7

The packaging of Kissinger's study of Metternich was admirably suited to the Fifties. The very title *A World Restored* was, as an advertising man might say, subliminally soothing. The subtitle, "The Politics of Conservation in a Revolutionary Age," seemed to offer exactly what the worried American big businessman was looking for: How to keep what he had in a world of change. The answer on the very first page sounded satisfactorily profound and reassuringly familiar. Even in an age facing "the threat of thermonuclear extinction," it was not wise, Kissinger wrote, to make peace "the overriding concern." Whenever "the international order has acknowledged that certain principles could not be compromised even for the sake of peace," he put it, ponderously and slowly, as if extruding a new axiom in the philosophy of statecraft, "stability based on an equilibrium of forces was at least conceivable." This is our old friend "better dead than Red" in glossier wrappings.

V

The Metternich Kissinger portrayed was an enemy of appeasement, a man of principle, a conservative, though-able scholar that he is—Kissinger added enough qualifications and caveats to protect his flanks. The fact is that this interpretation is open to challenge on all three counts. Metternich did his best to appease Napoleon, even to the point of arranging his marriage with a Hapsburg. It was not until Napoleon had ruined the Grand Armée in Russia, and even then was blindly and compulsively unable to settle down and

bodings. But none of this appears in Kissinger's study of Metternich. By the Fifties such perspectives were out of fashion since the US was grooming Germany as its major ally on the continent. Viereck acknowledges that he, too, had "drawn heavily on Srbik for his information, not necessarily for his interpretations and certainly not for his later politics" (footnote 2, p. 139).

compromise, that Metternich finally-like a jackal-joined in a sure kill.

Largely from Metternich's self-serving *Nachgelassenen Papieren*, Kissinger has culled bouquets of sententious sayings to demonstrate his hero's principles. I think that Alan Palmer in the preface to his new biography of Metternich has disposed very swiftly of these pretensions. Palmer says the principles "pompously propounded over the years in earnest memoranda heavy with profundity" (how like much of Kissinger's own output!) provided Metternich "with a code of respectable obscurity in which he might envelop what was basically a day-to-day and hand-to-mouth policy" and that his were "victories of intrigue rather than of creative conviction, triumphs of expediency more than of principle."

As for being a conservative, Metternich can more justly be described as a standpatter. Unlike Disraeli and Bismarck, he never tried to shore up the existing order by social reform. Kissinger defends his hero by saying in effect that the nature of the Austro-Hungarian empire and of his monarch Francis I made such constructive social conservatism impossible.¹⁵ The emperor was about as banal and shallower as Kissinger's own master, Nixon.

Another of the resemblances one suspects between Kissinger and the Austrian statesman is that neither would risk his political neck by pressing his

¹⁵ Kissinger follows Srbik in implying that Metternich was more enlightened than Francis I. But a more recent work by Julius Marx on the Austrian censorship shows that "Metternich fully shared the repressive ideals of Francis I." ("Metternich Studies Since 1955," by Paul W. Schroeder, *Journal of Modern History*, September, 1961; p. 255. This is a most useful study of the literature on the subject since Srbik's work appeared in 1955. Schroeder calls attention to three more recent works in German which "reinforce the general conclusion that in respect to censorship and secret police, at least, Metternich, despite his disclaimers, did rule Austria.")

8

master too hard. The only aspect of domestic policy in which the otherwise rather indolent Metternich took a strong hand was in the censorship and the secret police. He seems to have seen plots everywhere. From the Decembrists in Russia to the carbonari in Sicily, he saw one vast international revolutionary conspiracy. He was even suspicious of Bible societies. In this our two statesmen differ. Kissinger's touch of paranoia seems to be personal rather than political.

Metternich's real gifts—like Kissinger's—were those of a glorified con man: what better definition, after all, of the talented diplomatist? As fate closed in on Napoleon, and Metternich had to make up his mind when and on which side Austria would stand, he talked one way in private to the Russians, another to the Prussians, and still another to the French. In the thicket of Metternich studies scholarly controversy still rages over just whom he was diddling in 1813. The balance-of-power game as he played it was indeed a masterpiece of escroquerie and prestidigitation. “Though he prided himself on a logical scientific approach to political problems,” Palmer sums it up, “his gifts were those of an artist.” This is what so dazzled his colleagues and contemporaries, and this is what dazzles Kissinger's, for in this the two men are much alike. Kissinger has a positive genius for ambiguity. His evasions are so nimble they are aesthetically pleasurable even while frustrating. He deserves to be Secretary of State, both as reward and in punishment.

Kissinger has conned his way to the top in Washington; he is a master of the seductive arts. Amid the dull plastic men at the White House he shines out by his self-disparaging humor (in this he is Jewish rather than German), by his wit, and by his sophistication. He says what Nixon says, but with a smoothness and subtlety that stirs admiration. He is willing to listen to opposing points of view with an understanding often deceptive; the understanding look is often taken for agreement. He can, without compromising himself, create

the most contradictory impressions, depending on whom he happens to be talking to and wishes to impress. The newspapermen—and despite the hard-boiled stereotype we are all pretty naïve and pushovers for a bit of charm—call him “Henry” affectionately. A little of his performance may even rub off on his master.

He is a skillful actor. With peaceniks he makes himself out a bit of a martyr, a hurt and misunderstood little Jewish boy. He not only makes you feel he understands your concerns; he is good at telling you what your concerns are. He asks what you would do in his place—a skillful way of creating a bond between him and his interlocutor.

With those on the other side he is the hard-boiled master of realpolitik who will not sacrifice one jota of American interest. Thus while he tells one side that the North Vietnamese could have what they want if they would only trust him and be patient and stop being such pernickety “little lawyers”—as he recently put it to Norman Mailer—he tells journalists on the right that he is working to maintain American power in Vietnam. I have not talked to him myself but you can collect quite an anthology of contradictory impressions from people who have. You can hear that he was opposed to the Cambodian incursion and the Haiphong mining and you can hear that he considered them necessary bargaining tools, and I believe the latter is in character and more likely.

Another trait which has facilitated his rise to power is that he sees absolutely no sense in doing anything which he thinks would be unsuccessful. He will not venture an idea which he thinks might be unpopular. Opportunism he calls “timing.” He is ready now, though often still only in private, to admit that certain ideas bolder men put forward in the Forties or Fifties were quite right, but untimely. In this he is, for all his academic background, as much a politician as Nixon.

Metternich's personal talents in confining his opposite numbers in diplomacy gave him a great deal of leverage.

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By sheer charm and brains he often won what a faltering empire could not have achieved had it relied simply on power. The power equation of Metternich's time was very different from that of today; there is no analogy between the crumbling hulk of the Holy Roman Empire and the United States. There was no revolutionary technological change whose magnitude matches nuclear firepower. What Metternich showed was how effective personal talents could be in diplomacy, and this I believe Kissinger may be demonstrating again today, particularly in the great turnabout of American policy represented by the reopening of relations with China and the new detente with Moscow. These took commanding skills at negotiating and for this history will credit Kissinger; the communist capitals, after all, tend to be most suspicious when offered what they had most wanted. Yet if one looks more closely at the unexpected rapprochement, this, too, was a matter of timing.

## VI

Nothing in Kissinger's past, just as nothing in Nixon's, prepared us for this turnabout—except for certain hints dropped in the 1968 campaign which no one took seriously; they were so out of keeping with the records of both men. Kissinger was foreign policy adviser and speechwriter for Nelson Rockefeller in the struggle for the nomination that year. Two of Rockefeller's major but little noticed speeches are examples of what we all overlooked. The first, in May, called for "a dialogue with Communist China" and a friendlier relationship with the Soviet Union so that a Vietnam solution could be achieved "in the wide context of world relations." The second indicated the goodies that would be available to the Soviet Union if it helped out in Vietnam and stopped exploiting "local tensions, as in the Middle East." Rockefeller offered Moscow "most favored nation" status, a diminution of export controls, and "the widest scientific and cultural exchange." To top it all, Rockefeller, who had constantly

criticized Eisenhower for spending too little on defense, now advocated a letup in the arms race.¹⁶

We can now see that Nixon was thinking along similar lines. We now know from the book by his former speechwriter Richard J. Whalen that his so-called "secret plan" for peace was to buy a favorable settlement in Vietnam in return for economic and political concessions to Moscow and Peking.¹⁷ Looking back with hindsight one can now understand the signals Nixon sent up in August of 1968 when he told a press conference his view of communism had changed now that it was no longer monolithic and that an "era of confrontation" had ended and an era of negotiation begun. To the Republican platform committee he said the Vietnam war must be ended by negotiation but that success in the negotiation would depend on having a conference table made "wide enough, and the issues placed on it broad enough, to accommodate as many as possible of the powers and interests involved,"¹⁸ i.e., set for a big power deal. Here, too, was the shape of things to come.

