necessary to overcome those threats. 

The terms presidential image and image are used interchangeably. Additionally, Vietnam was by no means the only threat President Kennedy faced, but 

since it is the subject of this paper, analysis is rooted in how Vietnam was 

perceived within the larger security environment. Even in the context of Vietnam, there are an infinite number of possible images to draw from, so we 

purposely limit the scope to those that best correlate to agendas and decisions 
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discovered in primary and secondary sources. For ease of analysis and explanation, we also attempt to separate different images, but the iterative nature of 

cognitive processes and the overlap among various images make this difficult. 

An approach that is too linear might artificially imply direct causality between 

particular images and outcomes. The same is true for our division among image, 

agenda, and outcomes. Decision making in politics is messy: agendas and results flow from an extremely convoluted “sausage making” process. Any one 

decision or outcome may be the result of multiple factors. However, by parceling out some of the more pronounced images, one can better identify a few of 

the most influential ingredients that pervaded one, if not several, presidencies 

during Vietnam. 

Images of Vietnam, Total War, and a New Generation

In January 1963, Specialist James McAndrew was killed in a helicopter 

crash in Vietnam. In February McAndrew’s sister, Bobbie Pendergrass, wrote 

a letter asking President Kennedy for an explanation. “I can’t help but feel that 

giving one’s life for one’s country is one thing,” Pendergrass wrote, “but being 

sent to a country [that] half our country never even heard of and being shot 

at without even a chance to shoot back is another thing altogether!”9

 Kennedy 

responded to Bobbie Pendergrass in a two-page letter dated 6 March 1963:

The questions which you posed in your letter can . . . best be answered by realizing why 

your brother—and other American men—went to Viet Nam [sic] in the first place. . . . 

Americans are in Vietnam because we have determined that this country must not fall 

under Communist domination. . . . Shortly after the division [of Vietnam] eight years 

ago it became apparent that [it] could not be successful . . . without extensive assistance. . . . 

By 1961 it became apparent that the trouble in . . . Viet Nam could easily expand [and] 

that Viet Nam is only part of [the Communists’] larger plan for bringing . . . Southeast 

Asia under their domination. . . . Viet Nam is now most crucial. If Viet Nam should fall, 

it will indicate to the people of Southeast Asia that complete Communist domination . . . 

is inevitable. Your brother was in Viet Nam because the threat to the Viet Namese [sic] 

people is, in the long run, a threat to the Free World community. . . . For when freedom 

is destroyed in one country, it is threatened throughout the world.10

At the end of her letter, Pendergrass assures Kennedy that he is doing a 

“wonderful job” and that she is in fact a “good Democrat,” but her questions 

are salient and reflective of the angst and incongruity that continue to plague 

the Vietnam debate today.11 Moreover, the exchange between Kennedy and 

Pendergrass reveals key aspects of Kennedy’s presidential image of the war. 

Kennedy saw Vietnam as a crucial domino in the now total Cold War against 

Communism, and he believed South Vietnam was incapable of handling the 

conflict on its own.12 Kennedy’s letter also reveals an implied, even necessary, 
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responsibility of the United States to intervene on behalf of the Free World. 

Finally, through his discourse with Mrs. Pendergrass, we get a sense of Kennedy’s 

belief that leaders should both educate and inspire. An educated man, Kennedy 

insisted, “must give his objective sense, his sense of liberty to the maintenance 

of our society at a critical time.”13 Kennedy’s image of a leader as educator also 

came through during a 1956 speech on Indochina, in which he quoted Thomas 

Jefferson: “If we think [the people] not enlightened enough to exercise their 

control with a wholesome direction, the remedy is not to take it from them 

but to inform their discretion by education.”14 For Kennedy, Vietnam represented high stakes that the United States could not ignore, and it was up to a 

new generation to figure out how to pull the sword from the stone. 

In May 1961, Kennedy described to a joint session of Congress the new and 

exceptional threats to freedom and the responsibility the United States had in 

meeting those threats: “The great battlefield for the defense and expansion of 

freedom today is the whole southern half of the globe—Asia, Latin America, 

and the Middle East—the lands of the rising peoples. . . . The adversaries of 

freedom did not create the revolution[,] . . . but they are seeking to ride the 

crest of its wave—to capture it for themselves.” Kennedy referenced Vietnam 

and described its struggle for freedom as a “contest of will and purpose as well 

as force and violence—a battle for minds and souls as well as lives and territory.” He continued to say, “We are engaged in a world-wide struggle in which 

we bear a heavy burden to preserve and promote the ideals that we share with 

all mankind. . . . The United States must give all necessary aid to local forces 

with the will and capacity to cope with attack, subversion, insurrection, or 

guerilla warfare.” The United States, Kennedy said, must “foster global progress.”15

Kennedy perceived the consequences of a Communist victory in South 

Vietnam much as his predecessor had. In 1954 the NSC, under Eisenhower’s 

direction, predicted that the fall of any nation to Communism would inevitably 

“endanger the stability and security” of Europe.16 The assumptions behind 

domino theory pervaded both the Eisenhower and Kennedy administrations. 

What was different for Kennedy, however, was the preeminence of threat 

posed by the wars of national liberation that Soviet premier Nikita Khrushchev 

threatened to support in 1961. “We are opposed around the world by a monolithic and ruthless conspiracy that relies primarily on covert means for expanding its sphere of influence,” Kennedy told the American Newspaper Publishers 

Association in April 1961.17 For Kennedy, the battlespace had expanded, and 

the new challenges could no longer be met by the tired policies of past generations. “The torch has been passed,” Kennedy said during his inaugural 

speech, to one of the “few generations . . . granted the role of defending freedom in its hour of maximum danger.”18 From his time as a senator, through 
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his presidential campaign, and in taking office, Kennedy emphasized putting 

“distance between himself ” and those of Eisenhower’s generation and was 

preoccupied “with creating a distinct identity.” As president, Kennedy even 

went so far as to resist being photographed playing golf out of worry that he 

would be associated with his “more leisurely predecessor.”19

Kennedy’s belief in the new generation is intertwined with his image of 

Vietnam, and both are revealed in several speeches he delivered as a senator. 

In his 1954 speech “The Truth about Indochina,” Kennedy railed against what 

he saw as a stale and impotent US policy for Indochina. He condemned the 

platitudes and overused “prophecies” that had repeatedly failed to bring either 

political independence or a French military victory, noting that prophetic failures had “in no way diminished the frequency of their reiteration.” Kennedy 

saw the Eisenhower administration as overly passive and imprecise, inclined 

to ignore unpleasant confrontations with facts surrounding potentially unpleasant foreign policy options. Eisenhower’s massive-retaliation policy and 

undulating debates concerning Indochina were overly blunt and increasingly 

obsolescent “in an era of supersonic attack and atomic retaliation.”20 In addition to lambasting the Eisenhower administration, Kennedy also revealed the 

specifics of how he perceived the struggle in Vietnam. 

Commenting on calls to further aid the French, Kennedy stated that 

“frankly, . . . no amount of American military assistance in Indochina can 

conquer an enemy which is everywhere and at the same time nowhere, ‘an 

enemy of the people’ which has the sympathy and covert support of the people.” 

Kennedy cautioned against US involvement and an overreliance on military 

means in a political struggle: “There is no broad, general support of the native 

Vietnam government among the people. . . . To check the southern drive of 

communism makes sense but not only through reliance on the force of arms. 

The task is rather to build strong native non-Communist sentiment within 

these areas and rely on that as a spearhead of defense rather than upon the 

legions of General de Lattre. To do this apart from and in defiance of innately 

nationalistic aims spells foredoomed failure.”21

Kennedy warned of the stark political reality in Vietnam while at the same 

time legitimizing the need to contain the spread of Communism. His hesitations over purely military strategies, criticisms of the Eisenhower administration, and emphasis on governmental solutions all delineate images of Vietnam and the peculiar challenges facing his generation. Victory in Vietnam 

was necessary but not possible through blunt and outdated policies. Success 

required a new generation and a new approach. As discussed later, when Kennedy 

becomes president, these images directly inform his Vietnam policy agendas. 

Kennedy also imagines a unique role and responsibility for the United States 
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in Vietnam that will require a distinct break with Eisenhower’s policies—a 

point clearly illustrated in his 1956 speech at the Conference on Vietnam.

Addressing the conference in Washington, DC, Kennedy lamented that 

too often US involvement is like that of the world’s “fireman,” rushing in when 

a fire breaks out with the “heavy equipment” to loud applause, only to leave 

when the blaze is extinguished. The United States required a long-term vision 

for Vietnam and an honest recognition for how vital the country’s fate was to 

US security. In an allusion to Eisenhower’s domino theory, Kennedy called 

Vietnam the “keystone to the arch, the finger in the dike[,] . . . the cornerstone 

of the Free World in Southeast Asia.”22 Kennedy’s meaning was clear. As goes 

Vietnam, so goes Asia, so goes the world. It is important to note that while 

Kennedy insisted on a departure from the “fireman” approach, he did not 

disengage from the underlying assumptions of the domino theory. Containing Communism is an entrenched objective and part of Kennedy’s overall 

security schema. As Robert Jervis observes, “World images that have been 

created by ideas have, like switchmen, determined the tracks along which action 

has been pushed by the dynamics of interests.”23 So while Kennedy views the 

problem of Vietnam and its solutions quite differently than Eisenhower in 

emphasizing the need for a more politically, vice militarily, oriented strategy, 

their shared world image of a monolithic Communist threat drives them both 

to the same ends—containment. Or so it appears at first glance.

A Pentagon study describes Eisenhower’s approach to the Vietnam problem 

as a “limited-risk gamble.”24 Eisenhower pursued containment through a 

minimum-cost approach and feared the consequences of an overreaching foreign 

policy. The massive-retaliation nuclear policy was as much an economic calculus as it was a military strategy. And although Eisenhower’s strategic fiscal 

and military decisions between 1955 and 1960 perhaps provided the “gingerbread architecture” for the political, military, and social legislation that manifested themselves under President Kennedy, the latter’s version of containment and the means to achieve it were far more expansive.25

Five years prior to succeeding Eisenhower and in a prelude to the near supernatural mandates laid out in his inaugural address, Kennedy reveals just how 

intimately he views the relationship between Vietnam and American prestige: 

“Vietnam represents a test of American responsibility and determination. . . . 

If we are not the parents of little Vietnam, then surely we are the godparents. 

We presided at its birth[,] . . . gave assistance to its life[, and] . . . have helped 

to shape its future. As French influence . . . has declined in Vietnam, American influence has steadily grown. This is our offspring—we cannot abandon 

it, we cannot ignore its needs.”26 Kennedy deeply imbued outcomes in Vietnam 

with notions of US prestige and responsibility—an image that inevitably 
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raises America’s stakes in Vietnam and that also increases the means the 

United States is ultimately willing to use to protect those stakes. 

Kennedy’s more expansive image of US stakes and responsibilities in Vietnam 

is the backstory to what James McDougall describes as the salient psychological shift that occurs in the transition between Eisenhower and Kennedy. 

The “new generation” ushered in a “technocracy of politicians, arrogating to 

government the right to fix a national agenda and order fabrication of techniques, both hardware and management, for its fulfillment.”27 Martha Cottam 

and Dorcas McCoy describe the Cold War as primarily a cognitive conflict 

“associated with a clear and powerful worldview composed of clearly defined 

images, scripts, and schemata and a repertoire of tactics that derived from 

containment.”28 The arrangements and accomplishments of institutions and 

ideologies surrounded the strict material standoff between the United States 

and Soviet Union. The validity of these respective institutions and ideologies 

became as important, if not more so, than the competitive military balance of 

tanks and missiles. High technology such as nuclear warheads, intercontinental 

jet bombers, satellites, and ICBMs were not just symbols of military prowess—

they personified the ideologies and institutions of the societies that produced 

them. As Paul Edwards describes in The Closed World, “The primary weapons 

of the Cold War were ideologies, alliances, advisors, foreign aid, national 

prestige—and above and behind them all, the juggernaut of high technology.” 

Edwards’s work demonstrates how “ideas and devices are linked through 

politics and culture.”29 Edwards certainly emphasizes technology over image 

in his observations, but the interplay among perceptions, technology, and 

decision making are important contributions and helpful in understanding 

how the Cold War had become a total “competition for the loyalty and trust 

of all peoples fought out in all arenas.” The advent of new technologies coincided with the rise of Kennedy’s generation and created an atmosphere of 

both “fear and euphoria” that permeated a now-total Cold War being fought 

on all fronts.30 Kennedy’s image of the stakes involved, the total threat, and the 

inefficacies of the old regime in duly meeting the new challenges in this very 

different world is consistent with the actions he takes as president. However, 

Kennedy’s image was not simply driven by technology; rather, the latter was a 

part of how Kennedy viewed the potential accomplishments and concurrent 

responsibilities of the institutions that created the technology in the first place. 

An industrialized country armed with the latest technology might be capable, 

but such a country could become transcendent only through the full expression of democracy’s ideals. Infused with new blood and fresh outlooks, 

America could lead the fight that would conquer not only the Communist 

monster but also the collective woes of humanity: “For what Pericles said to 
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the Athenians has long been true of this commonwealth: ‘We do not imitate—

for we are a model to others.’ ”31 America was to be the model government on 

the new frontier of freedom. Faced with the ultimate fear and inspired by the 

possibility of Utopia, the United States had to act. Vietnam was America’s 

offspring; therefore, the United States had to fortify and raise South Vietnam 

through transcendent American values, ideals, institutions, and military capabilities. Kennedy’s parental analogy between the United States and Vietnam 

reflects the dependent image he had of South Vietnam’s government. Cottam 

describes dependent image as the “social comparison in which each perceiver’s 

country (or in-group) is considered vastly superior to and beneficent toward 

the dependent [who is] deemed childlike.”32 Kennedy saw America’s position 

and power as necessary ingredients for bolstering South Vietnam. 

One pervasive assumption of the Kennedy administration was that “the 

Diem regime’s own evident weakness—from the ‘famous problem of Diem as 

administrator’ to the [South Vietnamese] Army’s lack of offensive spirit—

could be cured if enough dedicated Americans, civilians and military, became 

involved in South Vietnam to show the South Vietnamese, at all levels, how to 

get on and win the war.”33 In a letter to Diem in late 1961, Kennedy told the 

South Vietnamese president that the United States was “prepared to help the 

Republic of Vietnam to protect its people and to preserve its independence” 

and that American “indignation” had mounted over the “deliberate savagery of 

the Communist[s].”34 Kennedy’s assurances to Diem exemplified his own belief 

that the United States should respond to South Vietnam’s plight and marked the 

continuing trajectory toward increased unilateral US action in Vietnam. 

The United States issued a separate “American Statement” at the conclusion 

of the July 1954 Geneva Accords, which divided Vietnam along the 17th parallel and stipulated cessation of hostilities. Although the United States endorsed the “spirit” of the accords, Eisenhower reserved the right to act if South 

Vietnam were threatened and held out hope for a united and democratic Vietnam. Officially, the United States called for free elections and democratic 

unity in Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam so that the people of Indochina could 

achieve “full independence [and] . . . determine their own future.” Unofficially, Eisenhower viewed the accords as a disastrous accommodation of 

the Communists. A cable from Secretary of State John Foster Dulles to the 

Saigon Embassy in December 1955 reveals the Eisenhower administration’s 

disillusionment with the Geneva Agreements: “While we should certainly 

take no positive steps to speed up [the] present process of decay of [the] 

Geneva Accords, neither should we make the slightest effort to infuse life into 

them.”35 Despite warnings from the National Intelligence Board that no 

amount of military action or aid to Vietnam was likely to produce results and 
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irrespective of memos from the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) that highlighted the 

utter lack of military objectives in Vietnam, Eisenhower committed to a 

threefold program for post-Geneva Vietnam.36 Eisenhower’s program included building up Vietnamese indigenous forces, providing economic aid 

directly to the Vietnamese, and working with and supporting President Diem. 

The Geneva Accords mark a significant point of departure for US policy in 

Vietnam. By pursuing its own agenda and interactions with Diem, the United 

States supplanted the French in Vietnam. Furthermore, Diem’s regime was so 

unstable and inefficient that it depended on US support for its very existence; 

thus, South Vietnam became “the creation of the United States.”37

Eisenhower’s policies are an important factor in understanding Kennedy’s 

own perceptions and policies on Vietnam. Though they were limited in scope, 

Eisenhower sired increased US obligations in Vietnam. Kennedy inherited 

this commitment and therefore had a definite institutional momentum and 

direction when he took office. However, whether Eisenhower fostered a situation from which it was impossible for the United States to disentangle itself 

might be another matter altogether. The inevitability of Vietnam, based on 

overarching Cold War paradigms and logic, is certainly a plausible explanation. As George Herring asserts,

The United States’ involvement in Vietnam was not primarily a result of errors of judgment or of the personality quirks of the policymakers, although these things existed in 

abundance. It was a logical, if not inevitable, outgrowth of a world view and a policy, the 

policy of containment, which Americans in and out of government accepted without 

serious question for more than two decades. The commitment in Vietnam expanded as 

the containment policy itself grew. America’s failure in Vietnam calls into question the 

basic premises of that policy and suggests the urgent need for a . . . reappraisal of American 

attitudes toward the world and [America’s] place in it.38

This paper, however, contends that the images American presidents held of 

Vietnam affected US involvement there as well as how each president confronted and conducted the war. The containment schema may very well have 

influenced presidential choices, but individual images should not be discounted. Herring’s macroexplanation for Vietnam undervalues the reinforcing effects individual presidents’ images, variances, and perceptions had on 

their containment and other policies. Could we assume, for instance, that if 

Nixon had defeated Kennedy in 1960 he would have conducted Vietnam policy 

in much the same manner as Kennedy? Though counterfactual and impossible 

to know, this paper argues that the who matters because each image is distinct. 

Kennedy himself was convinced that “one man could make a difference.”39 Regardless of the institutional schema, each president’s image interprets not only 

the overarching national security problem but also ways of incorporating 

problems such as Vietnam into national security strategy. Image is thus the 
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intermediary between the schema and the existential. So even though Eisenhower 

may very well have recognized Vietnam as a critical piece in his overall containment strategy, the degree to which he was willing to commit US resources 

differed from Kennedy’s approach. Part of this distinction was driven by the 

differing perceptions the two men had not only of Vietnam but also of what 

government was capable of and how it should behave.

In his farewell address, Eisenhower described America as “the strongest, 

most influential, and most productive nation in the world,” but he also warned 

that the nation’s “preeminence” depended as much upon how America used 

its power as upon its military and material strength. Eisenhower described 

America’s responsibility and challenge to “keep the peace[,] . . . enhance liberty[,]” 

and foster human progress in the face of Communism’s hostile, ruthless, and 

global threat. Eisenhower’s farewell address and Kennedy’s inaugural address 

certainly have thematic consistencies. Communism was a global threat to the 

Free World’s progress, and America’s unique position and values left the 

United States with not only the challenge but also the responsibility of leading 

the fight against it. However, while Eisenhower characterizes the fight against 

Communism as the “crisis” that “absorbs our very beings,” he also quite clearly 

admonishes policy makers over their tendency to believe that “some spectacular and costly action could become the miraculous solution to all current 

difficulties.” For Eisenhower, the military-industrial complex and the absorption of private-sector institutions into the bourgeoning federal government 

could potentially combine with arrogant ambitions, causing not just an imbalance but a squandering of American power, prestige, resources, and future.40

Kennedy’s perception of Eisenhower’s policies as overly passive and undulating is perhaps a product of the contrasting image each man had concerning the 

role and capabilities of government in solving problems. Where Eisenhower 

saw his policies necessarily taking the long view, Kennedy saw inaction. The 

contrasting images affected how each man ultimately represented the problems 

facing the United States. For example, during a 1959 Thanksgiving weekend 

retreat with his NSC, Eisenhower asked his staff, “What is the true problem 

which faces Western Civilization?” In answer to his own question, Eisenhower 

said, 

The question is whether free government can continue to exist in the world, in view of the 

demands made by government and peoples on free economies, while simultaneously 

facing the continuing threat posed by a centrally controlled, hostile, atheistic, and growing 

economy. . . . We have got to meet the [Soviets] by keeping our economy absolutely healthy. . . . 

We must get the Federal Government out of every unnecessary activity. We can refuse to 

do things too rapidly. Humanity has existed for a long time. Suddenly we seem to have an 

hysterical approach, in health and welfare programs, in grants to the states. . . . We want to 

cure every ill in two years, in five years. . . . To my mind, this is the wrong attack.41
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When Kennedy pledges that America will “pay any price” and “bear any burden” 

to win the battle “for minds and souls,” he distinguishes his perceptions from 

those of his predecessor by at once elevating the objectives he believes governments are capable of achieving and by expanding the means by which a government should pursue those objectives. Gaddis observes that “perception of 

means had shaped both the nature and the extent” of America’s commitments 

and range of actions “in defense of global equilibrium” under Truman and 

Eisenhower but that “Kennedy’s more expansive perception of means paved 

the way for a more activist foreign policy.”42 So while both Kennedy and 

Eisenhower perceive a “total” Cold War and commit to containing the Communist threat, the means and measures each is willing to utilize for containment policy differ. Their preferred strategies reveal the dissimilar images each 

president had of government. Thus, when Vietnam becomes for Kennedy 

part of America’s “world-wide struggle,” he is inclined to extend the increased 

machinations and resources of his own country’s government to the government of South Vietnam (GVN).43 Kennedy’s inclinations for increased assistance to South Vietnam are further compounded by his perceptions of the 

Diem regime and geopolitical context surrounding Vietnam.

McNamara describes how the “intensification of relations between Cuba 

and the Soviets [and] a new wave of Soviet provocations in Berlin” created a 

context within which it was “reasonable to consider expanding U.S. effort in 

Vietnam” in light of the domino theory.44 McNamara admits, however, that 

despite the weight afforded the preservation of South Vietnam at the outset of 

the Kennedy administration, President Kennedy and his cadre of advisers 

(McNamara included) all lacked significant historical, social, and cultural understanding of Vietnam.45 In contrast to the abundant institutional expertise 

available on the Soviet Union, the State Department had ironically been 

purged of its most competent East Asian and Chinese experts during the 

“McCarthy hysteria of the 1950s.” Unable to draw on either extensive personal 

or institutional expertise, Kennedy set about making policy for a region that 

was “terra incognita.”46 Therefore, Kennedy’s image of Vietnam and his subsequent policies were heavily influenced by the context within which he viewed 

the country and by the US objectives he tied to it. Image readily fills cognitive 

gaps, and with Vietnam being the “unknown land” for Kennedy, his perceptions of that country adhered to the strategic purposes to be carried out 

through the conflict and the means by which he believed those purposes 

could be achieved. Vietnam was seen through the lens of the United States’ 

cause; therefore, images of Diem coalesced around American-centric ambitions. Characteristics that lent themselves to the Americanesque narrative 
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and mythology were embraced, while characteristics that ran counter were 

tolerated, overlooked, or attributed to the mystical unknowns of the Asian culture. 

Pres. Ngo Dinh Diem had spent several years in exile in the United States, 

where he attended a New Jersey seminary. Coming from a long line of Christian 

Vietnamese, Diem himself was a devoted Catholic and a staunch antiCommunist.47 He returned to Vietnam in 1954 and served as Pres. Bao Dai’s 

prime minister. Through a controversial and “rigged” referendum in 1955, 

Diem replaced Bao Dai as president.48 Diem was even less enthusiastic about 

the Geneva Accords than was the Eisenhower administration. With both overt 

and covert support from the United States, Diem effectively quashed election 

efforts prescribed by the Geneva Accords in 1956.49 American intelligence estimates, diplomatic cables, and reports reveal that the United States was fully 

aware of Diem’s corruption and authoritarian rule in 1960. Yet Diem’s Catholicism and democratic rhetoric “seemed evidence that he shared Western values.”50 Even a thin veneer of democracy in South Vietnam was too alluring to 

resist, and Diem’s apparent accomplishments in suppressing Communist activity and establishing rule of law, albeit harshly, seemed cause for hope. 

As Kennedy assumed office, he confronted not only assessments pointing 

out the weaknesses and corruption of Diem’s government but also the sentimental possibility for what Diem might be able to do if properly fortified and 

supported through a more proactive US government. A 1959 Newsweek article 

describes Diem as “one of the ablest free Asian leaders.”51 Senator Mike Mansfield 

attested to Diem’s “personal courage, integrity, determination, and authentic 

nationalism . . . [as] essential forces in forestalling a total collapse in South 

Vietnam.”52 That Diem was not perfect was obvious to Kennedy, but Diem’s 

imperfections were counterbalanced by the potential of what the United 

States could do through him. McNamara observes that the administration’s 

proclivity to value Diem’s potential as a democratic revolutionary dedicated 

to America’s cause in Asia obscured the fact that these qualities, even were 

they true, isolated Diem from his own people.53 Furthermore, the Asian culture was somewhat of a mystery. The strange relationship among Diem; his 

brother and chief political adviser, Ngo Dinh Nhu; and Nhu’s wife, Madame 

Ngo Dinh Nhu, reinforced the mystical characteristics of the Diem regime.54

In McNamara’s words, Diem was an “enigma,” and Madame Nhu was “bright, 

forceful, and beautiful, but also diabolical and scheming—a true sorceress.”55

Madame Nhu and the mysterious inner workings of the Diem regime both 

vexed and enchanted Kennedy’s administration, and Vietnam—much like 

Arthur’s half-sister Morgause—surreptitiously slid further under the sheets of 

American policy. The mystique of the Asian culture and the hopeful projection of iconic American values and ambitions skewed Kennedy’s image of 
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South Vietnam. Diem’s inconsistencies and misunderstandings between him 

and Kennedy could be readily attributed to cultural idiosyncrasies and/or 

overlooked for want of pursuing American objectives. 

Image affects interpretation, institutes biases, and discriminates between 

confirming and disconfirming information. Evidence that is contrary to established perceptions is often overlooked or discarded so that individuals can 

maintain a consistency in their worldviews.56 Kennedy’s lack of both personal 

and institutional expertise on Vietnam created a vacuum that allowed him to 

supplant a more objective assessment of the situation in Vietnam with what 

he wanted to accomplish there. As such, Kennedy’s view of Vietnam’s relationship to US interests, Vietnam’s meaning in terms of geopolitical struggles, and 

the nature and character of the country and its leaders encountered very little 

initial friction. Under these circumstances, Vietnam comes to be defined 

through US objectives vice US objectives being derived from Vietnam. This is 

an important distinction and is evidenced by Kennedy’s commitment to the 

Diem regime despite multiple intelligence reports that revealed the inefficacies 

and brutalities of his government.57 The argument that Diem was the “best the 

United States could hope for” as justification for Kennedy’s commitment to 

the South Vietnamese president assumes Kennedy’s loyalty was a foregone 

conclusion. Even if Diem were the only option, the fact that Kennedy insisted 

on pursuing an option reflects an inflated sense of what he believed the United 

States could help Diem achieve—a belief that contrasted sharply with the 

sobering accounts from the ground. In November 1961, Kennedy’s presidential military adviser, Gen Maxwell Taylor, provided a report that outlined increased US involvement on the ground and a “limited partnership” strategy. 

The Pentagon’s own analysis of Taylor’s proposals highlights the Kennedy administration’s assumptions that South Vietnam’s military, political, and social 

problems “could be cured if enough dedicated Americans [became] involved” 

and that US involvement would imbue the South Vietnamese “with the élan 

and style needed to win.” Diem’s shortcomings and the inconsistent circumstances on the ground in Vietnam that were not conducive to, or even desirable 

for, US involvement were overlooked. Vietnam was “the only place in the 

world where [Kennedy] faced a well-developed Communist effort to topple a 

pro-Western government” and as such became “a challenge that could hardly 

be ignored.”58

Kennedy’s vision for what was possible and necessary in Vietnam created 

an image of the conflict that allowed US missions and purposes in and through 

the country to overtake a more objective consideration of Vietnam’s realities.

Kennedy’s understanding of Vietnam becomes inexorably bound by what the 

United States seeks to accomplish there. Vietnam becomes a symbolic expression 
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of US prestige and commitment to the worldwide struggle against Communism and a reflection of Kennedy’s image of the United States. The distinction 

between Vietnam serving as a symbol and as reflecting Kennedy’s image is 

subtle but significant. Symbols are external and need not necessarily resemble 

whom or what they come to symbolize. The value of symbols is derived from 

what is projected onto them, but the fundamental nature and definitional understanding of symbols are not transformed through symbolism. For example, 

the Liberty Bell is a symbol of American independence, but we still know and 

define it as a bell. Reflective imaging, however—as occurs when Kennedy 

comes to define Vietnam through US objectives—transforms definitional understanding so that aspects of Vietnam’s character apart from US interests there 

are obscured or diminished.59 Symbols can be powerful and are related to, and 

often integrated with, image, but image is transformative whereas symbols are 

representative. So, even though the fact that Vietnam becomes a symbol of US 

prestige and commitment is powerful, it is Kennedy’s perceptual integration 

of Vietnam into his image of the United States and of the power and potential 

of government that ultimately transforms the degree, character, and nature of 

US commitment to the conflict.

Kennedy recognized the political nature of the struggle in Vietnam and 

was arguably correct in identifying Diem’s regime as the fulcrum in the struggle, 

at least to the extent that lack of strong governance in the South favored Hanoi’s 

cause. During a conversation with his NSC in November 1961, Kennedy revealed his misgivings over a strong US military response in Vietnam and 

pointed out “how starkly the situation in Vietnam contrasted with the Korean 

War.” Kennedy identified several compelling reasons for not intervening 

“10,000 miles away to help a native army of 200,000 fight 16,000 guerillas.”60

Yet Kennedy’s hesitance over full-blown military intervention did not equate 

to tentativeness over a more robust political intervention. As discussed above, 

Kennedy intimately tied US prestige, interests, and global objectives to outcomes in Vietnam. After the United States suffered its first casualties in Vietnam, Kennedy said during an interview that “we are attempting to help Vietnam maintain its independence and not fall under domination of the 

Communists. . . . We cannot desist in Vietnam.”61 Consequently, while Kennedy 

repeatedly insisted that the Vietnamese had to do it themselves, the conflict in 

Vietnam was too important to lose, and the Vietnamese doing it themselves 

really equated to the Vietnamese government operating as an extension of the 

machinations of the US government. In this way, Kennedy’s images of government, the United States, and Vietnam coalesce and provide insight into 

the motivations behind the policies and agendas he pursues in Vietnam. That 

he recognized the political nature of the conflict is to his credit. But just as 
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military-centric policies have limits and misalignments, so do the same pitfalls exist in political ones. 

Kennedy’s emphasis on political aspects and his belief in what the US government could accomplish perhaps prolonged the administration’s patience 

with Diem. Conversations, cables, and internal documents concerning Diem’s 

weakness in 1963 closely resembled intelligence and assessment reports from 

1961 (which, in turn, reflected those of the Eisenhower administration). Kennedy 

was partially blind to Diem’s obvious shortcomings because the US president’s 

objective-driven images and the importance he placed on success in Vietnam 

placed Diem on a pedestal—not because Diem was particularly enamoring 

or capable but because what a successful Diem signified in terms of Kennedy’s 

vision was too enchanting to resist. Diem’s pedestal was underpinned not so 

much by what he could potentially do himself (though his apparent early 

accomplishments certainly bolstered hopes) but by the promise of what a new 

generation of US government could do if it were properly organized and mobilized. Diem and Vietnam were both absorbed into and defined through 

Kennedy’s presidential image. 

Clausewitz tells us that war is policy by other means, and it is a common 

lament when wars go afoul to decry the failures of policies that undermine, 

misalign, and/or blur military objectives and capabilities. H. R. McMaster 

unequivocally states that “the war in Vietnam was not lost in the field, nor 

was it lost on the front pages of the New York Times or on the college campuses. 

It was lost in Washington, D.C., even before Americans assumed sole responsibility for the fighting in 1965.”62 The argument is valid that overly ambiguous 

political objectives or the misunderstanding of the character of the war or of 

the adversary often results in military failure. These truths were no less stark 

for the Americans in Vietnam than they were for the Prussians facing Napoleon. 

Yet in emphasizing the role of political objectives, one may tend to assume 

that policy can in fact remedy the myriad strategic problems nations face and 

that failure results from simply not finding the appropriate political remedy. 

When Eisenhower warned in his farewell address against hastily seeking solutions through an ever-expanding government, he asserts that some problems 

lie beyond even the polity’s capacity to find clean lines and satisfactory solutions. For Eisenhower, the gears of even the most clear-sighted and capable 

government could grind only so far. Complex social ills and wars might 

require “malleable” objectives or even lie beyond the scope of governmental 

solutions.63 Kennedy’s image, however, stands in stark contrast to Eisenhower’s 

despite the fact that both men rooted Vietnam in the context of the Cold War 

containment policy. Kennedy and his men were convinced that their vigor 

and intellect could succeed where Eisenhower had failed and that they could 
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raise government to new heights. “If there was anything that bound the men, 

their followers, and their subordinates together,” David Halberstam wrote of 

the Kennedy administration, “it was the belief that sheer intelligence and 

rationality could answer and solve anything.”64

With images of total war, a dependent yet crucial ally, and the imperatives 

and potential of a new governmental era, Kennedy turned to solving the Vietnam problem. The sword Kennedy pulled from the stone was government. 

Now the task before him was organizing and revolutionizing government so 

that it might be reforged into a well-honed and calibrated instrument. With 

sword in scabbard, Kennedy went in search of his round table so that he might 

arrange his knights for action. 

From Inheritance to Legacy: Kennedy’s New Table

“The United States needs a Grand Objective,” wrote a Kennedy appointee 

in a memo shortly after the administration took office: “We behave as if . . . 

our real objective is to sit by our pools. . . . The key consideration is not that 

the Grand Objective be exactly right, it is that we have one and that we start 

moving toward it.”65 Kennedy’s ascendance coincided with his clarion call to 

action. Kennedy believed Eisenhower’s administration had been too lax, too 

committed to increasingly obsolete approaches that were easily outstripped 

by the complex challenges of modern geopolitical realities. Governmental institutions as arranged by past generations were overly bloated and blunt instruments. Kennedy immediately streamlined the structure of the NSC staff 

and instituted what he believed to be a more nimble and proactive managerial 

style, relying on ad hoc task forces.66 Additionally, Kennedy bolstered US 

nuclear capabilities and demanded a more agile US military with modernized 

conventional forces and an increased ability to conduct irregular warfare. 

Guerilla warfare was “an international disease” that had infected Vietnam and 

that the United States had to eradicate.67 Kennedy also believed that Communism and guerilla warfare flourished in impoverished and underdeveloped 

societies and sought to inoculate such areas by removing the “source of disease” 

through extensive “economic and technical assistance” programs.68 In contrast to Eisenhower’s more reserved approach to foreign policy, Kennedy 

staked out a proactive agenda of “global activism” that sought greater flexibility 

through a transformed Defense Department and economic policy.69 Before 

we examine some of the specifics involved in Kennedy’s transformative 

agenda, it is useful to describe at least in part how the characteristics of the 
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transition between Eisenhower and Kennedy perhaps contributed to the 

degree, if not the nature, of Kennedy’s agenda. 

Shortly before taking office, Kennedy and his staff met with Eisenhower 

and his advisers. Though the records vary as to whether Eisenhower actually 

recommended direct US military involvement, Eisenhower did emphasize 

the importance of Laos and Vietnam in stopping the Communists’ advance in 

Asia.70 “If Laos is lost to the Free World,” said Eisenhower, “in the long run we 

will lose all of Southeast Asia.”71 Despite Eisenhower’s unequivocal statement, 

McNamara and others from Kennedy’s presidential staff left the meeting with 

the distinct impression that Eisenhower “did not know what to do in Southeast Asia.” McNamara recalled that “we received no thoughtful analysis of the 

problem and no pros and cons regarding alternative ways to deal with it. We 

were left only with [Eisenhower’s] ominous prediction[s,] . . . which made a 

deep impression on Kennedy.”72 Eisenhower’s ambiguity over Indochina and 

Vietnam, despite the criticality he places on the region in light of domino 

theory, is partially explained by his economically minded foreign policy. 

Eisenhower relied on a general nuclear-deterrent strategy, and American military forays in Southeast Asia were extremely limited. Additionally, Indochina 

sat at the intersection between generally accepted Cold War logic and the 

growing trend of wars of national liberation. Limited conflicts in Asia and 

around the globe begged Cold War rationales yet defied existing Cold War 

methodologies. Eisenhower inherited from Truman the same intractable 

Vietnam challenge he handed off to Kennedy—namely, how to reconcile 

grand Cold War strategies with the emerging threat of revolutionary wars.

As Truman’s secretary of state, George C. Marshall described the difficulties 

of discerning a satisfactory policy during France’s involvement in Vietnam: 

We have fully recognized France’s sovereign position. . . . At the same time we cannot 

shut our eyes to the fact there are two sides to this problem and that our reports indicate 

lack of French understanding [of the] other side and [the] continued existence [of 

France’s] dangerously outmoded colonial outlook and method. . . . On the other hand 

we do not lose sight [of the] fact that Ho Chi Minh has direct Communist connections[,] and it should be obvious that we are not interested in seeing colonial empire 

administrations supplanted by [a] philosophy of political organization directed from 

and controlled by [the] Kremlin.73

The Eisenhower administration continued to straddle the line Marshall describes, and although Eisenhower did direct aid and assistance to France and 

later South Vietnam, he withheld overt US military involvement. As the 

struggle between Communist and democratic factions intensified and the 

meaning of the struggle to US interests sharpened in the minds of policy 

makers, satisfactory solutions remained elusive, and US Indochina policy 

remained ambivalent. Therefore, within the context of US goals and concerns 
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regarding Indochina, Kennedy was correct in perceiving Eisenhower’s policies 

as insufficient. As framed by Eisenhower’s policies and existing Cold War 

paradigms, the “Indochina problem was intractable,” and Eisenhower handed 

Kennedy a “problem with no solution.”74

The lack of specificity on Indochina during the handoff between Eisenhower 

and Kennedy pushed ambiguity across administrations, inviting Kennedy to 

form his own image to define the problem and its solutions. According to 

McNamara, what impressed Kennedy during the meeting with Eisenhower 

was the criticality of Southeast Asia to US interests in the global struggle 

against Communism. Eisenhower’s characterization of Vietnam with regard 

to its importance to US interests was little different than Kennedy’s own. As 

such, Kennedy’s subsequent agenda derived not so much from a detailed collusion with Eisenhower’s perspectives or policies for the future (since few 

were provided) but from perceptions Kennedy developed while still outside 

the presidency.75 Presidential transitions are “like trying to change drivers of 

a car on a freeway at very high speed.”76 The institutional inertia or momentum that carries across presidencies is powerful. In this case, the momentum 

was commitment to the importance of Vietnam without clear specifics on 

how to proceed in Vietnam. That lack of detail allowed Kennedy to more 

freely infuse Vietnam policy with his Grand Objective and image not only of 

what Vietnam meant to US interests but also of how he believed the United 

States could transform itself, Vietnam, and the world. 

A New Force for a New War

Prior to Kennedy taking office in 1961, Hanoi had established the National 

Liberation Front, a guerilla group designed to undermine Pres. Ngo Dinh 

Diem’s government in Saigon. Russian premier Khrushchev had also pledged 

Soviet support for wars of national liberation. The fall of China in 1949, 

Khrushchev’s stated ambitions, Soviet expansion, and the promulgation of 

Mao’s guerilla doctrine throughout the 1950s created an atmosphere where a 

succession of Communist takeovers seemed “likely . . . wherever lack of national 

cohesion made states vulnerable . . . to guerilla attack.”77 Even apart from the 

relationship between guerilla warfare and the perceived sweep of Communism, irregular warfare and counterinsurgency appealed to Kennedy’s sensibilities in that unconventional warfare blended the martial and the political. 

Unconventional warfare was much more flexible and discreet, marking a distinct break with existing paradigms. Kennedy read the revolutionary writings 

of Che Guevara and often quoted Mao’s maxim that “guerillas are like fish, 
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and the people are the water in which fish swim. . . . If the temperature of the 

water is right, the fish will thrive.”78 After Laos fell to the Communists, Vietnam “became the test bed for counterinsurgency programs and techniques.”79

Kennedy sought the employment of a new breed of American military power 

in Vietnam. “If freedom is to be saved,” Kennedy told West Point’s 1962 graduating class, “we need a whole new kind of strategy, a wholly different kind of 

force, and a wholly different kind of training and commitment.”80

In early spring of 1961, Kennedy created the Presidential Task Force on 

Vietnam and charged its director, Deputy Secretary of Defense Roswell L. 

Gilpatric, to develop a “program of action” on Vietnam.81 In Gilpatric’s task 

force memo for the president, he summarizes that “a state of guerrilla warfare 

now exists throughout the country,” with a near tripling of “hard-core Communists” between 1960 and 1961.82 Gilpatric’s report characterizes Vietcong 

activities as consistent with the “Communist ‘master plan’ to take over all of 

Southeast Asia” and makes several political, military, and economic recommendations to Kennedy.83 In National Security Action Memorandum 

(NSAM) 52, Kennedy immediately approves Gilpatric’s stated US objectives 

and concept of operations in Vietnam as well as the task force’s political, military, and economic recommendations.84 Kennedy’s approval message read as 

follows:

The U.S. objective and concept of operations stated in the Report are approved: to prevent Communist domination of South Vietnam; to create in that country a visible and 

increasingly democratic society; and to initiate, on an accelerated basis, a series of mutually 

supporting actions of a military, political, economic, psychological and covert character 

designed to achieve this objective. . . . Additional actions . . . [include] the objective of 

meeting the increased security threat . . . along the frontier between Laos and Vietnam. . . . 

The President directs an assessment of the military utility of a further increase in G.V.N. 

forces from 170,000 to 200,000, together with an assessment of the parallel political and 

fiscal implications.85

Gilpatric identified the counterinsurgency plan as “most significant” in halting Communist subversion and called for an urgent and dedicated expansion 

in US military and economic aid as well as a dramatic increase in unconventional and psychological operations.86 The task force report makes clear the 

urgent need for US “operational flexibility” through increased unconventional, covert, and psychological capabilities and emphasizes that the United 

States must “impress upon [its] friends, the Vietnamese, and [its] foes . . . that 

come what may, the United States intends to win this battle” (emphasis in the 

original).87 In addition to approving the above, Kennedy also directed “full 

examination by the Defense Department under the guidance of the Director 

[Gilpatric] . . . of the size and composition of forces which would be desirable 

in the case of a possible commitment of US forces to Vietnam.”88
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George Herring contends that although Kennedy was more willing to wade 

“deeper into the morass” compared to the limited approach of his predecessor, 

Kennedy’s actions actually contradicted the impassioned rhetoric of his 

administration. Kennedy, according to Herring, was “cautious rather than bold, 

hesitant rather than decisive, and improvisational rather than carefully calculating.”89 The evidence begs an alternative view—that Kennedy was precisely 

calculating, decisive, and bold. Kennedy’s hesitancy was in the application of 

US military, economic, and political mechanisms in their current form or in 

the manner by which convention would dictate. Kennedy’s rhetoric was 

backed by a deliberate conceptualization of what the reformed institutions of 

government could accomplish, and he did not balk at immediately taking 

steps to initiate government’s transformation. In fact, Kennedy’s aversion to 

plodding caution and inaction not only colored his perceptions of the Eisenhower 

administration but also informed his decisions on whom he chose and trusted 

to effect his vision and what he charged them to do. 