Just as it is not easy until later to pick out what is significant in the din of conflicting statements during a Presidential campaign, so it is not easy for contemporaries to see the full significance of such turnabouts as the current change in American relations with China and the Soviet Union. The

¹⁶The first was to the World Affairs Council in Philadelphia, May 1 (reprinted in *Vital Speeches*); the second before the International Platform Association in Washington, July 26. I tracked down the text through the Rockefeller office.

¹⁷See his *Catch the Falling Flag*, and my review of it in the *New York Review*, June 1. The book gives the text of the "secret plan" speech scheduled for March, 31, 1968, but cancelled when Johnson suddenly went on the air that night and bowed out of the campaign for re-election.

¹⁸See *Facts on File* for 1968 at 322C1 and A2, and 323E3.

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convergence of Rockefeller's views with Nixon's in 1968 can only reflect a new consensus in the American capitalist class. These matters are well chewed over in the bankers' clubs and corporate board rooms before their regurgitation in the common cud of campaign discussion.

I believe the turnabout will be seen by the historian as a product of three developments. The Russian ICBMs made America vulnerable for the first time to devastating attack no matter how formidable its military arsenal and its ability to destroy Russia in return. As the new fact of strategy sank in, a policy of "sphere of influence" began to be seen as a necessity. A second factor was the resurgence of Japan and Western Europe to the point where their competition in the struggle for markets and resources became far more real and painful than ideological differences with Moscow and Peking. We began to look to China as a counterweight to Japan, and to Russia as a counterweight to Western Europe.

This was the old balance of power game. It was intensified by a desire to get to the untapped resources of Siberia and the potential market for capital goods in the Soviet Union before the Japanese or the Germans could. The third factor, of course, was the desire to bypass the Vietnam war and create a situation that would make possible a favorable or at least face-saving settlement in Vietnam.

The turnabout was facilitated by the fact that the Republicans were in power. Had the Democrats attempted it, the anachronistic ideological issue would have been exploited against them. The SALT agreements, the heavily subsidized wheat deal, and the trade concessions to Moscow would have been attacked as sell-outs to the Soviet Union for which the Administration had gotten in return (so far) only "atmospherics" for use in the current election campaign. As for the Peking visit, it would have been aspired as a betrayal of Nationalist China and the abandonment of the Far East to the Reds.

The Democrats out of power, on the other hand, can hardly attack policies of detente their better men have long

advocated, just as it is hard for them to attack wage-price controls for which they—and George Meany—have long called. So the opposition to the turnabout was reduced to an impotent fringe on the right, and Richard the Red giant-killer turned up in the nick of time to bale Moscow out of a serious food crisis. History, destiny, fate or providence—never did they act so whimsically. These are the strings on which Kissinger danced to power. This is the route which leads Metternich's pupil and America's policy toward an unholy alliance with Moscow and Peking.

## VII

There would be little ground here for euphoria even if we were not savagely bombing the Indochinese peninsula day after day in the heaviest air assault of all time. For small nations as for large, there is no safety in the balance of power game. "The only time in the history of the world that we have had any external period of peace," Nixon said last January, echoing Kissinger and Metternich, "is when there has been balance of power. . . . I think it will be a safer world if we have a strong healthy United States, Europe, Soviet Union, China, Japan, each balancing the other, not playing one against the other, an even balance."

"Even balance"? What even balance is there today between China and Russia, one among the poorest of nations, the other a nuclear superpower? Or between America and Japan, when the former is now registering its fifth annual $3 billion plus trade deficit with the latter—a process which has been depleting our gold reserves and fattening Japan's to the point where the latter threatens the downfall of the dollar? The Nixon-Connally rudeness to Japan was no simple lapse in finesse but the reflection of a deep and long-smoldering envy and resentment, the first open sign of a renewed rivalry.

There never was an even balance in all history. The periods of peace were preparations for new wars, breathing

spells to wait for a fresh crop of young men. What look like clever combinations and skillful agreements to the chancelleries are risings and fallings as irrational as the waves of the sea. "That five-power, balance of power thesis," McGovern rightly said in his City Club speech on the new internationalism, "attempts to force on the contemporary world a naive pre-nuclear view dating back to the nineteenth century and before." And "Mr. Nixon forgets," McGovern continued, "that no balance among the giants can eradicate the causes of war among the rest of mankind, nor can it dispel the demand of some 140 countries to have a say in the issues which determine their survival."

Even the "balance among the giants" cannot eradicate the causes of war among them. A world without law, a jungle of prowling beasts, each apprehensive of the other, can have no balance and enjoy no "repose"—a favorite word of both Metternich and Kissinger.

The Concert of Europe over which Metternich presided was dissonant from the start. In fifteen years it was confined to Central and Eastern Europe. Revolutions in 1830 and 1848 shook its worm-eaten foundations and led to Metternich's downfall. The balance of power system stimulated an ever more onerous arms race, split Europe into hostile blocs, and led inescapably to the First World War, in whose trenches men suffered the greatest bloodletting they had ever known. When it was over, men tried to get away from balance of power politics, to limit national sovereignty—a euphemism for the right to kill—and to create a world confederation. Their failure led to another unsteady balance of power, a new arms race which ended in World War II, and another attempt at a world organization. But the United Nations was soon pushed aside by a new "balance" of hostile blocs and mounting arms expenditures. Here we go again.

It is time to read again the old warnings and listen again to the saner but forgotten voices. In every so-called balance of power, Woodrow Wilson

warned the Senate in 1919 when he begged it to accept the League of Nations, there lies concealed a "terror." Never was that truer than today when we live with its most precarious and perilous form—the nuclear "balance of terror." Let us listen to his words and try and imagine the terrible carnage from which they sprang. I cannot reread them without tears when I think of what their failure cost Wilson and the world:

> War had lain at the heart of every arrangement of the Europe-of every arrangement of the world—that preceded the war. Restive peoples had been told that fleets and armies, which they toiled to sustain, meant peace; and they now knew that they had been lied to: that fleets and armies had been maintained to promote national ambitions and meant war. They knew that no old policy meant anything else but force, force-always force. And they knew that it was intolerable..

Every true heart in the world, and every enlightened judgment demanded that, at whatever cost of independent action, every government that took thought for its people or for justice or for ordered freedom should lend itself to a new purpose and utterly destroy the old order of international politics. Statesmen might see difficulties, but the people could see none and could brook no denial. A war in which they had been bled white to beat the terror that lay concealed in every Balance of Power must not end in a mere victory of arms and a new balance. The monster that has resorted to arms must be put in chains that could not be broken.¹⁹

How many more wars can this planet take before men are cured of the old delusions Nixon and Kissinger propagate? ☐

*(This is the second of two articles on Henry Kissinger.)*

¹⁹Quoted from *War and Peace: The Public Papers of Woodrow Wilson*, edited by Baker and Dodd, Vol. 1, pp. 547-548 (Harper and Row, 1927).

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SPECTRUM

Varying shades of personal opinion on current issues

TOM BRADEN
CBS RADIO NETWORK

NOVEMBER 3, 1972

I'm Tom Braden.

Like all human beings, Henry Kissinger is fallible and so something could happen to upset his prophecy that "peace is at hand." But it is unwise to bet against a man in a position to fulfill his own prophecies, and Kissinger has made a number of them over the past four years, including the following:

When he first signed on as Mr. Nixon's expert in foreign affairs, and friends told him the only way to end the war was to get out: Quote: "This war will end in negotiations, you mark my words." Unquote.

At the time of the invasion of Cambodia when colleagues from Harvard came to Washington to protest: Quote: "They do not understand that I agree with them. This war has been a ghastly experience. We must end it. But we must end it in such a way as to avoid the equally ghastly experience of never being taken seriously again." Unquote.

Last week when a friend expressed his fear that the Administration would knuckle under to President Thieu: Quote: "Don't worry about that. It will be all right." Unquote.

All of these prophecies seem about to come true.