When Kennedy abolished the rigid NSC structure that existed under 

Eisenhower, he replaced it with a more “collegial style of decision making” 

and met irregularly with his “inner club” of trusted advisers.90 Kennedy was 

dissatisfied with both the architecture and the people carried over from Eisenhower’s administration. In Kennedy’s view, policies lacked flexibility, and individuals lacked imagination. Two key international incidents in the early 

months of Kennedy’s administration reinforced this view. The first was the 

Bay of Pigs debacle in April, and the second was the Laotian settlement in 

May. The Bay of Pigs was an outgrowth of Eisenhower’s covert CIA operation 

to arm and train Cuban exiles to overthrow Fidel Castro’s government. The 

Laotian agreement left the Pathet Lao Communist-sympathizer group in control of eastern Laos, benefiting Hanoi’s logistic efforts to support the Vietcong. 

In both instances, Kennedy found fault with JCS planning and advice.91 Kennedy’s impression was that the joint chiefs were reluctant and prone to “beat 

their chest[s] until it comes time to do some fighting.”92 Thus, Kennedy’s restructuring of the national security and decision-making structures diminished the role of the JCS, and he turned to men like Maxwell Taylor and Robert 

McNamara to effect the desired transformation.

Taylor, the consummate Soldier-statesman, had a “reputation as both a 

warrior and a scholar” that appealed to Kennedy.93 Taylor had railed against 

Eisenhower’s massive-retaliation policies as too metered, binary, and rigid 

and called for an increased operational flexibility that would draw on expanded 

nonnuclear forces and capabilities. Embodying the maxims of Kennedy’s generation, Taylor was appointed military representative of the president in April 

1961. His appointment came with a large degree of implied, if not direct, 
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command authority wherein he could “call directly on any department or 

agency for the discharge of his responsibilities.”94 Most significantly, Taylor 

had the ear of the president. Taylor’s position subsumed the historical role 

and influence of the JCS, which was further diminished when Taylor was appointed its chairman in 1962. Instead of the JCS filling the traditional role of 

providing impartial military advice to the president, Kennedy now had one of 

his own in charge—an arrangement that, when combined with McNamara’s 

coincident efforts to transform the Pentagon, helped “Kennedy effect a doctrinal shift that influenced deepening U.S. involvement in Vietnam.”95

In June 1961, Kennedy adviser Walt Rostow described America’s “central 

task” in Kennedy’s emerging policy of “nation building” through counterinsurgency as protecting “the independence of the revolutionary process now 

going forward.”96 Vietnam and other underdeveloped countries were at the 

forefront of Kennedy’s total war against Communism. The administration 

distinctively believed that with enough “pump priming” and “fine-tuning,” 

government could do almost anything.97 Revitalization of American institutions could better exploit and redirect domestic production, capabilities, and 

behaviors to new heights, which in turn could be channeled in support of 

Kennedy’s global agenda. “American money, American technology, and the 

force of the American example” would be the catalyst and the fuel for democracies abroad and “a bar to the Communists’ grand design.”98 McNamara was 

selected as secretary of defense not because he possessed extensive experience 

in foreign military and security affairs but because Kennedy believed he 

“would bring to the military techniques of management from the business 

world.”99 McNamara had proven his mettle as a statistical analyst and control 

officer for the military during World War II and again demonstrated the efficacy 

of his management techniques as president of Ford Motor Company. Kennedy 

believed that those attributes would allow McNamara to transform the Pentagon and maximize military capabilities and outputs. When McNamara 

brought his Planning, Programming, and Budgeting System (PPBS) to the 

Pentagon, he was the youngest secretary of defense ever appointed. At 44, 

however, he was also one of the oldest in Kennedy’s administration.

The new defense secretary’s approach attempted to quantify force structures 

according to national security needs and establish systems-analysis procedures that could reconcile desired “outputs” with the costs of “inputs.” The 

PPBS attempted to eliminate redundancies and nonessential variables, such 

as inter- or intraservice compromises.100 In The McNamara Strategy, William 

Kaufmann lists five key assumptions of the PPBS: (1) force structure should 

derive from tasks and not parochial interests, (2) costs had to be reconciled 

with benefits, (3) all alternative courses of action were subject to evaluation 
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and could be measured, (4) short-term planning could be tied to and reflective of long-term goals, and (5) the secretary of defense would have the 

autonomy, staff, and latitude to make decisions independently of the military 

services.101 Much like Taylor, McNamara had Kennedy’s ear and backing for the 

implementation of new ideas and organizational approaches that reflected 

both a change in the relationship among governmental institutions and a 

shift in the role, nature, and character of government itself. 

Perhaps one of the more subtle but dramatic effects of the individuals whom 

Kennedy placed and what they believed was that ideological congruency and 

generational affinities insulated the inner circle not only from their own 

doubts but also from the doubts of others. From the outset, Kennedy received 

continuous—albeit often contradictory and inconclusive—reports on the situation in Vietnam. JCS memos both called for and warned against military involvement. State Department cables were on one day optimistic over what 

could be accomplished with Diem and on another day convincingly certain of 

his imminent demise. Among all the noise, if Kennedy’s inner circle did not 

determine presidential decisions, the relationships the president had with his 

confidants certainly influenced those decisions. In 1961, for example, despite warnings from various military and State Department officials, Kennedy 

accepted Taylor’s assurance that increased operational roles for US equipment 

and advisory teams would not result in the United States’ inevitable involvement in a ground war.102 One of the last assessments of Vietnam Kennedy 

received was the McNamara-Taylor report in October 1963. The joint report 

came on the heels of months of speculation over the status of Diem’s regime 

and the situation in Vietnam, to include the administration’s potential role in 

a coup against Diem.103 The McNamara-Taylor report summarized the following conclusions for Kennedy: (1) the military campaign showed continuing great progress, (2) dissatisfaction with the Diem regime was significant 

and growing, (3) there was no solid evidence for a successful coup against 

Diem, (4) the majority of GVN military officers remained more hostile to the 

Vietcong than to Diem, (5) the loyalties of GVN military officers could swing 

against Diem if his regime persisted in more repressive policies, and this 

would undermine favorable military progress, and (6) it was unclear whether 

the United States could successfully push Diem’s regime to moderation, but 

such pressures were necessary.104

In addition to recommending a more robust and efficient “strategic hamlet” program, the report also predicted that current US progress justified the 

potential withdrawal of 1,000 advisers and the possible handoff of internal 

security operations to the South Vietnamese by 1965.105 In almost the same 

breath, however, the report states that the “security of South Vietnam remains 
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vital to United States security” and that all efforts should seek to defeat the 

Vietcong insurgency “as promptly as possible.”106 The report’s tone and assessment are optimistic, yet it still anchors US security on positive outcomes in 

Vietnam. Recommendations (including condemnation of Diem’s repressive 

policies and a mixture of carrots and sticks) also assume the pliability of 

Diem’s behavior through the leverage the United States holds over him. This 

final set of assumptions concerning Diem’s pliability reflects a pervasive attitude within Kennedy’s White House that “private behavior was susceptible to 

political control.”107 The White House’s belief that it could channel Diem’s 

behavior was merely an extension of the conviction that it could align US 

domestic and institutional behavior through a series of well-designed programs and policies. 

Many in the military questioned Kennedy’s assumptions, criticizing 

McNamara’s programs and Taylor’s actions. In aggregate, critics believed that 

the two men overly diminished the influence of the JCS and that they also 

ripped the ceiling off budgets and missions.108 McNamara’s Whiz Kids were 

“the most egotistical people I ever saw in my life,” said Air Force chief of staff 

Curtis LeMay.109 Alain Enthoven, who headed McNamara’s systems analysis 

division, believed that military experience actually discouraged “seeing the 

larger picture” and that “there was little in the typical officer’s early career that 

qualifies him to be a better strategic planner than . . . [being] a graduate of the 

Harvard business school.”110 McNamara’s PPBS program was an expression of 

Kennedy’s belief that the Defense Department could be manipulated to meet 

the demands of his ambitious objectives without imposing budgetary limits. 

The appointment of Taylor both as presidential military adviser and as chairman of the joint chiefs demonstrated Kennedy’s determination to put in place 

his “own men” as a way to break the inertia of the past. Kennedy was convinced that the proper arrangement of people and institutions, of intellect and 

action, could trump the more conservative fiscal and military policies of 

Eisenhower. Even the national economy “could be manipulated to provide the 

resources necessary to sustain” Washington’s desires.111

The highest rate of growth in US real gross domestic product (GDP) under 

Eisenhower was less than 3 percent, which occurred between 1958 and 

1960.112 Twice under Eisenhower, US GDP had shrunk, and Kennedy and his 

advisers blamed Eisenhower’s “failure to maintain a high growth rate” for 

three US recessions.113 Prior to taking office, Kennedy appointed domesticand international-policy task forces, chaired by economists Paul Samuelson 

and Allan Sproul.114 In his 6 January 1961 “Samuelson Report on the State of 

the American Economy” for president-elect Kennedy, Samuelson argues that 

Eisenhower’s outdated economics stalled the high-growth rates needed to 
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sustain more substantial US military and policy objectives.115 Samuelson and 

Walter Heller, Kennedy’s chairman of the Council of Economic Advisers, 

successfully convinced Kennedy that economic expansion through Keynesian 

economic principles was more important than balanced budgets. Keynesian 

theory argues that naturally occurring individual behaviors and business 

cycles at the microlevel can cause suboptimal and adverse effects at the macroeconomic level. Government, John Maynard Keynes argues, could and 

should anticipate and interrupt economic downturns by artificially injecting 

money supplies and manipulating interest rates, tax rates, and other economic mechanisms.116

Kennedy’s economic policies followed the prescriptions of Heller and 

Samuelson, and the economy became a tool of government to produce sustained growth and stimulate behaviors, forever necessitating the placement 

of “the political economist at the President’s elbow.”117 Kennedy’s economic 

hand was much more visible than Adam Smith’s, and many were troubled 

by what they viewed as government’s encroachment into the private sector. 

In anticipation, Kennedy delivered several preemptive speeches in which he 

laid before the business community the familiar rallying cries of his administration. “In every sense of the word,” Kennedy told the National Association of Manufacturers in December 1961, “capitalism is on trial as we debate these issues. . . . The hour of decision has arrived. We cannot afford to 

‘wait and see what happens,’ while the tide of events sweeps over and beyond 

us. We must use time as a tool, not a couch. We must carve out our own 

destiny.”118 In his 1963 State of the Union address, Kennedy emphasized the 

need for tax cuts, increased spending, and increased growth:

Now the time has come to make the most of our gains. . . . But recovery is not enough. . . . 

We have undertaken the most far reaching defense improvements in the . . . history of 

this country. And we have maintained the frontiers of freedom from Vietnam to West 

Berlin. But complacency or self-congratulation can imperil our security as much as 

the weapons of our adversary. A moment of pause is not a moment of peace. . . . Free 

world development will still be an uphill struggle. . . . In the end, the crucial effort is 

one of purpose—requiring not only the fuel of finance but the torch of idealism. . . . 

For we seek not the worldwide victory of one nation . . . but a worldwide victory of 

men. . . . To achieve this end, the United States will continue to spend a greater portion 

of its national production than any other people in the free world.119

The following table captures some of the core US economic data between 

1954 and 1970. Though not comprehensive, the data clearly shows a distinctive growth trend for the Kennedy-Johnson years as compared to 

those of Eisenhower. 
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Table. US economic statistical data, 1954–70

1954 1956 1958 1960 1962 1964 1966 1968 1970

Real GDP 

(in billions 

1996 dollars)

1,9650.5 2,141.1 2,162.8 2,376.7 2,578.9 2,846.5 3,227.5 3,466.1 3,578.0

Percent 

change

in real GDP

-0.7 2.0 -1.0 2.5 6.0 5.8 6.6 4.8 0.2

Consumer 

price index 

(1982–84 =100)

26.9 27.2 28.9 29.6 30.2 31.0 32.4 34.8 38.8

Supply of 

money

(in billions of 

dollars)

130.3 136.0 138.4 140.7 147.8 160.3 172.0 197.4 214.3

Public debt 

(in billions)

270.8 272.7 279.7 290.5 302.9 316.1 328.5 368.7 380.9

Reprinted from Campbell R. McConnell and Stanley L. Brue, Economics: Principles, Problems, and 

Policies, 15th ed., ed. Lucille Sutton (New York: McGraw-Hill Irwin, 2002), inside front cover, as 

adapted from Bureau of Labor Statistics, Federal Reserve System; and William Clinton, Economic 

Report of the President (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 2001).

Gaddis observes that McNamara’s revolution in the Pentagon and the 

Keynesian revolution in economics “implied a rejection of Eisenhower’s administrative style” and marked a significant shift in how government perceived the 

means it had at its disposal to effect its ends.120 McDougall describes Kennedy’s 

new arrangements not only as transformative of governmental institutions 

and the relationships within government but also as a distinctive shift in the 

relationship between government and society.121 Antoine Bousquet assesses 

the Kennedy era as reflective of the cybernetic regime that “emerged from the 

unprecedented technological and industrial effort of WWII” and as driven by 

the belief that “complete predictability and centralized control” were now 

possible.122 He notes that “scientific methodology was applied more systematically than ever, with operations research and systems analysis comprehensively deployed to solve tactical and strategic problems, . . . fuel[ing] fantasies 

of omniscience and omnipotence.”123

However we choose to describe Kennedy’s “new table,” it seems clear that 

the president’s conception of the threats aligned against the United States and 

the means required to meet those threats clearly influenced his policies. In 

many ways, Vietnam became a proving ground for Kennedy’s beliefs. A transformed government and military under the auspices of the new generation 

could find solution and victory where the policies of old had failed. 
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In May 1961, Kennedy lobbied Congress for the funding and support required for extraordinary times. He described 1961 as a “great opportunity” to 

fund and effect the transformations required to stem the tides of Communist 

revolutions.124 Swift action was needed, according to the president, and he laid 

before Congress a litany of budgetary requests that would transform social 

programs, the military, and foreign aid. Kennedy requested more than $3.4 

billion in additional funding for capabilities and requirements linked to operations in Vietnam.125 Of those, the largest increases were slated to the Military Assistance Program ($2 billion), the presidential contingency fund ($250 

million), and the equipping, retraining, and development of conventional and 

paramilitary forces ($100 million). Many of the president’s requests directly 

reflected the recommendations of Gilpatric’s Vietnam Task Force. Kennedy 

also acted on advice from his brother, Robert F. Kennedy, whom he had appointed as his personal representative in the newly formed Special Group 

(Counterinsurgency) Task Force.126 The special group, headed by General 

Taylor, personified the administration’s belief in the need for unconventional 

solutions, flexibility, and a new, synergistic form of US military power. During 

his first year in office, Kennedy increased the number of special forces from 

1,500 to 9,000 men and authorized the official wearing of the green beret. 

Kennedy was enamored with special forces because he believed that they 

could not only bring the required military expertise but also provide the leadership and “nation building” essential to remedying the “underlying national 

incohesiveness [sic]” that left underdeveloped nations vulnerable to Communist subversion.127

Mobilization of the American economy and development of special forces 

and paramilitary capabilities were important corollaries to the “new strategists’ 

assault on massive retaliation doctrine.”128 Kennedy took to heart the postulates set down by Robert Osgood in Limited War: The Challenge to American 

Strategy.

129 Osgood suggests that limited war required limited aims as well as 

an intimate link between military force and diplomacy. To avoid both Armageddon and martial impotency, one had to “appropriately limit” military 

means. The American experience in Korea, said Osgood, demonstrated that 

“America’s capacity to retaliate directly upon the Soviet Union could not deter 

Communist aggression in the gray areas [and] that the United States was inadequately prepared to contain Communist aggression by any other means.”130

Vietnam and wars of national liberation were the “gray areas,” and Kennedy’s 

budgetary requests to Congress and administered reformations for the DOD, 

NSC, and US economy were part of the administration’s transition to a strategy 

of flexible response.131 Though covert operations against Hanoi and in South 

Vietnam had been ongoing since the Eisenhower administration, Kennedy 
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greatly expanded resources, presence, and operational latitude for these missions. 

This increased commitment is reflected in Kennedy’s approval of Gilpatric’s 

task force requests in NSAM 52, Kennedy’s budgetary requests and approved 

recommendations from the Special Counterinsurgency Group, and his response to General Landsdale’s “Resources for Unconventional Warfare, S.E. 

Asia” report.132 Kennedy pushed for the integration of military, political, and 

psychological elements of national power and was outwardly expansive in his 

commitment to Vietnam, yet he emphasized and sought solution through 

limited, covert operations.133 This contradiction was noted by Mrs. Bobbie 

Pendergrass, whose observations in her letter to Kennedy opened our discussion on the president’s image of the Vietnam War. Although a housewife far 

removed from Kennedy’s inner circle, her poignant observations demonstrate that acumen comes as much from outside the Beltway as from within—

sometimes more so. 

“Please,” Pendergrass tells the president, “I’m only a housewife who doesn’t 

claim to know all about the international situation—but . . . can the small 

number of our boys over in Viet Nam [sic] possibly be doing enough good to 

justify the awful number of casualties? It seems to me that . . . we should send 

enough to have a chance—or else stay home. Those fellows are just sitting 

ducks. . . . If a war is worth fighting—isn’t it worth fighting to win?” (emphasis 

in original).134 In his response, Kennedy said that Pendergrass’s brother, James, 

must have understood that he could find himself in “a war like this [where] he 

took part not as a combatant but as an advisor,” that James certainly “understood the necessity,” and that a full war in Vietnam was “unthinkable.”135 The 

logic of flexible response and of containment strategy in general is revealed in 

Kennedy’s statements, as is the intractable Vietnam situation. One of the only 

requests Kennedy denied Taylor was the general’s call for 8,000 combat troops 

in 1961. McNamara references Kennedy’s refusal of a JCS request for more 

involvement in Vietnam in 1962 as well as Kennedy’s statements against combat troops in late 1963 as evidence of the president’s commitment against a 

larger war.136

George Herring and others propose logic similar to McNamara’s, citing 

Kennedy’s noncommitment of combat troops as proof of the president’s reserve and of the limitations of his commitment to Vietnam. However, the 

contrary truth might actually be that Kennedy’s constraint of traditional military mechanisms and combat troops illuminates his overcommitment to, and 

beliefs in, the mechanisms of government he saw as necessary to win the fight 

in Vietnam and against Communism. From this perspective, Kennedy’s 

transformations were ways to squeeze more out of government so as to increase capabilities to meet ever-expanding objectives. Containment in 
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Camelot essentially involved an explosion of commitments in which Kennedy 

sought to supplant blunt mechanisms and policies with a better calibrated, 

more flexible, and sharper government. Kennedy believed that a new generation of the right men, organized the right way, could in fact triumph where 

others had and would fail. This perspective extended to the GVN and culminated in the administration’s complicity in the coups and ultimate assassination of Diem.137 By the fall of 1963, Diem had become a “seething problem” 

and stood in the way of direct US manipulations and controls, frustrating 

Kennedy’s efforts to administer reforms and policy through the South Vietnamese president.138 Kennedy’s at least tacit involvement in the coups against 

Diem further ratified US obligations not only to South Vietnamese governance but also to the outcomes of the war.

Empty Shoes

During Kennedy’s 34 months in office, the number of US advisers in Vietnam grew from fewer than 400 to over 16,000. He expanded the means and 

the missions of those advisers, resulting in a tenfold increase in US casualties. 

Kennedy injected the United States into the political processes and maneuverings of South Vietnam, which eventually led to the toppled Diem regime 

and dramatically increased the US charge to assist South Vietnam. Transformation of America’s government moved the US economy from policies of 

solvency to policies of expansion. It created a Pentagon and national security 

architecture convinced of their own ability to solve almost any problem 

through systems analysis and calibrated efficiencies. On one occasion, an aide 

told McNamara that US efforts in Vietnam were doomed to fail, to which the 

secretary responded, “Where is your data? Give me something I can put in the 

computer. Don’t give me your poetry!”139 Kennedy laid the groundwork for 

the “Americanization of the war,” creating an open-ended commitment that 

lost “sight of proportion” and transformed the “limited risk gamble undertaken by Eisenhower.”140 Kennedy also greatly improved US military capabilities, particularly with regard to nonnuclear and special forces. Kennedy’s insights and enhancements in these areas, however, had not proved their efficacy 

at the time of his death. As such, divergent attitudes prevailed as to whether 

or not the United States was “winning” in Vietnam and what level of military 

and political commitment was appropriate.141 McGeorge Bundy, for example, 

who would later become Johnson’s national security adviser, was convinced 

that “unlimited commitment in Vietnam was justified,” while men like George 

Ball argued that the United States should withdraw.142 Kennedy placed American 

shoes firmly on the shores of Vietnam, but ambiguous results and Kennedy’s 
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sudden death left them empty, and it was Johnson who would have to decide 

what to fill them with. Kennedy thus “bequeathed to his successor a problem 

eminently more dangerous than the one he had inherited from Eisenhower.”143

Kennedy entered office with the distinct impression that Eisenhower’s passive policies and undulating methodologies failed to fully exploit governmental 

potential and were grossly inadequate for the extreme and different world the 

United States faced. Kennedy arms the New Generation with the sword of a 

transformed and proactive government, infused with intellect and vision and 

properly organized around his newly fashioned “round table.” Into the breach 

of a total Cold War, Kennedy pours his vision and his knights, who are tempered in form but not in degree or purpose. As we revisit Kennedy’s presidential 

image and its influences on agendas and outcomes, it is perhaps now possible to 

surmise whether Vietnam is in fact the child returned to destroy Camelot. 

History and the events that comprise it evolve. One of the advantages of 

this phenomenon is that as contemporary lives and challenges unfold, the 

past can be rediscovered as a rich well from which policy makers and strategists might draw fertile lessons and insights. One of the disadvantages of a 

“living history” is that attempts to fix inflective events in a box of absolutes 

can prove futile, misleading, and even dangerous. However, review of the evidence and our current vantage point lead to the conclusion that neither Vietnam nor Kennedy’s heirs betrayed Camelot but that Kennedy was betrayed by 

his own image. Kennedy’s faith in government and the ambitions he sought 

through it resulted in large, overextended promises. Moreover, Kennedy tied 

these promises to results and embedded American prestige and interests in 

the outcomes for Vietnam—making it such that American retraction from 

the war could be seen as too costly not only for his own administration but 

also for subsequent ones. When policy is imbued with the sense that the 

United States must make good on its promises, regardless of feasibility or 

changing circumstances, then the value of commitment comes to equal or 

even exceed the tangible objectives that inspired the promises in the first 

place. America’s promises and subsequent policies in Vietnam were underwritten by the blood and treasure of the nation. So while it is noble to strive 

for great societies and grand international designs, it is also dangerous—for 

even governments have limits. And, if anything, Vietnam defined them for 

the United States. 

Notes

1. White, “For President Kennedy: An Epilogue,” 159. According to Jackie Kennedy, the 

late president’s favorite lyrics from the musical were “Don’t let it be forgot; That once there was 

a spot; For one brief, shining moment that was known as Camelot.” 
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2. White contextualizes the Arthurian legend for a post–World War II world yet retains 

many of the original themes. 

3. Beck, “Kennedy Image,” 45.

4. Ibid.

5. Clinton, “Remarks at the Dedication of the New Museum.”

6. McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 86; and Beck, “Kennedy Image,” 45. 

7. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 197. Gaddis describes the “promise” of the new generation that would break with past policies. In the Arthurian legend, whoever was able to pull 

Excalibur from the stone would be king. All the knights and lords of England were gathered to 

try to remove the sword, and all failed. By happenstance, a 16-year-old Arthur came across the 

sword and removed it easily from the stone, thus becoming king. 

8. Kennedy, “Inaugural Address.” 

9. “Kennedy Administration: Vietnam Policy Papers 1961–1963,” CD ROM, 193–94. The 

archives contain a copy of the original handwritten letter from Mrs. Pendergrass as well as a 

typed transcript. 

10. Ibid., 186–87. 

11. Ibid., 194.

12. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 6–7. The rationale of what came to be known as the 

domino theory was first articulated by the NSC in February 1950 and justified extended military aid to the French in Indochina. “It is important to U.S. security interests that all practicable 

measures be taken to prevent further Communist expansion in Southeast Asia.” In January of 

1954, Eisenhower approved an NSC paper that predicted “the loss of any single country [in 

Southeast Asia would ultimately lead to the loss of all Southeast Asia, then India and Japan, and 

finally] endanger the stability and security of Europe.” Ibid.

13. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 231. Kennedy was quoted following the Vienna 

Summit with Khrushchev in June 1961. 

14. Kennedy, “Truth about Indochina.” 

15. Kennedy, “Special Message to Congress on Urgent National Needs.”

16. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, doc. no. 2, “1952 Policy Statement by U.S. on Goals in 

Southeast Asia,” 27–32.

17. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 207.

18. Kennedy, “Inaugural Address.”

19. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 197–98.

20. Kennedy, “Truth about Indochina.” 

21. Ibid.

22. Kennedy, “Remarks at the Conference on Vietnam Luncheon.”

23. Jervis, Perception and Misperception, 9.

24. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 84.

25. McDougall, Heavens and the Earth, 228–29.

26. Kennedy, “Remarks at the Conference on Vietnam Luncheon.”

27. McDougall, Heavens and the Earth, 405.

28. Cottam, “Image Change,” 117.

29. Edwards, Closed World, preface, xiii.

30. McDougall, Heavens and the Earth, 8–9.

31. Kennedy, “City on a Hill Speech.”

32. Cottam, “Image Change,” 118.

33. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 84.
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34. Kennedy to Diem, letter. 

35. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 23, and doc. no. 14, 52.

36. Ibid., 14–15.

37. Ibid., 25.

38. Herring, America’s Longest War, xiii. 

39. Patterson, “Bearing the Burden,” 195.

40. Eisenhower, “Farewell Address,” 1–4.

41. McDougall, Heavens and the Earth, 138. See also Eisenhower, Waging Peace, 464. 

42. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 204.

43. Kennedy, “Special Message to Congress on Urgent National Needs.”

44. McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 32. 

45. Ibid.

46. Ibid., 32–33.

47. Karnow, Vietnam, 59.

48. Ibid., 15, 18, 125, 201, 691. See also Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 20–21. In 1955 Diem 

won 98.2 percent of the “vote.” Pentagon reports described Diem’s victory as “too resounding,” 

but that did not deter Washington from reacting with “great alacrity” to his success. 

49. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 21–22.

50. McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 41.

51. Lindley, “An Ally Worth Having,” 31.

52. McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 42.

53. Ibid., 41–42.

54. Karnow, Vietnam, 691. Diem was a bachelor, and Madame Dinh Nhu became the “First 

Lady” of South Vietnam. Madame Nhu took an active political role in Diem’s government and 

was often a cause for resistance to Diem’s regime. 

55. McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 42.

56. Jervis, Perception and Misperception, 117–21.

57. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 85–87, and doc. no. 16. Shortly before Kennedy took 

office, an assessment by Ambassador Elbridge Durbrow highlighted the precarious situation in 

the South as well as Diem’s weakness and lack of support from the populace. Once in office, 

Kennedy received a national intelligence estimate that echoed Durbrow’s assessments. The 

intelligence estimate describes an “extremely critical period for the Ngo Dinh Diem and the 

Republic of Vietnam. . . . More than one-half of the entire rural region south and southwest of 

Saigon, as well as some areas to the north, are under . . . Communist Control. . . . Discontent 

with the Diem Government continues to be prevalent among intellectual circles. . . . There has 

been increasing disposition within official circles and the Army to question Diem’s ability to 

rally the people in the fight against the Communists because of reliance on virtual one-man 

rule, his toleration of corruption extending even to his immediate entourage, and his refusal to 

relax a rigid system of public controls” (ibid., 86).

58. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 87–88, 104, 145–46, and doc. nos. 26 and 27, 141–44.

59. The analysis concerning the difference between symbols and image is the author’s own, 

based on the research conducted into cognitive and image theory. 

60. McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 40.

61. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 110.

62. McMaster, Dereliction of Duty, 333. 

63. Henriksen, NATO’s Gamble, 197. In his analysis of Operation Allied Freedom, Henriksen 

quotes General Smith, who asserts that the character of war has changed “from the hard absolute 
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objectives of interstate industrial war to more malleable objectives.” Henriksen also summarizes 

Smith, who says that “modern wars are marked by the relationship between political and military activities, since they will evolve and change together” (ibid.).

64. Halberstam, Best and the Brightest, 57, 153.

65. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 198.

66. Ibid. See also Schlesinger, Thousand Days, 420–21. 

67. Fairlie, Kennedy Promise, 132, 264.

68. Herring, America’s Longest War, 75.

69. Ibid.

70. McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 36.

71. Ibid. Quoted from John S. D. Eisenhower, Memorandum of a Conference with the 

President, 31 December 1960, “Staff Notes—December 1960,” Whitman file, Eisenhower Diary 

Series, Dwight D. Eisenhower Presidential Library and Museum, Abilene, KS. 

72. McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 36–37.

73. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 7–8.

74. McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 36.

75. In a note from his memoirs, McNamara describes the manner of handoff between presidents during transitions as “a weakness in our form of government [involving] the lack of an 

effective way to transfer knowledge and experience from one administration to another.” 

McNamara assesses that the United States pays a heavy price in policy and outcomes as a result 

of the somewhat haphazard presidential transition process and compares the inefficacies of the 

American system to what he sees as the more advantageous ways power is transferred in parliamentary systems. McNamara recalls how in Great Britain and West Germany, for example, 

defense ministers trained for their positions by serving as opposition party leaders and studying 

their country’s security issues for many years. McNamara contrasts this with his own “preparation” for serving as defense secretary by working at the Ford Motor Company and calls the 

meeting between Eisenhower and Kennedy “a poor substitute” for the kind of training and 

handoff practiced in other countries. See McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 35. 

76. Campbell and Steinberg, Difficult Transitions, x.

77. Weigley, American Way of War, 456.

78. Patterson, “Bearing the Burden,” 208.

79. McMaster, Dereliction of Duty, 32.

80. Ibid. John F. Kennedy as quoted in the New York Times, 7 June 1962, 26. 

81. US Dept. of State, Foreign Relations of the United States, 1961–1963, vol. 1, Vietnam, 

1961, CD ROM, 92. 

82. Gilpatric to Kennedy, memorandum, 43. 

83. Ibid.

84. The draft task force report is dated 26 April 1961. See House Committee on Armed 

Services, United States–Vietnam Relations, 1945–1967, vol. 11, 42–57. For Bundy to secretary 

of state, NSAM 52, 11 May 1961, which approves the task force recommendations, see http://

www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/nsam-jfk/nsam-52.htm. 

85. Bundy to secretary of state, NSAM 52.

86. Gilpatric to Kennedy, memorandum, 43. Gilpatric’s report calls for “as necessary” expansion of the military assistance advisory group with at least an additional 100 US advisers to 

be dispatched immediately. The report also calls for expansion of International Cooperation 

Agency procedures so that more US administrators, public health officials, educators, agricultural experts, and so forth could be deployed to Vietnam. Gilpatric asks for a doubling of South 
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Vietnam’s Civil Guard Force and an additional $49 million in funding, the delivery of US surveillance and early warning radar equipment, and the delivery and stand-up of a more expansive communication and information operations network. 

87. Ibid., 43–46.

88. Bundy to secretary of state, NSAM 52.

89. Herring, America’s Longest War, 75.

90. McMaster, Dereliction of Duty, 4. According to Maxwell Taylor, the NSC was “little 

more than a sort of registration office” for decisions that President Kennedy had already “made 

in the comparative privacy of the oval office.” Taylor, “Trends in National Security Planning.”

91. For more a more detailed account of the Bay of Pigs from within the Kennedy administration, see Trumball Higgins, The Perfect Failure: Kennedy, Eisenhower, and the CIA at the 

Bay of Pigs (New York: W. W. Norton, 1987). For more detail on the Laotian agreement, see 

Charles A. Stevenson, The End of Nowhere: American Policy toward Laos since 1954 (Boston: 

Beacon Press, 1972). 

92. Ball, Vietnam-on-the-Potomac, 90.

93. McMaster, Dereliction of Duty, 9.

94. Ibid., 12. Taylor stated that “as an irreverent bureaucrat with a low opinion of the committee system,” he “found the Special Group a refreshing exception.” Taylor, Swords and Plowshares, 200–201. 

95. McMaster, Dereliction of Duty, 11.

96. Schlesinger, Thousand Days, 593–94, 604–9, as quoted from Rostow speech at Fort 

Bragg, NC, 28 June 1961. 

97. McDougall, Heavens and the Earth, 305.

98. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 224. See also Kennedy, “Annual Message to the Congress on the State of the Union,” 11 January 1962. 

99. McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 3.

100. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 224.

101. Kaufmann, McNamara Strategy, 48. 

102. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 101–4. The Pentagon study indicates that despite the 

controversy and differing opinions, the outcome of the Taylor mission to Vietnam—which called 

for increased support forces, helicopter companies, an expanded advisory mission, and tactical 

air support—was essentially already agreed to by the president before Taylor left Washington. 

103. Ibid., 158–59, and doc. nos. 33–51, pp. 191–216. 

104. Ibid., doc. 47, “McNamara-Taylor Report on Mission to South Vietnam,” 211.

105. The term strategic hamlet refers to Sir Robert Thompson’s counterinsurgency strategy. 

Thompson was appointed head of the British Advisory Mission to South Vietnam in 1961 and 

had the ear of the Kennedy administration. Essentially, strategic hamlets were “fortified combat villages.” Local populations would be moved to these hamlets that were sanitized of Vietcong influence. As more and more hamlets were established and linked together, Diem’s government would increase and solidify their control. See Praddos, Vietnam, 69–70. 

106. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 213.

107. McDougall, Heavens and the Earth, 305.

108. McMaster, Dereliction of Duty, 20–21.

109. Ibid., 20. See also transcript, Curtis LeMay, Oral History Interview, 28 June 1971, 7, 

Oral History Collection, LBJ Presidential Library, Austin, TX. 

110. McMaster, Dereliction of Duty, 19. See also transcript, Alain Enthoven, Oral History 

Interview, 29 July 1970, tape 1, p. 6, LBJ Presidential Library, Austin, TX; and Alain Enthoven 
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and Wayne Smith, How Much Is Enough: Shaping the Defense Program, 1961–1969 (New York: 

Harper & Row, 1971), 73–116. 

111. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 225.

112. McConnell and Brue, Economics, inside front cover.

113. Ibid.; and Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 225. 

114. Meltzer, History of the Federal Reserve, 315–17.

115. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 225–26. See also Paul A. Samuelson’s task force report 

on the economy, 6 January 1961, Kennedy Papers, Pre-Presidential File, box 1071, “Economy—

Samuelson Report,” John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum, digital archives, http://

www.jfklibrary.org.

116. See Keynes, General Theory of Employment.

117. Heller, New Dimensions of Political Economy, 1–2.

118. Kennedy, “Address in New York City.” 

119. Kennedy, “State of the Union,” 226–30. 

120. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 226, 59–62.

121. McDougall, Heavens and the Earth, 305–7.

122. Bousquet, Scientific Way of Warfare, 33.

123. Ibid., 34.

124. Kennedy, “Special Message to Congress on Urgent National Needs,” 396–406. 

125. Ibid. The amount listed was derived by adding the requested additional funding for 

the presidential contingency fund, the United States Information Agency, the Military Assistance Program, the reequip and retraining programs, the increase to Marine Corps manning, 

and the doubling of Army Reserve and deployment forces. The figure is limited to increases 

only and does not reflect the total amount already approved to each of these programs or the 

entire budget. 

126. Weigley, American Way of War, 457.

127. Ibid.

128. Ibid., 411.

129. Osgood, Limited War, ix, 146, 189.

130. Ibid. 

131. For more information on flexible response and other major US containment strategies, 

see Gaddis, Strategies of Containment; Weigley, American Way of War, 441–77; and Thomas C. 

Schelling, Arms and Influence (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1966). 

132. See Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 90–91, 130–38; and Weigley, American Way of 

War, 455–57. 

133. Gibbons, U.S. Government and the Vietnam War, 40.

134. “Kennedy Administration: Vietnam Policy Papers 1961–1963,” CD ROM, 193–94. The 

archives contain a copy of Mrs. Pendergrass’s original handwritten letter as well as a typed transcript. 

135. Ibid., 186–87.

136. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 148–55; and McNamara, In Retrospect, 62, 86–87, 

96–97. 

137. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 155–209 (see doc. nos. 33–46); and McNamara, In 

Retrospect, 68, 72–77. 

138. “Kennedy Administration: Vietnam Policy Papers 1961–1963,” CD ROM, 19, 24, 31, 

42–44, 57, 73–75, 105–7. The collection of memos, cables, and policy papers between August 

and November 1963 reveal increasing tensions between Washington and Diem. At one point, 

Kennedy initiates investigation into ways to build up anti-Diem forces. In another exchange, it 
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is revealed that the United States suspects Diem and Nhu might be secretly working to reconcile 

with Hanoi. A CIA memo in October described Diem’s increasingly harsh policies, the growing 

disillusionment of the Vietnamese people, and Diem’s denial of American control and his 

standing in the way, both of which frustrated the US counterinsurgency supply system. 

139. Edwards, Closed World, 127–28. 

140. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 263–64; and Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 79–84. 

According to the Pentagon Papers, Kennedy started the dilemma that plagued the United States 

throughout Vietnam—“limited means for excessive ends” (79).

141. “Kennedy Administration: Vietnam Policy Papers 1961–1963,” CD ROM, 67. 

142. Ibid., 90–91, 107–9.

143. Herring, America’s Longest War, 107.

69

Chapter 4

From Texas to Tet: Johnson’s Posse of Lies

Just like the Alamo, somebody damn well needed to go to their aid. 

Well, by God, I’m going to Viet Nam’s [sic] aid!

—Lyndon B. Johnson, 1964

Thus the White House machinery became the President’s psyche writ 

large, transmitting his wishes throughout the Executive Office with a 

terrifying force.

—Doris Kearns Goodwin, 1976

Once on the tiger’s back, we cannot be sure of picking the place to 

dismount.

—George Ball, 1964

I was bound to be crucified either way I moved. If I left the woman I 

really loved—the Great Society—in order to get involved with that 

bitch of a war on the other side of the world, then I would lose everything at home. . . . But if I left that war and let the Communists take 

over South Vietnam, then I would be seen as an appeaser and we 

would find it impossible to accomplish anything . . . anywhere on the 

entire globe.

—Lyndon B. Johnson, 1970

Johnson Saddled

McNamara said of Johnson that he “possessed a kaleidoscopic personality” 

and was “by turns open and devious, loving and mean, compassionate and 

tough, gentle and cruel—he was a towering, powerful, paradoxical figure.”1

Johnson was a man of contradictions and many metaphors. Throughout this 

study, the reader will find an array of American mythology and metaphors 

that draws on everything from the pioneer to the promise of outer space. No 

person is readily encapsulated in a single metaphor, but Johnson proves especially difficult. A markedly enigmatic leader during an extremely perplexing 

time, he not only attempted to tackle the challenges of his era but also really 
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believed he could solve the complex issues that have accompanied humankind throughout the ages. In the end, focus ultimately settled on Johnson’s 

fabrications, misrepresentations, and lies that both accompanied and obscured his policies in Vietnam as the organizing metaphor. It is no small 

gauntlet that is thrown down when a president is called a liar, so it is important to briefly address some distinctions. 

Johnson’s “posse of lies” is not meant in the insidious sense. This study is 

not attempting to maliciously paint the president as immoral. It is concerned 

with determining what perhaps inspired Johnson to lie and, more significantly, the consequences of those lies rather than with judging either the man 

or the act. Furthermore, lies are neither always bad nor always avoidable. 

Fundamentally, lies are gap fillers used to force together “what is” with “what 

is desired” and in this way are little different from the myths, beliefs, and perceptions that frame problems and define our realities every day. Recall that 

reality, as Boulding describes, is not “truth” but what one “believes to be true.” 

In that sense, to varying degrees, every image is a lie. This study previously 

defined problems as the gap between “what is” and “what could and should 

be.” Understood in this way, lies are also ways to solve problems. It is in their 

implementation, however, that lies present themselves as particularly precarious solutions to problems. An image depends on its ability to translate 

experience and feedback. When an image encounters disconfirming information, either the image transforms the information or the information transforms the image. Lies can delay—but cannot prevent—one of these two outcomes. The disparity between the existential world and the world as it is 

perceived eventually widens to the point where the cognitive bridge lacks 

foundation, and the image collapses. Lies provide a temporary and an especially false bridge. 

When Kennedy is assassinated, Johnson sees a Communist plot and starts 

drawing lines in the sand, turning his attention not just to vengeance but to 

vindication of the American ideal. He sets about a course that in his mind not 

only will bring strength to bear against the Communists but also will eradicate the villains of the human condition. When he takes the reins of the presidency, Johnson essentially mounts a posse to carry out his cause. Posses from 

the American West were often an eclectic mix of armed men deputized in the 

name of justice. When Johnson rides out, he takes his men, but he also takes 

with him an assortment of beliefs. Furthermore, the men surrounding Johnson 

were victims of their own beliefs and often muddied the waters on the 

situation in Vietnam, making it easier for the president to believe his master 

narrative. Almost to a man, members of Johnson’s administration never 

considered it possible that a small country like North Vietnam could stand 
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up to and thwart American power. To them, it seemed perfectly reasonable 

that America’s immense capabilities would readily overwhelm North Vietnam and could do so for relatively little cost. Such optimism reflected perhaps 

a misunderstanding of the kind of war North Vietnam was fighting and was 

anchored by an overwhelming faith in American exceptionalism. Johnson 

was both a perpetuator of and a victim to the sentiments of his time. Presidents 

are “simultaneously the strongest and the weakest of all national leaders,” and 

none completely escape the shackles placed on them by their advisers, their 

agents, or the institutions they command.2

 Ultimately, however, it is the 

president who sits at the apex of American power. As Gordon Goldstein reminds 

us in Lessons in Disaster, “Counselors advise but presidents decide,” and military interventions are a “presidential choice.”3

 The many pieces that feed national decision making are integrated and channeled to the president and in 

aggregate give birth to policy through him. Presidents are Gullivers, but they 

are also the chief executive and choose how to view and use the advice they 

receive.4

 This study concerns itself with how presidential image perceives, 

shapes, and conducts agendas. As such, while it must allow for the influence 

of Johnson’s advisers and of binding political structures, it is Johnson who 

closes the decision loop. For our purposes, then, it is not as pertinent that 

Johnson was perhaps lied to or had facts about Vietnam misrepresented to 

him. What is more relevant is discovering how Johnson’s own predilections 

made him susceptible to lies and misinformation and how his own image affected what he did with those lies and how he contrived his own. 

Johnson’s lies begin with the myths he armed himself with but eventually 

grow as the realities of Vietnam and international and domestic politics frustrate his cause. Johnson’s ultimate quarry is elusive, but his dedication is ironclad; Johnson is spurred by that commitment to at first simply malign the 

truth in dedication to his higher cause. Eventually, however, those small halftruths morph into a destructive posse of lies; where at first Johnson rode and 

carried those lies into Vietnam, eventually they rode him—saddling and 

whipping the country and the war until the end of Johnson’s presidency. 

Image of a New Frontiersman

Lyndon Johnson would often boast that his “ancestors were teachers and 

lawyers and college presidents and governors when the Kennedys in this 

country were still tending bar.”5

 Johnson was outwardly proud of his lineage. 

He recounted tales of family members standing with Crockett and Boone at 

the Alamo and herding cattle “across Kansas with the first pioneers.”6

 Born in 

1908 on the banks of the Pedernales River near Stonewall in southern Texas, 
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Johnson had a childhood that was quintessential “rural American.” Travel to 

the closest metropolitan area of Austin meant two days by horse or one day by 

Henry Ford’s Model T over dirt roads that washed out with every rain. Electricity and pavement took some of the edge off the rugged countryside by the 

1930s, but outhouses, straw brooms, and the hand carrying of kindling and 

water for woodstoves characterized Johnson’s youth. The Johnsons were 

“country,” but as LBJ continually reminded folks with the recounting of his 

ancestry, they were “fancy country.” Johnson’s mother, Rebekah, graduated 

from Baylor, and his father, Sam Johnson, served in the Texas legislature. Still, 

despite the image of the Johnson family that LBJ purported, they were also 

farmers and cattle speculators, at times literally living hand to mouth on the 

edge of economic ruin.7

Johnson’s confrontation with poverty at an early age became an enduring 

part of his presidential image. In one instance, during the Christmas holiday 

in 1963, Johnson cajoled New York hairdresser Eddie Senz to secretly fly to 

Washington, DC, to coif Lady Bird, Johnson’s daughters, and his secretaries. 

“All right now,” Johnson told Senz, “I’m a poor man, and I don’t make much 

money, but I got a wife and a couple of daughters, and four or five people . . . 

and I like the way you make them look, [so] bring whoever you need, and 

we’ll pay for their transportation, but we can’t pay for much else.”8

 Johnson 

had worked as a silk-stocking salesman, janitor, and messenger to supplement 

the costs of his tuition ($17 a semester plus $30 per month for room and 

board) at Southwest Texas State Teachers College in San Marcos. During his 

senior year he also took on a teaching job at a Mexican-American school in 

Cotulla, Texas, located about halfway between San Antonio and Laredo. 

Cotulla was segregated, and Johnson’s pupils and their families were impoverished, hungry, and ill treated. After witnessing how his pupils lived without 

modern amenities, often searching garbage piles for food, Johnson described 

the treatment of the poor Mexican farm workers as “worse than you’d treat a 

dog.” Johnson later recounted that “you never forgot what poverty and hatred 

could do when you see the scars on the hopeful face of a young child.”9

As a senator and as president, Johnson vigorously pushed social and economic legislation, declared war on poverty and inequality, and in many ways 

carried out a crusade against the disparities and hardships he encountered 

during his youth. Like Kennedy, Johnson saw within government the means 

to eradicate social barriers and inequity. Also like Kennedy, Johnson had accompanied his own father on numerous political trips and spent time listening, learning, and falling in love with the world of politics. However, the two 

men orbited two very different worlds. Kennedy had attended an array of 

private and prep schools in New York and Connecticut, summered in Hyannis 
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Port, and spent winter holidays at his family home in Palm Beach. Kennedy 

also graduated from Harvard, and where Johnson’s political rounds with his 

father entailed driving the dirt roads of Texas to talk with farmers, Kennedy 

accompanied Ambassador Joseph Kennedy on diplomatic trips to Europe—

once even bringing his own convertible. Johnson’s world was less a pastoral 

realm filled with knights carrying out a divine charge and more a craggy, 

harsh landscape where the individual needed not rescuing but empowerment. 

Johnson’s vision was no less ambitious than Kennedy’s, but it faced the challenge of reconciling two worlds. On the one hand, Johnson believed in the 

rugged individualism of his forebearers and demanded of himself and of others 

the kind of self-reliance, initiative, and culpability that distinguished America’s 

pioneering spirit. On the other hand, he saw the seemingly insurmountable 

barriers to individual excellence all around him: 

The problems confronting [America] were hardly new. The lack of specific training, the 

denial of civil rights to black Americans, the neglect of the educational needs of our 

young, the inadequacy of health care, the invisible barriers around our ghettos—all 

these had been with us for generations. . . . My entire life, from boyhood on, had helped 

me recognize the work that needed to be done in America. My view of leadership had 

always been an activist one. . . . Harry Truman used to say that 13 or 14 million Americans had their interests represented in Washington, but that the rest of the people had to 

depend on the president of the United States. That is how I felt about the 35 million 

American poor. They had no voice and no champion. Whatever the cost, I was determined to represent them.10

Johnson’s words reveal core tenets of his presidential image. Johnson was 

the champion of the individual and believed the world belonged to everyone, 

not just the Ivy educated or the well bred. He hated to see people either obstructed or diminished—especially himself. Whether the barriers were race, 

bureaucracy, sex, breeding, economics, or oppressive ideologies, Johnson 

sought to smash them. That he saw himself as a champion of Walt Whitman’s 

“great unwashed” exemplifies his affinity for the impoverished. His mind-set, 

born of his experiences, demonstrates his belief in the individual. Doris Kearns 

Goodwin posits that Johnson’s sense of rugged individualism and civil responsibility was part of his own “inner need” and reflected the character of 

the age in which he grew up.11 Johnson believed that a man, with enough will 

and effort, could make a difference. If that one man were president, he could 

defeat the monsters that plagued the human condition, and every man, 

woman, and child could rise and take their rightful place within a Great Society. 

“Some men,” Johnson said, “want power simply to strut around the world and 

to hear the tune of ‘Hail to the Chief.’ Others want it simply to build prestige, 

to collect antiques, and to buy pretty things. Well I wanted power to give 

things to people—all sorts of things to all sorts of people, especially the poor 
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and the blacks.”12 Kennedy saw the machinations of government as a way to 

build a new world, but Johnson saw government as a way to remove obstacles 

that prevented individuals from building it themselves. The people and the 

government that could liberate them needed their president. 

Describing the role of the president, Johnson said that “no one can experience with the President of the United States the glory and agony of his office. 

No one can share the majestic view from his pinnacle of power. No one can 

share the burden of his decisions or the scope of his duties.”13 The president 

stands alone. If Kennedy resembled the young Arthur, imbued with and leading the destiny of a New Generation, then Johnson was more akin to the often 

solitary and contradictory heroes from the American West. 

America’s heroes of the western frontier were self-reliant and faced daunting odds as they fought for their just cause on the knife’s edge that separates 

justice and law. Patrick Porter observes that the American identity—indeed, 

the mythology and history of America’s wars—is replete with examples of the 

archetypal frontiersman.14 From the Alamo to Little Big Horn to Vietnam, 

Porter suggests that American leaders have “nourished” and invoked a “frontier ideology” that encapsulates the country’s “righteous struggle against barbarism.”15 This frontier ideology allows US presidents to paint America’s wars 

as a landscape upon which the country can articulate its fate. Furthermore, 

frontier mythology promotes the idea that America’s wars are expeditions not 

just of firepower and coercion but of virtue, in which victory both depends 

upon and reinforces the efficacy of the American ideal.16 When Johnson compares Vietnam to the Alamo and when he interprets himself as a cross between 

a “preacher and a cowboy,” he translates the frontier myth into America’s 

struggle against Communism, his war on poverty, and his role as president.17

As president, Johnson holed up in the adobe fort, faced daunting odds, and 

was steadfast in his commitment to a just cause. 

Johnson imagined a government that, with him at its behest, could ride in 

to tame the frontier, free the individual, and then move on. Johnson declares 

wars on poverty, ignorance, and corruptive ideologies and tilts into the breach 

in full regalia.18 Yet he recoiled from the possibility of Vietnam making him a 

“wartime president.”19 Johnson’s frontier was wicked.20 There were no simple 

bands of bad guys who could be cleanly excised with posses and six-shooters. 

The villains Johnson pursued were nebulous, comingled, and not readily 

cowed. The stakes Kennedy created in Vietnam, combined with Johnson’s 

sense of justice, left the new president with fights he could not refuse both at 

home and abroad. Johnson was also driven by a multifaceted sense of duty 

and purpose. During an interview with Washington Star reporter Isabelle 

Shelton in 1964, Johnson was asked about his literary and presidential influences. 
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“The first president I really loved was Jackson,” Johnson revealed. “I had great 

respect of Jefferson because he believed in the land. . . . Then I loved Jackson 

because he was a guy that didn’t let ’em tread on him. . . . And Wilson. I devoured him . . . everything he wrote or said I memorized.”21 Johnson thus informed his own presidency with an arrangement of past presidents whose 

disparate political flavors ranged widely among the rugged “tough guy,” the 

“nationalist,” and the consummate progressive internationalist and “Kantian 

liberal.” 

Johnson’s multifaceted sense of purpose drove him to attempt reconciling 

very different worlds. His worldviews embraced the tensions created by the 

intersection of a complex assortment of domestic and international challenges. On the domestic front, he not only believed in the purposes and aspirations initiated by Kennedy but also thought they didn’t go far enough. 

Building a Great Society would fulfill Johnson’s own vision and serve as a fitting eulogy to his fallen predecessor: “Everything I had ever learned in the 

history books taught me that martyrs have to die for causes. John Kennedy 

had died. But his ‘cause’ was not really clear. That was my job. I had to take the 

dead man’s program and turn it into a martyr’s cause” (emphasis added).22

From Johnson’s perspective, Kennedy’s domestic agenda was incomplete, and 

Kennedy’s sudden departure left a vacuum into which he poured his own 

presidential image. Johnson’s experiences with poverty and his time spent 

teaching at the Mexican-American School in Cotulla constituted an essential 

part of that image. His students described the work Johnson had done and his 

arrival as “like a blessing from the clear sky,” and Johnson himself believed he 

could in fact deliver similar blessings to the nation and the world.23

To carry out his mission, Johnson was forced on the international front to 

take up the mantle in Vietnam, no matter how distasteful he found it. In 1965 

Johnson explained to Martin Luther King during a telephone conversation 

why he believed the United States had to fight in Vietnam: 

I can’t get out. I just can’t be the architect of failure. . . . I can’t lose in Vietnam. . . . I didn’t 

get us into this. We got into it in ’54. . . . Eisenhower and Kennedy were in deep. There 

were 33,000 men out there when I came into the presidency. . . . I don’t want to pull 

down the flag and come home running with my tail between my legs . . . particularly if 

it’s going to create more problems [here] than I got out there. . . . On the other hand, I 

don’t want to get us into war with China. . . . I’ve got a pretty tough problem.24

That Johnson explains his position to the famous civil rights activist demonstrates his delicate balancing of international and domestic demands. Johnson 

could not let Vietnam derail his domestic agenda, but he couldn’t ignore the 

conflict. Vietnam was an obstacle to his real love, the Great Society. 
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The intersection and tension between Johnson’s domestic and international 

policies were just one of the lines between disparate worlds that he had to 

straddle as he wire-walked Kennedy’s administration. “We were moving into 

unchartered territory,” Johnson wrote of his ambitious domestic agenda, 

“[and] powerful forces of opposition would be stirred. . . . But the powerful 

conviction that an attack on poverty was right and necessary blotted out any 

fears.”25 Johnson was on the frontier, riding with his posse in search of reconciliation. He was the new journeyman bequeathed the responsibility of bolstering Kennedy’s outposts of freedom. If he could liberate all people, then 

Johnson could move beyond Kennedy and toward the Great Society.26

Johnson’s personality was itself an intersection of conflicting lines. He was 

a doting but unfaithful husband and known for both drinking and gambling. 

Though often vilified in the press, an April 1964 Time magazine article titled 

“Mr. President, You’re Fun” reveals his more jovial and carefree side that 

charmed even his harshest critics.27 Johnson could be cold and would treat 

those he disapproved of to the “Johnson freeze-out.” He could also be exceptionally considerate. Following Kennedy’s assassination, Johnson deliberately 

and consistently talked with, comforted, and extended courtesies to Jacqueline 

Kennedy and her family.28 Johnson was bullish, famous for standing only 

inches from other senators during discussions so he could “breathe into their 

noses,” and even took to physically leaning on people he was arguing with—

almost literally twisting arms to get his way. Under Truman as a senator, Johnson 

grilled Gen Douglas MacArthur during a Senate hearing “in a solicitous manner that nonetheless glaringly revealed the general’s ignorance of world affairs,” 

a performance described by another senator as “the biggest honey[f------] I 

ever saw.”29 Johnson twisted arms but could do so in a way that that the recipient might be unaware of the treatment. Even when overtly domineering, 

Johnson was often motivated by a noble cause. From the powerful office of the 

presidency, Johnson could carry out his responsibilities to the poor, but he 

was the “accidental president,” in office by virtue of Kennedy’s assassination: 

“I was catapulted without preparation into the most difficult job any mortal 

man could hold. . . . My duties could not wait.”30 Johnson worried about both 

his preparation and his legitimacy: 

Every President has to establish with the various sectors of the country what I call “the 

right to govern.” Just being elected to office does not guarantee him that right. . . . Every 

President has to inspire the confidence of the people[,] . . . become a leader[, and] . . . 

develop a moral underpinning to his power. . . . For me, that presented special problems. 

In spite of more than three decades of public service, I knew I was an unknown quantity 

to many of my countrymen and to much of the world. . . . I suffered another handicap, 

since I had come to the Presidency not through the collective will of the people but in 

the wake of tragedy. I had no mandate from the voters.31
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As president, Johnson confronted a paradoxical and complicated world with 

his inherent contradictions and complexities. He perceived these disparate 

worlds and tried to reconcile them, leading him to fight not one war but many.

Internally, a war raged between Johnson’s “proud pioneer” and his insecurities about being on the world stage. Johnson was caught between the world 

he came from and the world he now sought to lead. He faced a quandary between 

the inheritance he wanted to fulfill—completing Roosevelt’s New Deal (which 

would also pay homage to Kennedy)—and the inheritance of Vietnam forced 

upon him by Kennedy. To carry out his fight for the Great Society, Johnson 

found himself in the crossfire between hawks and doves, driving him to seek 

out ways to be tough on Communism without sacrificing the resources and 

domestic support for his social programs. Johnson also faced a war of perceptions; that is, the manner of his ascendance to office left him compelled not 

only to validate Kennedy’s policies but also to prove himself by leaving his 

own mark upon them. Chapter 3 suggested that Kennedy pushed Vietnam to 

the front lines of the Cold War. Johnson continued to contextualize Vietnam 

as an important part of the Cold War, but he folded both the Cold War and 

Vietnam into the interior lines of his domestic agenda and war on poverty. 

The front lines of Johnson’s fight for the Great Society were the perceptions of 

Congress (and, more importantly, the public), and he poured into that breach 

all the energy and resources he could muster. Johnson calculated and manipulated perceptions with the exceptional fervor of a man who believed, much as 

Hawking suggested, that “individual will” could create reality. The war of perceptions thus became Johnson’s primary line of operations. 

Only by proving himself, reconciling his inheritance, and convincing the 

coalitions of the disparate worlds he sought to unify of the efficacy and merit 

of his programs could he realize his vision. Johnson’s fellow students and his 

teachers, coworkers, and subordinates described him as driven and domineering throughout his life. He would often interrupt conversations and 

strove to project and create an image of himself in the minds of those around 

him.32 These tendencies were amplified when Johnson became president not 

just by virtue of the power and position of the office but also because Johnson 

surmised an even greater need to shape perceptions so that he could carry out 

his agenda. Johnson had to build an image of himself in the minds of his 

countrymen as well as create the appropriate perceptions of his presidency, its 

policies, and his legacy. 

Goodwin describes how Johnson’s nature and worldview not only shaped 

his White House but also exacerbated the tendency for staffers, advisers, and 

principals to become overly dependent on the president.33 Drawing on Carl 

Friedrich’s description of the “vacuum” phenomenon in totalitarian societies, 
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Goodwin observes that Johnson’s penchant for control would screen out 

“options, facts, and ideas” so that “Lyndon Johnson’s personality operated to 

distort truth in much the same way as ideology works in totalitarian society.”34

George Reedy described the White House as “the life of a court . . . designed 

for one purpose and one purpose only—to serve the material needs and the 

desires of a single man. . . . No one interrupts presidential contemplation for 

anything less than a major catastrophe. . . . No one speaks to him unless spoken 

to. . . . No one ever invites [the president] to ‘go soak your head’ when his 

demands become . . . unreasonable.”35 Already inclined to overbearance and 

having a penchant for exaggerating his understanding and control of things, 

Johnson the president now enjoyed the ultimate bully pulpit. When this perch 

conjoined with his intense motivation to paint the reality he believed necessary to his ends, the effect on policy was both dramatic and tragic:

In this strange atmosphere, the men surrounding the President [became] sycophants. . . . 

[This] structure proved disastrous for Lyndon Johnson and the nation. He had always 

functioned best in relationships where the other person had independent power. Then 

Johnson had to pay attention to the necessities of bargaining, moderating his drive to 

dominate by a realistic perception of the limitations of his own resources. But when the 

structure reduced the external limitations, Johnson fell back on his need to dominate. . . . 

Thus the White House machinery became the President’s psyche writ large, transmitting 

his wishes throughout the Executive Office with a terrifying force.36

Johnson often lamented that the last thing he wanted was to be a “wartime 

president,” yet wars permeated his administration. From the existential threat of 

the Cold War to the bourgeoning conflict in Vietnam to Johnson’s own declared 

war on poverty and the conflicts that raged within him, Johnson was besieged 

from both without and within. These competing interests and demands mapped 

the geography of Johnson’s presidency. From the high desert of southern Texas 

and the shantytowns full of America’s forgotten to the concrete cacophony of 

Beltway politics to center stage at the UN assembly and all the way to the jungles 

of Vietnam, Johnson the New Frontiersman rode the fence lines between his 

many wars and carried the American people with him. 

The following section examines Johnson’s presidential image, particularly 

focusing on how his obsession for controlling perceptions not only reflected 

his view of the world but also shaped agendas and outcomes in Vietnam. This 

study analyzes Johnson’s initial impressions and approaches to the Vietnam 

War, looking at how he contended with and perceived the transition from 

Kennedy’s presidency to his own. As American pioneers braved the hazards 

of the country’s wild landscapes to forge the destiny of a nation, they mollified 

the frontier with a fierce will and often called upon the harsher angels to 

reconcile the nation they sought with the obstacles that threatened it. Men of 

justice were called upon to ride forth and press their sacred cause as they 
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renegotiated the lines of a savage and unforgiving landscape. Johnson believed that his iron will could both create and negotiate not only the lines that 

separated Vietnam and fractured his domestic agenda but also the divides 

within himself and his nation. In doing so, Johnson formed his own posse 

that could ride herd on America’s perceptions and harness the reality he 

needed to prosecute his agenda. Once invested, he could no sooner accept 

defeat than George Armstrong Custer could have withdrawn or Daniel 

Boone surrendered. The mythology of the American West, conveyed through 

history, stories, and film, shows us archetypal heroes who are at once cowboys, pioneers, saviors, villains, and martyrs. Johnson’s turn at the presidency 

and his policies in Vietnam are an expression of these American motifs. 

Common Western images include glorious last stands or show the flawed 

hero ambling off into the sunset, the people he saved at his back—their calls 

for his return echoing off the hillsides. 

As Johnson picked up the mantle from Kennedy, he described his duty to 

continue and expand the fallen president’s policies as “the martyr’s cause.”

After Johnson moves the nation through the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution and 

the 1965 troop decision and toward the war’s peak in 1968, what did the country 

shout into the hills when he rode away? What villains and obstacles were vanquished, and which ones remained? Who was surrounded, and what challenges faced the next presidential heir? How successful was the martyr’s cause, 

and who or what was martyred? 

A New Seat, a New President, and a New War

Within hours of assuming the presidency, Johnson declared, “I am not going 

to lose Vietnam. I am not going to be the President who saw Southeast Asia 

go the way China went.”37 During his address before a joint session of Congress on 27 November 1963, Johnson calls for the vigorous recommitment to 

Kennedy’s causes and affirms his dedication to a robust social and international agenda:

The greatest leader of our time has been struck down by the foulest deed. . . . And now 

the ideas and the ideals which he so nobly represented must and will be translated into . . . 

action. . . . This Nation has demonstrated that it has the courage to seek peace, and it has 

the fortitude to risk war. . . . This Nation will keep its commitments from South VietNam [sic] to West Berlin. We will be unceasing in the search for peace. . . . And let all 

know we will extend no special privilege. . . . We will carry on the fight against poverty 

and misery, and disease and ignorance, in other lands and in our own. . . . For 32 years 

Capitol Hill has been my home. . . . An assassin’s bullet has thrust upon me the awesome 

burden of the Presidency. . . . Let all the world know [that] . . . I rededicate this government to the unswerving support [of its commitments]. . . . This is our challenge—not to 
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hesitate, not to pause, not to turn about and linger . . . but to continue on our course. . . . 

It is a time for action . . . [so] that John Fitzgerald Kennedy did not live—or die—in vain.38

In his address, Johnson attempts to build his own credibility. At the same 

time, he draws on Kennedy’s memory to push a list of social legislation, telling 

Congress that “no eulogy could more eloquently honor president Kennedy’s 

memory” than passage of bills on issues such as civil rights, taxation, and 

education.39 During his State of the Union address in January 1964, Johnson 

again calls on Congress to honor Kennedy by passing the social agenda Johnson 

is now advocating, stating that Congress “can demonstrate effective legislative 

leadership by dispatching the public business with clarity.”40 Johnson believed 

in the “rightness” of Kennedy’s social legislation, but he wanted to take it further 

and had no qualms about pivoting on Kennedy’s memory to do so. It is also 

telling that while he unequivocally committed himself to Vietnam and the 

Cold War, his speeches were heavily weighted toward domestic progress and 

social agendas. Kennedy’s early addresses emphasize the “extraordinary challenges to freedom” that international threats (wars of national liberation) 

posed and call for the country’s mobilization to turn outward to meet those 

challenges. In contrast, Johnson embedded those external challenges within 

America’s “fight against poverty and misery.” 

For Johnson, the intimacy between Vietnam and domestic politics was 

driven by more than just what he considered necessary to facilitate his Great 

Society. There was also a consistency between what he believed was required 

to build the Great Society and how he thought he could solve Vietnam. Louis 

Hartz writes in The Founding of New Societies that “from the time of Wilson . . . 

[America] has actually sought to project its ethos abroad,” and Goodwin observes 

that this “American tendency . . . was dramatized” by decision makers in Vietnam and led to viewing the “Vietnamese conflict [as] a battle between two 

fixed groups of people with different but negotiable interests” (emphasis 

added).41 Johnson thus approached Vietnam much like it was a round of negotiations in the US Senate, where “everyone had a price” (including Ho Chi 

Minh). Solving Vietnam, Johnson said, would be “like a filibuster—enormous 

resistance at first, then a steady whittling away, then Ho hurrying to get it over 

with.”42 Johnson’s view characterized a distinctly American perception of the 

world that grossly overlooked the cultural nuances of Vietnam. Vietnamese 

culture did not share the same view of politics, and the North Vietnamese saw 

their efforts as part of the dau tranh (the struggle), which intimately married 

politics, morality, and society and could not be bought off with political or 

economic programs.43
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For the North Vietnamese, dau tranh could not be divided and horsetraded, which meant that Johnson mistakenly believed that he could win Hanoi 

over with what essentially equated to internationally appropriated earmarks.44

Even Johnson’s eventual turn to the graduated bombing campaign in Rolling 

Thunder and his incremental introduction, expansion, and application of 

ground forces reflected his quid pro quo bargaining strategy and his deeply 

held belief that all problems were negotiable. Negotiations between the United 

States and Hanoi during Johnson’s tenure were marked by a string of unproductive meetings during which the participants could hardly even agree 

on the terms for the discussions, let alone the subject of them. This demonstrates that Johnson and the North Vietnamese were playing not just with 

different chips but two entirely different games. Johnson’s presidential image 

misrepresented the character and motive of the North Vietnamese and caused 

him to persist in his attempts to swap the North’s war in South Vietnam for 

American commodities and programs.

In a speech at Johns Hopkins University in 1965, Johnson called for a 

“billion-dollar American investment” to develop the Mekong River that could 

bring electricity, jobs, schools, and “the wonders of modern medicine” to 

Vietnam.45 Johnson imagined a future Vietnam that could mirror the developments he had seen “in his hill country forty years before, when the dams had 

been first built, bringing water, electricity, and hope to the poor farmers.”46

Johnson wanted to imprint Vietnam with American schools and dams and 

modernization, turning the “Mekong into a Tennessee valley,” and believed 

that by doing so he could defeat Hanoi and even win it to his cause.47 Although 

Johnson’s vision for Vietnam reflected his own experiences emerging from an 

underdeveloped and impoverished region and even though his agenda for Vietnam coincided with the tenets of his domestic agenda, the ease with which he 

projected his own image unto Vietnam was due in part to a particular worldview that he had inherited: 

When Johnson took the presidential oath, behind him was a century of American involvement and concern with Asia, three Pacific wars, two decades of Cold War accompanied 

by the feared possibility of a nuclear apocalypse, and a widely held belief—almost a 

dogma—that the arena of confrontation was shifting to the “third world.” But perhaps 

most significant of all was the fact that an entire generation, many of its members now 

come to leadership, viewed these events . . . from the perspective of their experience of 

World War II—that shattering transformation of historical conditions which created an 

America, not only powerful but supreme [but that had also allowed the forces of darkness 

to] come perilously close to a decisive conquest.48

The leaders of Johnson’s generation were all imbued with a sense of America’s 

moral obligation—that America occupied a unique position in the world and 

that there was no one else to stand watch or hold out in freedom’s Alamo. To 
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varying degrees, they also shared the purpose of spreading the American 

ethos to forestall the march of Communism’s dark forces. The metastructure 

of containment certainly covered the arc of the Vietnam War. However, each 

president conceived of carrying out the policy of containment differently, and 

each man invoked his own presidential image in the development and execution of agendas. Johnson was no different in this regard and set about framing 

his domestic and international agenda in a way that reflected his own belief 

structures. While every president must contend with the stickiness of institutional inertia and must both define and fill his own seat at the table of power, 

the circumstances of Johnson’s ascension were especially challenging because 

Kennedy’s men already occupied the round table from which Johnson was 

now to rule. 

“I eventually developed my own programs and policies,” Johnson said of 

his initial years as president, “but I never lost sight of the fact that I was the 

trustee and custodian of the Kennedy administration.”49 George Herring 

observes that Kennedy’s replacement of Eisenhower’s NSC with an informal, 

intimate, and ad hoc arrangement allowed men like McGeorge Bundy, Robert 

Kennedy, and McNamara to hold great sway when Johnson came to power.50

On the surface, carryover from the Kennedy administration might seem inconsequential. It would stand to reason that Johnson should have had a feel 

for Kennedy’s policies and an established rapport with his predecessor’s closest 

advisers. Indeed, some of Johnson’s own reports as vice president seem to 

support the idea that he was in line with Kennedy’s Vietnam policies. 

In 1961 Johnson prepared a report for Kennedy from his fact-finding mission to Asia. In it, Johnson assured Kennedy that the mission had “arrested 

the decline of confidence in the United States,” but he also emphasized that 

such missions would not “restore any confidence already lost.” “We didn’t buy 

time, but were given it,” Johnson tells the president and advises Kennedy that 

he should proceed with the expansion of his Vietnam policies.51 Johnson 

shares Kennedy’s own sense of urgency for the situation in Vietnam, and the 

report’s conclusions reflect a consistency with Kennedy’s views. Among them, 

Johnson reasserts the pivotal role American prestige will play and that the 

mobilization and “imaginative use” of American political, technological, and 

scientific capabilities would be the only hope for beating back Communism, 

“hunger, ignorance, poverty, and disease.”52 Johnson also advised that the 

United States should not look to deploy combat troops but should take on an 

advisory role and shepherd Vietnam through economic, military, and political 

assistance “under the very closest Washington direction.”53 Years later, Johnson’s 

own initial emphasis on social, economic, and political means, as well as his 

sanctioned covert military actions in both North and South Vietnam, seemed 
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in lockstep with Kennedy’s initiatives.54 When Johnson declared in 1965 that 

“this is a different kind of war . . . [with] no marching armies or solemn declarations,” he echoed the same sentiments Kennedy conveyed during his 1962 

speech at West Point: a “different kind of force” was needed “if freedom was to 

be saved.”55 Also like Kennedy, as Walter LaFeber points out, Johnson never 

questioned the “doctrine of Containment” or the tenets of the domino theory.56

Such congruencies demonstrate Johnson’s alignment with basic Kennedy 

policies in Vietnam. However, the carryover of key personnel from the Kennedy 

administration meant that Johnson was reliant on “decision making machinery 

already in place.”57 So as situations in Vietnam and at home evolved, Johnson 

was forced to draw advice from, and pivot on, Kennedy’s men. Though Johnson declares in his memoirs that he appreciated and needed his inherited 

advisers and kept them on out of loyalty, admiration, and even necessity, 

taped private conversations reveal that he quickly came to resent both his 

dependency on them and their association with Kennedy. 

On 23 July 1964, Johnson speaks with Texas governor John Connally about 

his concerns over the Kennedy camp, particularly Bobby Kennedy, and the 

potential impact on the upcoming election. The Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party was demanding that the all-white Mississippi delegation be expelled 

and replaced with its own delegation of “64 blacks and four whites.”58 Johnson 

worried that Bobby Kennedy and his supporters were secretly supporting the 

Freedom Party to facilitate a fracture within the Democratic Party as part of 

an effort for the younger Kennedy’s run at the presidency. “It may very well be 

that Bobby has started it,” Johnson told Connally. “They’ve got all the Communists in. . . . Both sides are in on these riots. . . . Hell, these folks have got 

walkie-talkies. . . . Somebody’s financing them big.”59 Johnson then confesses 

to Connally what he believes he needs in a vice president and how he lacks his 

own trusted circle of advisers: 

You really need somebody that’s a good debater and a good TV performer and can take 

’em on because you’re tied down so damned hard in this job. . . . You got problems with 

Khrushchev and Castro. Say they’re gonna shoot down your planes the minute the election’s over. . . . You’ve got more damned problems than I can handle. I’ve got old enough 

and flabby enough that I can’t surmount all the obstacles. And I don’t have the help and 

the advice and the counselors and the loved ones around . . . to do it. Every man in my 

Cabinet’s a Kennedy man. . . . I haven’t been able to change ’em and I don’t have the personnel if I could change em. They didn’t go to San Marcos Teachers College. . . . It’s just 

agony (emphasis in original).60

Johnson had inherited not only a war but an administration. Remitting his 

image and agenda would thus be “double-dog” difficult. Different backgrounds and perspectives separated Johnson from the Kennedys, and he 

never quite earned a comfortable place within Camelot. McNamara said that 
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“although Johnson had been a part of the Kennedy administration for three 

years, none of us had worked closely with him” and that this must have been 

cause for some mistrust.61 Jack Kennedy was well aware of Johnson’s presidential ambitions. Also aware of the contrasts between him and Johnson, JFK 

arguably selected Johnson as his running mate to help carry the South in the 

election. To appease Johnson and keep him “inside the tent,” Kennedy sent 

him on the road or put him in charge of special projects, working his connections on the Hill.62 Johnson used to joke that while “Jack was out kissing 

babies . . . I was out passing bills” and tending the store, but the truth was that 

Johnson was often excluded or diminished during key policy decisions.63

While the White House deliberated on the Bay of Pigs in 1961, Johnson entertained the German chancellor at his ranch in Texas; the vice president’s voice 

during the Cuban missile crisis was somewhat muted.64

The Cuban missile crisis was an especially inflective event for the men involved. The apparently successful handling of the crisis by Kennedy and his 

men reinforced their faith not only in themselves but also in the tenets and 

efficacies of limited war theory.65 Following the crisis, McNamara was quoted 

as saying that “there is no longer any such thing as strategy, only crisis management.”66 Kennedy’s men—who became Johnson’s—drew distinct impressions of themselves, their image of the world, and their view of the military 

from the Cuban missile crisis, all of which served as a critical departure point 

for their subsequent strategies in Vietnam. Two key assumptions derived 

from the Cuban missile crisis pushed forward into the framing of US policy 

in Vietnam: (1) the military needed to be controlled, and (2) crisis and conflict could be managed through an iterative bargaining process. Johnson himself brought to his presidency his own suspicions of the military that were 

only reinforced by the views of his advisers: “This [---]damn military,” Johnson once said. “I just don’t know when I can trust them and when I can’t.”67

Additionally, Johnson spent his years in Congress and as vice president ardently 

hammering out deals and successfully negotiating often controversial legislation, so he was highly susceptible to the idea that Vietnam could be solved in 

similar fashion. As such, McNamara, Dean Rusk, and Bundy continued to 

have great influence during Johnson’s presidency—which led to a mutually 

reinforcing tendency to want to control things: “Johnson and McNamara saw 

their principal task in war management as maintaining tight operational control over the military.”68

Kennedy’s men believed that they needed to control things, and Johnson 

believed that he needed to control things. Though they shared overarching 

principles, Johnson begrudged the fact that he lacked his own confidant. 

When vetting his vice president for the 1964 election, Johnson adamantly 
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made clear to Hubert Humphrey that it was “Johnson’s show” and that he 

expected total loyalty from him if he were chosen for Johnson’s ticket.69 Johnson’s emphasis on loyalty in his vice president, his confessions to Governor 

Connally, and even the close relationships he developed with McNamara and 

Rusk reveal his longing for allies and his sense that he felt trapped by the men 

he depended on. To carry out his agenda, he needed loyal men in his corner 

who could help him shape both events and the perceptions of those events so 

that Vietnam did not undermine his domestic goals. 

Johnson’s decision to escalate in Vietnam was greatly influenced by his reliance on a closed circle of advisers and by his passion not to let Vietnam interfere with the Great Society. In 1964 the effectiveness of Kennedy’s covert military operations as well as the fallen president’s social and diplomatic programs 

in Vietnam remained unclear. Fearful that Vietnam might inconveniently go 

awry while he was pressing his social agenda, Johnson was inclined to succumb to suggestions for greater military action. With outcomes indeterminate, Johnson was convinced that if he could rein in perceptions and control 

the script, then he could orchestrate support for his domestic agenda while 

still solving the Vietnam problem: “The most important foreign policy problem I faced was that of signaling to the world what kind of man I was and 

what sort of policies I intended to carry out. It was important that there be no 

hesitancy on my part—nothing to indicate that the US government had faltered. It was equally important for the world to understand that I intended to 

continue the established foreign policies of . . . Harry S. Truman, Dwight D. 

Eisenhower, and John F. Kennedy.”70

In the run-up to the 1964 election, Johnson’s ability to control the script is 

challenged as he is simultaneously taken to task by the Republican opposition 

for not being tough enough on Communism and criticized by members of his 

own party for being too hawkish.71 Johnson is “eager for a landslide victory” 

so that he can gain the legitimacy and independence as president that he both 

longs for and needs to carry out his agenda. In a conversation with Bundy in 

March 1964, Johnson vents his frustration and his concerns: “I just spent a lot 

of time with the Joint Chiefs. The net of it . . . is—they say, get in or get out. . . . 

I told them, ‘Let’s try to find an amendment. . . . We haven’t got any Congress 

that will go with us, and we haven’t got any mothers that will go with us in a 

war.’ . . . I’m just an inherit[ance]—I’m a trustee. I’ve got to win an election.”72

Johnson was trying to placate disparate coalitions so that he could address the 

challenge of Vietnam without sacrificing the support he needed to earn his 

presidential mandate. As voices of opposition and criticism continued to surface in the press, Johnson became increasingly frustrated and worked tirelessly to control the script. At one point Johnson tells Reedy, his press secretary, 
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that reporters “are not masters of the White House. They’re just the servants 

and we give them what we want to give them.”73

As part of his efforts to mediate between the increasing requirements in 

Vietnam and a polity that was in many ways ambiguous over commitments 

there, Johnson approved in 1964 a more robust covert campaign against North 

Vietnam. Labeled Operational Plan (OPLAN) 34A, the operations were designed to bolster South Vietnamese morale, improve South Vietnamese positions, and signal Hanoi that the United States was committed to the fight. The 

clandestine measures included “sabotage and commando raids against military installations along [North Vietnam’s] coast[,] . . . air attacks against North 

Vietnamese forces in Laos[,]” and covert intelligence-gathering patrols in the 

Gulf of Tonkin by US warships, referred to as “Desoto patrols.”74 The classified 

operation would ostensibly keep US activities off the books and out of the 

public eye. NSAM 288, which formally approved OPLAN 34A, detailed US 

objectives in Vietnam and retaliatory options if US forces were attacked.75

McNamara’s report “Steps to Change the Trend of the War,” 16 March 1964; 

OPLAN 34A; and NSAM 288 all indicate that Johnson considered success in 

Vietnam critical to US interests. The documents also reflect the administration’s strong preference for US efforts to remain mostly relegated to supporting 

the South politically and economically as well as through covert military 

action.76 At the same time, however, NSAM 288 preloaded plans for more overt 

and escalatory US military action, stating that US policy was “to prepare immediately to be in a position on 72 hours’ notice to initiate the full range of Laotian 

and Cambodian ‘Border Control actions’ . . . and the ‘Retaliatory Actions’ against 

North Vietnam, and to be in a position on 30 days’ notice to initiate the program 

of ‘Graduated Overt Military Pressure’ against North Vietnam.”77

Johnson’s initial policies for Vietnam, then, were both declarative and 

dubious, relying extensively on his ability to develop practical and effective 

military options while simultaneously keeping the nature and extent of those 

options under wraps. Johnson was thus hypersensitive to how the press characterized his statements on Vietnam, and he obsessed over how it treated his 

critics and how his critics treated him. With the election looming and Vietnam refusing to stay quiet through the spring and summer of 1964, Johnson 

labored continuously to control the narrative by quelling leaks and making 

carefully calculated statements that were intentionally dubious—or at least 

seemed to serve mutually exclusive ends.78 During a press conference in Los 

Angeles, for example, Johnson had stated that the North Vietnamese were 

playing a “deeply dangerous game,” inspiring several editorials accusing Johnson 

of wanting to invade North Vietnam with force.79 In response to the criticism, 

Johnson turned to McNamara, and the conversation recounted below reveals 
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the president’s want of a well-reasoned and defendable position on Vietnam 

policy, his desire for quick and positive actions, and the need for his position 

to be sufficiently ambiguous and thus defendable. 

LBJ: I want you to dictate to me a memorandum—a couple of pages . . . so I can read it and 

study it and commit it to memory . . . on the situation in Vietnam. . . . I’d like for you to say 

that there are several courses that could be followed. . . . We could send our own 

divisions . . . and they could start attacking the Vietcong. . . . We could come out of there . . . 

and let ’em neutralize South Vietnam and let the Communists take North Vietnam. . . . 

And as soon as we get out, they could swallow up South Vietnam. . . . Or we could pull out 

and say, “To hell with you, we’re going to have Fortress America[,]” . . . and here’s what 

would happen in Thailand, and here’s what would happen in the Philippines. . . . Or we can 

say this is the Vietnamese’s war . . . and we’ve got to bring their morale up. . . . We can put 

in socially conscious people and try to get them to improve their own government . . . and 

we can train them how to fight . . . And [we can say] that, after considering all of these, it 

seems that the latter offers the best alternative for America to follow. . . . I would like to 

have for this period, when everybody is asking me, something in my own words. I can say, 

why, here are the alternatives and here’s our theory . . . [, but] we don’t say that we’ll win. 

[Johnson then asks McNamara if the defense secretary thinks “it’s a mistake” to explain his 

stance on Vietnam and what the United States faces there.

80]

McNAMARA: I do think, Mr. President, it would be wise for you to say as little as possible. The frank answer is we don’t know what’s going on out there. The signs I see coming through the cables are disturbing signs—poor morale . . . disunity, a tremendous 

amount of coup planning . . . Not what you’d expect.

LBJ: Why don’t we take some pretty offensive steps pretty quickly then? Why don’t we . . . 

do some of these things that are inclined to bolster them. 

[Johnson then expresses his frustrations with Ambassador Henry Cabot Lodge Jr., who he 

feels has been too hesitant to take effective action, and Johnson tells McNamara to instruct 

Lodge to be more aggressive and “clear out an area” and to assure South Vietnamese president Gen Nguyen Khanh that the United States is committed but needs Khanh to get better 

results. McNamara agrees to pass on the president’s instructions.]

LBJ: And then you get me this other paper on Vietnam, so that when people ask me 

questions, I have a smattering of information.81

McNamara complied and delivered the president a memorandum stating that 

the United States’ “purpose in South Vietnam is to help the Vietnamese maintain their independence. We are providing the training and the logistic support which they cannot provide themselves. We will continue to provide that 

support as long as it is required.”82 That Johnson was at first inclined to elucidate in more detail the conundrum US policy faced in Vietnam reveals his 

belief that if he could present a well-enough-reasoned argument, then the 

American people could be convinced of the reality as Johnson saw it. That 

Johnson ultimately drew on McNamara’s very much watered-down and ambiguous memorandum reveals both Johnson’s reliance on McNamara as well 

as the president’s hesitancy to publicly tilt too far in any direction on Vietnam 
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policy. The success of Johnson’s agenda and victory in the election hinged on 

his control of the narrative.

With a more robust, albeit covert, strategy in place through OPLAN 34A 

and the Desoto patrols, and with his mind constantly on the 1964 election 

and the Vietnam narrative’s effects on it, Johnson continued to beef up US 

missions and potential missions in Vietnam while downplaying them in the 

press. As reports of imminent disaster roll in from the embassy in Saigon and 

from the military leadership, Johnson sends Secretary of State Rusk and the 

defense secretary to Honolulu in June for “a hastily called meeting” with Ambassador Lodge, Maxwell Taylor, and the new American commander in South 

Vietnam, Gen William Westmoreland.83 The meeting was convened to iron 

out contingency plans for greater US military actions in Vietnam. After criticism surfaced that Johnson’s men were secretly planning “an American war in 

Asia,” Johnson vehemently backpedaled and insisted that he “knew of no 

plans . . . to carry the war into Vietnam” but that he and his staff were simply 

looking at alternatives.84 It was important to Johnson that the Honolulu meeting be perceived as nothing out of the ordinary or, as Rusk put it, that the 

meeting was “not a massive orgasm” but instead part of a routine.85 The fact 

was, however, that the Honolulu meeting, in concert with NSAM 288 and 

internal policy and position papers, put in place deliberate mechanisms for 

more expansive military action. If the arrow was not yet fully notched and 

sighted, the giant bowstring of the US military was certainly being drawn 

back—a fact that Johnson desperately wanted to keep from the public. As the 

crisis in the Gulf of Tonkin heated up later that summer, Johnson caught wind 

of Hubert Humphrey’s references to US covert operations and Desoto patrols 

along the coast of North Vietnam. Johnson’s response is telling:

LBJ: Our friend Hubert is just destroying himself with his big mouth.

[JAMES] ROWE: Is he talking again? [Rowe was LBJ’s longtime friend and a prominent 

Washington attorney.]

LBJ: Yeah, all the time. . . . Every responsible person gets frightened when they see him. . . . 

He went on TV and . . . just blabbed everything. . . . [When Humphrey was asked by 

reporters,] “How would you account for these PT boat attacks on our destroyers when 

we are innocently out there in a gulf, sixty miles from shore?” . . . Humphrey said, “Well, 

we have been carrying on some operations in that area . . . where we have been going in 

and knocking out roads and petroleum.” . . . And that is exactly what we have been doing!

ROWE: Good Lord!

LBJ: The damn fool . . . just ought to keep his [---]damned big mouth shut on foreign affairs, at least until the election is over. . . . They don’t pay him to do this. . . . He is just doing 

this free and he’s hurting his government. And he’s hurting us (emphasis in original)!86
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Johnson is so upset because his narrative requires that the United States respond only to unprovoked aggression by the North. If it were revealed that the 

United States was in fact covertly striking targets within North Vietnam and 

running patrols not 60 miles but within 16 miles of Hanoi’s coast, then Johnson 

would be unable to make his case. 

Because of his efforts to satiate hawks and doves, his own push for reelection, 

and the needs of a war that wouldn’t stay quiet, Johnson made a series of fateful decisions and directed a sequence of events to manipulate perceptions 

during the Gulf of Tonkin crisis that arguably set the tenor of his own Vietnam 

policy and the arc of the war itself. Though the full record and exact nature and 

timing of information that Johnson had remains incomplete, declassified 

tapes and documents nevertheless demonstrate Johnson’s tacit and deliberate 

misleading of the public. Even if one concludes that Johnson acted as best he 

could, given the facts he had at the time, and misrepresented them to protect 

sensitive operations, his hurried decision making and eagerness to act reflect 

a particular policy momentum and linkage to domestic political calculations. 