They testify to the strength of a man with a consistent plan who sticks to it during moments when it seems the country is being torn apart; sticks to it when some of his assistants give up in despair and depart; sticks to it when generals try to convince his boss to try their plan instead; sticks to it during an enemy offensive when even the boss shows signs of doubt and strain.

You have to hand it to Kissinger. He came to Washington in 1968 with a man he hardly knew and whose nomination for the presidency he had opposed. He knew nothing of partisan politics but he demonstrated at once that he knew more than partisan politicians about the deep divisions that were building. He knew he could not permit the Left to accuse the President of not trying to end the war; that he could not permit the Right to accuse the President of knuckling under to Communists; that he had to appease the great middle who were beginning to protest what seemed the purposeless slaughter of their children. He reached his personal low at the time of Cambodia and his friends got the impression that he didn't approve. But during those ghastly weeks he kept his lines open, meeting with bitter opponents of the war, listening, reasoning and sticking to his plan. He never got angry, never called names, never suggested that his opponents were less decent and patriotic than he.

Now that he is on the verge of success, only the Right can criticize him and the Right has nowhere to go. As for those Americans who wanted expiation with George McGovern, they can only feel the irksomeness of having to keep their disappointment to themselves.

This is Tom Braden with Spectrum.

The diverse opinions expressed on SPECTRUM are those of the commentators themselves and should not be attributed to CBS or any of its affiliates.

Produced under the supervision of CBS News, 524 West 57 Street, New York, New York 10019 (212) 765-4391

4

"POWER IS THE ULTIMATE aphrodisiac," Henry Kissinger began saying when he came to realise the new attraction he exerted on women and took advantage of it. But power is more than an aphrodisiac; it carries with it the temptation to test its effects by exercising it. Kissinger is the first to admit that he enjoys the exercise of power, and some have discovered this to their cost when they sought to interfere either with a course or a policy he considered vital or with his own status.

Kissinger's eighteenth-century, very personal and conspiratorial approach to diplomacy, combined with Nixon's dramatic McLuhanesque electronic style, provided a sort of surrealist vision of twentieth-century diplomacy. Together they made it work, but it is an unpredictable style and it disturbed political Washington as well as allies and foes. Yet Kissinger succeeded in defying an old Washington dictum that you can have in the capital either visibility or influence, but not both. He acquired both, and more of either than any of his predecessors. At Harvard he is remembered as a shy, somewhat arrogant professor. "I was born arrogant," he says, and refers to himself as "an acquired taste."

Kissinger has come to enjoy celebrities: having become one himself, he can meet them on equal terms. He loves the power and fame of which he acquired more than he had ever dreamed, but he still chews his nails. His inner tensions, and some of his insecurities persist behind a deceptively casual facade of geniality, self-deprecation, easy humour and aphoristic conversational skill. He felt at ease with Chou En-lai and Brezhnev, more perhaps than with Western political leaders, but can still feel uncomfortable with people he thinks know him well.

He can surprise his friends with his thoughtfulness and sensitivity, but may go further out of his way to keep his enemies disarmed—soothing them he regards as a challenge that he has been surprisingly successful at meeting. He maintains his old loyalty to Governor Nelson Rockefeller, but probably less for the appreciation of the man than for the safe harbour he continues to be to him. He has become more concerned than ever about what others say or print about him and caution is warranted when he says to a friend: "You are one of the few I don't try to manipulate." Publishers have offered him contracts in six figures, and yet he is worried about the future, less for its financial aspects than what kind of job he should seek and what the

loss of power may do to him psychologically.

Kissinger's love-hates are the Press and his Harvard colleagues, and both reciprocate these feelings. Yet there also exists a great mutual respect. In fact, he became the most appreciated and adroit Press briefer in White House history.

His Press briefings are an act of showmanship. He has an uncanny way of relieving the initial air of adversaries facing one another that always exists between the briefer and the reporters. He likes to open with a light-hearted but poignant anecdote, as for instance when he began by saying, "I understand that my job is to communicate with you. This reminds me of the story of a Christian who was thrown into the arena with a lion. He thought he had better start with a prayer before the ordeal. When he did this, he found that the lion was also adopting a rather reverential pose. He said, 'Well, thank God, at least I am communicating with you.' The lion said, 'I don't know about you, but I am saying grace.'" Thanks to his gift of patience and his knowledge of the substance of the briefing, he always remains in control, however fierce and searching the questioning. "I am here to explain policy, not to debate it," he told one polemical questioner.

Sometimes Pressmen have complained, though, that in private briefings he tended to "shade" his interpretations to appeal to the political inclinations of the person he was addressing, whether that person were a Joseph Alsop or an anti-war priest. One must wonder what these reporters expected from a master-diplomat who could be equally persuasive with Leonid Brezhnev and Chou En-lai. Kissinger can fiercely resent what he considers unfair Press attacks on him, but not for long. He quotes with glee from a review of one of his own books: "I don't know if Mr Kissinger is a great writer, but anyone finishing his book is a great reader."

His sense of humour was again in evidence when I had a long private chat with him last week. I congratulated him on the skilful conduct of his Press conference and remarked: "No one else could have done it," to which he replied, "At least not with my accent."

Kissinger's intellectual orientation was continental European, but it was the French not the British or the Germans whom he admired. He gave the British statesman, Viscount Castlereagh credit, in his book A World Restored, for introducing something entirely new in diplomatic relations of the major world powers, a vision of a Euro-

pean government; nevertheless he faulted him, and the British generally, for their limited and selfish interest in European affairs. The conception of a Europe organised by anything other than a common danger, Kissinger wrote, "was simply beyond the scope of British mentality." The British, he felt, were willing to enter the European power struggle only when British interests were threatened.

It is important to study Kissinger's intellectual roots and his philosophical commitment to the Continental approach, because it helps one to understand his policy concepts. It also explains why there is no British statesman in his pantheon. Those he has placed on pedestals are Metternich, Bismarck, Adenauer and De Gaulle. Churchill, although he admired his ability to rally the British nation during the war, for him relied too much on intuition rather than intellect: he was not a chess-player. Nor was Kissinger impressed by the overall judgment shown in British policy since World War II. De Gaulle and Adenauer, on the other hand, were men who carefully calculated their actions even if they did not create that impression. What he admired most in both, as in Bismarck, were their steely nerves and the awe-inspiring way in which they embodied the state. The key to success in diplomacy, Metternich believed and Kissinger concluded, was "freedom of action, not formal relationships" between nations. The extent to which Kissinger might apply this principle to American policies quickly became a matter for general speculation.

When Kissinger, during the Nixon visit to Paris, suggested to De Gaulle that one of the advantages of Britain's membership of the European Community would be to make the control of Germany easier, the General replied abruptly, "We don't need Britain. We have controlled Germany in the past by war." The answer showed how much his aversion to Britain's entry into Europe distorted his judgment, even his common sense. Kissinger, though he still held the French leader in high esteem, nevertheless had sadly to conclude that while the General had been extraordinarily astute in spotting everybody else's weaknesses and turning them cleverly to his advantage, he had failed to offer anything constructive in their place. With France getting weaker and the Federal Republic getting stronger, with Franco-German relations increasingly at loggerheads, and De Gaulle still barring Britain's entry into Europe, it became increasingly

5

obvious that the General's policy concepts were unlikely either to survive his demise or to prove in retrospect constructive.

Consequently, Mr Nixon and Kissinger put more emphasis on Europe. Harold Wilson was correct when he wrote in his account of his premiership, 1964-70, that Mr Nixon had "the highest regard for the British tradition in world affairs, especially the judgment and experience of so many of our public servants." Kissinger's respect for the latter rose in dealing with them. I once heard him say that the IQ of French officials was higher than that of the British, but they got lost in trivia. The British officials, he thought, had a more open mind, especially as far as relations with the US were concerned, and had a better grasp of the essentials.

### FROM THE START KISSINGER
assumed supreme control over diplomatic contacts with the Russians. His first meeting with Ambassador Dobrynin occurred in New York before President Nixon's inauguration, and their meetings after a time became an accepted thing whenever something that could develop into a crisis had to be thrashed out.

Dobrynin is a master of the diplomatic trade, one of the best practitioners in it that I have come across in 25 years of international reporting. Thanks to his gift of establishing personal relationships and the apparent confidence he enjoys with the Politburo, he has created for himself a position in Washington that has made him virtually irreplaceable, at least during the crucial period of the preparation for the Moscow summit.