Three months prior to the incident involving US warships and North 

Vietnamese patrol boats in the Gulf of Tonkin, Johnson told McNamara that 

he saw “a glimmer of hope on Vietnam” and wanted policies that got more 

tangible results.87 Johnson asked McNamara if there was “anybody in the military that can come up with something,” and told his defense secretary, “I gotta 

do something. We gotta kill some of these guys.”88 Johnson’s calls for more 

tangible effects and action in Vietnam were met with reaffirming calls for 

more direct military involvement from his advisers.89 OPLAN 34A and the 

Desoto patrols gave Johnson a means to expand the US military mission without overtly doing so. The New York Times published a series of articles in 1972 

that describe the “covert war” Johnson waged in Vietnam between February 

and August 1964.90 During this period, Johnson and his advisers developed 

and executed extensive military operations in South Vietnam, Laos, and 

North Vietnam, including bombing missions in Laos and plans for more 

aggressive bombing campaigns against North Vietnam. 

In May, Johnson and his NSC debated a draft resolution for Congress that 

would “endorse all measures, including the commitment of force” in Laos and 

Vietnam.91 However, both McNamara and Bundy argued against going to 

Congress in May, Bundy saying that “the Administration should seek a Congressional resolution giving general authority for action . . . if and only if we 

decide that a substantial increase of national attention . . . is a necessary part 

of the defense of Southeast Asia in the coming summer.”92 Bundy also suggested that the best “timing” for such a resolution would be after the civil 

rights bill had cleared the Senate floor. The Pentagon Papers reveal that Johnson 
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elected not to go to Congress sooner because he wanted to conceal both the 

deteriorating situation in Vietnam and US existing and potential operations 

there to give his administration “maximum flexibility to determine its moves 

as it chose from behind the scenes” and because he wanted to maintain a 

“noncommitted” position.93

While devising operations that could solve the increasingly difficult situation in Vietnam, Johnson metered his decisions based on how congressional 

and public perceptions of Vietnam would affect his political capital for key 

legislation and in the upcoming election. As such, Johnson attempted to 

orchestrate both the timing and content of what was revealed about his Vietnam policies so that he could shape those perceptions. When two American 

reconnaissance planes were shot down over Laos on 8 June 1964, Johnson had 

several conversations that reveal how he was attempting to play to both the 

hawks and the doves and how he believed that more overt US military involvement would require a particular narrative or story line.

[Here Johnson is talking with House Speaker John McCormack, a political ally, about US 

retaliation for the two reconnaissance aircraft shot down over Laos.]

LBJ: We went in there last night to take out this battery that had shot down these two 

planes and we destroyed some buildings. . . . If we didn’t [respond], why, we’d just destroy ourselves. Now we can’t say anything about it. . . . I don’t know who we ought to 

discuss this with, if anyone. . . . But we have . . . shown that we mean business. . . . Would 

it be your thought we ought to talk to [Charles] Hallek [House Minority Leader]and any 

of the Republicans about it?

McCORMACK: It’s bound to come out. I would think so.

LBJ: I had the feeling I ought to send McNamara to see the armed services people and I 

ought to send Rusk to see the foreign affairs people. . . . But we’ve got to keep it to a very 

limited group. If we don’t, it would greatly injure our interests by their talking about it.

McCORMACK: Yeah, the worst of that is when you get a group like that, you know what 

democracies are. 

LBJ: They ought to be sworn to secrecy. . . . Don’t discuss it with anyone. I’m gonna discuss it with you and [Governor] Carl [Sanders (D-GA)], [Senator Mike] Mansfield and 

[Hubert] Humphrey, and we’ll try to keep it to that.

[Johnson then talks with Senate Majority Leader Mansfield, a committed dove on Vietnam 

and one of Johnson’s most vocal critics, about the US air strikes in Laos.]

LBJ: I’ve submitted all the things you’ve suggested to me and I’ve got [Adlai] Stevenson 

down here. . . . We can’t go in there with ground troops. The air forces don’t get the job 

done and can’t get it done. We are trying every way we know how to appeal to Hanoi and 

[China]. We’ve told de Gaulle that we are very anxious to follow any conference route. . . . 

But we’ve got to keep our strength here and show that we will react . . . [so the North 

Vietnamese] will talk to us at all. . . . We don’t want to dominate anybody. If they’ll just 

quit advancing, why, then we can get out. . . . I don’t want to get in a land war in Asia.

MANSFIELD: I think the best thing to do would be if you would talk to them all together.
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LBJ: It always gets out . . . and we don’t want to blow it up. ’Cause we sure don’t want to 

give any indications that we’re getting involved in a war. . . . I’ve been playing it down. . . . 

You-all are voting [on civil rights] this afternoon, aren’t you?94

The differences in Johnson’s tone and approach to the two congressmen are 

telling. On the one hand, with McCormack, Johnson focuses almost solely on 

what should be revealed about US operations and to whom, and he emphasizes his position of strength and “meaning business.” On the other hand, with 

Mansfield, Johnson is almost pleading with the dovish senator, emphasizing 

his desire for restraint and negotiations. Johnson appears to be attempting to 

convince Mansfield that he had no choice in ordering the retaliatory air strikes 

and that he prefers and will seek a more dovish and diplomatic approach to 

avoid “a land war in Asia.” Johnson also deftly couples a suggested Vietnam 

policy that is more in line with Mansfield’s thinking with a mention of the 

pending Senate vote on the civil rights bill. 

[Johnson then speaks with McNamara after the defense secretary had briefed a small group 

of congressmen on the Laos air strikes. McNamara reports to the president the sentiments 

of some of the congressmen, particularly the more hesitant and skeptical.]

LBJ: We haven’t taken any serious losses and we can’t put our finger on anything that 

really justifies this acceleration and escalation of public sentiment that it’s going to hell 

in a hack. . . . Is that a buildup of our critics largely? Have we fed that? Where does it 

come from that we’re losing?

McNAMARA: If you went to . . . the estimators in CIA and said how’s the situation . . . I 

think they’d say it’s worse.

LBJ: That’s not what Lodge and Khanh think, is it? They think it’s a little better, don’t they?

McNAMARA: I don’t think they really believe that. . . . I think that they both would indicate it’s a very weak situation. . . . The CIA estimators, Lodge, many of the rest of us in 

private would say that things are not good. . . . While we say this in private and not in 

public, there are facts available in the public domain over there that find their way in the 

press. 

LBJ: While I was talking to you, I have a note from Mansfield, which is interesting: 

[Johnson reads Mansfield’s note.] “I do not conclude that our national interests are served 

by deep military involvement in Southeast Asia. . . . [If the United States is to get more 

deeply involved] I . . . suggest that the basis for these decisions must be made much 

clearer and more persuasive to the people of this nation.”

McNAMARA: I think he’s absolutely right. If we’re going to stay in there, if we’re going to 

go strictly up the escalating chain, we’re going to have to educate the people, Mr. President. 

LBJ: Now, and I think if you start doing it, they’re going to be hollering, “You’re a 

warmonger.”. . . I think that’s the horn the Republicans would like to get us on.95

Johnson goes on to highlight the need to expand US social and economic 

aid to Vietnam. The emphasis Johnson places on Mansfield’s note and McNamara’s response to it is significant because Johnson now realizes that more 
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aggressive action in Vietnam will require clear justification. When the USS 

Maddox is attacked on 2 August 1964 in the Gulf of Tonkin, Johnson is given 

an opportunity to make just such a case.

North Vietnamese patrol boats attacked the Maddox while the US warship 

was performing intelligence-gathering missions off the coast of North Vietnam. 

During the sea battle, the USS Ticonderoga launched jet aircraft, three North 

Vietnamese patrol boats were destroyed, and the Maddox was slightly damaged. 

The North Vietnamese attack came on the heels of joint US and South Vietnamese 

commando raids against military installations along their coast. Retired admiral 

Cathal Flynn, in charge of training the South Vietnamese commandos, revealed that Americans did in fact participate in the raids using American 

ships that would stow their flags once in Vietnamese waters.96 Due to America’s 

involvement in the raids and the Desoto patrols operating well within the 

sovereign waters of North Vietnam, the Johnson administration considered 

the North’s reaction “natural,” and McNamara advised the president not to 

retaliate or draw attention to the incident.97

However, while the Laos air strikes remained somewhat off the public’s 

radar, the more dramatic naval battle in the Gulf of Tonkin threatened Johnson’s 

ability to downplay the incident. Of utmost concern was that US operations 

were most likely the cause of the attacks. If word got out that the United States 

was in fact the provoker and not the victim of an unsolicited attack, then not 

only would Johnson’s covert war in Vietnam be revealed, but it would become 

nearly impossible for the administration to make a justifiable case for increased 

US military involvement. Furthermore, Johnson could not let an attack on US 

ships go answered out of fear of appearing weak on Communism.98

Convinced that he could control the narrative and perhaps seeing an opportunity to create the story line necessary to gain support for more robust 

military action, Johnson not only sent the Maddox back into Vietnamese waters 

the following day but authorized McNamara and the military to retaliate 

against any further attacks.99 Here was the chance to inform the North that he 

was serious. John Bayley, communications officer on the Maddox, said during 

an interview that there was no reason to send the ship back into North Vietnamese waters so quickly and that the action was “dangerously provocative.” 

He believed the Maddox was “sent up there to be attacked again.”100 Johnson 

had also ordered additional commando raids on 3 August, demonstrating to 

the North that America would not back down.101 McNamara’s preparations at 

the Pentagon and all of the contingency plans that had been developed since 

February were now spring-loaded, and an additional attack on the Maddox

could be met with a swift and demonstrative US retaliatory strike. Portraying 

the North Vietnamese as aggressors would justify American action as appro-
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priate and worthy of support. Prior to the Gulf of Tonkin incident, Johnson 

talked with Richard Russell about American reservations for getting involved 

in Vietnam and how he viewed his options in the blossoming conflict: “If they 

shoot at us, we’re going to shoot back,” Johnson tells Russell, who then cautions 

the president that Americans are inclined to not get involved.102 Johnson says 

that he shares not only America’s perspective but also Mansfield’s fear of another war; however, his comment that “the fear the other way is more” indicates 

that he is more wary of nonaction than of action. Johnson then comments, 

I think that I’ve got to say that I didn’t get you in here [Vietnam], but we’re in here by 

treaty and our national honor’s at stake. And if this treaty’s no good, none of ’em are any 

good. . . . And being there, we’ve got to conduct ourselves like men. That’s number one. 

Number two, in our own revolution, we wanted freedom and we naturally looked with 

sympathy with other people who want freedom. . . . Third thing, we’ve got to try to find 

some proposal, some way . . . like Eisenhower worked out in Korea.103

As such, when reports flow in on 4 August that the Maddox is again under 

attack and McNamara recommends to Johnson that he retaliate, Johnson’s 

only hesitancy stems from his desire to get in front of the story and ensure 

that America’s part in potentially provoking the attack remains concealed. 

“We’ve been playing around up there within the twelve-mile limit,” Johnson 

said during a conversation with McNamara on 3 August; he also said he knew 

that the North was reacting to the commando raids with its attack on the 

Maddox on 2 August. Still, the new attacks provided an opportunity to unleash the “ample” retaliatory forces that McNamara assured Johnson were at 

his disposal and with which he could inflict significant damage against “prestige” targets in North Vietnam.104 Almost coincident with Johnson’s directive 

for retaliatory military action, however, were reports from pilots, the captain 

of the Maddox, and CIA analysts that seemed to indicate the second attack on 

the Maddox never happened.105 Fearful of leaks, Johnson did not discuss the 

ongoing situation in the Gulf of Tonkin during the 4 August NSC meeting but 

discussed it privately with McNamara and Rusk over lunch. During the private 

luncheon, McNamara pushed for a “firm retaliatory strike,” and Johnson 

agreed.106 By the evening of 4 August, Johnson was in a race with the press as 

news of the second attack on the Maddox began to surface. “Mr. President,” 

McNamara told Johnson, “the story has broken on the AP and the UP[,] . . . 

and it seems to me we ought to agree now on a statement.”107

The statement to which Johnson agreed simply acknowledged that several 

North Vietnamese patrol boats had attacked two US warships and that the 

attack was driven off, with several North Vietnamese patrol boats sunk and 

American forces suffering no damage or casualties.108 McNamara, the JCS, 

and Johnson had all agreed that they would proceed as if an attack had oc-
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curred, despite the conflicting evidence—revealing that they were at once eager 

to avoid accusations of weakness during the election cycle and possibly even 

more eager to exploit the incident as an opportunity to galvanize American 

support for greater action in Vietnam.109

Johnson’s assumptions and decision to proceed as if the Maddox had been 

actually attacked are perhaps understandable as erring on the side of caution. 

However, his subsequent statements to the press regarding America’s retaliation for the attacks and, most damnably, McNamara’s testimony before Congress that led to the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution both indicate a deliberate misleading of Congress and the public. Both are readily explained by Johnson’s 

belief that he could and should control perceptions. McNamara’s assistant at 

the time, Alexander Haig, said later during an interview that in the age of 

modern communications, too often leaders act hastily and need to learn 

“patience.”110 Haig also observed that Johnson’s zeal to act and to get his story 

on Tonkin out stemmed from his embarrassment over not having acted 

sooner and that Johnson wanted to “beat the next day’s papers.”111 Once Johnson 

received word from McNamara that American planes were en route to their 

targets in North Vietnam, the president declared it “great news,” hurrying to 

make his statement from the White House. “Renewed hostile actions,” the 

president said, against US ships have “today required me to order military 

forces of the United States to take rebuttal.”112 Johnson’s hand was forced by 

the aggressive North Vietnamese, and he was taking the appropriate action. 

No mention was made of exactly what US forces were actually doing in the 

area. During his own press conference, McNamara told reporters that US 

warships were operating “thirty to forty to sixty miles” off the North Vietnamese 

coast and that the Maddox was on a routine patrol. When pressed by reporters on 

the possible relationship between “US patrols” and the attacks (revealing that 

some in the press were aware of aspects of OPLAN 34A and the nature of the 

Desoto patrols), McNamara flat out denied any relationship, saying that the 

United States conducted similar operations “all over the world.”113

When rumors started to circulate that the United States had in fact been 

conducting covert raids and operations in North Vietnam prior to the first 

attack on the Maddox, McNamara advised the president that he must “state 

categorically that U.S. forces did not participate in [and] were not associated 

with any alleged incident of that kind.”114 For his part, McNamara towed a 

similar line when he went to Congress on 6 August 1964 to testify and lobby 

for what became known as the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution.115 During his testimony, McNamara stated that “our Navy played absolutely no part in, was not 

associated with, [and] was not aware of any South Vietnamese actions, if there 

were any.”116 Secretary of State Rusk testified that the “North Vietnamese at-
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tacks on our naval vessels [were] no isolated event [but] part and parcel of a 

continuing Communist drive to conquer South Vietnam . . . and eventually 

dominate and conquer other free nations of Southeast Asia.”117 With the Gulf 

of Tonkin incident portrayed as a justified American response to North Vietnam’s unprovoked actions and its behavior neatly framed within the insidious 

and monolithic block of Communist aggression, the resolution cleared both 

the House and the Senate committees with little difficulty. After its formal 

passage, an excited McNamara told an equally jubilant Johnson that the 

president now had “a blank check for further action.”118

Before the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution was even in front of the legislative 

branch, however, Johnson gave McNamara the green light to prepare and mobilize for further action. The Pentagon activated an attack carrier group; sent 

fighter aircraft to South Vietnam, Thailand, and the Pacific theater; moved an 

antisubmarine task force into Vietnamese waters; and readied selected Army 

and Marine forces.119 During a speech at the University of Syracuse on 5 August, 

President Johnson said,

On this occasion, it is fitting, I think, that we are meeting to dedicate this new center to 

better understanding among all men. For that is my purpose in speaking to you. Last 

night I spoke to the people of the Nation. This morning, I speak to people of all nations—

so that they may understand without mistake our purpose in the action that we have 

been required to take. On August 2, the United States destroyer Maddox was attacked on 

the high seas in the Gulf of Tonkin by hostile vessels of the Government of North VietNam [sic]. On August 4 that attack was repeated in those same waters. . . . The attacks 

were deliberate. The attacks were unprovoked. The attacks have been answered. . . . We 

welcome—and we invite—the scrutiny of all men who seek peace, for peace is the only 

purpose of the course that America pursues.120

The “scrutiny” that Johnson invited would eventually reveal in 1968 that his 

administration’s characterization of the attacks was both hasty and misleading. Admiral Flynn said he was “surprised” at the time by the denials and 

rhetoric of both McNamara and Johnson, believing that the United States was 

“going to war” and that the leadership had better “level with the American 

people and Congress.”121 Johnson said in his memoirs that he was “determined, from the time [he] became president, to seek the fullest support of 

Congress for any major action. . . . My first major decision on Vietnam had 

been to reaffirm President Kennedy’s policies. This [the Gulf of Tonkin] was 

my second major decision: to order the Tonkin attacks and to seek a congressional resolution in support of our Southeast Asia policy.”122

To his credit, Johnson did “go to Congress” eventually, but neither he nor 

those who worked for him ever leveled with Congress or the American people. 

Johnson painted a false reality that propelled the United States into an overt 

shooting war with North Vietnam. Johnson controlled perceptions and 
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subordinated the truth of his Vietnam policies to his domestic political 

agenda. In so doing, he “tragically foreclosed the possibility of a grand national 

debate that might have educated both Johnson and the American people as 

they faced one of the most important presidential decisions of the century—

whether the United States should make a monumental commitment to war in 

Vietnam.”123 Stephen Walt observes that the leadership of France during its 

active colonial period in the nineteenth century often took the nation to war 

based on “little more than ill-conceived propaganda intended to minimize 

civilian interference in their activities abroad.”124 Johnson misrepresented his 

foreign policy and the circumstances surrounding his actions in Vietnam to 

prevent his activities abroad from interfering with those at home. By doing so, 

Johnson accomplished his near-term and more important goal of winning the 

1964 election by a landslide and gaining the legitimacy he craved. Johnson 

successfully created the illusion that would enable him to prosecute his domestic policies, and he probably believed that if he could maintain the veneer 

long enough, what he wanted to be true in Vietnam could actually become true. 

He just needed the time to figure out the proper mix and sequence of bargains. 

The “new” New Deal for America would require the right deal in Vietnam. 

Throughout the war, all of the variants of bombing campaigns, covert 

operations, proposed and executed social and economic programs for Vietnam, 

the introduction of ground troops, and his pressures on both the North and 

South Vietnamese regimes were mile markers in his search for “the right 

price” that could bring the conflict to an acceptable end. Johnson sought to 

add Vietnam to the ever-expanding homestead of his master social agenda. 

However, Johnson’s perceived presidential mandate after the 1964 election, just 

like his justification for the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution and his escalation of the 

war in Vietnam, was based on false pretenses. That he believed that he could 

control perceptions and was committed to the idea that Hanoi could be coaxed 

into bargaining demonstrates just how much Johnson’s own image obscured his 

interpretation of both the war and his adversary. The unfolding of decisions 

leading up to the Gulf of Tonkin also reveals just how intertwined Johnson’s 

image was with the character of his agenda and the manner of its execution. 

By the end of 1964, Johnson had secured a seat at the table, but the president 

he was to the electorate was not the same president who was making the decisions. While he had temporarily reconciled some of his disparate worlds, the 

glue that held them together was at best a series of expedients and at worst a 

collection of outright lies. Johnson’s manufactured reality was thus tenuous, and 

his early manipulations opened up a new breach in a “different kind of war” that 

ultimately reverberated and came to define not only the United States’ war effort 

but also his presidency—and, in many ways, the nation he led. 
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“Limited War” and the Arc of Perception

In 1965 Johnson comes to another crossroads in Vietnam and, like his 

handling of the Gulf of Tonkin incident, he again manipulates perceptions 

and misrepresents both the situation in Vietnam and US actions there. As 

Herring observes, Johnson metered and shaped the delivery of his “war message” 

so that the media received it “in much the same spirit it was delivered, seriously, 

but without any sense of urgency.”125 Following the elections and the implied 

mandate from the public, Johnson administered from a position that now 

included a new authority and the conception that he had been tough on Communists but still sought a moderate approach in Vietnam. “I will not permit,” 

Johnson said, “the independent nations of the East to be swallowed up,” but 

that does not mean sending “American boys nine or ten thousand miles away 

from home to do what Asian boys ought to be doing for themselves.”126 Thus, 

as Johnson implements the graduated bombing campaign Rolling Thunder in 

early February 1965, as the first Marines arrive in March to protect the air 

bases used for the bombing campaign, and as 110,000 servicemen flow into 

Vietnam between April and August, Johnson tightly controls the message.127

With Johnson committed to the tenets of limited-war theory, convinced that 

Vietnam was a war that could be waged “in cold blood,” and certain that he 

could control the public reality of the war, it was “no accident” that “the 

United States went to war without knowing it” in 1965.128

As in the run-up to the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution, Johnson had in place 

a series of plans that supported his agenda for a more vigorous military 

campaign. Through a strategy of carrots and sticks, these plans could compel 

North Vietnam to call off the war. The early turn to a graduated air campaign 

was perhaps a way by which Johnson sought to “overfly” a potential ground 

war. His hopes ignored multiple CIA and intelligence estimates that highlighted the flawed assumptions concerning the potential impact a bombing 

campaign would have on the North. Based on a skewed image of the adversary 

that essentially equated Hanoi to Moscow and thereby conflated both Hanoi’s 

objectives and Vietnamese society with the characteristics of the Soviet Union, 

the bombing campaign had little effect on the North’s war effort. Johnson and 

his advisers had conceptualized Rolling Thunder by looking “to the example 

of the Cuban missile crisis, in which they had coerced an enemy far more 

powerful than North Vietnam.”129 Johnson initially believed that airpower 

could find North Vietnam’s price and thus resolve the conflict. Despite the 

punishment administered by American airpower, the North deftly interpreted 

the United States’ political position. Gen Vo Nguyen Giap commented in 

1967 that “the US imperialists must restrict the US forces participating in a 
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local war because otherwise their global strategy would be hampered and 

their influence . . . would diminish.”130 From the start, the politburo was committed to its struggle and took a holistic approach that accepted short-term 

costs for what its members believed was an inevitable long-term victory.131

Johnson’s entering arguments and assumptions, however, overlooked key 

factors of the war and of his adversary. Maxwell Taylor said after the war that 

“we didn’t know our ally. . . . We knew even less about the enemy. And the last, 

most inexcusable of our mistakes was not knowing our own people.”132 The 

latter of Taylor’s laments is illuminated by the Johnson administration’s belief 

that it could misrepresent the war to the American people. A cable Taylor issued 

to Rusk in June 1965 exemplifies his first two points: 

Our strategy must be based upon a patient and steady increase of pressure following an 

escalating pattern while making maximum effort to turn the tide here in the South. This 

does not mean that we must “win” in the South to bring about change in [North Vietnam’s] 

attitudes, but rather that the DRV [Democratic Republic of Vietnam) must perceive that 

the tide has turned or is likely to turn. Hopefully at this point the [North] will seek to 

find some way out, and if and when it does, there could be a “bandwagon” effect that 

would so lower [Vietcong] morale and so raise that of South Vietnam as to permit bringing major hostilities to a reasonably early conclusion.133

Taylor’s cable is consistent with the agenda Johnson had initiated in February. 

Assuming that the costs of an air campaign would be relatively “cheap” and 

that Hanoi could be brought to the table through coercion, Bundy developed a 

“sustained reprisal” policy.134 The policy recommended that the United States 

“retaliate against any [Vietcong] act of violence,” asserting that continual reprisal 

would create in the minds of the politburo the connection between Vietcong 

actions and punishment. This strategy would theoretically dissuade the politburo’s continuing support of the Vietcong and lead it to maintain a “low level” 

commitment.135 Hanoi, however, was fighting a different kind of war than 

Johnson was, and the United States’ approach only emboldened its cause.

Hanoi was fighting a “total war” while the United States struggled to fight 

a limited war. Gideon Rose summarizes Johnson’s limited-war strategy as 

having three key components: “limited bombing in the North (and enemyheld areas in the South); defeating Communist forces in pitched battles in the 

South’s hinterlands; and ‘nation-building’ in the South’s core.”136 In aggregate, 

Johnson believed he could use these measures to effectively create in the 

minds of his adversaries a picture of the war that coincided with his own and 

thus win Hanoi’s capitulation. The United States and North Vietnam, however, were playing different games; consequently, the value scales they used 

and how they judged costs did not coincide. Throughout the course of Rolling 

Thunder, the United States dropped over 636,000 tons of bombs and destroyed 

over half of the North’s oil storage capacity, bridges, and power plants.137 The 
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monetary costs of Johnson’s sustained reprisal policy executed through Rolling Thunder were 10:1 in the North’s favor.138

Even by the summer of 1965, it was apparent that the bombing campaign 

was not achieving the desired effects. Between February and July 1965, reports 

poured in that testified to the tenuous situation in Vietnam. Coupled with 

these reports of pending disaster were various iterations of what would be 

required to win in Vietnam and what shape the path to victory might take. 

Westmoreland’s continual call for more troops simultaneously spoke of pending doom while optimistically asserting that he could get the job done with 

the right number of forces. National security adviser Walt Rostow submitted 

a memo in the spring assuring Johnson that “historically, guerilla wars have 

generally been won or lost cleanly” and that the forces of the free world, in 

appropriate numbers, would inevitably prevail.139 The deteriorating situation 

in Vietnam and the seemingly ambiguous results from the impotent policies 

already in place provided momentum to recommendations that called for 

more troops. McNamara visited Vietnam in July and immediately recommended upon his return that Johnson approve a dramatic increase in US 

troops.140 McNamara’s elements for victory were appealing and reasonable, 

and he was convincing in correlating the achievement of these ends to more 

US forces. Additionally, within the Johnson administration was a persistent 

sense that “Vietnam was a fourth-rate, raggedy-ass little country” that could 

not possibly stand up to any significant application of American power.141

American self-image and Johnson’s image of the adversary skewed analysis 

and influenced decisions that stemmed from, and reinforced, an almost pathological belief in the American myth. South Vietnam was besieged, much like 

the outnumbered and desperate fighters at the Alamo. American prestige and 

policy were also trapped in South Vietnam. Secretary of State Rusk wrote in 

July 1965, “The integrity of the U.S. commitment is the principal pillar of 

peace throughout the world. If that commitment becomes unreliable, the 

Communist world would draw conclusions that would lead to our ruin and 

almost certainly to a catastrophic war. So long as the South Vietnamese are 

prepared to fight for themselves, we cannot abandon them without disaster to 

peace and to our interests throughout the world.”142 The sacred trust of freedom was itself trapped behind the crumbling walls of South Vietnam. The 

difference, however, was that Johnson could mount a posse that never came 

for the heroes at the Alamo.

Characterizing the situation in this way, Johnson readily interpreted Vietnam 

as a case of naked Communist aggression. Not only was he obligated to take a 

stand to preserve the integrity of his office but also the bourgeoning conflict 

threatened to obstruct his larger domestic agenda. If he could reconcile these 
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competing demands with a massive yet short-term influx of American troops, 

then he could both demonstrate his resolve and remove Vietnam from the 

main table of political discourse. These motivations muted George Ball’s prescient cautions and perhaps explain in large part why Johnson “failed to take 

the American people into his confidence” and why the military strategy, together with its long-term implications, was not “exhaustively debated.”143

Ball’s now-famous memo presented Johnson with a clear delineation 

between Korea and Vietnam and called into question many of the assumptions shaping the debate over the 1965 troop decision. Johnson was predisposed to the Korean analogy, and Ball attempted to unseat the president’s 

predilections. In the foreword to his memo, “How Valid Are the Assumptions 

Underlying Our Viet-nam [sic] Policies?,” Ball boldly asserts that “South Vietnam is not Korea,” adding that “it would be a mistake to rely too heavily on the 

Korean analogy.”144 Ball provided Johnson with a list of differences between 

South Vietnam and Korea:

1. We were in South Korea under a clear UN [United Nations] mandate. Our presence 

in South Vietnam depends upon the continuing request of the GVN plus the SEATO 

[Southeast Asia Treaty Organization] protocol.

2. At their peak, UN forces in South Korea (other than ours and those of the ROK [Republic of Korea] included 53,000 infantrymen and 1,000 other troops provided by 

fifty-three nations. In Vietnam, we are going it alone with no substantial help from 

any other country.

3. In 1950 the Korean government under Syngman Rhee was stable. It had the general 

support of the principal elements in the country. There was little factional fighting 

and jockeying for power. In South Viet-Nam [sic] we face governmental chaos.

4. The Korean War started only two years after Korean independence. The Korean people 

were still excited by their newfound freedom; they were fresh for the war. In contrast, 

the people of Indochina have been fighting for almost twenty years—first the French, 

then for the last ten against the NVN [North Vietnamese].

5. Finally, the Korean War started with a massive land invasion by 100,000 troops. This 

was a classical type of invasion across an established border. . . . It gave us an unassailable 

political and legal base for counteraction. In South Viet-Nam, there has been no 

invasion—only a slow infiltration. Insurgency is by its nature ambiguous. The Viet 

Cong insurgency does have substantial indigenous support. . . . As the weakness of 

the Saigon Government becomes more and more evident, an increasing number of 

governments will be inclined to believe that the Viet Cong insurgency is, in fact, an 

internal rebellion.145

Ball was a carryover from the Kennedy administration; though it is not possible to know what Kennedy would have done had he served through 1965, 

it is noteworthy that Kennedy at the very least saw the distinct differences 

between Korea and Vietnam.146 Ball’s memo represents a clear instance of a 

decision maker taking action that runs counter to a precise assessment. Ball’s 
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analysis not only coincides with what we know today about Vietnam but also 

reveals that the Johnson administration was privy to the same information. 

That Ball was ignored and even subsequently ostracized from the Johnson 

administration makes a compelling case for the strength and influences of 

belief structures on decision making and aligns with Yuen Foong Khong’s assertions about how presidents “misuse” history. Additionally, the decisions 

that flowed from Johnson’s interpretation of the Vietnam War and America’s 

role in it transformed what was still primarily a guerilla war into a conventional confrontation between the United States and Hanoi—thereby turning 

perceptions into reality. 

By the end of 1965, more than 180,000 US troops were in Vietnam. However, Johnson refuted Ball’s warnings about the true character of the Vietnam 

War and ignored his advice that the administration had better be “damn serious 

with the American people.”147 Brian VanDeMark observes that Johnson “minimized political dangers by minimizing public awareness and debate” so that 

he could escalate his efforts against North Vietnam without “escalating the 

war.”148 Each additional step up the escalation ladder was coupled with an 

equally deliberate move to dampen and/or obscure the reality of that escalation. For instance, Johnson had authorized the deployment of 100,000 servicemen to Vietnam in 1965 as well as an additional 100,000 in 1966, but he revealed publicly that he was sending only 50,000 troops. How Johnson carried 

out his agenda in Vietnam contrasted sharply with the “parades and fanfare” 

of previous wars, and “in no real sense did the nation appear to be going to 

war.”149 Johnson wanted to mobilize the country to build his Great Society—

not for Vietnam. Fearing that a more overt war posture might lead to escalation 

of the Cold War, Johnson—perhaps more significantly—also believed that a 

nation at the ready for a potentially controversial war would be unable or 

unwilling to build the society he envisioned.

So Johnson proceeded to wage an “all-out limited war” that quickly turned a 

tertiary guerilla war into a conventional enterprise that created a “huge, sprawling, 

many-faceted, military-civilian effort” lacking coordination, cooperation, and 

clarity of purpose.150 In his desire not to let Vietnam undermine his larger 

agenda, he ironically and relentlessly increased US commitment there. Johnson’s 

tight hold over the military—from his notorious Tuesday Lunches to his undulating bombing campaign to what he did and did not permit the military 

to do—reveals his deep-rooted belief in the efficacy of limited war. As long as 

Johnson could perpetuate the public perception that US efforts in Vietnam 

were limited, he could prosecute his agenda. The actual pouring of US resources into Vietnam was less important than how the public perceived the 

war. Johnson’s penchant for control and need to keep a tight rein on the Vietnam 
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narrative obscured and thwarted the purpose of his war effort—even from 

those he relied upon to carry it out. In this way and by exerting massive 

amounts of his own energy and time and the country’s resources, Johnson 

sought to limit every aspect of the Vietnam War. In keeping with his own 

paradoxical nature, Johnson thus created in Vietnam the seemingly contradictory situation of a “total limited war.”

Hawking Doves

When Johnson opened the seal in July 1965 and authorized the large deployment of ground troops, public opinion polls showed that 62 percent of the public 

approved of Vietnam policies while 79 percent were convinced that South Vietnam 

would fall without US intervention.151 In June of 1966, only 41 percent approved of 

the job Johnson was doing in Vietnam, and by 1967 favorable opinions of Johnson’s 

handling of Vietnam had plummeted to 28 percent.152 The trajectory of public 

opinion on Johnson and Vietnam coincided with his escalation of the war and the 

increasing difficulty he had in maintaining control of the narrative. His short-term 

manipulations, starting with the Gulf of Tonkin, bought him time, but the reality 

on the ground soon caught up with and surpassed the fiction he portrayed. Vietnam was part of the new and wicked frontier that Johnson had committed the 

country to and upon which he sought to build the Great Society. The multitude of 

interests complicated and contradicted Johnson’s goals. Horst Rittel and Melvin 

Webber observe that the social and politic context of complex problems (such as 

war) creates a “setting in which a plurality of publics is politically pursuing a diversity of goals” and that these goals emanate from different value sets.153

In Every War Must End, Fred Iklé analyzes the phenomenon and influence 

of competing domestic coalitions that in war often divide into camps of hawks 

and doves: 

The power structure of a government is not made of one piece—even in dictatorships. 

Political factions contend for influence, government agencies and military services 

maintain their own separate loyalties and pursue partisan objectives, and the basis of 

popular support keeps shifting. During a war, different parts of this power structure 

become differently committed to the military effort. The more important a group’s role 

in this effort, the greater the share of the nation’s resources on which it can exert claim.154

In the fight over resources and in the struggle between competing domestic 

coalitions, strategies can be “distorted by organizational interests,” and the 

object of the war (assuming there was one) is lost in the debate over what the 

war was really about.155 Hawks and doves thus compete for their own interests 

through determining not only how the war should end but also how and why 

it started in the first place. In the course of this debate, each side colorfully 

attempts to “paint” the other and thereby define itself by pointing out what it 
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is not.156 Presidents face the challenge of shepherding the competing coalitions and, depending on the balance of equities between the different factions, 

must adjust their agendas and policies to appease the stronger group while at 

the same time rationalizing and justifying their actions to the weaker group. 

Johnson was duly aware that he needed enough support from both the hawks 

and the doves to effect his agenda; thus, he labored to create a reality palatable 

to both.

Johnson believed he could invent the future. As long as he could weave the 

tendrils of his vision through the multitude of congressional and public interests, 

he could tie together seemingly disparate worlds. Walter McDougall remarks that

to LBJ, the space program was a model of the role government should play in society . . . 

an expression of limitless power. . . . For the War on Poverty and Great Society, as much as 

Apollo or Vietnam, were Cold War phenomena, but they were not only that. . . . They were 

born of a moral vision in which men of power and charity sought to use their gifts for the 

less gifted. It was possible to eradicate poverty, crime, [and] ignorance[;] whip the Communists[;] and develop the Third World. . . . The power existed and needed only to be grasped.157

Going to space, however, was an “engineering problem,” and all of the material and technological power of the United States was perhaps ill suited to 

tackle the equations of “discrimination or poverty or even urban blight.”158 In 

many ways, the “final frontier of space” was much simpler than the enduring 

and wicked frontiers of man. Johnson, therefore, was doubly challenged in 

harnessing support for his Vietnam and social policies. He needed others to 

grasp the future he purported and to believe in the present he portrayed. 

In 1967 the combined efforts of the United States Air Force and Navy totaled more than 108,000 sorties and 226,000 tons of bombs. South Vietnam 

received more than $625 million, which comprised more than “25 percent of 

the American foreign aid programs for the entire world.”159 Journalists, members 

of Congress, and even the casual observer started to seriously question Johnson’s 

depiction of the war. Public sentiment was confused. “I want to get out,” one 

subject said during a study on public opinion, “but I don’t want to give up.”160

Right-wing Republicans and conservative Democrats resented what they saw 

as Johnson’s undue restraints on the military in what was a “global struggle 

with Communism” and urged Johnson to “win or get out.”161

The doves were an eclectic mix of pacifists, “New Left” radicals, and antiwar liberals.162 Though the more rancorous and passionate members of the 

antiwar movement comprised a relatively small percentage, they enjoyed a 

stage that allowed them to counter and even outshout Johnson’s own bully 

pulpit.163 Additionally, political leaders, some of whom were once staunch 

supporters of Johnson’s Vietnam policies, started questioning the war. Kentucky 

senator Thruston Morton said that the United States had been “planted in a 
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corner” in Vietnam and that there “would have to be a change.” Senator J. William 

Fulbright, who had been instrumental in pushing the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution through Congress, said that the “Great Society was a Sick Society.”164 Fulbright also claimed that the United States was “showing signs of that fatal 

presumption, that over-extension of power and mission, which brought ruin 

to ancient Athens, to Napoleonic France, and to Nazi Germany.”165

Perhaps most dramatic was the exodus of members from Johnson’s inner 

circle. White House chief of staff Bill Moyers and George Ball both resigned 

over policy differences. McNamara, Johnson’s staunch ally and confidant, had 

by 1967 become disenchanted with the war and advised against many of 

Johnson’s policies.166 The immensity of US efforts, which one White House 

aide described as “the Holy Empire going to war,” combined with dubious 

results to exacerbate the fissures both within and outside the administration.167 A leaked Pentagon study published in the New York Times revealed 

that analysts had concluded that a “decisive military victory for either side is 

unlikely” and that it would take at least five years to win the war even if “US 

forces were increased to 750,000.”168 Denied the quick victory he had hoped 

for and with both his allies and adversaries circling, Johnson found his already 

dubious war aims in Vietnam further skewed and obstructed by increased 

dissension at home. In a fashion consistent with his personality and predilections, Johnson reinvigorated his efforts to control perceptions.

Herring reveals that the antiwar movement did not, in and of itself, dictate 

outcomes in Vietnam and that many Americans were just as ambiguous in 

their attitudes toward “the movement” as they were to the war.169 The vocal 

opposition, however, did reintroduce Vietnam into the arena of public debate. 

Open discussions on the war, especially critical ones, left too much to chance 

for a president convinced that his stranglehold on perceptions was critical to 

success. Thwarted in Vietnam by the Communists, Johnson had to expand his 

perceptual control to include management of his own beliefs: “Public attitudes 

toward the war . . . bewildered Johnson. He had made sincere efforts to negotiate but the Communists would not talk.”170 He believed that his lack of success in Vietnam was not due to any error in judgment on his part or to his 

decisions but to the inscrutable inability of his adversaries to see the logic of 

his policies. Robert Jervis discusses the idea of rational consistency while 

Robert Billings and Charles Hermann explain the tendency of decision makers 

to place blame for failed policies on others rather than question the validity of 

those decisions.171 So while Johnson accepted the significance of his adversaries 

and critics, he never accepted the possibility of their correctness or that his 

assumptions about them might be false. In Johnson’s mind, his opponents 

were not only wrong but also an impediment to what he needed to get done. 
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Consequently, he framed and approached both his critics at home and adversaries abroad in much the same way—he went at them.

Forced by 1967 to withdraw many of his efforts for the Great Society due to 

the circumstances in Vietnam, Johnson was not about to let “aggression at 

home” force him to lose in Vietnam. He was embittered and blamed both the 

North Vietnamese for complicating his war aims and the disgruntled factions 

at home who just couldn’t seem to get on board with his policies. Feeling that 

his critics were undermining his domestic and international agenda, he became convinced that the “real enemy” was the “fools and knaves at home who 

gave encouragement to Hanoi.”172 Afraid of losing both the war at home and 

abroad, “Johnson launched a two-pronged offensive to silence his most outspoken enemies and win public support for his policies. Mistakenly believing 

that the peace movement was turning the public against the war, he set out to 

destroy it.”173

The first prong of Johnson’s offensive was a comprehensive pitch for credibility and good news. Throughout 1967 Johnson labored and travelled across 

the country to get the word out that America was progressing in Vietnam and 

that he was, in fact, a legitimate and effective wartime president. Ever mindful 

that his background and less refined persona might give the impression that 

he was not suited for complicated foreign policy, Johnson continued to invoke 

support from a panel of foreign policy consultants, known later as the “Wise 

Men,” as a way to lend credibility to his policies.174 Lady Bird wrote in her diaries 

that Johnson busily hammered away on TV and on college campus tours to 

get his message out. “What we need more than anything else,” one internal 

memo stated, “is some visible evidence of our success.”175

As part of that effort, in August 1967 Johnson established the Vietnam Information Group, whose mandate was to act as a “quick reaction team” that could 

exploit every opportunity to provide positive information about the war to the 

public.176 The Pentagon and State Department were also instrumental in 

Johnson’s PR campaign, with “off the record briefings” provided to the press 

or, as Gen William Depuy described them, “key persons in those areas that 

particularly need some religion.”177 Sympathetic or “malleable” reporters were 

given exclusive access, some even being sent to Vietnam where, upon their 

return, they produced articles describing the “clear signs of progress.”178 After 

Johnson directed Military Assistance Command, Vietnam, to “search urgently 

for occasions to present sound evidence of progress,” it provided studies that 

tallied progress in security, pacification, and territory which were then presented to the press in “concise, hard hitting briefs.”179

The second prong of Johnson’s offensive was equally vigorous but much 

less benign. Dubbed Operation Chaos, Johnson enticed the CIA to conduct 
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surveillance operations on antiwar leaders and ordered the FBI to disrupt and 

harass meetings, marches, and movements. Undercover FBI agents would 

pose as peace-movement sympathizers and attempt to incite groups to “take 

such actions that would further discredit them.”180 Johnson sought out sympathetic ears in Congress and tried to convince various members that the 

peace movement was “being cranked up by Hanoi.”181 Eric Goldman, a Princeton 

historian who was part of Johnson’s “quiet brain trust,” said of Johnson that 

the “domestic reformer of the Great Society days had become a war chief.” 

Goldman also recounted that Johnson described war opponents as “crackpots” who were being “duped and orchestrated by the Russians.” Johnson even 

went so far as to insinuate that antiwar senators were in cahoots with the Russians since they ate lunch at the Russian Embassy or had staff members whose 

children dated Russians.182

Johnson also went on the offensive in his message, often trying to reason 

with the public and explain the realities of Vietnam. “Vietnam is not an academic question,” he told troops during a Veterans Day speech. “It’s not a topic 

for cocktail parties . . . or debate from . . . distant sidelines.”183 At a press conference following the March on Washington in November 1967, Johnson 

described how Americans preferred the “quick victory” in football and war but 

insisted that Vietnam was not that kind of war. Instead, Vietnam required patience 

and understanding of a complex situation, and the president called for resolve 

at home. He also lambasted irresponsible protestors, declaring that their “storm 

trooper tactics and bullying” threatened free speech and aided the Communists.184

Johnson’s covert and overt attacks on his critics and his immense positivespin campaign reflect his presidential image and the agenda it drove. First, 

while the JCS, State Department, Pentagon, and his advisers presented Johnson 

with contradictory recommendations, he attempted to buy time and negotiate 

with the American people.185 If the public and Congress could only recognize 

the difficulty of Vietnam and see the logic of his policies, then Johnson could 

strike a bargain and win support for the war. At the same time, a distinct 

coercive element characterized Johnson’s public campaign. Those who failed 

to see his “logic” were punished, investigated, harassed, and portrayed as part 

of the Communist monolith. Very little in Johnson’s actions indicates that he 

considered the possibility his policies were failing or even questioned his fundamental assumption about the war or his own country. Just as Johnson perceived 

and mischaracterized the North Vietnamese as part of a monolithic Communist bloc, so too did he identify his critics as part of the conspiracy. In fact, the 

lack of progress in Vietnam was even attributable to the undermining evildoers 

at home. “The main front of the war,” Johnson said during a staff meeting, “is 
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here in the United States [as the American people are not] as solid in support 

of my soldiers as Ho’s people are solid in support of his troops.”186

Johnson’s rerepresentation of Vietnam in 1967 invoked the very same predilections with which he framed Vietnam in 1964. To prosecute his agenda, he 

needed the American people to believe in a facilitating master narrative, and 

detractors had to be defined and coerced as if they were illegitimate aggressors. 

Furthermore, Johnson’s obstinacy reflects his continuing belief that, through 

force of will and management of perceptions, he could dictate circumstances 

conducive to his desired outcomes. His mantra on the eve of the Tet Offensive 

in 1968 was “we are not going to yield. We are not going to shimmy. We are going 

to wind up with a peace with honor which all Americans seek.”187 Like the heroes 

at the Alamo, Johnson was dug in. Ironically, however, Johnson had created 

both the walls that he was trapped behind and the forces that threatened to 

overrun them. While he had inherited Vietnam, he had created the mirage of 

purpose and progress that was under siege in 1967. When North Vietnam and 

the Vietcong launched the Tet Offensive in January 1968, a very different reality 

cascaded across America’s television screens. The veneer that Johnson had so 

painstakingly constructed and believed in was ripped away. 

What the Hell Is Going On? 

On 31 January 1968, close to 70,000 North Vietnamese Communist troops 

launched a surprise offensive that stretched from the demilitarized zone along 

the 20th parallel down to the Ca Mau Peninsula on the southern tip of Vietnam. 

Immediately prior to attacks with conventional forces, Vietcong sappers 

blasted their way into the American Embassy in Saigon; a six-hour standoff 

ensued between the guerrila forces and embassy security forces. By the end of 

the first day’s volleys, North Vietnamese forces had attacked nearly all 44 provincial capitals, five of the six major cities, 64 district capitals, and close to 50 

hamlets. Though certainly not militarily successful, the offensive surprised 

American forces; its sheer expansiveness and coordination set the US military 

and political leaders on their heels. Westmoreland’s memoirs quoted the 

general’s intelligence officer as saying that “even had I known exactly what 

was to take place, it was so preposterous that I probably would have been unable 

to sell it to anybody.”188

During the initial news bulletins on the attack, Walter Cronkite supposedly 

blurted out, “What the hell is going on? I thought we were winning this 

war!”189 Whether Cronkite actually said this or it is part of journalism’s own 

myths about the Vietnam War is irrelevant because the sentiment duly captures 

the collective reaction of the American public.190 The country was shocked by 
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the images of Vietcong tearing up the courtyard of the American Embassy 

and by South Vietnam’s coastal and interior cities being apparently overrun. 

“After years of viewing the war on television,” Stanley Karnow writes, “Americans at home had become accustomed to a familiar pattern of images.” War 

coverage between 1965 and 1968 did not hide all of war’s realities; images of 

human suffering on both sides were given their due. But the seemingly endless reels of hovering helicopters, rice fields, and booby traps conveyed a certain 

plodding monotony “punctuated periodically by moments of horror.”191 The 

war was arduous but remote, and the enemy was shadowy, even cowardly, as 

he hid and struck, only to fade away again—fearful of confronting American 

military might head-on. During Tet, however, the enemy was out in force and 

appeared to have America on the run.

Tran Do, deputy commander of Communist forces in South Vietnam, said 

of the Tet Offensive, “In all honesty, we didn’t achieve our main objective, 

which was to spur uprisings throughout the south. Still, we inflicted heavy 

casualties on the Americans and their puppets, and this was a big gain for us. 

As for making an impact in the United States, it had not been our intention—

but it turned out to be a fortunate result.”192 The politburo’s own evaluation of 

the offensive was even more optimistic:

The protracted offensive and siege campaign . . . together with the simultaneous surprise 

attacks against the cities . . . threw the Americans and their puppets into a state of great 

confusion. . . . The Tet General Offensive and Uprising conducted by our soldiers and civilians 

secured a great strategic victory. . . . We had killed or dispersed 150,000 enemy soldiers, 

including 43,000 Americans . . . and liberated 1.4 million people. We had struck a decisive 

blow that bankrupted the “limited war” strategy of the American imperialists.193

The Vietnam War did not end with the Tet Offensive. In fact, American 

and South Vietnamese forces recovered rather quickly, and the North’s actions 

were much more uncoordinated and haphazard than they appeared. In a matter 

of days, American and South Vietnamese forces recovered nearly all of the 

territory, cities, and advantage that Hanoi initially gained, with the exception 

of Hue.194 North Vietnam launched a second, less dramatic, offensive in February. 

Between the two campaigns, the United States lost 1,100 men, the South 

Vietnamese lost 2,300 troops, and it is estimated that the Vietcong and North 

Vietnamese suffered close to 40,000 deaths.195 From a military standpoint, the 

United States and South Vietnamese forces had decimated the Vietcong and 

inflicted huge materiel and personnel losses on the North’s conventional 

forces. Tet also exposed serious coordination and capability gaps in North 

Vietnamese conventional doctrine. Even with the element of surprise and an 

impressively sized conventional force, the North Vietnamese were readily 
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stopped, destroyed, and rolled back. These facts, however, were lost in the din 

of initial reporting and perceptions and thus, ultimately, were irrelevant.

In perhaps an ironic twist to Johnson’s initial subterfuge during the Gulf of 

Tonkin incident—characterized by his manufacture of an overestimation of 

the North’s aggression, capability, and threat to American interests—Tet 

contorted the reality of American military achievements to a false perception 

of North Vietnamese victory. What mattered was not the reality of Tet in the 

military sense but what the public perceived to be true. Johnson’s manipulations and his struggle to control the narrative boomeranged. He had both 

unwittingly and purposefully created the conditions for a public opinion 

backlash from which neither his administration nor its policies could recover.196

Johnson’s dramatic efforts to control perceptions had failed. The arc of 

public opinion between 1964 and 1968 demonstrates that even a president’s 

ability to control reality is limited. Einstein said that “reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” Image theory postulates that a gap always 

exists between the “world as it is” and the “world as it is perceived.” A core 

tenet of this study is that perceptions—as articulated through presidential 

image—influence agendas and outcomes. To endure, however, perceptions 

and the images they form must find some bedrock, either through experience 

or reconfirming patterns, upon which to purchase. Though images convert 

reality, they are not completely ethereal and therefore cannot simply be 

manufactured. Johnson’s failed attempts to create in the minds of the North 

Vietnamese a certain reality were mirrored in his failure to ultimately affect 

and control reality for the American people. 

Johnson Rides Away

In a national address exactly two months following the Tet Offensive, Johnson 

spoke on Vietnam and his policies, revealing that he would not seek another 

term as president. In his opening, Johnson characterizes the importance of 

peace in Vietnam and Southeast Asia: “No other question so preoccupies our 

people. No other dream so absorbs the 250 million human beings who live in 

that part of the world. No other goal motivates American policy in Southeast 

Asia.”197 Ironically, the war had become all encompassing. In the speech, 

Johnson conveyed what he believed to be critical US interests in Vietnam and 

the signs of American success in the war, attempting to convey the truth of the 

Tet Offensive. In some ways, Johnson came clean with the public, revealing 

that his administration had authorized an increase to 525,000 men and that 

the United States would continue in its commitment to Vietnam.198 He also 

attempted to clarify US intentions: “Our objective in South Vietnam has never 
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been the annihilation of the enemy. It has been to bring about a recognition 

in Hanoi that its objective—taking the South by force—could not be achieved.” 

Despite flagging US policies and nearly six years of unsuccessful attempts to 

“create recognition in Hanoi,” Johnson still believed that the United States 

could find North Vietnam’s price. Johnson also resurrected the words of JFK, 

telling the American people that he still believed the country was willing to 

“pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, [and] 

oppose any foe to assure the survival and the success of liberty.”199 Yet Johnson 

no longer believed that he could lead the nation in its cause:

There is a division in the American house now. There is divisiveness among us all tonight. And holding the trust that is mine, as President . . . I cannot disregard the peril. . . . 

With America’s sons in the fields far away, with America’s future under challenge right 

here at home, with our hopes and the world’s hopes for peace in the balance . . . , I do not 

believe that I should devote an hour or a day . . . to any personal partisan causes. . . . 

Accordingly, I shall not seek, and I will not accept, the nomination of my party for another term as your President.200

Johnson’s analogy of Vietnam to the Alamo was accurate but not for the 

reasons he thought. His paradoxical image and the contradictory realities of 

the Cold War ultimately trapped Johnson and the foreign policy and military 

establishment that he led. “The presidency,” Johnson said in his memoirs, “has 

made every man who occupied it, no matter how small, bigger than he was; 

and no matter how big, not big enough for its demands.”201 Kennedy had 

engendered a generation with a new vision of government and purpose. During 

his short time as president, he drew a swath of American commitments and 

planted his country’s standard along the new frontiers of freedom—recasting 

the demarcation lines among the United States, its allies, and everyone else. 

But the lines were blurry. Kennedy left Vietnam as an outpost along an illdefined frontier, and Johnson believed he could not only better define that 

frontier but also expand it. 

Driven by his deep-seated presidential image and desire to validate that 

image, Johnson took to forging and manning the new outposts of freedom 

and to fulfilling the visions of his predecessor as well as his own. Johnson 

believed that he could hammer out a reality of his choosing. If Kennedy rode 

the wave of a new generation and in his noble cause overreached in the expectations of what the American government could do, Johnson arrived as if he 

were leading a posse mounted atop the most powerful nation in the world. 

Convinced of the efficacy of his iron will that had been proved during so 

many years in Congress and as vice president—a will seeded and fortified in 

his rise from an impoverished background all the way to the presidency—

Johnson overreached in his belief of what one man could do. Vietnam was 
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subsumed by this belief and suffered the consequences. The arc of the Vietnam War and of the country between 1963 and 1969 is very much the arc of 

the man who was president. Johnson took up an inheritance stark with wars, 

poverty, and strife yet colorful and rich in possibilities. Johnson and the nation 

were buoyed as if they were in fact on a crest of a wave in 1963. Despite Kennedy’s 

tragic death, he had left Johnson and the country invigorated and determined 

to meet and rise above the challenges not just of that age but of all ages. Racism, 

ignorance, hatred, and poverty remained Johnson’s targets and were for him 

even more the root cause of Communism than they were for Kennedy. 

But in his fervor, in his absolute dedication to slay the demons of the human 

condition and uproot the fodder upon which the armies of Communism fed, 

he sacrificed the masonry stone upon which healthy democracies are built—

truth. His own predilections left him vulnerable to obscured representations 

of the Vietnam War. Additionally, he toiled endlessly to shape the reality surrounding Vietnam and misled the public from the Gulf of Tonkin through the 

Tet Offensive. He even loosed on journalists the mechanisms of their own 

government, inciting the CIA and FBI in an effort to discredit and destroy the 

messengers after he had lost control of the message. His effort and its ultimate 

failure destroyed him; in his fall, so too fell much of what Americans had 

clung to at the start of the decade. Despite the passage of so much critical and 

successful legislation (Medicare, the Civil Rights Act, etc.), race riots and student protests erupted. In 1968 America was on fire, and the streets echoed the 

cries of the marching disenchanted. The Democratic convention erupted in 

violence. Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King were shot dead. The veneer 

of victory in Vietnam that Johnson had so achingly struggled to maintain for 

over five years was ripped away as images poured across television screens. It 

wasn’t just that it appeared as if America were losing, but the television showed 

war—real war, not the academic theories or no-impact, limited-war notions 

or abstract rallying calls but the full color of blood and death. That the costs 

can remain hidden on paper according to Robert Osgood’s theories may be 

true, but that does not mean that the costs of war were not there. Vietnam in 

1968 demonstrated graphically that America was in fact in a war—and that she 

was neither invincible in that war nor above incurring the costs for waging it. 

The frontier Johnson sought to conquer was wicked. Johnson’s frontier was 

more than the international and domestic battle lines, stretching beyond the 

existential world of body counts, bombs, and dollars. What Johnson most 

needed to conquer was the territory of perception, both in the minds of his 

adversaries and of the nation that he led. Controlling perceptions, however, 

and the reconciliation he sought by doing so ultimately proved a bridge too 

far—perhaps demonstrating that the human mind is the most wicked frontier 
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of all. Lady Bird described Johnson’s torture and, in perhaps one of the wisest 

assessments of America’s Vietnam War, said that the real lesson was never to 

take on “somebody else’s insoluble burdens.”202

Ultimately martyred in Johnson’s Alamo, then, were not only his presidency 

but also his image-driven agendas and the distinctly American myths from 

which they derived. Johnson embarked at the start of his presidency flanked 

by a posse of American ideals and myths. In the course of his wars, he added 

to that posse the misrepresentations and lies that ultimately, like mercenaries 

swayed by a higher bidder, turned on him. Gunned down, or at least held at 

gunpoint by the end of his term, was the notion that a country—embodied in 

the virtuous ideals of one man—could accomplish whatever it set out to do. 

The faith and promise that had started the decade looking to the stars had 

fallen like crushed adobe to the dirtied floors of a White House collapsed 

under the weight of its own lies and myths. In sharp contrast to the archetypal 

heroes of the American West, no pleas for Johnson’s return reverberated 

across the hilltops as he rode away. Rather, what followed Johnson into the 

sunset was a cascade of accusations and questions—not the least of which 

asked the identity of the real enemy, who perhaps had not shadowed the jungles of Vietnam but had occupied the White House the whole time. It is left to 

Johnson’s successor to redefine not only the terrain of America’s frontier but 

also the country’s purpose there and the nature of her enemies. 

Notes

1. McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 98. McNamara said that Johnson reminded 

him of a verse from Walt Whitman’s poem Song of Myself: “Do I contradict myself? / Very well, 

then I contradict myself; / I am large, I contain multitudes.”

2. Haldeman, Haldeman Diaries, 5–6. In the foreword to the diaries, Stephen Ambrose 

quotes political philosopher Hannah Arendt, who posits that the president of the United States 

is the strongest leader in the world because he has the “power to destroy the world at his fingertips.” The president is the weakest because “the House controls the money, the Senate controls 

the treaties, the Congress as a whole has the power to make war, the next election is always just 

around the corner [and] the bureaucracy is always there” (ibid.).

3. Goldstein, Lessons in Disaster, 27–68, 229–48.

4. Waltz, Theory of International Politics, 45–47. Waltz compares great powers to Gulliver, 

pointing out that even the strongest nations cannot escape the structural influences that dictate 

to varying degrees state behaviors. Much power resides in the executive branch, but presidents 

are subjected to structural influences that often “select” for them. Still, presidents, like great 

powers, must decide what to do and how to do it. 

5. Peters, Schlesinger, and Wilentz, Lyndon B. Johnson, 2. 

6. Dallek, Lyndon B. Johnson, 12. Johnson’s fellow San Marcos students said that “Lyndon 

would have you believe . . . that there wasn’t anybody in the Alamo except Johnsons and Baineses” 

(ibid.). See also Peters, Schlesinger, and Wilentz, Lyndon B. Johnson, 2. 
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7. Peters, Schlesinger, and Wilentz, Lyndon B. Johnson, 3, 5, 7–9. According to Johnson’s 

longtime friend and press secretary, George Reedy, Johnson’s mother was “an unrelenting snob 

who reminded everyone [that] . . . her ancestry included high-ranking Baptist clerics and intellectuals.” This image rubbed off on Johnson, and he was driven to prove that he and his family 

were not “shiftless dirt farmers and grubby politicians.” Sam Johnson, however, often ran into 

financial trouble. In 1924 he lost reelection to the Texas legislature, and “the family was living 

at the poverty level,” eating “cornbread and milk.” Watching his proud mother cook over a 

woodstove made a deep impression on Johnson, and he made fighting poverty a central aim in 

his life—starting with his determination to bring electricity to the Hill Country (ibid., 3, 5, 9).

8. Beschloss, Taking Charge, 115–16, transcript of recorded conversation, 23 December 

1963 at 11:38 a.m., Johnson Tapes. 

9. Peters, Schlesinger, and Wilentz, Lyndon B. Johnson, 7, 8.

10. Johnson, Vantage Point, 70–71.

11. Dallek, Lyndon B. Johnson, 13.

12. Ibid.

13. Johnson, Vantage Point, ix.

14. Porter, Military Orientalism, 43–45.

15. Ibid., 4, 44–45. Porter relays how the Alamo came to be America’s Thermopylae and 

that Custer’s “tragic heroism . . . ennobled the war to tame the landscape and create a bicoastal 

nation.” Porter also suggests that the idea of the “surrounded hero” and “daunting odds” leads 

to the notion that when American soldiers go abroad to fight, they “take the frontier with 

them.” In so doing, America’s “heroic formula becomes about numbers as well as rhetoric.” 

Seeded in the conquest of the Western frontier, “the residue of frontier struggles supplies a 

language through which to interpret American wars abroad . . . that resurfaced” during America’s 

expeditionary wars against Japan, North Vietnam, and Iraq (ibid.).

16. Ibid., 44.

17. The research conducted during the course of this study included review of numerous 

audiotapes, transcripts, biographies, memoirs, and primary and secondary sources. This quotation and others in this paragraph are widely available, and the descriptions presented here are 

a summary of some of the prominent and famous stories, quotations, and remembrances of 

Lyndon Johnson. See Dallek’s books Flawed Giant and Lyndon B. Johnson, Goodwin’s Lyndon 

Johnson, Johnson’s Vantage Point, and Beschloss’s Taking Charge. 

18. American Public Media, Vietnam and the Presidency, audio recording. 

19. Ibid.

20. The reference to “wicked problems” is as defined by Rittel and Webber, “Dilemmas in a 

General Theory of Planning,” 155–69. Societal, political, and military problems, such as those 

Johnson was undertaking as president, are wicked in that they lack clarifying traits, demand 

nebulous solutions, and are not readily identifiable as having been solved. The authors list 10 

characteristics of wicked problems. 

21. Beschloss, Taking Charge, 294–95, transcript of recorded interview, 21 March 1964 at 

3:45 p.m., Johnson Tapes. 

22. Dallek, Lyndon B. Johnson, 148–49, as quoted from an interview between Johnson and 

Doris Kearns Goodwin. 

23. Peters, Schlesinger, and Wilentz, Lyndon B. Johnson, 8.

24. American Public Media, Vietnam and the Presidency, audio recording, min. 08:00–09:30. 

25. Dallek, Lyndon B. Johnson, 148.
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26. Often associated with the “New Frontier,” Kennedy repeatedly defined the “new frontiers 

of freedom” and the “exceptional challenges to freedom” as represented by the ever-expanding 

Communist threat into the third world. Chap. 3 of this paper cites several examples of Kennedy’s 

speeches that illustrate this fact and shows how Kennedy sought to reorganize and mobilize the 

government (his knights) to meet these challenges. Not just heir to these policies, Johnson now 

had to fill in and fortify Kennedy’s commitments. Additionally, he would take his domestic 

agenda and Vietnam policy well past where Kennedy had left them. The New Frontier is also associated with the space program. While it was Kennedy’s charge to go to the moon, it was Johnson who was put in charge of standing up NASA. Johnson was an avid developer of and believer 

in the space program and its policies. He also led passage of the Space Act of 1958, campaigned 

adamantly against Eisenhower’s neglect of space after Sputnik, and chaired the Johnson hearings 

that dealt with the United States falling behind the USSR in space. See ibid., 110, 126, 132–33, 363; 

and McDougall, Heavens and the Earth, 142, 151–55, 162, 166, 172–76, 417–20. 

27. “Presidency: Mr. President, You’re Fun,” 41. According to this article, the president 

loaded the press corps into his Cadillac for a tour of his ranch, during which he swilled beer 

from a paper cup and drove upwards of 90 miles an hour, routinely screeching to a halt for 

crossing pigs or to point out sites. Johnson talked incessantly and had the press corps laughing. 

At one point, after a correspondent commented on Johnson’s excessive speed, he took off his 

10-gallon cowboy hat and used it to cover up the speedometer. 

28. Though Johnson’s treatment of the Kennedys was often a source of much contention, 

especially between RFK and Johnson, Jacqueline Kennedy, through personal letters and statements, made it clear that she both admired and respected Johnson’s consideration for her. 

29. Peters, Schlesinger, and Wilentz, Lyndon B. Johnson, 26–28, 44–45. Even though he was 

an acting senator, Johnson had enlisted in the Naval Reserve during World War II. Anxious to 

prove himself “combat worthy,” Johnson convinced Roosevelt to send him on a “fact-finding” 

mission in the Pacific, where he was essentially a spy for FDR. MacArthur, recognizing that 

Johnson had the ear of the president, allowed Johnson to observe on a combat mission in a 

B-26. During the course of the mission, the B-26 took fire, and MacArthur awarded Johnson 

the Silver Star (none of the other crewmen received a medal). Johnson had charmed and built 

a rapport with MacArthur. Years later, however, during the Korean War, Johnson grilled MacArthur 

but did so in such a way that he was able to preserve their relationship while basically hanging 

the general out to dry during the hearings. 

30. Johnson, Vantage Point, 12.

31. Ibid., 18.

32. Johnson’s boastful stories of his family’s lineage, discussed earlier in the chapter, certainly testify to this fact. Johnson’s mother would also tell anyone who’d listen just how prestigious her family was. Those around Johnson respected his ambition and abilities but were also 

put off by instances of his sometimes blatant brownnosing. Many in Johnson’s life had the impression that Johnson “wasn’t just doing good; he was taking care of Lyndon.” See Peters, 

Schlesinger, and Wilentz, Lyndon B. Johnson, 17. One of Johnson’s close associates described 

him as a “son-of-a-bitch, but a colossal son-of-a-bitch,” capturing the immensity of Johnson’s 

personality and his ability to win others over to his side. Dallek, Lyndon B. Johnson.

33. Goodwin, Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream, 323–24.

34. Ibid., 322, as adapted from Friedrich and Brzezinski, Totalitarian Dictatorship and Autocracy. Dissent, contradictory information, and alternative perspectives were subsumed by the 

vacuum of Johnson’s strong personality and ideology-driven agenda. 

35. Reedy, Twilight of the Presidency, 18.
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36. Goodwin, Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream, 324.

37. Wicker, “Wrong Rubicon,” 216.

38. Johnson, “Address before a Joint Session,” 8–10.

39. Ibid.

40. Johnson, “Annual Message to the Congress,” 112–18.

41. Hartz, Founding of New Societies, 118; and Goodwin, Lyndon Johnson and the American 

Dream, 265. 

42. Goodwin, Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream, 266.

43. Pike, PAVN: People’s Army of Vietnam, 213–53.

44. Johnson visited Vietnam and Asia several times as a congressman and as vice president. 

Doris Kearns Goodwin recounts that ever since his trip to Saigon as vice president, “Johnson 

had been intrigued by the idea of developing the Mekong River to provide food, water, and 

power on a scale so immense as to dwarf even the TVA [Tennessee Valley Authority].” See 

Goodwin, Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream, 266. 

45. Johnson, “Address at Johns Hopkins University,” 394–99.

46. Goodwin, Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream, 267. “He could see the fields of 

rice, rich in harvest, and surrounding fields, lively, bustling villages. New houses. New schools. 

New hospitals. New roads. New forms of transportation making it possible for the people to 

travel beyond their place of birth” (ibid.).

47. Johnson quoted in Carter, Inventing Vietnam, 2. 

48. Goodwin, Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream, 254–55. See also Robert Jervis, 

“Hypothesis on Misperception,” World Politics 20 (April 1968): 454–79. 

49. Johnson, Vantage Point, 19. In his memoir, Johnson said that he would have “no more 

considered changing the name of the Honey Fitz—the name Jack Kennedy had given one of the 

presidential yachts—than [he] would have thought of changing the name of the Washington 

Monument. I did everything I could to enhance the memory of Jack Kennedy” (ibid.).

50. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 6.

51. Johnson, “Johnson Report to Kennedy on Vietnam,” 53–57.

52. Ibid.

53. Ibid.

54. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 314–15. See also ibid., doc. nos. 80 and 81, 357–61. 

55. McMaster, Dereliction of Duty, 32, John F. Kennedy as quoted in the New York Times, 7 

June 1962, 26. See also chap. 3 of this paper. 

56. Williams et al., America in Vietnam, 215–16.

57. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 6.

58. Beschloss, Taking Charge, 466.

59. Ibid., 467, transcript of recorded conversation, 23 July 1964 at 5:31 p.m., Johnson Tapes. 

60. Ibid., 469–70, transcript of recorded conversation, 23 July 1964 at 5:31 p.m., Johnson 

Tapes. Johnson worried constantly that Bobby Kennedy saw himself as the rightful heir to his 

brother’s presidency. Despite overt pleasantries between the two men, the relationship was 

always somewhat tense. Johnson viewed much of what Bobby Kennedy did with suspicion and 

wondered if he was attempting to run an insurgency against Johnson’s presidency. See Beschloss, 

Taking Charge, 388, 412, 466–67, 490. Johnson told Kenneth O’Donnell in 1963 that if he 

needed Bobby to win the 1964 election, he’d take him but that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t: “I don’t 

want to go down in history as the guy to have the dog wagged by the tail. . . . Bobby and I don’t 

get along, and that’s neither one of our faults, but there’s no sense” in pretending otherwise. 

Johnson denied Bobby Kennedy’s request to replace Ambassador Lodge in Saigon and, ulti-
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mately, his bid to run as vice president on Johnson’s ticket, telling McGeorge Bundy, “I want 

him [Bobby Kennedy] to stay right where he is” (ibid., 411–13).

61. McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 98. McNamara and Secretary of State Dean 

Rusk actually became two of Johnson’s most trusted advisers throughout his presidency until 

McNamara’s perspective on the war changed, beginning in 1967. Still, Johnson felt surrounded 

by Kennedy’s men, especially in the early years of his presidency. 

62. Peters, Schlesinger, and Wilentz, Lyndon B. Johnson, 68–69. Johnson was appointed to 

chair the National Aeronautics and Space Council and to head the Committee on Equal Employment Opportunity. Johnson was also extremely useful for his connections in Congress and 

around Washington, which Kennedy took full advantage of. 

63. Ibid., 69–70.

64. Ibid., 70. Johnson’s approach to the Cuban missile crisis differed from Kennedy’s. He 

took a harder line, and Johnson’s last words when he left the meeting on the crisis were, “When 

I was a boy in Texas, and walking down the road when a rattlesnake reared up, the only thing 

you could do was take a stick and chop its head off ” (ibid.).

65. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 180.

66. Ibid., 39. For more details on the impact of the missile crisis on Kennedy’s men and the 

carryover of the precepts that their experience bore out, see James G. Nathan, “The Tragic 

Enshrinement of Toughness,” in Major Problems in American Foreign Policy, vol. 2, Since 1914, 

ed. Thomas G. Paterson (New York: D. C. Heath, 1984). 

67. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 39.

68. Ibid., 38. See also Caro, Years of Lyndon Johnson, 494. Caro quotes an aide who describes 

Johnson’s compulsive determination to micromanage. Even as a young congressman, Johnson 

insisted on overseeing even the most minute detail and felt that things would go right only if “he 

was in charge of everything” (ibid.).

69. Beschloss, Taking Charge, 485–86. Humphrey agrees and his loyalty persists even in 

1968, when his refusal to speak out against Johnson’s Vietnam policies essentially forfeits his 

own chance at the presidency to Richard Nixon. 

70. Johnson, Vantage Point, 22.

71. Johnson had been briefed by the JCS over the importance of Vietnam to US national 

security and faced its calls for more robust action in Vietnam. See Beschloss, Taking Charge, 

266. Johnson also confronted intense pressure from Republican presidential candidate Barry 

Goldwater. During a conversation with his friend and Georgia governor, Richard Russell, Johnson 

said, “If you don’t stand up for America, there’s nothing that a fellow in Johnson City [or any 

other place can do]. . . . They’ll forgive you for anything except being weak. . . . Goldwater and all 

of ’em are raising hell about . . . hot pursuit and let’s go in and bomb ’em” (ibid., 402). Democratic 

senator Mike Mansfield, whose opposition to Johnson’s Vietnam policies persisted throughout 

the war, continually criticized Johnson’s seeming lack of commitment there. Mansfield described 

the potential course in Vietnam as taking “us further and further out on a sagging limb . . . [that 

would saddle the United States] with enormous burdens in Cambodia, Laos, and elsewhere in 

Asia, along with those in Viet Nam [sic].” See Dallek, Lyndon B. Johnson, 209–10. 

72. Beschloss, Taking Charge, 266–67, transcript of recorded conversation, 4 March 1964 at 

7:26 p.m., Johnson Tapes. Johnson goes on to tell Bundy that he is looking for a policy that will 

keep the North Vietnamese and Vietcong “off base” but that will not interfere with the election. 

Johnson is looking for middle ground (ibid.). 

73. Ibid., 307–8.
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74. Herring, Pentagon Papers, 84–85. See also Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, doc. no. 63, 

“1964 McNamara Report on Steps to Change the Trend of the War,” 277–83.

75. Bundy to secretary of state et al., NSAM 288, subj: Implementation of South Vietnam 

Programs.

76. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 275–83. See ibid., doc. nos. 62 and 63. 

77. Ibid., 283. See ibid., doc. no. 64, “US Order for Preparations for Some Retaliatory 

Action,” 283–85.

78. Beschloss, Taking Charge, 256. In his commentary, Beschloss describes Johnson’s behavior 

during the run-up to the election as “being determined, if possible, to defer irrevocable decisions 

on war in Southeast Asia until the 1964 election is over.” Beschloss goes on to say that Johnson is 

“eager to win the presidency in a landside,” but to do so, he can appear neither “soft on Communism nor frighteningly ready to take the nation into a war of unimaginable cost—even if this 

means leaving Americans confused about his inner inclinations” (ibid.).

79. Ibid.

80. Bracketed comments are the author’s.

81. Beschloss, Taking Charge, 257–60, transcript of recorded conversation, 2 March 1964 at 

11:00 a.m., Johnson Tapes. 

82. McNamara to Johnson, memorandum. See also Beschloss, Taking Charge, 260. 

83. Beschloss, Taking Charge, 380.

84. For a transcript revealing Johnson’s angst over implications that he and his staff were in 

fact planning for a larger war, see ibid., 380–82, transcript of recorded conversation, 2 June 

1964 at 3:56 p.m., Johnson Tapes. 

85. Ibid., 382. Johnson also told Rusk that they were “not playing it [the meeting] any 

heavier than we can help back here,” to which Rusk responded, “I think we ought to play down 

any sort of notion of [the] cataclysmic character of this meeting” (ibid.). 

86. Ibid., 499, transcript of recorded conversation, 4 August 1964 at 1:35 p.m., Johnson Tapes.

87. Wheeler, “Into Vietnam,” VHS.

88. Ibid., recording of conversation taped 30 April 1964. 

89. Ibid. See also Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, doc. no. 63, “McNamara Report,” and 

doc. no. 69, “Summary of Taylor’s Reports to McNamara by Joint Chiefs.” 

90. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 234. Sheehan summarizes the articles in chap. 6. Of particular 

note is that OPLAN 34A differed significantly from “the relatively low-level and unsuccessful intelligence and sabotage operations that the C.I.A. had earlier been carrying out in Vietnam.” The commander of 34A was Gen Paul D. Harkins, chief of the United States Military Assistance Command 

in Vietnam. Also significant were the multiple reports by McNamara, the JCS, Bundy, and Johnson’s 

advisers that described a continually degrading situation in Vietnam and the subsequent planning 

and authorizations for stepped-up US military action that Johnson approved. With these mechanisms in place, for instance, Johnson was able to “order retaliatory air strikes on less than six hours’ 

notice during the Tonkin incident” (ibid., 239, 245).

91. Ibid., 286–88. See ibid., doc. no. 66, “Draft Resolution for Congress on Actions in 

Southeast Asia.” See also ibid., “Draft Congressional Resolution,” 24 May 1964; and “Summary 

Record of NSC Executive Committee Meeting,” 24 May 1964, in FRUS, 1964–1968, vol. 1, docs. 

169 and 172. 

92. Beschloss, Taking Charge, 390. This is from a memorandum written by McGeorge 

Bundy on 10 June 1964. 

93. Ibid., 41, 238.

94. Ibid., 393–94, transcript of recorded conversation, 9 June 1964 at 12:50 p.m., Johnson Tapes. 
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95. Ibid., 397–99, transcript of recorded conversation, 9 June 1964 at 6:20 p.m., Johnson Tapes. 

96. Wheeler, “Into Vietnam,” VHS, min. 11–13. 

97. Ibid., min. 12, recording of conversation between McNamara and LBJ, 3 August 1964 at 

12:15 p.m.

98. Wheeler, “Into Vietnam,” VHS.

99. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 239–41. In retrospect, the administration insisted that the 

Desoto patrols and the ordering of the Maddox back into North Vietnamese waters so soon after 

the 2 August incident were not meant to be provocative. However, the Pentagon’s own study 

“makes it clear that the physical presence of the destroyers provided the elements for the Tonkin 

clash. And immediately after the reprisal air strikes, the Joint Chiefs of Staff and Assistant Secretary 

of Defense McNaughton put forward a ‘provocation strategy’ proposing to repeat the clash as a 

pretext for bombing the North. Of the three elements of the covert war . . . the 34A raids symbolized 

the ‘unequivocal’ American responsibility that carried with [them] an implicit symbolic and 

psychological intensification of the US commitment” (ibid.).

100. Wheeler, “Into Vietnam,” VHS, min. 13–14.

101. Ibid., min. 11.

102. Beschloss, Taking Charge, 403.

103. Ibid., transcript of recorded conversation, 11 June 1964 at 12:26 p.m., Johnson Tapes. 

104. Wheeler, “Into Vietnam,” VHS, recording of phone conversation between McNamara 

and Johnson, 4 August 1964 at 10:56 a.m. 

105. Wheeler, “Into Vietnam,” VHS. Navy captain John Harrick, the task force commander 

for US naval forces in the region, sent a briefing to Honolulu on 4 August in which he said, “I 

don’t think this happened. Review of action makes many reported contacts and torpedoes appear doubtful.” Harrick attributed the reports to an exhausted and overeager crew and freak 

weather effects on the ships’ radars. Harrick’s report to Honolulu and the Pentagon suggested 

“evaluation before any further action.” Everett Alvarez, a pilot from the USS Constellation, 

which launched patrols over the area the Maddox was operating in, also reported that he had 

not seen any indication of enemy activity. Navy commander Robert Laske, the chief naval intelligence officer in Saigon, also reported that “we were watching and saw nothing and heard 

nothing indicating enemy activity” (ibid.).

106. Beschloss, Taking Charge, 500.

107. Ibid., transcript of recorded conversation, 4 August 1964 at 5:09 p.m., Johnson Tapes. 

108. Ibid. 

109. See US Dept. of State, FRUS, 1961–1963, 608–9. Multiple moderate congressmen 

made it clear to Johnson that he could not appear soft on Communism. Secretary of Treasury 

Douglas Dillon pointed out that “there is a limit on the number of times we can be attacked by 

the North Vietnamese without hitting their naval bases.” McNamara also reflected that the 

Johnson administration hurried in its summations and decisions, potentially as a result of trying to “beat the press” and get out its own version of the story. See McNamara and VanDeMark, 

In Retrospect, 133–35. 

110. Wheeler, “Into Vietnam,” VHS, min. 31–32.

111. Ibid., min. 33. Once Johnson ordered retaliatory attacks on 4 August, he literally harried 

McNamara for word on the American air strikes against targets in North Vietnam and kept the 

White House press corps on ice in the White House until 11:25 p.m., when he finally was able 

to make his statement. 

112. Ibid., as adapted from Johnson’s national address during an NBC News special report, 

4 August 1964 at 11:33 p.m. 
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113. Ibid., min. 36–37. 

114. Beschloss, Taking Charge, 508–10, transcript of recorded conversation, 8 August 1964 at 

8:24 a.m., Johnson Tapes. As with the press conference with McNamara on 4 August, reporters 

were questioning whether or not the second attack actually happened and/or whether the United 

States had been participating in covert operations that may have provoked the North Vietnamese 

attack. Washington Post staff writer Murray Marder’s article “Maddox Incident Reexamined—

Miscalculation Theory Weighted in Viet Crisis” was particularly probing. McNamara also told 

the president that he should “disassociate [himself] from and certainly not admit that any” covert 

action had taken place. In a portion of the conversation not part of the transcript in the Beschloss 

text but recounted in the Wheeler documentary, “Into Vietnam,” McNamara told Johnson to say 

specifically that US forces did not “even enter the area until two days” after the incident. 

115. Secretary of Defense McNamara, Dean Rusk, and Gen Earle Wheeler testified before a 

joint session of Congress concerning the 2 and 4 August attacks on US forces and the American 

response. McNamara’s purpose was to convince Congress to concede war powers to the president. See Wheeler, “Into Vietnam,” VHS, min. 44. For the record of the official hearing and 

testimony, see Senate, Southeast Asia Resolution: Joint Hearing before the Committee on Foreign 

Relations and the Committee on Armed Services, 88th Cong., 2d sess. (Washington, DC: US 

Government Printing Office, 1966). In summary, the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution states that “the 

Congress approves and supports the determination of the president, as Commander in Chief, to 

take all necessary measures to repel any armed attack against the forces of the United States and 

to prevent further aggression.” [Sec. 2:] “The United States regards as vital to its national interest 

and to world peace the maintenance of international peace and security in Southeast Asia. Consonant with the Constitution of the United States and the Charter of the United Nations, and in 

accordance with its obligations under the Southeast Asia Collective Defense Treaty, the United 

States is, therefore, prepared as the president determines, to take all necessary steps, including 

the use of armed force.” [Sec. 3:] “This resolution shall expire when the president shall determine 

that the peace and security of the area is [sic] reasonably assured by international conditions 

created by action of the United Nations or otherwise, except that it may be terminated earlier by 

concurrent resolution of the Congress.” Tonkin Gulf Resolution, Public Law 88-408, 88th Cong., 

2d sess., 7 August 1964. See also Joseph C. Goulden, Truth Is the First Casualty; The Gulf of 

Tonkin Affair: Illusion and Reality (Chicago: Rand McNally, 1969). 

116. Wheeler, “Into Vietnam,” VHS, min. 43. McNamara was responding to questions concerning possible US covert operations and whether or not the United States had participated in 

operations that may have provoked the North Vietnamese attacks. Though some of the record 

of the conversation is lost and McNamara himself asserts in his memoirs that he “learned later” 

that he was incorrect in his assertion, intelligence operations scholar Dr. William Bader 

observes that McNamara replied at least four times under direct questioning that no US forces 

were involved in commando raids. “There was no disclosure,” Dr. Bader said (ibid., min. 44).

117. Beschloss, Taking Charge, 506.

118. Wheeler, “Into Vietnam,” VHS, min. 45. 

119. Ibid., min. 38–39. 

120. Johnson, “Remarks at Syracuse University on the Communist Challenge in Southeast 

Asia,” 5 August 1964.

121. Wheeler, “Into Vietnam,” VHS, min. 46.

122. Johnson, Vantage Point, 115–16.

123. Beschloss, Taking Charge, 257.
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124. Walt, “Search for a Science of Strategy,” 144. Walt is discussing Douglas Porch’s essay 

“Bugeaud, Galliéni, Lyautey: The Development of French Colonial Warfare,” which appears in 

Makers of Modern Strategy: From Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age, ed. Peter Paret (Princeton, NJ: 

Princeton University Press, 1986). Porch notes the parallels between the French mission civilisatrice (civilizing mission) and the US mission to win “hearts and minds” in Vietnam. 

125. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 2. Though several news stories predicted the possibility of 

a “long war,” there was a distinct lack of urgency, leaving one writer to describe it as a “strange, 

almost passionless war.” See New York Times, 29 July 1965; untitled, Time 86, no. 8 (6 August 

1965): 17–18; and Newsweek, 9 August 1965, 17–18. 

126. Dallek, Lyndon B. Johnson, 208.

127. Two Marine battalions landed at Da Nang airfield on 8 March 1965 after General Westmoreland successfully convinced Johnson that US air bases needed American security. Vietcong 

attacks on American installations in early February had led to Operation Flaming Dart, marking the 

beginning of overt American air raids against North Vietnam. Flaming Dart had quickly evolved 

into Rolling Thunder by the end of February. A few weeks after the Marines landed at Da Nang, 

Johnson authorized another 20,000 servicemen, and in July, Johnson approved Westmoreland’s request for an additional 44 combat battalions that consisted of approximately 90,000 men. 

128. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 2. Dean Rusk had coined the notion of waging war in “cold 

blood,” absent the passions of “traditional war” (ibid., 2–3). Limited-war theory dictated that 

the nation could wage war without enduring the overt societal, economic, and material impacts that historically accompanied war. See Osgood, Limited War; and Thies, When Governments Collide, 9. 

129. Clodfelter, Limits of Air Power, 65. The idea that force could be used as a “signaling 

device” was also a key tenet of limited-war theory. 

130. Võ, “Big Victory, Great Task,” 207.

131. As adapted from Salisbury, Behind the Lines, 196. The North was not inclined to horsetrade with Johnson and actually benefited from the bombing campaigns against it because 

Rolling Thunder galvanized the populace, helping to perpetuate the idea that it was fighting for 

the sacred cause of unification against an unjust giant. Clodfelter, Limits of Air Power, 136–39. 

132. Maclear, Ten Thousand Day War, 417.

133. Rose, How Wars End, 165–66, quoted from cable no. 4035, Taylor to Rusk, 3 June 

1965, NSC History—Deployment in Vietnam. 

134. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 423–27.

135. Ibid.

136. Rose, How Wars End, 166. See also Stephen P. Rosen, “Vietnam and the American 

Theory of Limited War,” International Security 7, no. 2 (Fall 1982): 83–113. 

137. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 542–72. See ibid., doc. no. 118, McNamara memorandum, subject: Opposing Increase in War Effort, 14 October 1966, 542–51; doc. no. 26, McGeorge Bundy to Johnson, memorandum, subject: Bombing, May 1966, 141; and appendix, 

“Extracts from CIA/DIA Report: An Appraisal of the Bombing of North Vietnam through 12 

September 1966,” 551. See also DOD, Pentagon Papers, vol. 4, 136. Analysts had calculated the 

effectiveness of Rolling Thunder as early as 1967. 

138. Clodfelter, Limits of Air Power, 134.

139. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 447–48. See ibid., doc. no. 101, Rostow to Johnson, 

memorandum, subject: Victory and Defeat in Guerilla Wars, 20 May 1965.

140. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 456–57. McNamara was optimistic about a “quick” US 

victory if the military were given more troops. He outlined nine elements that would lead to “a 
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favorable outcome”: (1) Vietcong stops attacks and drastically reduces incidents of terror and 

sabotage; (2) North Vietnam reduces infiltration to a trickle, with some reasonably reliable 

method of our obtaining confirmation of this fact; (3) US and South Vietnam stop bombing of 

North Vietnam; (4) South Vietnam stays independent (hopefully pro-US but possibly genuinely neutral); (5) South Vietnam exercises governmental functions over substantially all of 

South Vietnam; (6) Communists remain quiescent in Laos and Thailand; (7) North Vietnam 

withdraws regular army forces (People’s Army of Vietnam [PAVN]) and other North Vietnamese infiltrators from South Vietnam; (8) the Vietcong and National Liberation Front transform 

from a military to a purely political organization; and (9) US combat forces (not advisers or the 

Agency for International Development) withdraw (ibid., 458). 