He is tall, almost towering, and his appearance—soft, sensitive, high forehead and gold-rimmed spectacles—combines with a shy charm that makes him seem more a romantic musician than an experienced participant in the rough-house of superpower diplomacy. Those who have done business with him, however, easy as he is to talk to, consider him a tough bargainer, always in command of whatever business is at hand. He has a fetching smile, a pleasant sense of humour and an inborn civility, but he can also become tough and steely in difficult negotiations; yet he rarely loses his composure, and always remains a gentleman.

Dobrynin, quickly recognising the uneven balance of power between Kissinger and Secretary of State William Rogers and seeing where the centre of power really was, lavished attention, as ought any shrewd diplomat in Washington who had the opportunity, on Kissinger. He estab-

lished easy access to him and soon found out that for quick action, this was the place to call. Dobrynin, as ambassadors go, saw perhaps more of him than most, and soon earned in Kissinger a kind of fond respect. Here were two men who could display an extraordinary amount of charm and wit, but also vie in toughness with each other. Kissinger even had him home for negotiations—and few have seen the Kissinger household from the inside—but only after an electronic sanitising squad had made certain that the Russians had not bugged the house in advance.

The Russian Press had frequently attacked Kissinger's writings, and the new Soviet breed of American-ologists said that they strongly distrusted him, though this did not prevent their according him the respect they give to anyone who wields power.

When Kissinger flew to Moscow on Brezhnev's invitation to set the stage for the summit conference, the subject of Vietnam occupied almost half the time of his discussions with Brezhnev. He surprised Kissinger because he proved to be much smarter, much more intelligent, much better informed than expected. It only went to prove that although he is a creation of the Soviet bureaucracy, to become *primus inter pares* nevertheless requires outstanding leadership qualities. Kissinger found him tough, but capable of greater informality than he had expected. Brezhnev needed no coaxing or coaching by aides in discussing the issues at hand, and dealt with most of them personally and knowledgeably. But in contrast to Mao's or Chou En-lai's mind, his was non-conceptual; it was also impossible to discuss with him internal political problems that had direct bearing on foreign affairs. When Kissinger once or twice tried to raise questions about events that went back fifteen to twenty years, they behaved as if they had not heard his question. It was as if a collective authorisation were needed before such matters could be discussed.

However, as far as the agenda for the summit was concerned, much progress was made in preparing the key issues at least close enough to a promise of success. Half-a-dozen difficult points in the SALT (Strategic Arms Limitation) agreement still were left open, but the inclusion of seabased Polaris missiles, to which the Russians had previously objected strenuously, was accepted by Brezhnev within a day after Kissinger further explained a new compromise proposal he had forwarded ten days in advance via Ambassador Dobrynin. No decision was taken on whether to include the agreed "Principles" which the Russians had originally proposed as part of

the package of agreements; the problem of Vietnam also remained essentially unresolved. The general framework for the summit, however, was agreed on, and there was a good understanding on the emphasis to be given to various issues. A new tone for negotiations had been set, and a readiness on both sides to talk informally achieved, that nobody had held possible.

Most disappointing, when the summit began, but not surprising, was the Russian refusal to stop supplying North Vietnam with more arms. But Mr Brezhnev seemed unhappy about the timing and even the launching of North Vietnam's massive offensive. With the US forces withdrawing, it looked inevitable, at least to the Russians, that Hanoi would gain its objectives within a very few years; the enormous losses in men and matériel, therefore, seemed to them a sign of stubborn foolishness. The Russians had taken that view for a long time. As far back as the time of Kosygin's visit to London in February 1967, when Prime Minister Harold Wilson thought he had detected a willingness on the part of the Russian Premier to intervene in Hanoi, the Russians argued that if the North Vietnamese were only smarter and not so bloody-minded they could have conquered South Vietnam without bloodshed.

During most of the private conversations the President had with Mr Brezhnev, no other members of the Politburo were present, only Foreign Minister Gromyko, the veteran expert in foreign affairs who has survived some twenty years in key positions and on whom Mr Brezhnev relied for technical advice. To the surprise of the President, Mr Brezhnev insisted that the only interpreter allowed to be present at this talk was to be the Russian, the charming and adroit Suchodrev who can put on an American as well as an English accent. Brezhnev was obviously distrustful of an American interpreter and refused to accept one. Mr Nixon had to rely on the minutes dictated by a Russian. Once, in talking to Dr Kissinger, Brezhnev seemed to share President Nixon's ideas about the dispensability of foreign secretaries. "Maybe we should send Messrs Gromyko and Rogers first to Mars to see what it's like up there," he suggested, "and if they don't come back we shouldn't go." Then he teased Kissinger about how much better university professors are treated in the USSR.

Gromyko, too, not only showed his impressive qualities as a foreign policy expert, but also his puckish sense of humour. When Kissinger wondered whether it was

better for him to speak close to the orange or the apple, implying that he assumed that one or the other contained a miniature microphone, Gromyko looked up to the ceiling from where a heavy bosomed sculpture of a woman looked down on them. He pointed at one of her breasts—word of Kissinger's interest in the ladies had obviously reached the Kremlin—and said: "No, I believe it is in there." Antonov, the security escort, in some probable eagerness to get as a trophy a photograph of Kissinger in a delicately embarrassing pose, was full of praise about the quality of his "girls." But Kissinger did not live up to his reputation as a swimmer.

THE CHINESE HAD already proved that Kissinger was the presidential emissary to whom they most liked to talk. As Edgar Snow wrote in Life Magazine before the Peking mission "China's leaders respect Kissinger." Then he quoted a close comrade-in-arms of-Premier Chou En-lai "There is a man (Kissinger) who knows the language of both worlds—his and ours. He is the first American we have seen in this position. With him it should be possible to-talk."

Kissinger prepared himself with infinite care for this mission. He even carried with him to Peking 10 different versions of a possible communiqué. Later he confessed that "to me it was an adolescent experience. I didn't really know what to expect, what I would be confronted with, in spite of all the diplomatic preparations." He did indeed talk with an almost adolescent enthusiasm about his first 49-hour visit to China. What swept him off his feet was the personality of Premier Chou En-lai who, he said, was the most electrifying personality he had ever met. Their shared disdain for bureaucracy no doubt contributed to this liking. Very early in their first meeting Kissinger asked Chou En-lai whether he could call him Mr Prime Minister, as he had difficulty pronouncing the word "Premier." Chou said "Of course," and explained that but for a poor translator at the Geneva Conference in 1947 he would now be called Mr Prime Minister. Then he added: "The translator is now a high official in our Foreign Ministry."

Kissinger was impressed with the depth of Chou's psychological insights, his objectivity, candour and subtlety, and his long-range

outlook on history. "Here is a problem," Kissinger explained to me, "Chou En-lai would suggest, it can't be settled now, but such is the possible evolution. De Gaulle could think that way, but no other leader today can." The intellectual approach, the gentle humour, the thoughtfulness and human quality of the Chinese Prime Minister all made a deep impression on him. Half in jest, to illustrate the contrast between the Chinese approach to such discussions, and the Russian, Kissinger suggested that "if you dropped a nickel in front of a Russian he would beat you, bludgeon you, jail you and pocket your nickel and then say... And now about the next point... just to teach you not to drop nickels."

The Chinese today are more opposed to the Russians than to the US which made it easier for them, despite their ideological prejudices, to welcome the American overtures. The depth of their ideological thinking nevertheless surprised Kissinger, as did their conviction that they can prevail in the world through moral superiority. This conviction apparently also leads Chou to believe that the US is in decline and in the long run destined to collapse.

However, in spite of their ideological opposition to the American outlook on life, Chou En-lai convinced him that the Chinese were not out to impose their views on others, that China did not have the kind of expansionist ambitions Kissinger sees in Soviet policy. The Chinese have shown that they are more careful than the Russians and less willing to take risks. Their intervention in Korea was triggered only after American troops had pressed to within less than 100 miles of China's industrial heart, they moved against India only after provocation, and the hostility with the Soviet Union may be more an attempt by the Kremlin to intimidate Peking.

Thus both the US and China had reached a point in history where they shared an eagerness to start a new relationship, and both were prepared to pay an ideological price for it. For the Chinese, reopening Soviet-American relations meant compromising their anti-imperialist purity and tarnishing their reputation as revolutionaries which, they have always emphasised, had made them the lone standard-bearers of Communism. However, Mao Tse-tung clearly was willing to make the ideological sacrifice, otherwise he

would not have told Edgar Snow in his unique interview that he would "be happy to talk with him (Nixon) either as a tourist or as a President."

Whenever Mao moved, the centre moved

Kissinger, on his return from that first visit to Peking, was able to confirm that such a visit was indeed not only possible but desirable, and would not expose the President to the kind of political risks that could seriously embarrass him. No doubt, Chou En-lai too wanted to reassure himself that militarily President Nixon was determined to end the war in Vietnam, and that politically the problem of the Chiang Kai-shek regime on Taiwan (Formosa) was also capable of solution acceptable to both sides. And so the first Kissinger mission, followed by another three months later, set the stage for Mr Nixon's spectacular expedition to China.

The President's reception was cool, but a few hours later he saw Chairman Mao and the signals changed. It was as if the Chinese leader had waved a magical wand: the Chinese propaganda machine, proclaiming a new friendship with the US, went into high gear. Only he could give the signal that would keep at bay whatever internal opposition may have existed to this visit.

The meeting with Mao was set with such speed—it was virtually the first formal appointment—and without any advance indication to the President as to its exact timing, that Mr Nixon chose to be a few minutes late. The invitation also made it clear that of the Americans only Dr Kissinger was to be present.

Mao discussed the importance of the President's visit and the excesses of the cultural revolution with considerable candour. The President found Mao's presence impressive. As Kissinger put it later, "He had the quality of being at the centre wherever he stood; it moved with him wherever he moved," a quality that he had previously observed only in General de Gaulle. Mao seemed to the President to be one of those rare statesmen who exudes great personal force, and to a man of

6

Nixon's inner insecurities this was perhaps the most striking thing about him. Mao conveyed the serenity of a peasant and the gravity of a rock. He clearly was the fountain-head and the authority. With an uncomplicated mind and an earthy humour he apparently bore down quickly on the central issue with great lucidity and without wasting time in argument or analysis. Kissinger later said that he thought his earthy, peasant-like strength reminiscent of Khruschev, but he predicted he would one day be elevated to a position like Convincing rather than suffer the posthumous decline and fall of a Stalin.

Chou En-lai, by contrast, was the man of subtle intellect, with a shrewd, astute mind. He asserted himself not by his physical presence but by his dexterous mental mobility and his electric charm. He was the clever negotiator and diplomatic practitioner—the super-manager. But he was also thoughtful and contemplative. He was deeply concerned about human values, about life in chastened China which somehow lacks the vitality it used to have.

The talks between President Nixon and Chou En-lai were on a philosophical level. Each leader first laid out his view of the world in a broad historical perspective. Specific issues were left to the negotiations that produced the communiqué. But even during these negotiations the Chinese did not make an issue either of Vietnam or Korea. They restated, as if for the record, their public positions, but delicately did not press them. Vietnam quite clearly was only peripheral in their eyes to the issue of Taiwan, and even that was subordinated to the overarching aim of this great-power get-together, the counter-balancing of the Soviet Union.

The communiqué that was issued at the end of the visit was clearly drafted with an eye to one another's public opinion at home, as well as to the sensitivities of each other's allies. Thus the Chinese had to denounce the Japanese as "militarist" and the Americans had to call them "allies." At one point during the negotiations real difficulties developed. But when Dr Kissinger suggested that this might make it impossible to produce a joint communiqué, the Chinese relented, showing both real consternation and also surprising appreciation of US domestic political considerations.

The wordings about Taiwan were particularly carefully and painfully chosen to indicate that the US agreed to the idea of one China, but also to a peaceful settlement of the problem by letting nature take its course. Taiwan's future was left to direct

negotiations between the Nationalists and Peking at some time in the future. The American formula "as tension in the area diminishes" in the joint communiqué, however, left it wide open for US troops to remain on Taiwan for an indefinite period.

NEITHER NIXON NOR -KISSINGER was able to assess after the talks how much influence the Chinese had in Hanoi, but clearly the one thing that stood out to the Chinese was "the pride" of the North Vietnamese, which probably meant that they were too stubborn, too self-confident to take their advice. "If only," Kissinger sighed during a particularly fruitless period of negotiations with Hanoi, "the North Vietnamese would take the same long-term view of their future relationship with Saigon as the Chinese do in regard to Taiwan, there would be no problem of finding a settlement."

Nixon did not simply want to throw in the towel in Vietnam,

when was what more and more Democrats and some liberal Republicans were proposing; he wanted to make the best possible effort to organise the withdrawal so as to ensure that the American blood spilled in Vietnam would not have been spilled altogether in vain. The great and unresolved question was whether such a controlled retreat was politically and militarily feasible. However, he was confident that by demonstrating that he was winding down the war, he could gather enough support in Congress and in the country at large. Could he have saved American lives by withdrawing faster? The analysts concluded that given the goal of wanting to avoid defeat, he could not.

The President decided on a withdrawal strategy very early in his term of office, but he did not tell anybody except one or two of his closest advisers. For about a year no one could give him an estimate of the military situation on the ground with any assurance of reliability. The big question was how fast troops could be

Kissinger confers; left, US Ambassador Ellsworth Bunker and South Vietnamese UN Ambassador in Washington Tran Kim Phuong; right, Nguyen Phu Doc, special adviser to Thieu

8

withdrawn without seriously jeopardising South Vietnam's internal security. To reach more reliable conclusions, Kissinger decided to send his own team, headed by Major General Haig, who combined the knowledge of a military with an intelligent civilian mind. Haig's team concluded that by carefully meshing the withdrawal rate with the military risks involved, a policy could be developed to sustain the President's strategy. Kissinger's NSC staff then created an analytical base and framework for the phasing out of US forces and for estimating the risks to security in the Vietnamese countryside.

To counter mounting military pressure that the pace of the US withdrawal should be slowed, the President was able to cite a new analysis produced by the NSC which showed that South Vietnam was under much better control than had been admitted and that Saigon's army was ready to assume responsibility for the fighting. Kissinger, in the meantime, tried to keep the second track lubricated — the Paris negotiations with the North Vietnamese.

By early this year both the Kremlin and Peking seemed to be fed up with the military strategy pursued by Hanoi, and would not intervene directly. The three great powers, each for its own reason, had reached the conclusion that it was better for everybody to bring this ill-fated war to an end. The Chinese most likely preferred a neutral buffer to unification, and did not want South Vietnam to be destroyed by sophisticated Russian military equipment which made Hanoi even more dependent on Moscow. The Russians were losing their keenness as Hanoi's appetite for newer and better weapons grew.

## It was the President who let go the fury

In the White House the feeling was, and more strongly than ever before, that only the Presidential elections were delaying the end of the war, to which both candidates were committed. The only difference was that Mr Nixon still hoped to prevent South Vietnam from going Communist and the Democrats' Mr McGovern did not mind whether it did or not. Did Americans really care anymore?

Mr Nixon did and probably a majority of Americans also preferred an end that would not be humiliating. Time and again, with steely eyes, he said to his aides that he would rather lose the elections and not be President than accept terms which would mean an American defeat in Vietnam.

Nor could he wish it on to any successor, because would not want to dishonour the American Presidency. Most of his aides were convinced, too, that—however much of a politician Nixon is—American Presidents are different from most other heads of government. They think that they are a very special clan, that something binds them, irrespective of party, for they share a very special experience, they know things that nobody else knows and nobody else can appreciate. Mr Nixon certainly thinks this way, and Presidents Eisenhower and Kennedy used to speak in the same terms about the Presidency.

The Vietnam policy, except for the concept of the so-called two-track policy of negotiations and Vietnamisation, which was Kissinger's, was run and supervised by the President himself and no one else. It was he who decided to unleash the fury of the better part of the US Navy and Air Force against Vietnam after the spring offensive in 1972; it was he who with only lukewarm support decided on the mining of Haiphong harbour, and it was he who laid down the exact limitations within which Kissinger was to negotiate in Paris.

The breakthrough came on October 8, and was revealed by Hanoi Radio in the broadcast of October 26: it was as if the North Vietnamese wanted to get the credit for the initiative, even though this made it difficult for anybody to maintain that Nixon had carefully timed it for the eve of the elections.