141. Tuchman, March of Folly, 321.

142. McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 194–95, Rusk to Johnson, memorandum, 

subject: Deployment, 1 July 1965, in vol. 6, tabs 357–83, NSC History, box 43, National Security 

Files, LBJ Presidential Library, http://www.lbj library.org. McNamara observes that the majority 

of the administration shared Rusk’s sentiments. 

143. Ibid., 169, 205–6. McNamara explains that Johnson’s misleading of Congress and of 

the American people resulted from “two bitter choices: subterfuge versus the twin dangers of 

escalatory pressure and the loss of his social programs” (ibid., 206). 

144. Ball, “How Valid Are the Assumptions?,” 36.

145. Ibid., 37.

146. McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 40–41.

147. VanDeMark, Into the Quagmire, 185.

148. Ibid., 54, 67–79, 113. For example, Maxwell Taylor was directed to reveal policies and 

American actions through “inconspicuous background briefings,” and both Johnson and 

Bundy believed that they had an “education problem” regarding the American public. See 

Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 125–26. 

149. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 131.

150. Bundy quoted in Charlton and Moncrief, Many Reasons Why, 120. Komer notes that 

nobody had definitive responsibility and quotes Bundy as saying, “I don’t think we had an effective war governing mechanism in Washington at any time” (Komer, Bureaucracy at War, 

82–85). The architecture of Johnson’s military efforts was troubling and inefficient. Chester 

Cooper also remarks that both the State Department and Pentagon failed to centralize their 

massive efforts into any high-level office or individual until much later in the war. Despite the 

massive endeavor that Vietnam was turning into, leadership’s attentions were divided. See Cooper, 

The Lost Crusade: America in Vietnam (New York: Dodd, 1970). 

151. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 128.

152. Lubell, Hidden Crisis, 254–60.

153. Rittel and Webber, “Dilemmas in a General Theory of Planning,” 167–69.

154. Iklé, Every War Must End, 59–60.

155. Walt, “Search for a Science of Strategy,” 156.

156. This concept of “otherness” is elucidated in Patrick Porter’s Military Orientalism and 

Robert Jervis’s Perception and Misperception. 

157. McDougall, Heavens and the Earth, 406.

158. Ibid., 413.

159. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 21.

160. Lubell, Hidden Crisis, 254–60.
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161. Herring, America’s Longest War, 170. Herring quotes Democratic House member L. 

Mendel Rivers.

162. Ibid., 171. Pacifists opposed all wars on moral grounds. The “New Left” represented a 

small but vocal contingent that included mostly upper-middle-class youth on college campuses 

who viewed Vietnam as a “classic example of the way the American ruling class exploited helpless people to sustain a decadent capitalist system.” Antiwar liberals did not generally oppose 

the war on “systemic grounds” but thought that Vietnam, unlike Korea or World War II, lacked 

the moral justification for US intervention and that the United States’ involvement there undermined its fundamental US principles (ibid.). See also Charles DeBenedetti, The Peace Reform 

in American History (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1980). 

163. Figures such as Jane Fonda and Muhammad Ali, as well as social leaders such as Dr. 

Martin Luther King, gave celebrity and momentum to the antiwar movement. 

164. Herring, America’s Longest War, 175.

165. Powers, Vietnam, 118.

166. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 510–18, 77. Secretary McNamara’s 19 May memorandum to President Johnson was especially critical of expanding the war effort and recommended 

scaling back on troops and bombing as well as looking for a compromise with the North (ibid., 

doc. no. 129, 577–85). 

167. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 21.

168. Dallek, Lyndon B. Johnson, 263.

169. Herring, America’s Longest War, 173.

170. Dallek, Lyndon B. Johnson, 258.

171. For Jervis’s discussion on rational consistency, see Perception and Misperception, 118–95. 

For a discussion on the impact of attribution, nonattribution, and how decision makers process 

confirming and disconfirming information, see Billings and Hermann, “Problem Identification.” 

172. Dallek, Lyndon B. Johnson, 261.

173. Herring, America’s Longest War, 183.

174. The Wise Men were made up of “such establishment luminaries as Eugene Black, Allen 

Dulles, Robert Lovett, and John McCloy” (Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 125). Active throughout 

the Kennedy and Johnson administrations, the group often included political leaders and former 

military members. 

175. Ibid., 132.

176. Ibid., 143. The Vietnam Action Group was designed to “break the siege” of the critics. 

Johnson also established the Committee for Peace with Freedom in Vietnam, ostensibly a citizen’s 

group but in actuality populated with Johnson supporters who could essentially churn out propaganda favorable to Johnson’s cause. See ibid., 144; and Herring, America’s Longest War, 182–83. 

177. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 144.

178. For example, New York Times reporter Hanson Baldwin was sent on a three-week trip 

to Vietnam. For his series of articles describing the progress in Vietnam positively, Herring 

adapted information from box 96 of the Hanson Baldwin Papers and from the Baldwin articles, 

New York Times, 23 November and 3, 6, and 17 December 1967. 

179. As adapted by Herring in LBJ and Vietnam from Saigon cable 7867, 7 October 1967, 

Lyndon Baines Johnson Papers, National Security Files, box 99. See LBJ Presidential Library, 

http://www.lbjlibrary.org. 

180. As quoted by Herring in LBJ and Vietnam from DeBenedetti, “CIA Analysis,” 31–25. 

181. Herring, America’s Longest War, 182.

182. Dallek, Flawed Giant, 366–67.
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183. “War: Rancors Aweigh,” 23. 

184. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 146–47. See also Public Papers of the Presidents of the 

United States: Lyndon Baines Johnson, 1967, vol. 2, 1045–55. 

185. Sheehan et al., Pentagon Papers, 573–88. See ibid., doc. nos. 124, 125, 128, 129, 130. 

See also Herring, Pentagon Papers, 174–207. McGeorge Bundy, who by 1967 was officially out 

of the administration but still advised on policy matters, wrote a memo to Johnson advising 

against escalating the war. William Bundy, the assistant secretary of state, wrote a somewhat 

ambiguous and contradictory memo that seemed both for and against escalation. General 

Westmoreland, General Wheeler, and the JCS produced a report that called for the introduction 

of more troops. McNamara’s report cautioned against further escalation and recommended 

seeking negotiations with the North. 

186. Herring, LBJ and Vietnam, 146, as adapted from Tom Johnson’s notes on LBJ’s conversation with Chalmers Roberts, 16 October 1967, and Tom Johnson’s notes on meeting, 3 October 

1967, Tom Johnson Notes, box 1, Lyndon Baines Johnson Papers, LBJ Presidential Library.

187. Public Broadcasting Service, American Experience: LBJ, pt. 1, “Beautiful Texas,” program 

transcript, http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/transcript/lbj-transcript. 

188. Westmoreland, Soldier Reports, 321.

189. Oberdorfer, Tet!, 158. Oberdorfer offers a more thorough account of the Tet Offensive. 

For a more recent version, see Don Oberdorfer, Tet! The Turning Point in the Vietnam War

(Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001). See also Karnow, Vietnam. 

190. Johnson was also shocked by the Tet Offensive. Though he was more in the know than 

the public, skewed reports from his military commanders and the overriding power of his own 

perceptions, which could not allow for the possibility of Hanoi thwarting—let alone defeating—

American power, contrasted sharply with what looked initially like an American defeat. 

191. Karnow, Vietnam, 523.

192. Ibid.

193. Pribbenow, Victory in Vietnam, 223–24. The politburo’s numerical claims included the 

destruction of 43 percent of the American war-reserve supplies in Vietnam and 4,200 “strategic 

hamlets.” While its claim on casualties and actual material damage may have overreached, the 

net effect ultimately led to a serious weakening of America’s war-fighting ability. In the politburo’s words, it successfully “initiated the strategic decline of the American imperialists in their 

war of aggression against Vietnam, and created a decisive turning point in the war” (ibid.). 

194. Palmer, Summons of the Trumpet, 193–95. Hue was an exceptionally bloody and protracted battle. The United States and South Vietnam lost close to 500 men in the retaking of 

Hue, and there were close to 100,000 civilian refugees as well as a massive bombing and artillery 

campaign. Several thousand South Vietnamese were apparently executed by the North Vietnamese forces. Nixon references the Battle of Hue in his speech following his administration’s 

incursion into Cambodia as justification for his bold and aggressive actions (ibid.). 

195. Herring, America’s Longest War, 189–92.

196. Robbins, “Anchorman.” Johnson reportedly said during a staff meeting that “if I’ve lost 

Cronkite, I’ve lost Middle America” (ibid.). 

197. Johnson, “Address to the Nation,” 469.

198. Ibid.

199. Ibid.

200. Ibid.

201. Johnson, Vantage Point.

202. Wheeler, “Into Vietnam,” VHS, min. 3. 

125

Chapter 5

From San Clemente to Saigon:

Nixon’s Five O’Clock Shadow

We will not make the same old mistakes, we will make our own.

—Henry Kissinger, 1969

The China initiative also restored perspective to our national policy. 

It reduced Indochina to its proper scale—a small peninsula on a 

major continent.

—Henry Kissinger

We’re playing a much bigger game—we’re playing a Russia game, a 

China game, and an election game, and we’re not gonna have [South 

Vietnam] collapse.

—Richard Nixon, 1972

Between the conception

And the creation

Between the emotion

And the response

Falls the Shadow. . . .

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.

—T. S. Eliot, The Hollow Men, 1925

A “Winning Image”: Beards, Boy Scouts, and the Ugly King

In 1960 John F. Kennedy challenged Richard M. Nixon to a series of televised 

debates. Nixon accepted eagerly, confident that he could school the relatively 

inexperienced senator from Massachusetts. After all, Nixon had been a House 

member, a senator, and a vice president who not only ran the country while 

Eisenhower was ill but also had accumulated a long record both domestically 
FROM SAN CLEMENTE TO SAIGON

126

and internationally.1 Nixon was one of the most visible and active vice presidents, often serving as Eisenhower’s attack dog, and he was famous for his 

strong stance against Communism. Comparatively, Kennedy seemed a squire 

taking on a seasoned statesman. On the radio, the outcome was very much as 

Nixon had predicted. The majority of listeners overwhelmingly judged the 

vice president victorious. The debates, however, also drew the largest television audience in US history, and the camera judged Nixon harshly. Against 

the advice of his staff, Nixon refused makeup, and his seemingly permanent 

five o’clock shadow appeared even more pronounced, contrasting sharply 

with his pallid skin.2

 During the debate, pools of sweat were readily visible on 

Nixon’s chin, almost as if he were drooling, and his narrow eyes and stubborn 

beard created an image that was at once shadowy and sallow. Kennedy, on the 

other hand, resembled a “bronzed warrior,” looking young, relaxed, athletic, 

and well tanned. The disparate images of the two men readily overshadowed 

the differences and merits of their arguments, and the television audience 

sided decisively with the young senator. 

Kennedy had charmed both the press and the public while Nixon’s countenance proved a liability. Consistent with his political history, Nixon waged a 

vigorous campaign, attacking Kennedy for his youth and pointing out that the 

White House could not be a “training ground.”3

 Nixon ultimately lost by little 

more than 100,000 votes. Despite the closeness of the election and some questions that arose concerning vote counting in Chicago and Texas, Nixon publicly conceded and did not officially protest the results.4

 The 1960 debates forever changed how candidates campaigned and the way Americans voted—with 

television replacing the old-fashioned hand-shaking and convention format. 

Moreover, Nixon staffer and biographer Roger Morris observes that Nixon 

was permanently scarred by the experience and concluded he would “never 

again be caught short . . . or let his opponents outdo him, or trust the system 

to work the way it’s supposed to.”5

Following his failed presidential campaign, Nixon made a bid for governor 

in 1962 in his home state of California, where he was soundly defeated by 

Democratic incumbent Jerry Brown. At the press conference after the election, Nixon’s bitterness and frustration were apparent. The defeated candidate 

marched out on stage and lambasted the press corps, essentially blaming 

them for his loss: “You’ve had a lot of fun[,] . . . you’ve had an opportunity to 

attack me[,] . . . [but] you won’t have Nixon to kick around anymore.”6

 The 

consensus was that Nixon’s political career was over. He took a job as a Wall 

Street lawyer and announced publicly that he would not run in the 1964 presidential election.7

 Private life proved difficult for the lifelong politician, however, and before long he emerged from shadowy obscurity. Within six months 
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of his failed run for governor, Nixon appeared on the Jack Parr show, playing 

piano, poking fun at himself, and coming across as a much softer, friendlier, 

and humble man. Though he did not run for president in 1964, he did storm 

the country in support of the Republican Party, visiting 35 states and stumping for 135 candidates—making a key contribution to the Republican congressional comeback in 1966. No longer in the spotlight, Nixon worked from 

behind the scenes, and there was “hardly a Republican that [didn’t] owe him 

a favor.”8

He won the Republican nomination for president in 1968 as the “New 

Nixon,” not only cashing in the political capital he had built during the intervening years within the Republican Party but also pivoting on a well-cultivated 

image.9

 The New Nixon was part of an evolving mythology he was continually 

trying to build.10 In 1967 he launched an extensive tour of four continents, 

building his stature as an international statesman. John Ehrlichman observes 

that Nixon had a “core fire” to be president and believed his unique vision and 

leadership should guide the country.11 Part of that vision is revealed in Nixon’s 

1967 article, “Asia after Viet Nam.”12 Published in Foreign Affairs, the article 

presents a well-reasoned, stately argument that acknowledges America’s war 

weariness yet cautions against both isolationism and belligerence.13 Through 

the article, Nixon recasts himself and at the same time gives a prelude to his 

vision for restaging Vietnam and the Cold War. America’s yearning for answers 

and solutions provided fertile soil for the New Nixon and his vision. 

Not everyone bought into it, however. Democratic presidential candidate 

Hubert Humphrey scathingly criticized the notion of a reformed Nixon. 

During a campaign speech, Humphrey reminded everyone that Nixon had 

undergone numerous “renovations,” claiming that the Republican candidate 

had had his “political face lifted so many times” that there couldn’t possibly be 

anything new.14 Critics were vehemently skeptical, and Nixon’s shadowy side 

was not so easily painted over. Many still recalled the financing scandal of 

1952, and sentiments had not ranged far from Adlai Stevenson’s comments 

during the presidential campaign of 1956.15 After Eisenhower’s heart trouble, 

Stevenson warned the American people that voting for the Republicans would 

literally put Nixon within a heartbeat of the presidency. “Every piece of scientific 

evidence we have,” Stevenson said, “indicates that a Republican victory tomorrow” means that Nixon will be president within four years, “and I recoil 

at the prospect of Mr. Nixon” as custodian of America with his hands on the 

hydrogen bomb.16

Nixon’s reemergence in 1968 was a continuation of his ongoing and deliberate effort to subdue the darker angels of his image and to cultivate the mystique 

that would win him the presidency. He had a keen, even romanticized attach-
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ment to his roots and blended both European and American motifs in his 

attempt to create a “Nixon mythology.”17 Born in 1913 in Yorba Linda, 

California, Richard Milhous Nixon was named for the twelfth-century English 

monarch Richard “the Lion-Hearted.”18 The Nixon family coat of arms is emblazoned with the phrase Toujours Prêt, which translates as “always prepared.”19 Nixon took this sentiment to heart, and the words are not that different from those of the Boy Scout motto Be Prepared. Not many people, either 

in Nixon’s time or in our own, would envision Nixon as a Boy Scout. His 

Quaker roots, however, and his self-espoused virtues created—in his own 

mind at least—a puritanical self-image and moral separateness. All of these 

variables fed the Nixon mythology and jelled with Nixon’s belief that he was 

experienced, selfless, disciplined, hardworking, possessed of moral courage, 

confident, coolheaded, and dedicated to a great cause.20 Unlike his two predecessors, he did not enjoy extramarital affairs and often openly disapproved of 

Henry Kissinger’s trysts and reputation as a playboy.21

Nixon’s romanticized image of his modest roots, moral superiority, and 

namesake had him convinced he was a “brave warrior-champion, wielding 

the ax of righteousness.”22 In the eighth grade he wrote that he wanted to pursue a career in politics and law because he “believed he could do some good.”23

Nixon was born for a cause and “cast himself as a self-made man, a resilient 

fighter, and a nationalist champion.”24 Kissinger added to Nixon’s repertoire, 

and while the two men could not have been more different, they also reinforced each other’s mythologies and in aggregate formed Nixon’s presidential 

image. In an interview Kissinger states, 

I’ve always acted alone. . . . Americans like the cowboy who leads the wagon train by 

riding ahead alone on his horse, the cowboy who rides all alone into the town, the village, with his horse and nothing else. . . . He acts, that’s all, by being in the right place at 

the right time. . . . In a sense . . . I’m a fatalist. I believe in destiny. I’m convinced of 

course, that you have to fight to reach a goal. . . . I believe more in human relations than 

ideas. I use ideas but I need human relations.25

Nixon thought of himself as one of what he would later describe as “the forgotten Americans of the silent majority” and exalted himself as their voice, 

their champion, their lead cowboy.26

The president also pushed his staff to further develop his mystique and to 

draw upon European and American mythology to create the Nixon myth. Jeffrey 

Kimball surmised that Nixon thought that leadership pivoted more on how a 

president is perceived to do things than what he actually does.27 Nixon believed in myth and was obsessed with the creation of his own:

One reason why it is frequently so difficult to sort out myth from reality in reading about 

political leaders is that part of political leadership is the creation of myths. . . . The politician, 
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no less than the actor or filmmaker, knows that to bore his audience is to lose his 

audience. . . . [Politicians] must appeal to the heart. . . . We cannot find the stuff of leadership in the dry pages of history. . . . We have to look to the spirit of the man [and] . . . to 

legends. Legends are often an artful intertwining of fact and myth, designed to beguile, 

to impress, to inspire, or sometimes simply to attract attention. But legend is an essential 

ingredient of leadership.28

Nixon believed he was a unique leader who could blend the European hero 

with the American cowboy and infuse them with his own “Nixonness.” He 

tenaciously prepared for politics from an early age and never stopped conjuring his image.29 In 1968 Nixon campaigned as the architect of a new world 

order and as the peacemaker. The grave challenges of the Cold War and Vietnam demanded new leadership: “We live in an age in which individual reaction to crisis may bear on the fate of mankind for centuries to come.”30

Many saw his “new brand of leadership,” however, as just another hue of an 

amorphous politician famous for shape-shifting. 

Ehrlichman said of Nixon that “we all knew him differently” and that even 

Nixon’s wife could not have “told you who the real Richard Nixon was.”31

Nixon biographer Ralph de Toledano describes Nixon as a man “with no set 

ideology” while historian Garry Wills characterizes him as the “plastic man.”32

Nixon’s many layers reflected a penchant for political expediency, and critics 

wondered if in fact there was anything solid at his core. In his memoirs, Nixon 

reveals at least one enduring element of his views on foreign policy:

As I looked at America’s position in the world and examined our relations with other 

nations, I could see that the central factor in 1968 on the eve of my presidency was the 

same as it had been in 1947. . . . America now, as then, was the main defender of the free 

world against the encroachment and aggression of the Communist world. For twentyfive years, I had watched the changing face of communism. . . . Never once in my career 

have I doubted that the Communists mean it when they say that their goal is to bring the 

world under Communist control. . . . But unlike some anticommunists . . . I have always 

believed that we can and must communicate and . . . negotiate. . . . They are too powerful 

to ignore.33

Throughout his many facelifts, Nixon never strayed far from this philosophy, 

fundamentally little different from what Eisenhower, Kennedy, and Johnson 

believed. What separated Nixon were not so much the ends but the means he 

believed necessary to achieve them. From his perspective, not only had 

American foreign policy been “held hostage” by the unsophisticated meanderings of both Johnson and Kennedy, but also his Democratic predecessors had 

misused and piddled away American power.34 The right leader could effectively apply American power against North Vietnam and at the same time 

reorient larger Cold War interests. To Nixon’s thinking, his predecessors lacked 

the sophistication to keep more than one or two balls in the air at a time; subsequently, Vietnam had wrongly been allowed to bind US foreign policy. 
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Nixon promised to free South Vietnam from the Communist threat in a 

way that would also free the United States from its war there. Furthermore, he 

suggested that he could do all of this while transforming Cold War relationships among the great powers and overcoming the inertia of stagnating 

American power. Though perhaps politically expedient, the promise had 

great appeal to the American people, and Nixon banked on his new mystique 

and the promises that came with it as a strategy to win the presidency. Once 

in office, he would invoke his own myth as a mechanism to win in Vietnam 

and to reshape the Cold War. For Nixon, presidential power derived from the 

mythology surrounding the man who held the office. To that end, he wanted 

to differentiate himself from Kennedy, “who did nothing but appeared great,” 

and from Johnson, “who did everything but appeared terrible.”35

There were many shades to Nixon, and his makeover in 1968 could not 

long subdue the prickly stubble of his personality, nor did any amount of 

makeup long hide his absolute commitment to victory. Nixon wanted to enter 

the arena and believed that once he was there, he could redirect his own destiny and that of his country toward hitherto unseen levels of greatness. One of 

his favorite movies, which he watched repeatedly in the White House, was 

Patton. In the opening scene, George C. Scott stands in front of an American 

flag and rallies his troops with his philosophy on victory: “Americans love a 

winner. . . . The very thought of losing is hateful to America.”36 This sentiment 

perhaps forms the core that so many looked for in Nixon. It wasn’t just about 

gaining power and keeping it but about winning the judgment of history. After 

Nixon’s final speech as president, Henry Kissinger told him that he would be 

judged as one of the nation’s greatest presidents, to which Nixon responded, 

“That depends, Henry, on who writes the history.”37 William Costello points 

out that “Nixon’s family name is a mutation of the Gaelic words meaning he

faileth not.”38 Even after his resignation and the collapse of South Vietnam, 

Nixon persisted in conveying his victory and his history, never fully accepting 

his part in either the failings of his policies or of his presidency. 

The mythology he cultivated served his commitment to winning. He believed his mystique would help him win the power of the presidency, the war 

in Vietnam, peace abroad and at home, and a heroic ruling from history that 

would allow him to restructure great-power politics. Such grand victories, 

however, required more than fables, and Nixon prepared for and exercised his 

power both brilliantly and ruthlessly. With Kissinger at his side, Nixon “organized 

government to concentrate power . . . in the White House” and purposely 

appointed “weak” individuals to the Departments of State and Defense.39

There was no doubt that America’s foreign policy would be Richard Nixon’s 

foreign policy, and it was not without great achievements. He was the first 
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American president since the start of the Cold War to set foot in the Kremlin. 

America’s relationship with China was reframed, Nixon secured the first-ever 

arms-control summit with Moscow, and America’s direct involvement in 

Vietnam did end. Still, despite these accomplishments—for all the promises 

of peace, virtue, and leadership, and no matter how much such promises satiated 

public appetites for resolution and reconciliation—Nixon’s game shocked the 

polity and the public. The hero of America’s forgotten did not whittle peace 

from a soapbox. This Boy Scout had a beard. He was the consummate Cold 

Warrior and a wizard of realpolitik who had crossed and recrossed the River 

Styx only to return again in yet another political resurrection as president. 

Nixon was elected on a platform to end the war and unify the country. When 

he started hammering out his peace, though, it was not a Quaker or knight or 

even a statesman the nation saw but the machinations of an ugly king looking 

to win. The hour of the Vietnam War had grown late. The decade waned. 

America now turned under the five o’clock shadow. 

The following sections examine how Nixon sought to reframe himself and 

the Vietnam War, analyzing the role that his mythology played in shaping 

agendas and outcomes. Did the New Nixon effectively shave off the old, and 

was he truly a peacemaker? If so, what kind of peace did he make and at what 

cost? America’s ground war officially ends in 1973, Nixon resigns in 1974, and 

Saigon falls in 1975. Was this a decent interval? An honorable peace? A necessary 

iteration in a larger game? Or something else? Finally, what does the war’s 

ending tell us of its beginning, and what might this reveal about inherited war? 

A New Myth for an Old War

Nixon was once asked, “How is it that you can deal with evil forces, an evil 

empire, like the Soviet Union?,” to which the president responded, “Because 

I’m evil.” Nixon also later stated that “you’ve got to be a little evil to understand the people out there. You have to have known the dark side of life.”40 The 

above is not meant to imply that Nixon was wholly sinister but that he was 

very much aware of his dark side and of its utility. He believed it gave him 

insight and could serve certain ends. When it came to Vietnam and Russia, 

for example, Nixon deliberately pivoted on perceptions of his “irrationality” 

and even “madness” to coerce his adversaries. He was also conscious that the 

more shadowy aspects of his character could be a liability, especially under 

public lighting. So Nixon often struggled to balance the various aspects of his 

nature, promoting or subduing each in accordance with his purpose. The 

darker shades often cropped up, however, even when he was ostensibly engaged 

in a noble cause.
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Nixon rose to notoriety as a congressman during the Alger Hiss hearings 

in 1948.41 Nixon was only a junior member of the Un-American Activities 

Committee, but his doggedness ultimately resulted in Hiss’s conviction. The 

high drama of the hearings offered Nixon a stage to go after Truman, the 

Democrats, and the Communists. Whether he was motivated more by his 

conviction that Hiss was actually a Communist or by political opportunity is 

debatable. Those around him at the time, however, observed that the trial 

became personal for Nixon, and he came to see it as a competition.42 Nixon’s 

run for the House of Representatives in 1946 was also shaped by a crusade 

against Communists. He ran as the champion of the forgotten man and 

painted his Democratic opponent Jerry Voorhis as a New Dealer, actually 

passing out flyers identifying Voorhis as an ex-Socialist and Communist 

sympathizer.43 Nixon later said of the campaign, “I had to win. Of course I 

knew Voorhis wasn’t a Communist.”44

Nixon’s reputation emerged as a ruthless campaigner and staunch antiCommunist. Helen Gahagan Douglas, his Democratic opponent for Senate in 

1950, gave him the moniker “Tricky Dick” after he smeared her as a Communist 

and New Dealer.45 Nixon’s ruthlessness left waves of bitterness in his wake. 

“People react to fear not love,” he once told H. R. Haldeman. “They don’t teach 

that in Sunday school, but it’s true.”46 He didn’t just defeat opponents; he “destroyed them.”47 Part of Nixon delighted in the angst he caused. His wellcrafted television address after the 1952 slush-fund scandal purposefully mirrored Roosevelt’s fireside chat, and Nixon’s use of his dog, Checkers, and 

allusions to his wife’s “cloth coat” rankled Democrats and “delighted his 

friends.”48 Following the speech, there was still some question as to whether or 

not Eisenhower would keep Nixon on his ticket. During a conversation, 

Nixon told Eisenhower, “General, there comes a time, even in your life, when 

you have to sh[--] or get off the pot.”49 Nixon’s audacity was neither rank nor 

party-sensitive.

Given his political roots and often cantankerous public displays and ruthlessness, it is understandable why so many doubted the new, softer, middleof-the road Nixon who hit the campaign trail in 1968. But the country was 

hungry for leadership. The polity was triangulated by the context of Vietnam, 

Johnson’s withdrawal from the presidential race, and the sense that America 

was spiraling out of control domestically. Nixon’s resurgence toward the nation’s 

highest office was facilitated by the breach in the political lines that these 

three factors created. Remove any single factor, and arguably there is no new 

Nixon, no Kissinger, and no Woodward and Bernstein. But in reality, those 

breaches existed. The great man “acts” and does so by “being in the right place 

at the right time,” and Nixon once again positioned himself for a rendezvous 
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with destiny.50 Having seized both opportunity and circumstance, Nixon made 

a successful run at the presidency, mirroring his attempts to triangulate American foreign policy. His image lathered, Nixon turned to the Vietnam War. 

For the new president, the war in Vietnam was both old and new. As a 

congressman and as vice president, Nixon had journeyed “the labyrinth of 

Indochina” and had formed distinct impressions concerning the conflicts 

there.51 Nor had he remained quiet during the intervening years. Nixon harried Johnson and the Democrats. A series of press releases and newspaper 

articles between 1965 and 1967 captures Nixon condemning the infighting 

within the Democratic Party, saying that the “behavior of a small segment of 

our population” was costing the United States the war.52 What made Vietnam 

“new” was that Nixon would now hold the reins. He simultaneously reframed 

himself and the war, attempting to “straddle the political center of foreignpolicy issues” with an implied “secret plan to achieve peace with honor.”53 Just 

as his conjuring for the new Nixon started well before he took office, so did his 

preparations on Vietnam. 

Nixon had prepared his own version of containment and ushered in the era 

of détente.54 Henry Kissinger described the Nixon administration’s “bigger 

game” détente strategy as an approach that sought the flexibility of the KennedyJohnson era yet with the cohesiveness and long-range view of the Eisenhower 

administration.55 Kissinger believed that a need existed for a “philosophical 

deepening” in US policy and that the Kennedy and Johnson administrations 

had lacked an adequate “conception” of the world.56 Confrontations between 

the United States and the Soviet-Communist world had obscured larger US 

interests and goals, and Vietnam had to be reunderstood as “a small peninsula 

on a major continent.”57 In his 1967 Foreign Affairs article, Nixon called for a 

new relationship with China.58 Détente still had as its core objective the containment of Communism. What delineated Nixon’s strategy from those of his 

predecessors, however, was a recaging of interests and threats in the broader 

context of great-power politics. For Nixon, it was no longer necessary for the 

United States to bear sole responsibility for international security. In fact, 

Nixon and Kissinger both felt that basing American policy on the belief that 

the United States could transform international society to match its own image 

was both an illusion and dangerous. 

The United States had limits, Kissinger argued, and overinvestment in trying to “win” the bipolar competition between America and the Soviet Union 

wasted resources and misread the “reality” of international life.59 From the 

perspective of the Nixon administration, the world was multipolar; the primary 

interest of the United States was international stability, which relied not on ideological cohesion between countries but on the behaviors of all countries. Nixon 
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believed that simply drawing policy lines in accordance with ideological lines 

falsely and counterproductively parceled policy in a way that ran counter to 

US interests. “The world had changed,” Nixon told the Chinese president in 

1972, and the United States was breaking “with the old pattern” and would 

“look at each country in terms of its own conduct rather than lumping them 

all together” based on a particular philosophy.60 Eisenhower had sought 

asymmetric superiority through technology. Kennedy and Johnson had pursued symmetrical superiority on all fronts not only to beat the Soviets in total 

war but also to outmaneuver them in guerilla war, economics, prestige, and 

conventional war. Nixon’s policy shifted containment strategy from the pursuit of superiority to one of sufficiency: this would allow for acceptable differences between the United States and its rivals.61 The primary interest of the 

United States—stability—was not possible without the contributions of the 

Soviet Union and China.62

Détente redefined US interests and threats, placing both in a wider context. 

The key to affecting Soviet behavior, the Nixon administration believed, was 

to understand the “ambiguous tendencies” of Moscow that could produce 

both harmful and helpful outcomes.63 Instead of using Vietnam to push the 

Soviets and Chinese through competition, Vietnam could be used to draw the 

Soviets and Chinese in. US policy had to balance the need for competition 

with the need for cooperation. Kissinger argued that policies in Vietnam had 

invigorated a military competition with the Soviets and that efforts to achieve 

superiority over the Soviets only made them less likely to negotiate.64 Instead 

of pursuing policies that forced Moscow’s undesirable tendencies, détente 

required engagement with the Soviets on “substantive issues.”65 Though the 

Kennedy administration had at least been aware of the possibility of more 

closely tying Vietnam to US-Soviet and US-China relations, it was under 

Nixon that triangular diplomacy emerged.66

For détente to be successful and to effectively reframe Vietnam and the 

Cold War, Nixon worked his policies even before taking office. Prior to Nixon’s 

inauguration, Kissinger commissioned a RAND study, the results of which 

were made available in December 1968.67 The study proved an influential tool 

and framed the context for Nixon’s initial agenda in Vietnam. Its timing also 

reflects that Nixon was proactive and not about to settle for the kind of simple 

handoff that Kennedy had received from Eisenhower on Indochina in 1960.68

Whatever conclusions might be drawn with regard to Nixon’s meddling in 

policy issues prior to his taking office, his attempts to understand the problems he would face as president have merit. The RAND study defined US 

victory as “the destruction, withdrawal, or dissolution of all (or most) VC 

[Vietcong] forces and apparatus, the permanent cessation of infiltration, and 
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the virtually unchallenged sovereignty of a stable, noncommunist regime . . . 

with no significant Communist political role except on an individual, ‘reconciled’ basis.”69 Victory, then, was thus defined little differently by Nixon’s administration than by Kennedy’s or Johnson’s. What changed were the means 

and assessments of exactly how the United States might achieve these ends.

In an attempt to delineate not only objectives but also the methods required, 

the RAND study posited several alternative outcomes and strategies. Outcomes proposed included assured GVN control of all of South Vietnam (aka 

“victory”), mutual withdrawal without political accommodation, political 

accommodation (with mutual troop withdrawal), and territorial accommodation.70 Military strategies were reduced to two basic options: (1) continuing 

“pressures on Hanoi through the current strategy, threats of escalation, or 

actual escalation”; and (2) reducing “the U.S. presence in South Vietnam, 

which, by making U.S. presence more sustainable, could be another form of 

pressure.”71 The political climate at home meant Nixon was under immense 

pressure to ease US commitments in Vietnam, but he was also bound by a 

deep belief in upholding US commitments: “For the United States, this first 

defeat in our Nation’s history would result in a collapse of confidence in 

American leadership, not only in Asia but throughout the world.”72 Nixon 

could not simply “bring the troops home.” Both American prestige and the 

prestige of the administration were heavily vested in Vietnam, and he was 

unwilling to sacrifice either. Nixon could have simply withdrawn from Vietnam, blamed the war on the Democrats, and focused on broader, great-power 

politics. That he didn’t reveals not only that he retained significant commitment to Cold War notions such as domino theory but also that he was unwilling to concede to Communist aggression—and that he was perhaps convinced 

that he could and should win where others had failed. In another address, 

Nixon captured this sentiment, saying that America could not, “when the 

chips are down . . . act like a pitiful giant.”73 At the same time, Hanoi had up to 

that point been unresponsive to coercive US military efforts. The challenge 

confronting Nixon lay in finding ways to make military efforts more effective 

while still maneuvering toward “peace.”

Both Nixon and Kissinger wanted to reorient American policy but were unwilling to give in on Vietnam.74 Kissinger observes that the “new Nixon Administration was the first of the postwar generation that had to conduct foreign 

policy without the national consensus that had sustained its predecessors largely 

since 1947. . . . We faced not only the dislocation of a war but the need to 

articulate a new foreign policy for a new era. . . . The Vietnam War would 

end. . . . Could we shape a new consensus that could reconcile our idealism 

and our responsibilities, our security and our values, our dreams and our pos-
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sibilities?”75 Though controversial, the Vietnam War was largely supported 

throughout the Johnson administration, and the popular collapse came only 

after the nation believed itself misled.76 Nixon, then, faced not only a complex 

and difficult war but also a polity increasingly distrustful of its leaders and of 

the merits of US involvement in Vietnam. Add in the nuances and challenges 

of the Cold War, and the way ahead for the new president was particularly 

sticky. He believed himself up to the challenge, however, and remained convinced that by consolidating power he could guide the nation and solve the 

war. “This is no time for consensus government,” Nixon declared in 1965. “It’s 

a time for leadership,” and 1969 presented an opportunity to prove his merits.77

In a Foreign Affairs article, Kissinger characterized the limits to American 

commitment: “First, the United States cannot accept a military defeat or a 

change in the political structure of South Viet Nam [sic] brought about by 

external military force; second, once North Vietnamese forces and pressures 

are removed, the United States has no obligation to maintain a government in 

Saigon by force.”78 Gideon Rose surmises that Nixon believed he could remove 

“certain limits on American operations in Indochina,” threaten further escalation, and pressure Moscow “to restrain its proxy” while encouraging South 

Vietnam to play a larger role.79 In aggregate, Nixon’s initial strategy—comprised 

of de-Americanization, Vietnamization, pacification, détente, and negotiations—

relied upon “irresistible military pressure.”80 National Security Study Memorandum 36 denotes the assumed timelines for Nixon’s strategy, with projected dates 

for full transfer ranging between December 1970 and December 1972.81 The 

memorandum assumes (1) efforts will start on 1 July 1969, (2) current North 

Vietnamese and Vietcong force levels, barring an agreement on mutual withdrawal, (3) accurate projections of South Vietnamese force levels, (4) the only 

de-escalation will be from the phased withdrawal of American troops, and (5) 

vigorous efforts will be made to equip and train South Vietnamese forces.82

Both Nixon and Kissinger were confident in their strategy and assumed it 

would work quickly. Cooperation and buy-in were needed from South Vietnam, however. Nixon talked with South Vietnamese president Nguyen Van 

Thieu in July 1969, assuring him that the United States was committed to the 

South’s cause. Obviously worried by the American drawdown, Thieu pressed 

Nixon on the possibility of a protracted war and the extent to which he could 

rely on US support. Nixon’s response is telling:

We know that we are progressing, that the other side is growing weaker. Therefore, if the 

enemy gives no indication of wanting to negotiate seriously . . . we should review the 

evidence. The long road is risky; there are too many backseat drivers. . . . We should . . . 

adopt a flexible and reasonable posture to keep public opinion in support of us. 
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[Thieu then raised concerns about a possible offensive by the North once American troops 

were withdrawn. Nixon replied that he had a plan, referencing earlier discussions on the use 

of American military ground power and airpower. Nixon then urged Thieu toward secrecy.]

We should not disclose to the enemy what we propose to do. . . . Another disadvantage 

in making public disclosures . . . is the fact that critics at home will not be satisfied. . . . 

Consequently, let us have a plan, but let us keep it secret among ourselves.83

In Nixon’s mind, the reality of his drawdown and plan was somewhat different 

than what he portrayed publicly. The above conversation took place less than 

a week after Nixon revealed what became known as the Guam Doctrine.84

Deposed king and Cambodian prime minister Norodom Sihanouk praised 

Nixon’s approach, saying that if the United States “brings aid without conditions and without physical intervention . . . [it] will certainly have more hope 

of seeing the flood of Communism contained than if [it] assumes this task 

with [its] soldiers.”85 The public perceived Nixon as maneuvering toward 

peace and taking a less direct approach. As his conversation with Thieu reveals, 

however, Nixon very consciously reserved the right to find peace on his terms. 

A key aspect of Nixon’s strategy relied not just on the use of force but the 

threat of force, which he believed was made all the more real by his reputation 

as a hard-liner. So while he marched his “better angels” publicly through 

ostensibly moderate policies aimed at ending the war, he also drew upon his 

dark side to effect those policies. Reflecting on his own “Nixonness,” he wrote 

in his memoirs,

I was sure that [Leonid] Brezhnev and [Alexei] Kosygin had been no more anxious for me to 

win in 1968 than [Nikita] Khrushchev had been in 1960. The prospect of having to deal with 

a Republican administration—and a Nixon administration at that—undoubtedly caused 

anxiety in Moscow. In fact, I suspected that the Soviets might have counseled the North 

Vietnamese to offer to begin the Paris talks in the hope that the bombing halt would tip the 

balance to Humphrey in the election—and if that was their strategy, it had almost worked.86

He certainly believed in and stroked the Nixon myth. Moscow had some concern over dealing with the new American president. Soviet ambassador Anatoly 

Dobrynin, however, writes that at the time, he felt he had a fair understanding 

of the new American president.

No one in the Soviet leadership, including the most zealous supporters of communism, ever 

talked seriously about any concrete prospects for communism in the United States. . . . In my 

boldest thoughts I never looked beyond the idea of our two systems peacefully converging 

somehow. . . . But did Richard Nixon really believe in the communist threat in the United 

States, or was it just a convenient means to climb the political ladder? To my mind, the latter 

was more likely.87

Dobrynin’s assessment in 1969 was that Nixon’s anti-Communism was really 

“a factor related to the foreign policy struggle” and “translated from a domestic 

issue to the more rarefied plane of relations between nations,” thus providing 
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an opening for dialogue.88 Nixon was a cold warrior and realist, and the Soviets, 

though wary, felt they understood the American’s calculations. Soviet premier 

Brezhnev asserted that “you can do business with Nixon.”89

Yet Nixon’s world image was rooted in history, and he proclaimed that 

“beneath the struggle among Vietnamese lies the larger, continuing struggle 

between those nations that want order and those that want disorder.”90 Similar 

to Kennedy’s descriptions of Vietnam as part of the worldwide Communist 

revolution, Nixon seemed to believe that peripheral wars were a subset of the 

larger clash between ideologies. The French history in Indochina, the lessons 

from Munich and Korea, and the United States’ own experiences in Vietnam 

up to that point shaped Nixon’s perception that a “larger game was afoot.” 

Nixon’s image of the Vietnam War and his subsequent approach are interesting because, although he caged it in a Cold War context (with enduring Cold 

War themes), he and Kissinger also sought to disassociate ideology from the 

struggle. The “deepening philosophy” Kissinger called for in American policy 

was recognition that ideology had corrupted both the means and the ends of 

the United States’ struggle. Policy needed to account for the realities of the 

security environment and the futility of changing the nature of countries. Instead, America needed to learn to deal with nations as they were.91

Reframed in this way, Nixon’s Vietnam policies can be understood as a 

means by which the administration sought to “win” while simultaneously 

changing the context of the game.92 Appeals to anti-Communist sentiments 

may have been more expediency than philosophy. It was not that Nixon suddenly came to love Communism but that “victory and peace with honor” was 

more about the preservation of American (read Nixon’s) prestige and less 

about the stamping out of evil ideologies. Nixon envisioned a new world that 

ranged beyond the binding architectures of his predecessors. To his mind, 

Johnson had squandered numerous diplomatic opportunities and had overly 

restricted US military power. Nixon believed that his own approach was more 

sophisticated and that his unique abilities could better exploit all of the American power at the president’s disposal. In 1968 he stated that a better use of 

military strength “could have ended [the war] with far less than we are now 

using.”93 Nixon sniped continually from the sidelines before he was president. 

Once in office, he continued to unveil a new version of himself, the war, and 

the United States’ approach to it. Reflecting on the plan he revealed in July 

1969, Nixon commented, 

The Nixon Doctrine announced on Guam was misinterpreted by some as signaling a 

new policy that would lead to total American withdrawal from Asia and from other 

parts of the world as well. . . . The Nixon Doctrine was not a formula for getting America 

out of Asia, but one that provided the only sound basis for America’s staying in and 
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continuing to play a responsible role in helping the non-Communist nations and neutrals 

as well as our Asian allies to defend their independence.94

Nixon’s peace equated to winning America’s continuing ability to influence 

events. Doing so required preserving American prestige. Kissinger once commented that Nixon entered the presidency “when the forces of history were 

moving America from a position of dominance to one of leadership.”95 The difference between dominance and leadership was that the former reflected “objective strengths” while the latter reflected “others’ . . . perceptions.”96 Nixon believed his own unique attributes could shape perceptions of America’s leadership. 

To that end, he found utility in both the “good” and the “bad” Nixon. 

In a last gasp at peace (and arguably at a Democratic presidential victory), 

Johnson halted bombing of the North as the election approached in 1968. 

During that time, Nixon conducted his own political manipulations behind 

the scenes. Between 1967 and 1968, Anna Chennault acted as the administration’s special liaison to South Vietnamese president Thieu. Though she played 

a distinctly different role than that of Madame Nhu during the Kennedy 

administration, Nixon thus found himself involving his own “Dragon Lady” 

in his Vietnam policies. Chennault was connected both in DC and in Saigon, 

and she would visit Saigon to inform Thieu that “Nixon would be a strong 

supporter of Vietnam,” hinting that Thieu should “hold back” from any agreements arranged by Johnson.97 During this period, Kissinger also served both 

as Nixon’s spy and unofficial emissary. As peace talks between the Johnson 

administration and the Vietnamese reached a “delicate stage” in Paris, Kissinger 

surreptitiously whispered in the ears of all parties while simultaneously keeping Nixon abreast of developments.98 Nixon used the inside information from 

both Chennault and Kissinger to frame Johnson’s efforts as a “cynical, last 

minute attempt” to get Humphrey elected.99 Nixon’s full statement on the 

matter actually asserted that he was “on Johnson’s side” and that he did not 

believe Johnson was working toward a bombing halt for political reasons. 