Nixon had pressed Kissinger very hard to get a peace settlement in May and June. But by September he felt less urgency about having an agreement before the elections. His position in them, after all, looked extraordinarily favourable, even without a settlement. The opinion polls showed him well ahead of Senator McGovern, and Kissinger's negotiating activities had made enough of an impression on the public for the polls to show more people agreeing with Nixon's handling of the Vietnam issue than with Mr McGovern's solution. He had already robbed his opponent of what McGovern had considered his strongest suit.

For Kissinger, however, the great moment of his White House career had arrived. Nothing mattered to him more than to bring the war to an end. He hoped to prove to his enemies that Dr Strangelove was in fact a successful peace-maker, to his friends that he meant what he said all along, and to himself that he could fulfil the greatest task he had set himself.

Hanoi's announcement hit the White House like a "smart bomb." It was the North now that was in a hurry. Kissinger had twice-cabled from Saigon asking Hanoi for a postponement as

President Thieu's resistance mounted, but in fear that Nixon might renounce the agreement after the elections the North Vietnamese had decided to put public pressure on both Washington and Saigon. Had he overrated his ability to bring Thieu along with the peace settlement? Had he been too bullish in assuring President Nixon that this was an acceptable accord? Had he gambled too high in his drang to put his seal on a settlement?

Kissinger realised what was at stake and with the President's agreement decided to face the Press. He seemed calm and self-confident, but the unusual thickness of his accent betrayed his inner tensions. When it was over, the correspondents were awed by the brilliance of his performance. He seemed to have extricated the US from a very tricky situation, he had telegraphed a warning to Thieu that the US would not allow him to jeopardise the agreement, and he had sent a ringing appeal to Hanoi to be a little more patient and to trust his assurances. And he had given Americans the feeling that the end of the ordeal was near.

"The agreement," as Kissinger put it to me, "was the best that could be attained under the circumstances." For the President it had come at an awkward moment, for he did not want to appear to be forcing it down President Thieu's throat. Kissinger therefore had to gain time, keep the smell of peace in the air, but postpone the signing until after Tuesday's election.

It is highly doubtful that North Vietnam would have made the same concessions in 1969 or 1970 or 1971. The confluence of pressures and perceptions that had developed in May 1972 did not exist before. Left to their own devices by Moscow and Peking, bombed and blockaded by the US, Hanoi did not want to fight Nixon for another four years.

To the question whether the costs of the four years justified the results, one can only say that they were obviously worth it to President Nixon. He could claim that the conditions permitted the US to withdraw, leaving Americans to think that they had done their part and more in defending South Vietnam. After all, it never had assumed an obligation, as Kissinger reminded Mr Thieu, to keep him in office. "It is your will that will shape the future" of South Vietnam, President Nixon had said earlier, and that test had come closer than President Thieu liked to think. There were some inbuilt incentives in the accord: the dire consequences of renewed fighting were one, the American carrot of economic aid for reconstruction of all Vietnam was another. Whether they can gradually persuade both sides to seek an accommodation after so many years of bitter confrontation remains very doubtful.

# New Look In Westerns—Real Dirt

By Joe Pollack

Of the Post-Dispatch Staff

All the myths are vanishing.

Santa Claus belongs to Weight Watchers, the tooth fairy passes out funny money, Snow White slept through Prince

Charming's kiss, Peter Pan grew up, and, in "DIRTY LITTLE BILLY," all the distinguishing characteristics of the good guys and the bad guys are lost under a layer of Western

grime and an attitude of stark truth that is fascinating and disturbing at the same time.

The film is one of the dirtiest ever seen — and the dirt is real. There is mud when it rains, and dust when it is hot, and bathtubs and dry cleaners are nonexistent and the dust devils fly in whenever the door opens.

Moreover, no one wears a fancy hoister, or a Stetson, or chaps, and there are no quick-draw artists and a totally true — and cinematically blasphemous — moment when the young Billy the Kid is told, "The only thing to do with this gun is to try to fire as many shots as possible as quickly as possible in the general direction of the person you're shooting at. You may get lucky and hit him."

The effect is an outstanding look at a more realistic West than filmgoers usually see, and the director, Stan Dragotli, and one of the stars, Lee Purcell, were in St. Louis last week to talk about it.

MISS PURCELL, who hasn't cracked a smile in her last two films, didn't even smile much over lunch while she talked.

"I didn't seem to get happy parts," she said. "In my last four television appearances, I've had an abortion; an illegitimate child, a venereal disease and a tumor. There isn't too much laughable in them. I would like to do a comedy some day, but I'd like it to be a good one."

In "Billy," she plays a prostitute who works in a back room of a saloon and on whose earnings the local bad man, and eventually Billy, manage to live. There isn't too much that's funny about it, though she does display a lupine grin during a brutal fight with another girl. Her previous film, "Stand Up and Be Counted," cast her as a young and intense women's libber who hires a high school football coach to provide her with a child of proper genes.

"I do smile some in my next film," she added. "It's called 'Dimebox,' and I get to seduce Dennis Hopper;"

Dragotli, who made the jump to feature films from directing television spots for the Wells, Rich, Greene advertising agency, does a splendid job. He also wrote the screenplay with Charles Moss and even convinced the agency to put up some of the money for the film, which is listed as a Jack L. Warner and WRG-Dragotli Production.

"It was something I wanted to do," he said. "I've always wanted to get away from the traditional Western, the one with the clean hands and the fast draw and the white hats. I wanted to show what a part of the West really was like in those days," and fortunately I was able to do it!"

Dragotli punctures another image by making the film an "indoor Western." Almost all the action takes place within the saloon where Billy, played by Michael J. Pollard, and the badman, Goldie, played by Richard Evans, are holed up with Miss Purcell.

He succeeds very well, too, with the viewer never getting the claustrophobic feeling that too much indoor shooting often creates.

"DON'T FORGET," said Miss Purcell, "that there were a lot more people in the room than show on the screen. We really were crowded — and did we ever smell bad? Actually, it took more than a month before I got really clean again."

"Stan was great," she went on. "I've not worked with very many directors, but I thought he was wonderful. Most directors think that actresss are just so many properties to push around, with no brains at all. But Stan looked at all of us, said, not just actors, and it was a pleasure to work with him. He would listen to suggestions from other people, and sometimes he'd use them and sometimes he wouldn't, but he always listened."

Miss Purcell, born in North Carolina, grew up in Paragould, Ark., and attended Stephens College, with primary ambitions as a dancer "until I ruined a knee."

She did smile as she continued, "Getting expelled from Stephens was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I went to California to be an actress, and, it worked out fine." Miss Purcell now lives in England, where she is preparing a live, one-woman show, but she's

thinking about a move back to this country.

There are some visual similarities between "Billy" and the recent "Bad Company," and perhaps the industry is about to enter a new phase in its relationship with Western films.

"Billy" certainly fits that attitude. Most of it is shot with dark overtones and Ralph Woolsey's camera work is excellent. The acting is generally good, although Pollard shows his usual tendency to mumble, which hurts in spots.

Miss Purcell even had the answer to that, though it might be stretching the need for authenticity a little far.

"Don't forget," she said, "that the real Billy the Kid had a terrible lisp."

(Running time: 1 hour, 40 minutes. Rating, R. At the EQUIRE II and III.)

## 'Lady Sings The Blues'

Taking into account a rather casual attitude toward accuracy and a singer whose own style is so familiar that it does not adapt very well, "Lady Sings the Blues" is not a bad motion picture. On the other hand, it isn't a very good motion picture. It is, however, a very long motion picture.

Diana Ross makes her screen debut as the late Billie Holiday, who died in 1959 at the age of 44, three years after she and William Duffy combined on the book whose title remains and from which the screenplay was adapted. Miss Ross sings well, but unfortunately, the singing has more of Miss Ross than of Miss Holiday. As a young actress, she shows fine talent and great promise.

Where the truncation of facts is concerned, the filmmakers do things like opening the picture with a narcotics arrest of Miss Holiday in 1939 (it happened in 1949) and, after flashbacks and forward motion, there is an effective climax with her first Carnegie Hall concert, which also occurred in 1949.

Another shortcoming is in the music, which may be hard to believe. Miss Ross sings about a dozen of Miss Holiday's top songs, and presents them well, but there is no depiction of any other music or of the giants of the era like Benny Goodman, Teddy Wilson, Artie Shaw, Count Basie and others.

Miss Ross's acting is at its best in the early scenes covering her childhood in Baltimore and her introduction to a Harlem brothel. Matson Brothers is excellent in a brief scene in the brothel.

The film also omits any reference to Miss Holiday's first two marriages, linking her only with Billy Dee Williams, who is strong and properly loving as her third husband, Louis McKay. Another fine performance comes from Richard Pryor as her long-time friend, Piano Man, who meets a tragie-end.

Director Sidney J. Furde does a generally good job, and it was cheering to see some of the old-fashioned techniques like railroad wheels, theater marqués and newspaper clippings used to show passage of time and space. They are corny, but they are effective.

(Running time: 2 hours, 24 minutes. Rating, R. At the FOX, NORTHWEST PLAZA, NORTHLAND, MARK TWAIN.)

## 'Long Ago Tomorrow'

If you liked "Love Story," you'll l-o-ove "Long Ago-Tomorrow," in which both hero and heroine, besides being attractive, bright, witty, and just all-round meat, are confined to wheelchairs in a home for disabled people.

Bryan Forbes, who triples as writer of the screenplay, director and real-life husband of the star, has managed to avoid a number of clichés in the story, but found plenty to include in his adaptation of Peter Marshall's novel, "The Raging Moon."

Malcolm McDowell and Nanette Newman are the ill-fated lovers and generally come across well, though McDowell is at his most effective early in the film, when he is more in his "Clockwork Orange" style. Later, as he turns into a nice guy, he loses much of his believability. Miss Newman, whose gentle beauty is a real adornment to the screen, carried her part in good fashion.

a series of unhappy roles.

Georgia Brown is excellent as a friendy worker at the home who befriends the couple, and Michael Flanders, the chairbound part of the music-comedy team of Flanders and Swann, is fine in a brief role.

Burt Bacharach and Hal David wrote the title song. The other music, all effective, is by Stanley Meyers.

(Running Time: 1 hour, 45 minutes. Rating, PG. At the 'HI-POINTE.)

dr. thosteson

## Bootlegged Arthritis Injections

DEAR DR. THOSTESON: In your article on arthritis you told a questioner not to use Mexican or Canadian injections, but didn't say what the dire results would be.amt are they? Also please send me your booklet on "How You Can Control Arthritis," for which I enclose 35 cents and a long, self-addressed, stamped envelope.
R.C.

I DIDN'T CONDEMN all arthritis medications just because they happen to be Canadian or Mexican. I warned against the ones that are illegal in the United States and are "bootlegged" across the border, or used by people who go there because they can't get the treatments legally in the U.S.

Not all these bootleg confections have the same consequences, but some deaths have been traced to them. In other cases, blood is impaired. In many, the medication involves large doses of cortisone, which are effective briefly, but when continued can cause many disorders ranging from "moon face" swelling, to fractures of bones, to mental disturbances. So be on your guard; get your own doctor's approval before using such drugs.

DEAR DR. THOSTESON: We often have fresh fish and if any is left over, I refrigerate it to eat warmed up in a day or so.

My husband will not touch it and vows that it will poison me. I find this hard to believe, but can't help but wonder.

MRS. M.

I SHOULD THINK your husband might begin to wonder, too, since you are living proof that it hasn't poisoned you.

Thorough cooking and adequate refrigeration are, of course, necessary to prevent noxious deterioration, but that's a good rule for any food, not just fish.

Come to Pier 1 and harvest Thanksgiving values. Here's just a sampling of the savings.

THE MAKING
OF A
SEX SYMBOL

Three years ago Henry Kissinger was a colorless White House adviser, a portly intellectual with big ears. Now he has become a romantic figure, an escort of starlets

Things have gotten just a bit out of control. No question of that. You can't get Henry Kissinger to admit it, but things have somehow managed to... get out of hand. "I know what I'm doing," Henry Kissinger reassures friends—and he reassures them not because they wonder whether Henry knows what he is doing when it comes to China, say, or Hanoi or Moscow; Henry may know what he is doing when it comes to China, Hanoi and Moscow, and then again he may not. No, his friends need reassuring about whether Henry knows what he is doing when it comes to women.

In the beginning, you see, everyone found it funny—charming, really—this portly Harvard professor pretending to be the Nixon administration's chief sex symbol, playing along, humoring a press that foolishly persisted in describing him as man-about-town, gay divorcé, lady-killer, *bon vivant*. But now it seems Henry Kissinger is not merely enjoying it but actually taking it seriously, grinning goo-goo eyes at belly dancers, calling addresses he's never met for dates, turning up on covers of movie magazines, reducing an otherwise level-headed French journalist to a moonstruck adolescent—well, you get the picture: Henry has gone too far. "You've gone too far," one of Henry's friends said to him recently. "I know what I'm doing," Henry Kissinger replied.

Henry Kissinger absolutely loves remembering how it all started. He is smiling uncontrollably as he sits in his spacious but impersonal White House office and tells me the story. It was on an October day in 1969—"I was a baby then," he says—when he went to a very fashionable cocktail party at the home of Washington wit Barbara Howar in honor of writer Gloria Steinem. Kissinger had been living quietly in Washington for almost a year; the articles written about him in that period do not contain any references to his social life, for the simple reason that it was virtually nonexistent. (One

reporter, desperately trying to ferret out some personal tidbits about Kissinger in the early Nixon era, was able to come up with only the information that Kissinger adored marzipan and canned fish.)

At the cocktail party, Kissinger knew the hostess and he had dinner plans with the guest of honor, but he knew almost no one else in the room. He clung to a Manila envelope, slunk off by himself into a corner, and was methodically nursing a drink and trying to look preoccupied when he was discovered by Washington Post reporter Sally Quinn. Kissinger claims he did not know Miss Quinn was a reporter, but he allowed her to shepherd him over to be photographed looking shyly away from Miss Steinem and Senator George McGovern, and promptly slunk back to the outskirts of the party, where Miss Quinn found him again minutes later.

"You really are a swinger underneath it all, aren't you?" Sally Quinn teased.

"Well," Kissinger replied, "you couldn't call me a swinger because of my job. Why don't you just assume I'm a secret swinger?"

And that was the beginning. The quote appeared in Miss Quinn's article and then in almost every magazine and newspaper in the country. "You made me what I am today," Kissinger always says to Sally Quinn, which is not quite accurate, but it will do. Says Barbara Howar: "The 'secret swinger' incident was Henry's first time to blurt to the press that he might have a little more gaiety than the average Nixon appointee." The quote itself and, just as important, the photograph of Kissinger with Gloria Steinem (Senator McGovern was mysteriously cropped off) were the start of a series of events that were to transform Kissinger, if not from ugly duckling to swan, certainly from nonentity to what Barbara Walters of NBC calls "the Jackie Onassis of the Nixon administration." The / turn to page 126

by Nora Ephron

86 MCCALL'S. NOVEMBER 1972

SCULPTURE BY CHARLES MENDEZ

Certainly, without a luxurious borrowed house, the Martins would not have gone to Puerto Vallarta. They knew that it had been spoiled at least five years ago; they kept up with that sort of thing. That first afternoon, they wondered if even a free house and a week of sun made the trip worthwhile. (They were from San Francisco, suffering from a prolonged cold season of rain that winter.)

The beach was very crowded, and the crowd was taken over by what in later descriptions the Martins called the Dangling Man. Squealing tourists were hoisted into the air, suspended in a harness from a parachute that was pulled along by a tearing speedboat. The dangler was dragged just above the beach and then artfully lowered into a crowd of beachboys, who helped him down and disen tangled the harness. All this involved a lot of shouting. One could close one's eyes against the spectacle, as both Paul and Casey Martin did, but it was impossible to be unaware of it.

No one else seemed to mind. In fact, one man, standing before his group in matching red-flowered shorts and short-sleeved shirt, could be heard to proclaim, "You know, when we get back home, I'm going to fix up one of those things out on the river with my own little old boat."

"I hope he breaks his bloody Texas neck," Casey murmured to her husband. Paul laughed.

The Martins, both in their early forties, were an extraordinarily handsome couple. Casey, in fact, had been a nearly top model in New York, in the early 1950s. Dark and very tall, she had a model's angularity and tensely controlled gestures. She was not pretty or beautiful, but she exuded chic. Paul was much fairer than she, and actually his features were better. After more than 15 years, he was still very much in love with his wife.

"And I'm going to teach old Henry to make some of these here margaritas," the flower-shirted Texan went on.