However, by raising the possibility of Johnson’s ulterior motives, he effectively 

tainted the negotiations and the administration’s credibility. Additionally, the 

nefarious communications between Nixon’s agents and the South Vietnamese 

indicate that Nixon was in fact manipulating events. South Vietnamese ambassador Bui Diem told President Thieu in several cables, “Many Republican 

friends have contacted me and encouraged us to stand firm. . . . I am regularly 

in touch with the Nixon entourage.”100

Nixon played “the innocent,” publicly insisting that he just “couldn’t believe” 

Johnson was up to no good. Yet he worked behind the scenes to undermine 

Johnson’s efforts and, even in his declarations of support for the president, 
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raised the specter of doubt. Tricky Dick had come out of the woodwork to 

influence the election and events in Vietnam. Once elected, Nixon continued 

his shaded conjuring.

In an address to the nation on 3 November 1969, Nixon rerepresented 

himself, the war, and the nation’s agenda in Vietnam:

Tonight I want to talk to you on a subject of deep concern to all Americans and to many 

people in all parts of the world—the war in Vietnam. I believe that one of the reasons for 

the deep division about Vietnam is that many Americans have lost confidence in what 

their Government has told them about our policy. The American people cannot and 

should not be asked to support a policy which involves the overriding issues of war and 

peace unless they know the truth about that policy.

[Nixon thus contrasts himself with his predecessor and cages his approach to Vietnam as rooted 

in “truth.” He at once attempts to solidify his own image while convincing the nation that “this 

time, it’s going to be different” and that the country can trust him. He then goes on to “clarify” 

why the United States is involved in the first place and the situation that he inherited.]

[When I took office] the war had been going on for four years. 31,000 Americans had 

been killed in action. The training program for the South Vietnamese was behind schedule. 

540,000 Americans were in Vietnam with no plans to reduce the number. No progress had 

been made at the negotiations in Paris. . . . The war was causing deep division at home 

[and abroad]. 

[Nixon then discusses that the “easy course” would be to quit the war and to lay it at the feet 

of his predecessors. He is bound, however, by a greater duty.]

But I had a greater obligation than to think only of the years of my administration and 

of the next election. I had to think of the effect of my decision on the next generation 

and on the future of peace and freedom in America and in the world. . . . The great question is: How can we win America’s peace?

[Nixon then summarizes some of the broader history of conflict in Indochina and Vietnam and 

emphasizes the many atrocities committed by the Communists. After effectively painting the 

“ugly Communists,” Nixon then highlights the importance of US prestige and invokes images 

of Kennedy and Eisenhower’s visions—raising both the specter of the Communist threat and 

contrasting it with the “hope” of America. Nixon then ties America’s hope to the proposals he 

put forth on Guam and at the United Nations.]

I initiated a pursuit for peace on many fronts. . . . We have offered the complete withdrawal 

of all outside forces within 1 year. We have proposed a cease-fire under international supervision. We have offered free elections under international supervision with the Communists participating. . . . And the Saigon Government has pledged to accept the result[s]. . . . 

We have not put forth our proposals on a take-it-or-leave-it basis. . . . We have declared that 

anything is negotiable except the right of the people of South Vietnam to determine their 

own future.

[Nixon’s “plan” appears overwhelmingly reasonable and sophisticated, effectively contrasting the “peacemaker” with the stubborn and uncooperative Communists. It was a somewhat gross mischaracterization, however. Everything was “not negotiable.” Hanoi and 

Nixon were operating from two distinct, mutually exclusive premises. Despite his overtures 

for “peace and negotiation,” Nixon’s plan rested on the premise that he could, through 

greater force and diplomatic maneuvering, pressure Hanoi to capitulate with the very same 
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terms that Johnson pursued. Hanoi, for its part, would not negotiate “under duress,” and 

therefore bombing them to the negotiating table remained a nonstarter. Nixon then details 

his extensive efforts that started even before his inauguration and highlights the role of the 

Soviets and China. He then punctuates Hanoi’s stubbornness by relaying his interchange 

with Ho Chi Minh, giving himself credit for making extensive efforts for peace and stating 

that Ho Chi Minh “flatly rejected my initiative.” Nixon proceeds to outline his strategy.] 

I laid down in Guam three principles. . . . First, the United States will keep all of its treaty 

commitments. Second, we shall provide a shield if a nuclear power threatens the freedom of a nation allied with us. . . . Third, in cases involving other types of aggression, we 

shall furnish military and economic assistance.

[Nixon explains his principles of de-Americanization and Vietnamization, purporting that 

both are already yielding results.]

The policy of the previous administration not only resulted in our assuming the primary 

responsibility for fighting the war, but even more significantly did not adequately stress 

the goal of strengthening the South Vietnamese. . . . In July . . . I changed General 

[Creighton] Abrams’s orders so that they were consistent with the objectives of our new 

policies. . . . Our air operations have been reduced by 20 percent[, and] . . . we are finally 

bringing American men home. . . . The South Vietnamese have continued to gain in 

strength. . . . Enemy infiltration . . . is less than 20 percent of what it was over the same 

period last year . . . [, and] United States casualties have declined . . . to the lowest point 

in 3 years.

[Nixon’s estimations greatly oversimplified and exaggerated the progress being made on the 

ground and gave the nation the false impression that, under his leadership, the war was just 

about won. That the United States would suffer an additional 30,000 casualties before the end 

is a stark testament to the extent of Nixon’s misrepresentation of the direction the war was 

taking. Though he cautions that some “flexibility” may be required going forward, he hammers 

home the notion that he is taking the strong but “peaceful” route.]

Fifty years ago, in this room and at this very desk, President Woodrow Wilson spoke 

words which caught the imagination of a war-weary world. He said: “This is the war to 

end war.” His dream for peace after World War I was shattered. . . . Tonight I do not tell 

you that the war in Vietnam is the war to end wars. But I do say this: I have initiated a 

plan which will end this war in a way that will bring us closer to that great goal . . . the 

goal of a just and lasting peace.101

The allusion to Wilson was a particularly deft way to paint himself as the 

“peacemaker.” Nixon also wove images of American exceptionalism into the 

speech and pledged to uphold the historic virtues of his country. He appealed 

to the “silent majority,” insisting that he wanted peace as much as they did. 

Above all, Nixon vowed that he could preserve America’s honor and resolve 

Vietnam in a way that would distinguish himself from his predecessors. Longing for peace and eager for resolution both abroad and at home, the American 

people wanted to believe that Nixon could extricate them from Vietnam, and 

Nixon played to these desires.102 The American public, however, had pinned 

its hopes for a quiet and honorable peace on a man who not only had a dark 

side but also often embraced it. 
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The Utility of Madness

The situation Nixon faced in Vietnam was not too dissimilar from that 

which the French confronted nearly two decades before.103 The difference was 

that the French were trying to reclaim and maintain a physical empire while 

Nixon’s challenge was preserving an empire of the mind where America’s 

prestige was the coin of the realm. To that end, he believed he could capitalize 

on his more sinister side and use the “bearded Nixon” as a way to coerce his 

adversaries. In the domestic political arena he let his darker shade operate 

behind the scenes, but he felt that to be effective on the international stage, he 

would have to bring the ugliness into the light. Gerald Astor comments that 

Lyndon Johnson “justly earned a reputation for manipulating and shading the 

truth” and that Nixon was equally “adept” at such management of people and 

facts. What set Nixon apart, however, was that “he also sought by devious 

means to tweak minds.”104 Richard Reeves points out that Nixon often relished 

press coverage and perceptions that painted him as unpredictable, strong, and 

even a little mad.105 Nixon “believed there was an advantage in persuading 

adversaries, foreign and domestic, that there was something irrational about 

him, that he was a dangerous man capable of any retaliation, up to and including the use of nuclear weapons.”106

Jeffrey Kimball’s extensive review of source materials led him to the conclusion that while there was no “smoking gun” with regard to Nixon ever using 

the term “madman theory,” there was enough evidence to surmise that Nixon 

believed in and cultivated its tenets.107 In A Grand Delusion, Robert Mann 

quotes a conversation between Nixon and Haldeman: “I want the North Vietnamese to believe I’ve reached the point where I might do anything to stop 

the war. We’ll just slip the word to them that, ‘for God’s sake, you know Nixon 

is obsessed about Communism. We can’t restrain him when he’s angry—and 

he has his hand on the nuclear button’—and Ho Chi Minh himself will be in 

Paris in two days begging for peace.”108 The conversation reveals that Nixon 

deliberately cultivated and sought to utilize the “madman myth” while also 

recognizing his crusade against Communism as a political expediency. 

Ironically, Nixon was actually often excruciatingly rational and calculating.

According to former members of the JCS and his staff, Nixon ran the security 

council like a board meeting and never “made a decision on the spot.”109

Nixon once revealed at a press conference that his father told him that he 

would have to “scratch it out” to make something of himself because there 

was no way he could “get by on his looks.”110 Nixon had learned, however, not 

only how to compensate for his “looks” but also how to exploit them. He was 

extremely calculating as to which face he showed to whom and when. As long 
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as the different realities and different Nixons he purported remained separate, 

his calculations were generally successful. Even after his fall and for years after 

Watergate, his version of history was widely accepted and influential, albeit 

not comprehensively so. Within the context of the Vietnam War, however, the 

many shades of Nixon inevitably cropped up. Nixon believed in the uncertainty principle, drawing on lessons from Berlin and the use and threat of 

force throughout history. He admired Eisenhower’s massive-retaliation strategy 

and thought madness had its merits. As he took the reins of America’s military might, he was both the “old” and the “new” Nixon, reframing himself as 

he sought to reframe America’s longest war. While drinking with an associate 

in 1964, Nixon revealed why he sought the presidency: “Because I know the 

f[------] Commie mind. But they don’t know mine. I really think I could do 

something. I really believe I could make a contribution to peace.”111 America 

and the world were about to learn some things, both about Nixon’s “mind” 

and his “peace.” 

The Hammer of Peace

For over 15 years, “Nixon had consistently taken belligerent positions on 

the war in Vietnam, usually advocating more militant strategies than Presidents Eisenhower, Kennedy, and Johnson.”112 His concentration of power in 

the executive branch, penchant for action, and determination to win meant 

that his darker side would not remain long subdued. Kissinger wrote in Diplomacy that Nixon had “exceeded” the tolerances of the Democrats’ “dove platform” within nine months of taking office.113 Nixon believed his military and 

diplomatic plan would bear quick fruit and became frustrated when that did 

not happen. He imagined the conflict in Vietnam not just as a national conflict but as a personal challenge from Hanoi, Moscow, Beijing, the Cambodian 

rebels, the Vietcong, and his critics at home. Roger Morris said Nixon believed that his adversaries were “testing his mettle.”114 Sensing that both his 

and his nation’s character and will were being tested, Nixon was determined 

that the enemy should know that neither the United States nor its president 

could be intimidated. 

In the summer of 1970, Nixon demonstrated his and his nation’s resolve in 

an act that marked a departure from his predecessor’s policies and the “new 

Vietnam War” he had described in the spring. Nixon had been secretly bombing supply routes in Cambodia since 1969. By 1970 his frustration with the 

war led him to openly send waves of B-52s against suspected sanctuaries in 

Cambodia. The air raids were followed by American and South Vietnamese 

ground teams. The decision to “invade” Cambodia was made in private. He 
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told only Kissinger of the decision beforehand, revealing what was dubbed 

Operation Menu to the State and Defense Departments only after the forces 

were already en route.115 Nixon did discuss the possibility of a Cambodia 

operation with his other principals, but they were not receptive to the idea of 

using US troops for the operation. Haldeman’s diary entries from this period 

are telling. At one point, a frustrated Nixon declared, “Damn Johnson, if he’d 

just done the right thing we wouldn’t be in this mess now.”116 In typical Nixon 

fashion, the president bypassed protests from the secretary of defense and 

others. Nixon communicated directly with General Abrams, who was convinced that sanctuaries in Cambodia were critical to Hanoi’s war effort. Besides Abrams, Kissinger was the most in favor of the president’s operation, 

and Haldeman noted that his support was as much about demonstrating 

Nixon’s authority as it was about any potential mission.117

Despite the protests, Nixon committed to the Cambodian operation. Morris 

and several other staffers resigned over the president’s decision. By the time 

Nixon “briefed” Congress, “he did not tell his audience that . . . the bombers 

were already on their way.” The administration also schemed and “faked the 

paperwork detailing the targeting objectives,” and Kissinger insisted that 

Cambodia was not “neutral” because “as many as four North divisions operated from within that country with impunity.”118 Kennedy had expanded US 

counterinsurgency missions and resources, and Johnson had exercised covert 

operations. Starting in 1967 and under the code name Daniel Boone, special 

teams of Americans and local Vietnamese mercenaries repeatedly crossed 

into Cambodia to gather intelligence on North Vietnamese positions, material, and resources.119 The difference in the spring of 1970 was that Menu was 

conducted in the public’s eye and contrasted sharply with the image of Vietnam that the president had so diligently cultivated. International and domestic audiences were shocked, and waves of protest erupted across the country. 

Nixon attempted to assuage the public’s consternation in a speech delivered 

on 30 April 1970. 

The president reminded his audience that he had reserved the right to remain flexible in ending the Vietnam War and had stated unequivocally that 

he “would not hesitate to take strong and effective measures” if the Communists remained obstinate.120

For the past 5 years . . . North Vietnam has occupied military sanctuaries all along the 

Cambodian frontier. . . . These Communist occupied territories contain major base 

camps, training sites, logistics facilities, weapons and ammunition factories, airstrips, 

and prisoner-of-war compounds. For 5 years, neither the United States nor South Vietnam has moved against these . . . sanctuaries because we did not wish to violate the territory of a neutral nation. . . . In contrast to our policy, the enemy in the past 2 weeks has 
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stepped up his guerrilla actions. . . . Cambodia, as a result of this, has sent out a call to 

the United States . . . for assistance.121

In response to Nixon’s claims, Cornell University professor George Kahin was 

asked by members of Congress to “fact-check” the president.122 Kahin pointed 

out that the United States had been involved to varying degrees in clandestine 

activity in Cambodia since the 1954 Geneva Convention: “For most of the last 

15 years the U.S. has opposed Cambodian neutrality and applied various 

kinds of pressure to get it to assume an anti-Communist stance in alignment 

with American policy objectives.”123 Kahin also noted that the International 

Control Commission had evidence for more than 760 incursions into Cambodia by South Vietnamese forces between 1964 and 1965.124 The professor’s 

paper concludes, “It is appalling for the Administration to define the legitimacy of President Nixon’s act strictly in terms of American law and precedent. Cambodia is a sovereign state. Since the U.S. acted without consulting 

its government, our invasion is a violation of international law.”125

Kahin’s observations are telling but must still be considered within the 

political context. Nixon was not the only president to end-run formalities and 

international law or to bend the truth, and he certainly would not be the last. 

The effectiveness of Operation Menu is debatable, but from a military strategic 

standpoint, the principles were sound. Airpower, combined with both covert 

and overt ground operations, played a critical and effective role in dampening 

Hanoi’s war effort.126 According to Brig Gen Tran Dinh Tho, limitations placed 

on Nixon’s Cambodian incursion as well as its timing in the war resulted in 

“little more than a temporary disruption of North Vietnam’s march toward 

domination of all of Laos, Cambodia, and South Vietnam.”127 Furthermore, 

Nixon’s critics could only gain from disparaging his policies, so while the 

“facts” used to lambast the Cambodian campaign were “true,” they were not 

necessarily untainted by ulterior motives. Johnson once characterized the 

presidency as akin to being a jackass in the rain—all you could do was stand 

there and take it. Certainly, the criticism lobbed at Nixon over Cambodia can 

be partially explained as simply paying the price for holding the nation’s highest 

office. But such an explanation is incomplete. Nixon was lying. Furthermore, 

the future he painted for his presidency, the war, and the country contrasted 

sharply with his actions and policies. 

America had little tolerance for any more dissonance over Vietnam policies, 

and the administration’s honeymoon was over. The ugly king stood revealed, 

and the nation went looking for razors to shave the darkness from Nixon’s 

face. Nixon said in his 30 April speech that he would “rather be a one-term 

President and do what I believe is right than to be a two-term President at the 
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cost of seeing America become a second-rate power.”128 Whether Nixon truly 

would have martyred himself for a policy is debatable, but his presidency was 

at risk from the firestorm that ensued following his actions in Cambodia. He 

only added fuel to the fire when during a press conference he offhandedly 

comforted a veteran’s wife by calling her husband a “hero” and the antiwar 

protestors “bums.”129 Vietnam was now “Nixon’s War,” and his America was 

cleanly divided, from his perspective, into heroes and bums. Sixteen months 

into his presidency, he still enjoyed support for his war effort, but he had very 

effectively exacerbated divisions at home. The tragic and violent protests at 

Kent State and Jackson State were two of more than 800 sit-ins and demonstrations that rocked the country in the spring and summer of 1970. Nixon 

was butting up against the new “new generation” that perceived things quite 

differently than did the president.

When Nixon talked of “peace,” “success,” and American “values,” those 

words held dissimilar connotations for those who were against the war than 

they did for him. Internal memorandums meant to explain the riots of 1970 

mentioned several key factors. First, whereas Nixon imagined a peace that 

involved a self-determinant and American-friendly Vietnam, students imagined peace to mean the immediate end to killing.130 Second, success for the 

administration meant a tempered and orderly withdrawal from Vietnam 

while protestors envisioned an immediate dissolution of US involvement in 

an “immoral” war.131 Third, Nixon’s conceptualization of winning and of overcoming the “deep divisions” pivoted on what the emergent generation of 

Americans perceived as an archaic and obstructive worldview.132 Kenneth 

Boulding reminds us that perceptions are reality and that in the minds of 

young Americans, Cold War constructs and notions of “national honor” artificially divided and corrupted their reality.133 It was not that the new generation was unconcerned about national honor. Rather, it believed that Nixon 

had to end the war immediately to preserve the nation’s values while the president believed he had to hammer out an acceptable peace, or the nation would 

lose face. Many believed that the means Nixon considered necessary to win 

that acceptable peace were costing America her honor. In short, the president 

and those who opposed his policies were proceeding from “vastly different 

assumptions,” and this clash of worldviews played out across the campuses 

and on the airwaves.134

The domestic strife created a “bunker mentality” for the White House. Embittered by his critics, Nixon continued to characterize them as thugs—often 

blaming protestors and the press for the war’s length and difficulty.135 He created 

an “enemies list” and constantly pushed his staff to keep an eye on the press 

and exert pressure on it. Nixon’s staff commented that “going to work felt like 
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going to war with the press.”136 When the Pentagon Papers broke in the New 

York Times, Nixon was furious and felt that his worse fears had been confirmed. 

Dr. Daniel Ellsberg, who had participated in Nixon’s 1968 RAND study on 

Vietnam, released top-secret documents to the New York Times that revealed 

the inconsistencies and subterfuge of American Vietnam policies.137 Though 

the information in the Pentagon Papers predated his administration, Nixon 

worried that an inquisitive press would only be emboldened by the study and 

start scratching harder at his own policies—threatening his mystique. He 

formed a group of private detectives known as “the plumbers,” using them to 

harass and investigate potential troublemakers. Those who found themselves 

on the enemies list would be barred from the White House or come under immediate scrutiny by the Internal Revenue Service. In a move that was a prelude 

to Watergate, Nixon ordered his heavies to break into the office of Dr. Lewis 

Fielding, Ellsberg’s psychiatrist.138 Fielding had been called to testify, and 

Nixon wanted dirt on Ellsberg that could be used to discredit him. 

The extent and range of Nixon’s shadowy activities that led to Watergate 

and the subsequent cover-up are well known and fill volumes beyond their 

treatment here. Nixon attacked adversaries he faced in politics as ruthlessly as 

those he faced on the battlefield, and he was willing to use any means at his 

disposal to achieve victory. His ambivalence toward rivals and authority figures 

and the vehemence with which he attacked those who opposed him were 

manifested in the agendas and outcomes of his presidency and in Vietnam.139

How he perceived the institutions he ruled affected not only how he treated 

them but also how he conducted and applied his power. As the political controversy started to heat up at home, Nixon looked for ways to end the war in 

Vietnam and secure his presidency and legacy. 

Prior to the escapades with Ellsberg’s psychiatrist and well before the 1972 

election, Nixon turned his eye on Laos and viewed a potential operation there 

as a way to validate South Vietnam’s forces while disrupting Hanoi’s war effort. 

Code-named Lam Son 719, the bold, slashing attack would cut a swath into 

North Vietnam’s critical logistics line along Route 9 west of Khe Sanh.140 The 

aggressive plan would use American airpower to soften the lines for elite 

South Vietnamese ground forces. Its shortcoming, however, was its failure to 

consider “Vietnamese realities” by overestimating the capabilities of South 

Vietnamese forces and underestimating the North’s commitment to protecting its logistics.141 Militarily, Lam Son 719 put the South’s forces in a situation 

for which they were not prepared. Additionally, South Vietnamese president 

Thieu had issued orders to halt the attack “when casualties reached 3,000,” 

thereby blunting any hope of speed and momentum.142 The premature and 

uncoordinated nature of Lam Son 719 resulted in a rout of the South Vietnamese 
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forces, and the shortcomings of Nixon’s allies were revealed—thus undermining a 

key pillar of his strategic plan.143 Bureaucratic complications and commandand-control problems plagued the South Vietnamese army, exacerbating gaps 

in its military capabilities and amplifying the communication and coordination problems with US forces.144

Lam Son 719 “changed the trajectory of the war,” leaving lasting impressions with Nixon and the North Vietnamese.145 In the White House Years, 

Kissinger describes Lam Son 719: “The operation, conceived in doubt and 

assailed by skepticism, proceeded in confusion. It soon became apparent that 

the plans on which we had been so eloquently and frequently briefed reflected 

staff exercises, not military reality.”146 The abject failure of the Laos operation 

reinforced Nixon’s predilections and his image of the CIA and of the military. 

He believed that both institutions lacked the kind of creative leadership necessary to win the war. “As you know,” Nixon wrote in a 10 May 1972 memo to 

Kissinger, “I have very little confidence in the CIA insofar as in developing 

programs that are imaginative. . . . I just have a feeling that they are more 

interested in numbers.”147 In another memo to Kissinger a few days later, 

Nixon conveyed, “I do not pretend to have any knowledge or experience 

whatever in military matters. But I do know that military men generally are 

noted for the courage and loyalty of their character and notorious for the 

plodding mediocrity of their strategy and tactics.”148 As the war progressed, 

Nixon became increasingly convinced that the peace he sought would require 

his strong hand and leadership. “The [---]damned Air Force has to take some 

[---]damned risks,” Nixon complained, “just like they did during the Battle of 

the Bulge in World War II.”149

Like Johnson, Nixon thus took tighter control of the military. Nixon, 

though, was prepared to unleash a much fuller spectrum of American fury on 

the North Vietnamese and their allies. He said during a conversation in the 

White House, “I don’t think anybody realizes how far I am prepared to go to 

save this. . . . We have no option but to win this. . . . Whatever is necessary to 

stop this thing has to be done.”150 As Nixon revved up the US military machine, 

he worked secret negotiations with the North Vietnamese through Kissinger 

in Paris. When negotiations stalled in the fall of 1971, Nixon told Kissinger, 

“They’ve got to fear that in some way I’m going to do a hell of a lot more.”151

Nixon simultaneously blended hard-line diplomacy and stepped-up military 

operations, believing that the Nixon myth could coerce North Vietnam and 

change relationships among the great powers. In a conversation with Chinese 

prime minister Zhou Enlai, Kissinger pivoted on Nixon’s mystique: 

I would like to make one other U.S. domestic political point. The only president who 

could conceivably do what I am discussing with you is President Nixon. Other political 
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leaders might use more honeyed words but would be destroyed by what is called the 

China lobby in the U.S. if they ever tried to move even partially in the direction which I 

have described to you. President Nixon, precisely because his political support comes 

from the Center and right of Center, cannot be attacked from that direction, and won’t 

be attacked by the Left in a policy of moving toward a friendship with the People’s Republic of China.152

Nixon was building toward his 1972 summit with China and using Peking 

as a way to gain leverage against the Soviet Union, which he could then use to 

pressure North Vietnam. White House staffers said that Nixon reveled in the 

“great-power game,” and he strategically linked China, Russia, and Vietnam 

as a way to triangulate and overcome his enemies. In the spring of 1972, Kissinger 

made it clear to Soviet ambassador Dobrynin that North Vietnam was launching large-scale attacks “armed 90 percent with Soviet-made weapons.”153 Recalling the exchange and the meetings that followed, Dobrynin said that it 

was obvious “the Nixon administration was attempting to draw Moscow into 

the diplomatic game with Vietnam.”154 Having visited China in February, 

Nixon was working toward a summit in Moscow; escalation in Vietnam 

threatened to thwart his efforts. The American president could not appear 

weak and had to respond to the North’s military action, but his ultimate goal 

of building a larger peace and better relations with his more formidable allies 

hung in the balance. After much haranguing and maneuvering, “the final verdict 

of the Politburo was to go ahead with the summit, because its members 

recognized that the alternative would amount to handing Hanoi a veto over 

our relations with America.”155

The Soviets’ decision to go ahead with the summit illuminates a larger 

point with regard to the Nixon administration. American policy, as Nixon 

lamented, had effectively come under siege in Vietnam during the Johnson 

administration. Though Vietnam continued under Nixon to bind politics 

both at home and abroad, Nixon’s reframing of the context within which he 

viewed Vietnam was liberating. Kennedy had pushed Vietnam to the front 

lines of the Cold War. Johnson folded Vietnam back into his domestic policy, 

where it became a gravity-well to his Great Society, foreign policy, and presidency. On Nixon’s turn, he reelevated the Cold War but did so while he recalibrated some of the critical American assumptions of the past. Instead of seeking to stamp out Communism carte blanche, Nixon worked to find seams 

where both the Soviets and the United States could find mutual interests and 

benefit. This thawing allowed the subjugation of Vietnam to larger US and 

Soviet interests. Dobrynin’s description of this evolution in Cold War policies 

is particularly salient: “It consolidated the policy of peaceful coexistence and 

opened the way to promoting our relations with the United States, notwithstanding 
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our ideological differences . . . and our commitment to the dogma of ‘international solidarity’ with the ‘victims of imperialism.’ That was probably the 

first time that ideological considerations gave way to common sense.”156

As Nixon worked China and Russia to exert pressure on North Vietnam, 

he also shocked Hanoi with vigorous assaults on its war effort. Hanoi had 

grown confident after Lam Son 719 and foresaw an opportunity to crush resistance in the South. In the spring of 1972, Hanoi launched the Easter Offensive, believing that it could simultaneously foment uprisings in the South’s 

countryside while taking up strategic positions with its conventional forces in 

urban areas. Against the advice of both Defense Secretary Melvin Laird and 

General Abrams, Nixon responded with a furious air campaign code-named 

Linebacker. “With Kissinger encouraging him to signal to the enemy” that he 

had lost his mind, “Nixon’s purpose was to psychologically shock the other 

side while damaging its logistical capabilities.”157 In discussing the operation, 

Nixon said, 

Under no circumstances can I, with all the things I believe, fail to use the total power of 

this office—with the exception of nuclear weapons, that I cannot do, unless it’s necessary. . . . 

The power of this office [is] to see that the United States does not lose [to] put it quite 

bluntly. Now, I’m being quite precise. South Vietnam may lose, but the United States 

cannot lose. It means whatever happens in South Vietnam, we are going to cream North 

Vietnam. . . . So I’ve determined . . . that for once we’ve got to use the maximum power 

of the country against a s-it-ass---- country to win the war.158

To that end, the objectives for Linebacker included mining Haiphong Harbor 

as well as conducting aggressive strikes against railroads; key command-andcontrol facilities; storage, support, and transshipment areas; and enemy defenses.159 The lowest priority was assigned to enemy defenses because Nixon 

wanted to make Hanoi hurt. He also wanted to ensure that the campaign distinguished itself from Johnson’s gradualism, directing the military to “bomb 

those bastards like they’ve never been bombed before.”160

The North Vietnamese launched the Easter Offensive as part of a “strategic 

offensive posture in South Vietnam to defeat the American ‘Vietnamization 

policy,’ gain a decisive victory in 1972, and force the U.S. imperialists to negotiate 

an end to the war from a position of defeat.”161 The politburo hoped to quickly 

overrun resistance in the South and banked on the Vietcong successfully rallying the people in the South toward revolution. Hanoi was somewhat taken 

aback by the savagery of Nixon’s response: “The war against the Americans 

became very complicated in all areas: military, political, and diplomatic. Our 

armed forces [confronted] . . . the two most powerful, modern armed services 

of the U.S. imperialists. The fighting during the summer of 1972 was arduous 

and savage in North and South Vietnam and on the battlefields of Laos.”162
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Nixon’s use of airpower was effective in blunting the North’s offensive, but 

airpower could not fully root out and destroy the entire critical, albeit lowtech, infrastructure that Hanoi depended on. Even though the United States 

wielded forces armed with the most modern technology available, North 

Vietnam’s sheer manpower and commitment—often shaded under dense 

jungle canopies—defied America’s efforts. Also at play was Hanoi’s commitment to “continue the strategic offensive in South Vietnam . . . and to reach, 

no matter what the cost, the strategic goals that we had set forward.”163 In 

short, Hanoi was willing to accept whatever Nixon dished out and endured 

the long, painful struggle. North Vietnam was “probably the most thoroughly 

mobilized society in humankind’s long and violent history. The government 

was able to turn every element of national power toward its ends.”164 By 1973 

North Vietnamese imports from China were reduced by 40 percent, and Hanoi 

had lost 70 percent of its power grid.165 Movement of men and materiel along 

the Ho Chi Minh Trail had actually increased, however, and Hanoi gained 

position for its forces throughout South Vietnam. 

Perhaps recognizing Nixon’s tenuous position at home, the North calculated that continued direct confrontation with the United States would be 

both costly and unnecessary. Nixon won reelection decisively in 1972, but the 

Watergate scandal was percolating, and he faced growing opposition from 

Congress and the public. Just as he had arranged every means at his disposal 

to throw at Hanoi, so had Nixon gone “all in” during his reelection campaign. 

Besides the now notorious break-ins of 1972 and the subsequent cover-up, 

Nixon had undermined the Republican Party by selfishly hoarding the war 

chest for his reelection.166 As a result, the Democrats swept back in control of 

the House and Senate. A famous picture of Nixon on the eve of his victory 

shows him brooding and melancholy. Despite his reelection, he knew that the 

resurgence of the Democrats would undermine his rule and rightly anticipated their vigorous investigation of Watergate. The confluence of Nixon’s 

bombing campaign, his triangular diplomacy, and perhaps a prescient understanding of the American political system inspired Hanoi to sue for peace in 

the fall of 1973. 

The 1973 Paris Accords proceeded under several preliminary conditions. 

First, the Thieu government, southern neutralists, and the Vietcong would 

form a “tripartite electoral commission.”167 Hanoi agreed to let Thieu remain 

in office so long as the Communist Party was afforded representation. A 

cease-fire would also be in place on all sides. The process leading up to the 

accords actually started in 1972. Haldeman describes the plan worked out by 

Kissinger and the North Vietnamese: 
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Henry started to outline the agreement from his secret red folder [and] made the point 

that we got a much better deal by far than we had expected. The net effect is that it leaves 

Thieu in office. We get a stand-in-place cease-fire on October 30 or 31. They have to agree 

to work together to set up a Council of National Concord and Reconciliation, but any 

action by this council has to be by unanimous vote, so it can’t effectively hurt Thieu. . . . 

The cease-fire would be followed by a complete withdrawal of troops within 60 days and 

a return of the POWs within 60 days. We’d have everything done by the end of the year.168

The Nixon administration was quite satisfied with the conditions, but President Thieu was not. The biggest breakthrough of the preliminary deal was 

that Hanoi relented on its insistence that Thieu would have to be removed 

from power. Thieu believed that leaving North Vietnamese forces in place and 

affording the Communist Party a voice in his government merely delayed his 

ouster from office. We now know that Thieu was spot-on in his objections, but 

as Nixon had already made clear, the administration was concerned only with 

the United States’ victory.169 With Thieu stalling, Hanoi attempted to pressure 

the United States by broadcasting details of the draft agreement.170 Thieu became only more obstinate, and the talks in the fall of 1972 proceeded through 

a series of starts and stops, finally breaking off completely in December. Nixon 

had tried a series of carrots and sticks to coerce Thieu, promising both the 

delivery and the withholding of military and financial aid.171 Nixon wanted 

the deal that Kissinger had arranged with the North but also wanted to support his ally. Additionally, the American president had concluded that his 

vigorous bombing campaign and deft diplomatic dealings had forced Hanoi 

to the table, so he was willing to reach for his hammer once again.

It wasn’t the hoary elf who visited Christmas cheer upon Hanoi in 1972 but 

the dark-bearded and glowering American president wielding a B-52. Between 

18 and 28 December, the big bombers rained steel down on North Vietnam. 

For all the fury, there was little significance, and when talks between Le Duc 

Tho and Kissinger resumed in January, the parties arrived at essentially the 

same conditions established in October. A shift occurred regarding President 

Thieu, however. In a 17 December letter, Nixon cordially yet firmly let Thieu 

know exactly where he stood:

Over the last two months . . . I have kept you scrupulously informed of the progress of 

the negotiations. I have sought to convey to you my best judgment of what is in our 

mutual interest. I have given you every opportunity to join with me in bringing peace 

with honor to the people of South Vietnam. General Haig’s mission now represents my 

final effort to point out to you the necessity for joint action and to convey my irrevocable 

intention to proceed, preferably with your cooperation, but, if necessary, alone. . . . Let 

me emphasize . . . that General Haig is not coming to Saigon . . . [to negotiate] with you. 

The time has come for us to present a united front . . . and you must decide now whether 

you desire to continue to work together or whether you want me to seek a settlement 

with the enemy which serves U.S. interests alone.172
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Nixon knew that it would be better to have Thieu involved than not and had 

no qualms about using military power in the interim while he realigned the 

South Vietnamese president’s understanding of things. But Thieu had overplayed his hand in Nixon’s game. It was five o’clock, and the American president was hell-bent on bringing Vietnam to a close before dinner. He was more 

than willing to use the hammer of peace to do so—but it was Nixon’s hammer 

and Nixon’s peace. 

The Hollow Peace

The Peace Accords were signed in Paris on 27 January 1973. The military 

arrangement left large portions of North Vietnamese forces in place throughout Vietnam, which meant that combat after the cease-fire was “inevitable.”173

Nixon’s peace depended upon the “interlocking understandings with others 

and . . . the strategic realities of the conflict.”174 Nixon banked on his mastery 

of great-power politics to sustain the peace in Vietnam. He had won, but the 

victory thinly covered the ugly truth that in winning, he had sown the seed 

for defeat. His commitment to “win at all costs” had cost the Republican Party, 

the South Vietnamese, and his country. The decent interval of his second 

term expired before the decent interval of peace in Vietnam, but both nonetheless collapsed. Cong. John Murtha (D-PA) commented that a

president’s strength lies not in his simply being commander in chief, but in his public 

support and the perception of his power. President Richard Nixon, for instance, was 

reelected in 1972 in a 520–17 electoral vote landslide. By 1974, though . . . he was powerless. As Watergate unfolded that year, Nixon was virtually confined to the White House. 

Even as the North Vietnamese were violating the Paris Peace Accords that Nixon had 

himself secretly authorized and supervised, he could not react. . . . His approval rating in 

February was 27 percent. The weaker he became, the more the North Vietnamese ignored 

the peace agreement.175

The Vietnam War under Nixon, like his presidency, was dramatic in its 

buildup but failed to end cleanly. The slow spiral of South Vietnam and the 

cascade of indictments and corruption surrounding Nixon were corrosive.

Whether it was hiring men with his own money to rifle through psychiatrist’s files, bugging the Democratic headquarters, breaching the borders of 

sovereign nations out of his own frustration, or bombing his adversaries into 

oblivion, Nixon was willing to do whatever it took to win. Furthermore, the 

peace he wrought in Vietnam was an illusion, conjured just as much as the 

New Nixon was conjured—from an amalgam of manipulated perceptions, 

strong-arming, selfishness, misrepresentations, and lies. Nixon accomplished 

both great and terrible things. Vietnam may very well fade in the grand annals 

of history as a subtext to a larger Cold War victory, but that is for others to 
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determine. What we can know is that within the boundaries of Vietnam, the 

American victory Nixon brought came with empty promises. Americans’ 

faith in their government, the US economy, and the stature and confidence of 

America’s military was tarnished. Nixon’s victory and his presidency hung 

like a guillotine over the nation of Vietnam and over his own country. 

South Vietnamese forces and Saigon fell to a major Communist offensive 

in 1975. Called to testify after he and Pres. Gerald Ford had asked Congress 

for $722 million in US aid for South Vietnam, Kissinger was asked if America 

could do anything to prevent a Communist takeover. “There is no certain 

answer to that question,” Kissinger said. “I wish there were.”176 Commenting 

on Nixon’s achievements through détente, John Lewis Gaddis writes, “It is 

difficult to think of anything [he] could have done that would have produced 

a more dramatic shift in world power relationships of greater benefit to the 

United States. . . . For the first time since the Korean War, it was Russians, and 

not Americans, who faced rivals more determined to contain them than to 

contain each other.”177 Yet Nixon ran the country as if it were “his own preserve,” and despite his accomplishments, the shadowy aspects of his nature 

incurred costs.178

Nixon’s story reveals the limits of image. He imagined himself the peacemaker, the exceptional leader, and the architect of a new world order, but his 

vision could shape reality only so far. Just as he and Kissinger believed that 

American power had limits and just as there was no such thing as absolute 

security, so was the power of his myth limited in imposing his image upon the 

world. It is difficult to occupy and control multiple realities at once. Quarks 

might find it perfectly natural to shift readily between states, sometimes even 

choosing after the fact where they’ve been and how they got there. But for 

people, it’s not so easy. Presidents’ histories are sticky, even dubious, and can 

serve as anchor and catapult, friend and foe. Nixon, perhaps more than others, 

was especially attuned to his dual-sided nature, both light and dark. He suppressed each when necessary, but he also embraced and nurtured them. In the 

end, he did succeed where others had failed, but he never was quite able to 

create the reality he desired. Nixon the villain won out, and out of his fear of 

persecution he behaved in ways that guaranteed his prosecution. He succumbed to the very five o’clock shadow that threatened, won, sustained, and 

lost his presidency. That same shadow dimmed what was a new dawn in the 

Cold War and obscured the peace so that the country felt not so much honored 

as hollow and deceived. 
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On Image, Nixon, and Inheritance

The next chapter presents broader conclusions, but since Nixon rounds out 

the slice of Vietnam examined by this study, it is appropriate to hint at some 

of our findings. Nixon effectively redefined the Vietnam problem for the 

United States, but in reframing it, he only delayed the outcomes seeded by 

Kennedy and Johnson. Nixon’s presidency makes an interesting case for the 

study of images, agendas, and outcomes because Nixon vehemently believed 

in the power of myth and dedicated so much time developing and exploiting 

his own. Ultimately, however, even a president is somewhat bound by structural forces, and while myth is indeed powerful, it is often only temporarily 

so. This is particularly true in the case of Nixon because not only was his own 

self-image swirling with competing shades and contradictions but also his 

emphasis on winning meant that his presidential image sought expediency 

over substance. Commenting on Kissinger and Nixon, Kimball states that 

“neither was a hollow man in the sense of lacking convictions about society, 

politics, economics, or diplomacy, but both were pragmatically flexible in response to circumstances. They also seemed to lack moral compunctions about 

using unethical means to achieve their ends and were ruthless players in the 

arena of power and politics.”179

Flexibility is an important trait in a president. This study has often asserted 

that rigid belief structures bound decision makers and prevented them from 

seeing the “world as it is” or at least from seeing it more clearly. Yet Nixon 

demonstrates that the converse is also true. Latching onto victory is a valid 

philosophy, and we wouldn’t want our presidents to shy away from winning. 

But there is a point at which the object presidents seek to win is surpassed by 

the aim of winning, and Nixon exemplifies this fact. Beliefs need to be underwritten by more than just “success” if they are to hold together and sustain 

themselves effectively through the course of policy. Despite the sometimes 

amorphous nature of assertions made by presidents, they and their nation 

often vigorously pursue the vision described in them. It is important, then, 

that such visions find at least some bedrock in morality and purpose beyond 

simply achieving them. 

The totality of the Vietnam War cannot be laid at Nixon’s feet. But his policies 

there, as well as the direction in which he took the war and his country, do 

reflect his presidential image. Whether we believe Nixon’s center was hollow, 

shaded, or both, how he ended Vietnam is at once an expression of the man 

and of the Vietnam War. For all the sound and fury leading up to the 1973 

Peace Accords, the ending for the United States was more whisper and whimper 

than bang. Vietnam started and ended ambiguously. From Eisenhower’s 
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inchoate policies to Kennedy’s covert investment with broad commitments to 

Johnson’s quiet slide, Nixon’s turn to the “decent interval” merely continued 

the confusion that surrounded America’s longest war. How wars begin may 

very well determine how they end. Wars that start muddled will most likely 

end so. Such wars make for a sticky inheritance and can taper in their endings 

as surreptitiously and insidiously as they snowball in their beginnings, lingering and haunting the halls of power long after the reports of rifles have ceased 

and the helicopters have left. 

Notes

1. During a trip to Russia, for instance, Nixon confronted Khrushchev in an impromptu 

televised debate. 

2. Espar, “Quest,” DVD, min. 42–45. Nixon’s television adviser had tried to tell the vice president that his skin had a “translucent quality,” but Nixon was adamantly against wearing makeup. 

3. Ibid., transcript, quoted from a Nixon 1968 campaign speech. 

4. Ibid. 

5. Ibid., DVD, min. 44.

6. Ibid., quoted from a 7 November 1962 press conference. 

7. Nixon made clear he had no intention of running in 1964 prior to his run for governor 

of California and reiterated that assertion after Kennedy was assassinated. He believed that 

Kennedy would easily hold the White House for eight years; after JFK was assassinated, Nixon 

also believed that the mood of the country was such that Johnson would easily win reelection. 

8. Espar, “Quest,” transcript.

9. Multiple press releases, biographies, and scholarly works use the term New Nixon to 

describe him at multiple points in his political career. 

10. The Nixon mythology/myth is explained throughout this chapter. Summarized, it consists of a blended story line that marries romantic American and classic European motifs but 

that also infuses the heroic archetypes with distinctive leadership values deriving from Nixon’s 

own perception of what makes leaders great. Nixon romanticized his heritage and deemed 

himself as possessing the same qualities that distinguished men like Winston Churchill, 

Charles de Gaulle, and Joseph Stalin. 

11. Espar, “Quest,” transcript.

12. Nixon, “Asia after Vietnam,” 111–25. 

13. Ibid., 123–24. Nixon urges “containment without isolation” with regard to China and 

states that “there is no room for heavy-handed American pressures” in Asia’s future. Nixon illuminates the “failed” policies in Vietnam as well as the cold realities of a surging Russia and China 

but does so in a tempered manner, thereby promoting himself as a “middle of the road” realist 

with vision and answers (ibid.). 

14. Espar, “Quest,” DVD, min. 63–64. Humphrey referenced Nixon’s political campaigns 

for the House and Senate as well as his makeovers in the 1952 and 1960 elections. Humphrey 

also reminded everyone that Nixon had reinvented himself in 1962 and 1964. 

15. After Nixon was selected as vice president, accusations arose that he had received illegal 

contributions from a group of wealthy businessmen. Though the allegations ultimately proved 

false, the scandal threatened Nixon’s remaining on Eisenhower’s ticket. In response, Nixon 
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conducted a television address that was the first of its kind—bypassing the press and going directly to the American people. In what was later named the “Checkers speech,” Nixon appealed to 

the public and insisted on his innocence. Nixon portrayed himself as a “regular Joe,” making 

several references to his dog, Checkers. Critics viewed Nixon as extremely manipulative. 

16. Adlai Stevenson, quoted in Espar, “Quest,” DVD, min. 42. 

17. Here we borrow from Jeffrey Kimball’s discussion of the role of mythology in Nixon’s 

political career (Nixon’s Vietnam War, 1–15). 

18. Morris, Richard Milhous Nixon, 41.

19. Kimball, Nixon’s Vietnam War, 7.

20. Nixon, Leaders, 1–6. In the first chapter of Leaders, Nixon describes “leaders who 

changed the world” and lists many of these qualities. Adamant over the differences between 

“management and leadership,” Nixon felt that all great leaders who “changed the world” had 

overlapping characteristics (ibid.). See also Kimball, Nixon’s Vietnam War, 5–6. 

21. Haldeman, Haldeman Diaries. In several instances, Haldeman notes Nixon’s disapproval of Kissinger’s more relaxed morays. 

22. Kimball, Nixon’s Vietnam War, 7.

23. Espar, “Quest,” DVD, min. 8–9.

24. Kimball, Nixon’s Vietnam War, 6–7.

25. Quoted in Fallaci, Interview with History, from his interview with Henry Kissinger, 29, 

41–42. Kissinger and Nixon have been dubbed by some historians as “Nixinger,” and while the 

two came from disparate backgrounds and couldn’t have been more different in many ways, 

they also shared core images of the world. Gerald Astor notes that Kissinger “admired AustriaHungary’s Crown Prince Metternich” and the success the prince had at bringing nearly “fifty 

years of peace to Europe [through] balance of power negotiations.” Astor also observes that 

Kissinger was apparently undisturbed by the prince’s arrangement, which “oppressed millions 

and sowed the seeds of World War I” (ibid., 145). Nixon also looked outward to the broader 

international stage and was very much aligned with Machiavelli’s notion that fear and hate 

were much more useful to leaders than love. Whatever the disparity between the two leaders, 

the myths and images of Nixon and Kissinger intertwined to form Nixon’s presidential image. 

26. Espar, “Quest,” DVD, min. 3–7, 10. 

27. Kimball, Nixon’s Vietnam War, 1. According to Kimball, Nixon said, “What an individual does is irrelevant to his ability to lead; the whole point is how he does it” (ibid.).

28. Nixon, In the Arena, 329–30.

29. Espar, “Quest,” transcript. Nixon’s cousin recalled the president as a boy standing on a 

stump and “campaigning” for different policies and presidents. Haldeman’s diaries and numerous 

biographers recount Nixon’s obsession with perceptions and his calculations for developing his 

mystique. Kimball also observes that Nixon was “remembered as a perpetual office seeker who 

was sanctimonious in references to his own behavior but ruthless in his attack on others” (Nixon’s 

Vietnam War, 4). 

30. Quoted by Kimball in Nixon’s Vietnam War, 6. 

31. Espar, “Quest,” transcript.

32. Ibid., DVD, min. 30. Kimball also quotes Wills from Nixon Agonistes, 540. 

33. Nixon, Memoirs, 425–26 (Warner Books).

34. Ibid., 424. In No More Vietnams, Nixon also laments that “never in history has so much 

power been used so ineffectively as in the war in Vietnam” (44–45). 

35. Nixon as quoted by Kimball, Nixon’s Vietnam War, 1. 

36. Franklin J. Schaffner, dir., Patton (USA: Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation, 1970).
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37. Nixon, RN: The Memoirs, 1083–84 (Grosset & Dunlap). 

38 . Costello, Facts about Nixon, 17.

39. Roger Morris during an interview, in Espar, “Quest,” DVD, min. 74. See also Randolph, 

Powerful and Brutal Weapons, 88–92, 340–42. 

40. Sidey, “Man and Foreign Policy,” 4, 312. Numerous biographers also observe several 

instances when Nixon recalled his time in school and characterized himself as consciously trying to “appear good” even though he knew he wasn’t wholly so. He knew he was no angel, but 

what mattered was that his teachers thought so. 

41. Nixon was the junior member on the House Committee of Un-American Activities. 

Initial evidence against Hiss, who had served Roosevelt as an attorney, was shaky. Testimony by 

Whittaker Chambers indicated that Hiss had been involved in espionage. Unwilling to let the 

case go, Nixon risked his reputation by putting himself in the spotlight and pushing the investigation. Ultimately, Hiss was convicted after sensitive material was found hidden in a pumpkin 

in Hiss’s garden. The discovery of the “Pumpkin Papers,” as they came to be known, cast Nixon 

as an “iconic Communist hunter.” Espar, “Quest,” transcript.

42. Ibid., DVD, min. 19–21. 

43. Black, Richard M. Nixon, 81–84. Nixon passed out flyers titled “Facts about Jerry Voorhis” 

and during the campaign maligned his opponent’s voting record as both ineffective and supportive of Russia. 

44. As quoted in Espar, “Quest,” DVD, min. 18. 

45. Nixon was even more ruthless in his campaign against Douglas. The 1950 senate campaign between Douglas and Nixon is ranked seventh in Kerwin C. Swint’s top-25 dirtiest political 

campaigns of all time. For fuller detail on the campaign, see Greg Mitchell, Tricky Dick and the 

Pink Lady: Richard Nixon vs. Helen Gahagan Douglas—Sexual Politics and the Red Scare, 1950 

(New York: Random House, 1998). 

46. Espar, “Quest,” transcript.

47. Roger Morris during an interview (ibid., DVD, min. 28). 

48. The Truman administration was undergoing criticism at the time for the First Lady’s 

mink coat, and Nixon purposefully chose the format and subject matter to “stick it in the eye” 

of the Democrats. See Espar, “Quest,” DVD, min. 38. 

49. Black, Richard M. Nixon, 241. 

50. Quoted in Fallaci, “Henry Kissinger,” in Interview with History, 29. See also 41–42. 

51. Kimball, Nixon’s Vietnam War, 16.

52. Ibid., 30–31. In 1967 Nixon commented that “it is essential that the enemy be convinced that he cannot win the war militarily, that he cannot win it through a change in public 

opinion in the United States” (ibid., 30). Nixon asserted that the war could be won by unifying 

world opinion behind a united America. 

53. Kimball, Vietnam War Files, 10.

54. As introduced in chap. 2 of this paper, détente translates from French to mean “calm, 

relaxation, easing, but it can also mean the trigger of a gun.” In Russian, the closest term to 

détente is razriadka, meaning “lessening” or “reduction and relaxation.” Razriadka can also 

mean “discharging” or “unloading.” Détente implies a releasing of tension. The “trigger” that 

was to release tensions between the Soviet Union and the United States under Nixon was a shift 

away from policies of “absolute security” toward policies that promoted “relative security.” 

Kissinger wrote in 1957 that absolute security was not possible because for one state to be “totally satisfied,” all other states had to be “totally dissatisfied.” Therefore, Nixon’s containment 
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strategy incorporated a shared “relative insecurity” among the United States, China, and the 

Soviet Union. See Kissinger, World Restored. 

55. Kissinger, White House Years, 40–44.

56. Ibid., 11, 39–43.

57. Ibid., 1049.

58. Nixon, “Asia after Vietnam,” 121–23.

59. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 278–89. 

60. Nixon as quoted in ibid., 282.

61. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 280–84.

62. Ibid., 280. See also Nixon’s Third Annual Report to Congress on United States Foreign Policy, 

9 February 1972 (ibid., 204–5). Full report is available at The American Presidency Project, Public 

Papers of the Presidents, http://www.presidency.ucsb.edu/ws/index.php?pid=3736&st=&st1=. 

63. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 288.

64. Ibid.

65. Ibid., 287.

66. “Kennedy Administration,” CD-ROM, 170. An internal memo from 1963 discusses the 

possibility of a diplomatic “triple play” that would get the Russians out of Cuba and the United 

States out of Vietnam by using the French as intermediaries in Vietnam. Kennedy was looking for 

a policy that could exploit the convergence of US-Russian and French interests. Nixon was much 

more successful at finding the nexus of great-power interests and, through secret negotiations 

and maneuvering, leveraged Soviet interests against outcomes in Vietnam. The term triangular 

diplomacy reflects the way Nixon maneuvered these negotiations. For more reading on US-Soviet 

relations during the Nixon administration and on triangular diplomacy, see Dobrynin, In Confidence, 191–315; Randolph, Powerful and Brutal Weapons; and Kimball, Nixon’s Vietnam War. 

67. Kimball, Vietnam War Files, 48. Kimball’s book “plumbs . . . millions of documents” and 

source materials related to Nixon’s Vietnam policies (ibid., 1). For the purposes of our study, we 

draw on the source materials Kimball compiled. Unless otherwise noted, the memorandums, 

speeches, policy documents, transcripts, and archival material quoted in this chapter are drawn 

from Kimball’s compilations in Vietnam War Files, and we treat the sources as primary. Kimball’s 

work is well known, and this particular volume provides an excellent and admittedly much more 

accessible resource for locating the primary policy materials. If Kimball’s narrative or editorializing is used, it is footnoted as such. Otherwise, quotations and citations are directly from the 

source material as reprinted in Kimball’s work. Citations provide the document title followed by 

Kimball’s assigned document number and the page number in his collective volume. 

68. The handoff between Eisenhower and Kennedy on Vietnam is discussed in chap. 3 of 

this paper. See also McNamara and VanDeMark, In Retrospect, 35–37. 

69. “Vietnam Policy Alternatives,” transcript of RAND study, in Kimball, Vietnam War 

Files, doc. 2.8, 48. 

70. Ibid. Each of the possible outcomes listed includes a brief assessment of its feasibility 

and potential benefits and ways that the United States might effect them. 

71. Ibid., 49. 

72. As quoted from Nixon’s “Address to the Nation on the War in Vietnam,” 901–9. 

73. “Address to the Nation on the Situation in Southeast Asia” (televised speech, 30 April 

1970), as shown on Espar, “Quest,” DVD, min. 87. Nixon delivered this speech shortly after 

announcing the US incursion into Cambodia. 

74. Kissinger, White House Years, 65. 

75. Ibid.
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76. See Tet and the “arc of perception” in chap. 4 of this paper. 

77. “Nixon Urges U.S. to Press Attacks on North Vietnam,” New York Times, 12 February 

1965, 13.

78. Kissinger, “Viet Nam Negotiations,” 230.

79. Rose, How Wars End, 168. 

80. Kimball, Vietnam War Files, 11. Kimball defines each term: de-Americanization: “the 

gradual withdrawal of American troops”; Vietnamization: “the strengthening of Saigon’s armed 

forces and government”; pacification: “antiguerrilla operations”; and détente: “diplomacy vis-à-vis 

the Soviet Union and negotiations with the Vietnamese Communists in Paris in both public and 

secret venues” (ibid.).

81. “Vietnamizing the War,” National Security Study Memorandum 36, 10 April 1969, in 

Kimball, Vietnam War Files, doc. 3.21, 77. 

82. Ibid. 

83. “Memorandum of Conversation, Nixon and Thieu,” 30 July 1969, in Kimball, Vietnam 

War Files, doc. 3.22, 78–79. 

84. At a press conference on 25 July 1969, Nixon addressed questions concerning the future 

of Vietnam, Asia, and his policies. Nixon insisted that Asian nations should be responsible for 

defending themselves but provided a caveat that the involvement of nuclear powers changed the 

equation of self-determination. Nixon’s statement alluded to the involvement of Russia and China 

and bespoke of the interests of the United States in Vietnam. Though dubious, public perceptions 

were that Nixon had a clear strategy for the way ahead. Depending on where one sat, the Guam 

Doctrine (later renamed the Nixon Doctrine) implied either withdrawal or escalation. 

85. Kissinger, White House Years, 460.

86. Nixon, Memoirs, 427 (Warner Books).

87. Dobrynin, In Confidence, 197. Dobrynin was the Soviet ambassador to the United 

States throughout most of the Cold War, and his insights offer a unique perspective from “the 

other side.” 

88. Ibid.

89. Ibid., 256.

90. Whalen, Catch the Falling Flag, 283. 

91. Kissinger, American Foreign Policy, 255–57, 265–68. 

92. Stephen Randolph asserts that Nixon’s strategy of détente, as well as his forming and 

administering of the US government and its power, reshaped “the geostrategic landscape” and 

that “the war in Southeast Asia assumed a whole new complexion.” See Powerful and Brutal 

Weapons, 21. 

93. Astor, Presidents at War, 2118–19. 

94. Nixon, Memoirs, 488 (Warner Books).

95. Quoted by Rose, How Wars End, 163. 

96. Ibid. Rose summarizes Kissinger, saying that this transition made “policy-makers even 

more obsessed than usual with the credibility of American commitments” (ibid.). 

97. Kimball, Nixon’s Vietnam War, 56. Anna Chennault was the widow of World War II 

aviation ace and hero Lt Gen Claire Lee Chennault. 

98. Ibid., 58.

99. Nixon, RN: The Memoirs, 327 (Grosset & Dunlap). Nixon said in his memoirs that it 

was “Johnson’s last chance to redeem his record, and I could not begrudge him the effort . . . 

[but] I was convinced” he had ulterior motives. Nixon’s 26 October statement read, “I am told 

that top officials in the administration have been driving very hard for an agreement on a 
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bombing halt, accompanied possibly by a cease fire, in the immediate future. . . . I am . . . told 

that this spurt of activity is a cynical, last minute attempt by President Johnson to salvage the 

candidacy of Mr. Humphrey. This I do not believe” (ibid. 404–5). In typical Nixon fashion, he 

raised the specter of Johnson’s ulterior motive yet ostensibly took Johnson’s side. 

100. Hung and Schecter, Palace File, 24; and Bui Diem, In the Jaws of History, 244. See 

Nixon’s Vietnam War, 59. Stanley Karnow also notes that “Thieu balked at sending diplomats to 

Paris until four days before Nixon’s inauguration,” further indicating that Nixon’s play directly 

impacted President Thieu’s calculations during the peace talks of 1968 (Vietnam, 586). 

101. Quoted from Nixon’s “Address to the Nation,” 3 November 1969, 901–9.

102. The day following the speech, the New York Times described a “large and normally 

undemonstrative cross section of the country” flooding the White House with supportive telegrams and letters. There appeared to be a boost in public opinion and support for the war and 

for Nixon. See New York Times, 5 November 1969. Two weeks later, during the “moratorium” 

when 500,000 protestors flooded the capital, Nixon disregarded its significance, convinced that 

he had the majority of Americans on his side. 

103. Kimball, Nixon’s Vietnam War, 16. “The Vietnam predicament that Nixon faced as 

president paralleled that faced by French leaders in 1953. Their seven-year-old military effort 

to restore France’s colonial grip . . . was in serious jeopardy. Military and political failure in 

Vietnam, the threat of greater Chinese involvement in support of the Vietminh, and war-weariness 

at home had driven France’s leaders to consider withdrawal through a negotiated settlement. . . . 

Taking steps toward a diplomatic solution, the French believed that an honorable withdrawal 

required the stabilization or even improvement of their military position—a course Nixon 

would also follow as president” (ibid.).

104. Astor, Presidents at War, 2130.

105. Reeves, President Nixon, 57. Reeves refers to an instance when ABC News reported 

that Nixon would bomb the North if it didn’t cooperate during the peace talks. After the report, 

a Nixon staffer commented, “Good, RN is for this” (ibid.).

106. Ibid.

107. Kimball, Nixon’s Vietnam War, 76–86. According to Kimball, Haldeman recorded in 

his notes that Nixon spoke the words “mad bomber” at a meeting in 1973. Kimball also points 

out that Nixon’s public and private statements before, during, and after his presidency are replete with references to irrationality, unpredictability, disproportionate force, risk taking, 

blackmail, toughness, audacity, defiance, and similar qualities and poses (ibid.). 

108. Mann, Grand Delusion, 630–31.

109. Astor, Presidents at War, 2138.

110. Televised interview aired on Espar, “Quest,” transcript.

111. Quoted from an interview conducted by Tom Wicker in One of Us, 272. 

112. Kimball, Nixon’s Vietnam War, 39.

113. Kissinger, Diplomacy, 677–79.

114. Interview aired on Espar, “Quest,” DVD, min. 84. 

115. Astor, Presidents at War, 2162–70. Congress was not informed of the plan either. Haldeman 

notes in his diaries that Nixon was extremely agitated and “really driving at Cambodia.” According to Haldeman, Nixon knew he was on thin ice legally when it came to any military push into 

Cambodia. Concerned about the apparent lack of progress in the war and waning public support 

for his policies, Nixon was determined to get results (Haldeman Diaries, 153–56). 

116. Haldeman, Haldeman Diaries, 153.
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117. Ibid., 156. Haldeman’s entry from 27 April reads, “K takes whole deal as test of P’s 

authority, and I think would go ahead even if plan is wrong, just to prove [the president] can’t 

be challenged” (ibid.).

118. Astor, Presidents at War, 2162–70.

119. Ibid., 2154.

120. Nixon, “Address to the Nation on the Situation in Southeast Asia,” 405–6.

121. Ibid., 406.

122. Professor Kahin was a scholar of modern Southeast Asian studies and considered an 

expert on the region and on US policy there. Senators George McGovern, Mark O. Hatfield, 

Charles E. Goodell, Alan Cranston, and Harold E. Hughes asked Kahin to address Nixon’s 

points in detail (Williams et al., America in Vietnam, 283). 

123. George McTurnan Kahin, “Cambodia: The Administration’s Version and the Historical 

Record,” paper, 1970, as transcribed in ibid., 283–87. As an example, Kahin describes the US 

special forces and CIA campaign in 1966 to pressure Cambodian president Sihanouk by supporting opposition forces. 

124. Ibid., 285. The United States had also been repeatedly bombing Cambodia during the 

Johnson and Nixon administrations. 

125. Ibid., 287.

126. Stephen Randolph cites numerous instances when airpower, combined with ground 

troops, either thwarted the North’s military buildup or knocked back offensives. The North was 

extremely dependent on its sanctuaries as well as its logistic trails that required those sanctuaries. 

Nixon and Abrams’s strategy was sound. During Operation Commando Hunt and in response 

to North Vietnam’s Easter Offensive in 1972, Nixon’s use of airpower and ground forces at the 

very least delayed Hanoi’s victory. Though Randolph notes that the Linebacker campaign 

“never managed to eliminate military imports,” it did levy “a heavy toll on equipment and supplies.” Air assets also blunted the North’s “offensive in the South,” and Nixon administered a 

“cascade of firepower” that crippled Hanoi’s offensive power (Powerful and Brutal Weapons, 

64–58, 336–40). 

127. General Tho, quoted in Sorley, Better War, 213. General Tho served as the assistant 

chief of staff, J-3 (operations directorate), Joint General Staff, Republic of Vietnam Armed 

Forces, and participated in the combined planning for US and Army of the Republic of Vietnam 

operations in Cambodia. In 1979 the US Army Center of Military History published his monograph, The Cambodian Incursion, http://www.dtic.mil/cgi-bin/GetTRDoc?AD=ADA324718&

Location=U2&doc=GetTRDoc.pdf.

128. Nixon, “Address to the Nation on the Situation in Southeast Asia,” 407.

129. Espar, “Quest,” DVD, min. 88. 

130. Williams et al., America in Vietnam, 290–91.

131. Ibid., 291.

132. Ibid.

133. Ibid.

134. Ibid.

135. Espar, “Quest,” DVD, min. 93–94. 

136. Interview with Nixon’s special counsel, aired on Espar, “Quest,” DVD, min. 99. 

137. Both the abridged and original versions of The Pentagon Papers, as published by the New 

York Times, are cited throughout this study; full reference information is available in the bibliography. 

138. Black, Richard M. Nixon, 732–34.

139. Kimball, Nixon’s Vietnam War, 13.
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163

140. Randolph, Powerful and Brutal Weapons, 13–14.

141. Ibid., 14.

142. Ibid., 14–15. One of the main objectives of Lam Son 719 was to prove the mettle of the 

South’s army, so the United States was not willing to commit its own ground forces to the operation. President Thieu had requested but was denied mechanized brigades. Although the attack 

was a good idea, the timing was poor, and Nixon’s eagerness for action and his want of a quick 

solution forced a bold and potentially effective plan prematurely. 

143. De-Americanization and Vietnamization were essential elements of Nixon’s plan for 

honorable US withdrawal and handoff. The images of Lam Son 719 “froze the American public’s perception of their South Vietnamese allies. Vietnamization had faced its first major test, 

and to all appearances had proven an abject failure” (ibid., 15). 

144. Sorley, Better War, 181–83. General Abrams lamented that the rotating nature of US 

advisers, combined with the often inconsistent US military policies, made effective training 

difficult and that the South’s commanders were sometimes left in the lurch. South Vietnamese 

command relationships were also dubious. Commanders were “never able to gain a firm grip 

on the operation or create any real unity among the American and various South Vietnamese 

forces.” The operation also suffered intelligence leaks, and the North was aware of the attack 

well in advance. See Randolph, Powerful and Brutal Weapons, 15–16. 

145. Randolph, Powerful and Brutal Weapons, 17.

146. Kissinger, White House Years, 1002.

147. Nixon-Kissinger memorandum, untitled, 10 May 1972, quoted in Randolph, Powerful 

and Brutal Weapons, 227–28. 

148. Nixon-Kissinger memorandum, untitled, 15 May 1972, quoted in ibid., 228.

149. Nixon as quoted in ibid., 88. Nixon was equally frustrated with Abrams, believing the 

ground commander had “screwed up Laos.” Speaking to Adm Thomas Moorer, chairman of 

the JCS, Nixon said, “From now on, you get those reports in to me. Second thing is, I want 

Abrams braced hard.” Nixon was frustrated by what he perceived as a lack of enthusiasm and 

aggressiveness during a counteroffensive along the demilitarized zone. “The most consistent 

theme,” in the weeks following Laos, “was the White House’s frustration with the military. . . . 

[Nixon] felt he had given the members of the military too much leeway . . . and they had let him 

down. He was determined to leave little latitude” in the future (ibid., 81). 

150. Nixon during taped Oval Office conversation, 4 April 1972, as quoted in ibid., 93. 

151. “Transcript of Oval Office Conversation, September 17, 1971,” in Kimball, Vietnam 

War Files, doc. 5.29, 193–94. 

152. Transcript of memorandum of conversation, Kissinger and Zhou, 10 July 1971, China/

Vietnam Negotiations, NSC Files, in Kimball, Vietnam War Files, doc. 5.28, 191. 

153. Dobrynin, In Confidence, 243.

154. Ibid., 243–50. Dobrynin said it seemed obvious that Nixon was on the verge of launching major military actions against the North. His administration was concerned that escalation 

of the conflict in Vietnam might stall or kill the upcoming summit between Brezhnev and 

Nixon in Moscow. Though Dobrynin recalls that Nixon perhaps overestimated the amount of 

influence Russia had on Hanoi’s leadership, he reveals that the Soviets were eager to resolve 

Vietnam and saw the potential gains from better relations with the United States as outweighing their obligations to North Vietnam. As the United States ramped up military operations 

following the North’s Easter Offensive, “the summit literally hung in the balance” (ibid., 248). 

Moscow worried that Nixon might go even further and unleash some new “shock tactic” 

against the North. Additionally, it was not easy for Moscow to forgo its support of Hanoi. “The 
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164

Politburo discussed the delicate situation in Vietnam several times. It was caught in a dilemma 

between wanting to stop the American bombing and wanting to go ahead with a summit” 

(ibid., 247). 

155. Ibid., 248.

156. Ibid., 249. Though Dobrynin characterized the shift in the Soviet mind-set, we could easily 

replace the Soviets’ dogma with “frontiers of freedom” and “victims of Communist aggression.” 

157. Kimball, Vietnam War Files, 30–31.

158. Transcript of Executive Office Building conversation, 4 May 1972, White House Tapes, 

in Kimball, Vietnam War Files, doc. 6.11, 220–21. 

159. Randolph, Powerful and Brutal Weapons, 190. Randolph summarizes the US Air Force’s 

“North Vietnam Interdiction Plan” that formed the basic concept of operations for Linebacker. 

160. Nixon quoted in ibid., 183. 

161. Pribbenow, Victory in Vietnam, 283.

162. Ibid., 299.

163. Ibid.

164. Randolph, Powerful and Brutal Weapons, 339.

165. Ibid., 338.

166. Interview with Washington Post reporter David Broder, aired on Espar, “Quest,” DVD, 

min. 115. Broder described Nixon’s actions as manically “selfish.”

167. Rose, How Wars End, 173.

168. Notes of Oval Office conversation, 12 October 1972, in Haldeman, Haldeman Diaries, 

513–14.

169. See Nixon’s statement cited previously in this chapter: “South Vietnam may lose, but 

the United States cannot lose.”

170. Karnow, Vietnam, 686. 

171. Kimball, Vietnam War Files, 252–53, 257. Thieu was unmoved by these enticements 

and in November issued what Kissinger described as Thieu’s 69 “preposterous” changes in the 

October agreement (ibid., 257). 

172. Nixon to Thieu, letter, 17 December 1972, transcribed in Kimball, Vietnam War Files, 

doc. 6.40, 276–77.

173. Randolph, Powerful and Brutal Weapons, 333.

174. Ibid., 335.

175. Astor, Presidents at War, 26.

176. Kissinger, testimony before the US Senate, Committee on Appropriations, Emergency 

Military Assistance, 94th Cong., 1st sess., 15 April 1975, Washington, DC, as transcribed in 

Williams et al., America in Vietnam, 312–15.

177. Gaddis, Strategies of Containment, 295.

178. Rose, How Wars End, 163.

179. Kimball, Nixon’s Vietnam War, 65.
165

Chapter 6

Conclusions

Vietnam is still with us. It has created doubts about American 

judgment, about American credibility, about American power—not 

only at home, but throughout the world. It has poisoned our domestic 

debate. So we paid an exorbitant price for the decisions that were 

made in good faith and for good purpose.

—Henry Kissinger

This study examined three presidents in Vietnam and the effects their image 

had on the agenda and outcomes of America’s longest war. In seeking to convey the more salient points and aspects of the Kennedy, Johnson, and Nixon 

administrations, we invoked the often useful but infinitely limited literary device of metaphor. No matter how consistent are the images of Camelot’s mythical king, America’s frontiersman, or the shadow with Kennedy, Johnson, and 

Nixon, respectively, the caricatures inevitably fall short. Each president is an 

amalgam and could be described 100 different ways, and none would be 

wrong. Neither would any one description be wholly correct. Presidents, like 

their policies, are an iterative accumulation of experiences and interactions. 

In the full refraction of history’s prism, they are at once revealed to be stunningly similar to the way we elect to perceive and portray them while still 

defying encapsulation. Like T. S. Eliot’s J. Alfred Prufrock, presidents are not 

so easily “formulated,” no matter how intently we pin them to the wall.1

 In this 

way, wars are little different than the men who wage them. Still, the metaphors 

and the explorations of presidential image through the lens of cognitive theory 

have led to some conclusions regarding the relationship among each president, his image, and Vietnam as an inherited war. 

First and foremost, analysis of the three presidents confirms Kenneth 

Boulding’s contention that images evolve through an iterative process of interaction. Though predilections are stubborn—and the many examples throughout the study demonstrate Kennedy’s, Johnson’s, and Nixon’s enduring commitment to existing beliefs—often the most salient examples of the influence 

of images came from their interactions with the “real world.” Presidential image 

involves not only the personal worldview projected by each of the presidents 

but also their integration of both confirming and disconfirming information. 

Domestic pressures, public perceptions, and opinions of the presidents and 
CONCLUSIONS

166

their policies, as well as the interactions of particular policies with the war on 

the international stage, all congealed to form each man’s presidential image. 

Also influential were political equities in that domestic political gains or losses 

sometimes drove presidential agendas even more than the worldviews that 

spawned them. At a minimum, however, each man’s existing belief structure 

influenced how he dealt with externalities (such as an uncooperative press or 

domestic dissent). These interrelationships not only heighten the need for 

leaders to be cognizant of their proclivities but also illuminate the integral 

role the public plays in shaping presidential image. 

The study also reveals that even though each Vietnam-era president adhered to the same containment metastructure, each man individually perceived the means best suited to achieve its prescriptions. Even Johnson and 

Kennedy, who were from the same political party and shared numerous overlapping assumptions about the role of government, differed in how they levied 

their agendas to push back Communism, transform American society, and 

win in Vietnam. While dynamic circumstances and changes on the ground 

certainly played a role between Kennedy’s demise and Nixon’s rise, the respective contrasts between each man are attributable in large part to the individual 

images of each president. This seems consistent with the assertions of both 

Stephen Hawking and Boulding, where beliefs or models effectively create 

reality through perceptions. Each man helped shape, if not create, many of the 

circumstances surrounding his Vietnam policies and forced onto his successor 

the ramifications wrought through his presidential image. 

Current decision makers should pay heed to the role that image played in 

each Vietnam-era president’s policies and their outcomes and be especially 

mindful of the effects presidential image had on the successor’s state of play. 

Kennedy’s inheritance and subsequent policies demonstrate the importance 

of transitions. When presidential transitions include a war or another problem deemed paramount to national security, it must be effectively handed off. 

When both the problem and the solutions are ill defined, preconceptions and 

presidential image have more room to “fill in the white space.” Eisenhower’s 

handoff of Vietnam to Kennedy amounted to little more than “it’s important, 

complicated, and difficult.” The consequence was Kennedy’s almost blanket 

departure from past policies. Such departures are not always bad, but the danger lies in the premature dismissal of context and circumstances that at the 

very least might better inform the new president on the way ahead. Marked 

departures from past policy stances in the absence of deliberate collusion 

between the incoming and outgoing administrations amplify the tendency to 

dismiss or overlook previous rationales. Wicked problems are inherently inchoate, providing ample opportunity for decision makers to define them 
CONCLUSIONS

167

through their own image. If the new administration is already inclined to 

rebel against its predecessor, then this tendency is exacerbated. Furthermore, 

if the heir’s image is rooted in the same assumptions that his predecessor held, 

as was the case with Johnson, disconfirming information can be readily dismissed. The result with Johnson was a doubling down on previous policies, 

with little to no inquiry into the validity of their assumptions. 

Henry Kissinger said that “it is an illusion to believe that leaders gain in 

profundity while they gain experience. . . . The convictions that leaders have 

formed before reaching high office are the intellectual capital they will consume as long as they continue in office.”2

 Predilections are enduring and stubborn even in the face of experience. Biases become even more defiant when 

decision makers are denied a deliberate, detailed, formal, and cooperative 

interchange with their predecessor. With Kennedy lacking both firsthand 

experience and experience by proxy, his perception of Eisenhower’s passivity 

and ineptitudes regarding Indochina policies was only reinforced by the lack 

of a detailed handoff. 

Chapter 2 elucidated how the human brain fills in patterns, drawing on 

theories from Boulding, Hawking, Robert Jervis, and Yuen Foong Khong. 

Both the social and the physical sciences postulate how what “we believe” 

becomes “what is” and how beliefs may even redefine “what was.” Objective 

“facts” do remain. Vietnam happened. The question is the degree of influence 

that presidential image exhibited on the war. When Kennedy looked to Vietnam, he saw the “new frontiers of freedom” and staked out America’s claim 

and commitment there. He reorganized the government and rallied it to Vietnam, which became the new front line of the Cold War. Johnson subsequently 

labored to fortify America’s position there, but he did so by folding Vietnam 

into the interior lines of his larger quest for a Great Society. In so doing, Johnson 

found that the Vietnam War acted as a sinkhole both to his cause and his 

presidency. Nixon reached into that dark hole and attempted to place Vietnam back on the map as a small peninsula among much larger continents. 

Perceptions influenced—and sometimes dictated—the agendas and subsequent outcomes for both Johnson and Nixon.

Johnson obsessed over controlling perceptions. His manipulations were 

driven by a need to overcome his own insecurities as well as buy time in 

Vietnam to prosecute his social agendas. In “Theory of Victory,” J. Boone 

Bartholomees asserts that victory is ultimately a matter of “opinion” and that 

in America domestic opinion matters the most.3

 His observations should not 

be confused to mean that opinion supersedes the practical applications and 

conduct of war. Vietnam was not merely a public relations campaign, but opinions did matter. In fact, many have claimed that American public opinion was 
CONCLUSIONS

168

the Clausewitzian center of gravity for this war. In the end, military force, diplomacy, economic incentives, and coercions are ways by which presidents 

seek to influence and change their adversary’s behavior. According to Clausewitz, 

the object of war is capitulation of the enemy while the aim is attacking the 

enemy’s means to resist. Belief structures and the perceptions that flow from 

them are means of resistance. Johnson’s failings in Vietnam were driven by his 

inability to successfully create the reality he desired in the minds of both his 

countrymen and his enemy. His unsuccessful negotiations with Hanoi were in 

large part due to the different value scales of the American and North Vietnamese leaders—the two sides were playing very different games. Additionally, the gap between what “was” and what he wanted others to believe had for 

Johnson grown too wide. As Louis Halle astutely observes,

All nations cultivate myths that endow them with dignity and when occasion arises, 

give nobility to the causes in which they fight. . . . Myths belong to the conceptual 

world by which, alone, we are able to interpret the existential world that constitutes 

our raw environment. . . . We men have to live, then, in two worlds at once, the conceptual and the existential, and our central problem is to maintain the correspondence 

between them. It is when these two worlds diverge excessively that we find ourselves in 

trouble. . . . Under circumstances of conflict between individuals or societies . . . the respective conceptual formulations of the parties tend to diverge . . . [and] fear, hatred, and 

the need for self-justification find their expression in conceptual falsification, 

whether innocent or deliberate.4

Even more than Johnson, Nixon believed in the power of myth and worked 

hard to “tweak minds” and shape perceptions. In discussing the upcoming 

1972 election with his staff, Nixon told H. R. Haldeman that he needed to be 

perceived as a “fighting president” and was therefore in need of “an enemy.”5

Nixon lamented how Kennedy had “mesmerized” the public, and the attorney 

from Yorba Linda pushed his staff to cultivate a more effective “Nixon” myth. 

Haldeman commented in his diaries that “no one loves him, fears him, or 

hates him, and he needs to have all three.”6

 As Vietnam became Nixon’s war 

and the perceptual gaps between the president and the public widened, he 

cast a long shadow of fear, hatred, and self-justification. 

Presidential image played out across three administrations in Vietnam. 

Despite the fundamental metastructure of containment and the Cold War, 

each president pursued common ends in distinctive ways. How each perceived himself, the government and its institutions, and the security environment influenced the nature and character of his policies and their outcomes. 

Kennedy and Nixon both summoned the country to greatness during their 

inaugural addresses, but each man had his own understanding of what “greatness” meant and how to get there.7

 Kennedy envisioned a greatly expanded 

government and institutional mechanisms, but Nixon imagined a smaller, 
CONCLUSIONS

169

less ambitious government.8 Nixon also differed with Kennedy and Johnson 

over the idea that America should transform other nations: 

In foreign policy we are faced with a choice of insisting on Democratic rule around the 

world or of accepting the existence of the non-democratic regimes that have arisen in 

cultures different from our own. At the philosophical level, we should endorse Locke’s 

concept of natural rights. In practice, however, we must recognize that often nations 

lack the traditions and institutions to make democracy work. Democratic government 

does not automatically mean good government. . . . Our country developed its democratic political institutions over centuries, [and] we should not expect others to replicate 

them overnight.9

Nixon conceptualized Vietnam as part of a “much bigger game” and reframed 

the war to align with his understanding of America’s interests. For good and 

ill, the images presidents held affected their war policies; the subsequent outcomes were bequeathed to their successors. 

At the end of this study, we also might ask how the exploration of presidential image has shaped or reshaped our understanding of Vietnam and inherited war. I cannot say for certain that the world would be a better place had we 

not gone to Vietnam. Historians and scholars lament the missed opportunity 

to stop Hitler sooner, and the naïveté of British prime minister Neville Chamberlain 

is axiomatic. Hindsight affords a luxurious perch from which to judge. The 

“couch of reason” is not often available, however, in the frantic world of presidents. Johnson’s quandary left him damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. 

The Hippocratic oath demands that doctors first “do no harm.” In politics, 

finding an option that eliminates all harm is not always easy, and presidents 

are often challenged with determining what will do less harm. Francis Bacon 

said that more comes from failure than from success, and while we can assess 

the costs of Vietnam, it is much harder to determine the benefits. Without 

Vietnam, all of the political missteps and inefficacies of presidential leadership may have remained shadowed, and we would be without their benefit 

today. Similarly, American military reform may have taken a different path—

or none at all. 

 Vietnam cost the United States nearly $200 billion, more than 58,000 lives, 

and over 300,000 wounded.10 Though the figures vary, it is estimated that the 

Communists lost some 600,000 men, and South Vietnam approximately 

500,000.11 Nearly 800,000 South Vietnamese fled their country.12 Less quantifiable but just as significant were the costs the war incurred upon the American psyche. The relationships among the American government, the military 

mind, and the public’s perceptions of the institutions built to protect and represent them were forever changed. Whether the gains were worth the costs is 

not for this author to judge. Given today’s fights, however, as we wrangle 

through our own inherited wars, we should not limit ourselves to asking only 
CONCLUSIONS

170

questions of worth. The larger question for policy makers is the degree to 

which image affected why we fought in the first place and how we fought once 

we were there. Presidential image matters no less today than it did in Vietnam 

and serves as a salient starting point in coming to understand today’s fight. 

Final Thoughts

Analysis of Kennedy’s, Johnson’s, and Nixon’s presidential images does 

more than provide access to how their predilections and belief structures 

drove agendas and outcomes in Vietnam. It also offers an excellent lens 

through which to view our own understandings and beliefs about Vietnam, 

our presidents, our wars, and our country. Every new war receives unto its 

fields the ghosts of wars past, reincarnated through the incantations of presidential image. If we expect certain limits in presidential behavior and disapprove of either the wars they choose or how they fight them, then we must 

turn to our own expectations of government and understanding of war. It is 

easy to throw stones, especially through time, but it is much more difficult to 

consider, understand, and engage problems of national interest from the perspective of those who face such wickedness every day. While it may not be 

possible for each of us to share the view of the Oval Office, we can turn to 

history, self-reflection, and current affairs. Only when informed might we 

find the purchase required to see when presidents’ judgments are clouded or 

when their rhetoric abuses history. If, however, we leave not just the decisions 

but the understanding of history solely to the decision makers, then certainly 

we have no right to feel abused when presidents drive us to places we would 

rather not go. Presidents are endowed with a sacred trust, but so too are those 

who elect them. Images, the wars they drive, and the inheritances they bequeath are not simply the business of presidents. Ultimately, the image, the 

war, and the inheritance are our own.

A Note for Future Study

The connection between individual image and the inertial state of play is 

crucial in inherited wars. In the expanse of Vietnam this study examined, 

each president was presented within a particular metaphor that was then tied 

to his agendas and outcomes. Though the preceding study of image is satisfactory and attention was paid to the interaction between each image and the 

momentum inherited from the previous administration, it is that very nexus 

of those transitions that warrants further research. Preliminary findings derived 

from each president’s image lead us to believe that Kennedy, Johnson, and 
CONCLUSIONS

171

Nixon may signify three broad categories or types of presidents in inherited 

wars. Respectively, they are the visionary, the shepherd, and the reframer.13

Each president must react to the trajectory of the war and contend with the 

political environment he inherits while at the same time implementing his 

own agenda. Wars that transcend administrations funnel both spectral and 

tangible threats forward so that heirs must immediately contend with dramatic perils to American interests and ideology—whether real or perceived. 

Regardless of size and scope, wars are an automatic crisis that hyperexcites 

the polity. Further, the immediacy of crisis that inherited wars present means 

that each bias, predilection, and image from which presidents draw is immediately in play—analogies and other cognitive shortcuts are the first and 

sometimes only fallback position. At the same time, inherited wars have a 

momentum of their own, and the contest between the individual and the 

structure takes center stage. In the arc of Vietnam, the progression from visionary 

to reframer followed the course of each administration. This does not necessarily mean, however, that each president was inherently a visionary, shepherd, 

or reframer. The same president might very well oscillate among categories in 

his policies. We cannot draw conclusions as to whether party affiliation, the 

war’s duration, or the point at which each president takes over affects the type 

of war president he becomes. Presidential image, however, proves a good 

place to start. 

Notes

1. See T. S. Eliot’s poem “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” (1917). The quotation refers 

to the following verse: “And I have known the eyes already, known them all— / The eyes that 

fix you in a formulated phrase, / And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, / When I am 

pinned and wriggling on the wall, / Then how should I begin / To spit out the butt-ends of my 

days and ways? / And how should I presume?” Eliot, The Waste Land, Prufrock and Other Poems

(Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 1998), 1–5. 

2. Kissinger, White House Years, 54. 

3. Bartholomees, “Theory of Victory,” 26.

4. Halle, Cold War as History, 412.

5. Transcript of Oval Office conversation, 17 January 1972, in Haldeman, Haldeman Diaries, 

397–98.

6. Ibid., 398.

7. In Nixon’s inaugural address, he said, “I ask you to share with me today the majesty of the 

moment. In the orderly transfer of power, we celebrate the unity that keeps us free. . . . This is our 

summons to greatness.” Kennedy, in his inaugural address, said, “Let both sides explore what 

problems unite us instead of belaboring those problems which divide us. . . . Now the trumpet 

summons us again—not as a call to bear arms, though arms we need . . . but a call to bear the 

burden of a long twilight struggle, year in and year out . . . a struggle against the common enemies 
CONCLUSIONS

172

of man: tyranny, poverty, disease and war itself.” See Nixon, “First Inaugural Address”; and Kennedy, 

“Inaugural Address.” 

8. Chap. 3 discussed at length Kennedy’s vision and realignment of government. Johnson 

shared Kennedy’s premise, and both departed sharply from Eisenhower’s more conservative 

fiscal and social policies. Chapter 4 also discussed Johnson’s desire to fulfill Roosevelt’s and 

Kennedy’s vision by creating the “new” New Deal through his Great Society program. In his 

memoirs, Nixon contrasts himself with these visions by recounting a speech he delivered in 

1945: “I described my view of the two conflicting opinions about the nature of the American 

System. . . . One advocated by the New Deal is government control in regulating our lives. The 

other calls for individual freedom and all that initiative can produce. I hold the latter viewpoint.” See Nixon, RN: The Memoirs, 35. 

9. Nixon, In the Arena, 305.

10. Williams et al., America in Vietnam, 300–301.

11. Karnow, Vietnam, 1–8.

12. Herring, America’s Longest War, 270. 

13. These are loose, potential categories that may signify the arc of inherited wars. The 

visionary creates the stakes and goals; the shepherd manages the goals and the correlating and 

competing commitments while trying to satisfy the stakes his predecessor created; and the reframer redefines the stakes and goals and rematches resources to “the new war.” William Strauss 

and Neil Howe propose an interesting generational theory in their book The Fourth Turning: 

An American Prophecy (New York: Broadway Books, 1997). They suggest that four distinct 

generations make up repetitive 100-year cycles of human history: hero, prophet, nomad, and 

artist. Generational theory might not only shed light on the characteristics American presidents displayed during Vietnam but also prove useful in the further examination of inherited 

wars—particularly regarding the potential categories of shepherd, visionary, and reframer. 
173

Abbreviations

GDP gross domestic product

GVN government of (South) Vietnam

JCS Joint Chiefs of Staff

NSAM national security action memorandum

NSC National Security Council

OPLAN operational plan

175

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ISBN: 978-1-58566-230-1

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