"Have you noticed," Paul asked Casey, "that Texas tourists are / turn to page 150

## AFTERNOONS AT THE BEACH

She had everything, it would seem: an attentive husband, good looks and money. Why, then, this restlessness, this fear that something was passing her by?

BY ALICE ADAMS

MARK ENGLISH

With the holidays soon upon us, the time to take note of your looks is now. On these pages, the basics of head-to-toe maintenance, plus some quick beauty tricks for this busy season

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The signals are coming through loud and clear: The now and future direction of hair is natural. This doesn't mean messy or uncontrolled. You can "go natural" and still look as if you had just stepped out of an expensive salon. It starts with the cut, and the trick here is to have your hair cut the way it wants to go. If it's straight, choose a flattering straight style—the sleek, chin-length cut at right is a good example. If it's curly, don't fight it. Invest in a good, basic, layered cut that works with your hair, not against it. Maintenance is quick and easy. With the available profusion of gentling shampoos and new conditioners, plus the help of a blower-dryer, even the woman with / turn to page 132

YOUR
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88

*continued*

all his energy—and we all know how exhausting jealousy can be—into a jealous fit, partly to “prove” a love that underneath he does not fully believe in anyway.

The easing of jealousy requires that one cease continually asking what the other person is doing, cease projecting onto the other person one's own wandering desires. It requires turning one's attention to one's self, and asking: Why is my self-esteem so low in the first place? I quite understand that this question may be difficult to answer. But at least it turns your concern to an area where you can do something about your situation. It is also helpful to ask yourself why you select a person as a partner whom you have so much difficulty loving. These questions lead toward the basic problem of trust as an inseparable part of authentic love.

Love normally increases one's sense of self-esteem, and thus increases one's inner confidence and sense of power. Therefore, to love in a genuine sense is in itself one cure for jealousy. No matter what our age, we can learn a worthwhile lesson from the adolescent who, when he falls in love, sud-

denly begins to care for himself. It is not mere vanity that now makes him concerned about how he looks. He even walks more confidently. He seems to be silently saying, “You are looking at somebody now.” His new attitude does not depend centrally on whether or not his love is returned. What has happened is that he has experienced a new birth of confidence in his own capacities and potentialities: an accompaniment to the experiencing of love.

The person who is thus confident of his own power is able to cooperate with, be sensitive to, and even at times capitulate to, the desires of his partner—without feeling he has to surrender his essence as a person.

The error the Victorians made in believing that love was associated with the renunciation of power arose from their having seen both love and power in the wrong context. Love, to them, was simply an emotion, a feeling, a sentiment; power was seen exclusively as a force for coercing other people. This superficial way of thinking was associated with a pretense that life is easier than it is and that power was unnecessary in our own lives and in our children's.

Such an attitude underestimates the difficulty of loving and overlooks the fact that love is always, no matter how profound and lasting, afflicted with its moments of dishonesty. The sooner we admit this to ourselves, the sooner we will achieve understanding of those we love.

We need to see both love and power on deeper levels of our experience. Love is an expression of the fact that our own being is united with another being. Power—in the sense of self-esteem and exemplified as nutrient power—is also characteristic of our own being as we act in relation to others.

And so the boundaries of authentic power and authentic love actually overlap. Authentic love makes the person who loves want to understand and affirm his beloved. This normally increases his own self-esteem rather than detracting from it. Such a relationship will show itself in the concern of each partner for the dignity of the other and for the preservation of the independent self of both. In a developing love relationship, assertion and affirmation—and even, at times, aggression—are not only unavoidable but healthy. ■

## THE MAKING OF A SEX SYMBOL

*continued from page 86*

position is not, to be sure, one that many other Nixon appointees are clamoring for; it may even be a claim to fame that Kissinger earns by default: to be a swinger in Republican Washington would require little more than wearing a funny paper hat and being seen out on the town after 9 P.M. "If this were the Kennedy administration," says Miss Steinem, "nobody would pay attention to him." In any event, the slot of administration sex symbol was open and was Kissinger's for the taking.

There are times when administration critics claim that Henry Kissinger's swinging image is a calculated plot designed to bring to the Nixon group image some measure of life, humor, humanity even. From time to time a particularly virulent sniper will suggest that Kissinger's dating of beautiful women—as, for example, during his trips to Paris—is simply a smoke screen to divert the press from his attempts to negotiate with the Viet Cong. These critics are forced to lean to such theories: how else to explain the improbable success of a 49-year-old German immigrant with large ears, a commanding nose, frumpy clothes, wrinkled forehead, double chin and blooming paunch?

As it turns out, however, there are other, simpler explanations. The first, and easiest, has to do with the media's stampede to cover anyone who might remotely be a human-interest story. A second reason concerns the nature of life for any unattached man in Washington, D.C., where to be a bachelor gives one the automatic status of an Adonis. A third explanation has to do with the fact that—his power aside—Henry Kissinger is a genuinely charming, nice man, funny, self-deprecating,

extremely thoughtful and kind. He is also an intellectual, of which there have always been traditionally few during Republican administrations. His wit may not be impressive by New York standards; indeed, it is probably best characterized as Teutonic. But for Washington, for a Republican official in Washington, no less, it seems astonishing.

"You keep hearing about the great charm he has with single glamorous ladies," says his friend Barbara Walters, "and that's what makes news. But he's equally charming with married women and with men. And you always have the feeling he's told you ten percent more than he has to."

In the weeks and months following the Howar party, Kissinger became a fixture on the Washington social scene. He loved parties and tended to go wherever he was asked. He sent flowers to his hostesses the next day and made a genuine effort to reciprocate invitations. In spite of his responsibilities, he returned phone calls promptly to friends. He brought lovely presents back from overseas (caviar from Moscow for Washington Post publisher Katharine Graham, jade and silk from China for such friends as Tom and Joan Braden, Muffy and Henry Brandon). He sent indecipherable postcards from distant cities. He became a regular at lunch at the Sans Souci, the French restaurant near the White House where most of the Washington establishment can be found between noon and 2 P.M. He was linked in the columns to Barbara Howar and others, but those in the know knew that his most frequent companion was a tall, quiet New Yorker named Nancy Maginnes, who works for Governor Nelson Rockefeller. Photographs of

the staid German doctor—especially photographs of him with women—begun to take on a new twinkle. Life was definitely changing. "Now when I bore people," Kissinger said, "they think it's their fault."

Kissinger was almost the only prominent Nixon official invited to the homes of Washington Democrats, and those who did invite him found it harder and harder to associate this genial, reasonable guest with the Vietnamese war all of them despised. Kissinger—whose informality leads acquaintances to call him Henry on the first meeting—never tired of explaining his point of view to those who disagreed with him, which made him seem even more genial and reasonable. He bore up as close friends called him a warmonger to his face and went on to explain once again why he was doing what he was doing.

In mid-1970 Kissinger began to move out of the placid Washington scene and into an entirely new world of conquests. Which brings us finally to a fourth explanation for Kissinger's success as a ladies' man: his own extremely energetic efforts in this area. Through Frank Sinatra he met Jill St. John, and found the actress charming. Miss St. John, who happens to be Jewish (her real name is Oppenheim), was also a delight to Kissinger's father, who carefully clips photographs of his famous son for a scrapbook he keeps. "At last you've found a Jewish girl," the senior Kissinger told his son.

Miss St. John introduced Kissinger to her friend, Hollywood gossip columnist Joyce Haber, who wrote a column about the couple and became good enough friends with Kissinger to arrange dates for him while he stayed at the summer White House in San Clemente. Before long Kissinger was a

*continued*

126

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*continued*

regular patron of show-business hang-
outs like Beverly Hills restaurant Le
Bistro, and a frequent guest at Holly-
wood parties. He was photographed
with starlets; others whom he claimed
to have barely met said they had dated
him. According to Joyce Haber, one
of these was Angel Tomkins, who sat
next to Kissinger one night at a dinner
party, chatted with him exactly ten
minutes and promptly sent out a press
release and appeared on a talk show to
discuss her new romance with Kis-
singer. Among the women Kissinger
has actually dated in Hollywood:
Samantha Eggar, Joanna Barnes, Marlo
Thomas, Hope Lange, June Wilkinson
and Candy Bergen. "Henry," said Bar-
bara Howar to him at one point,
"would that you could get in and out
of Hollywood as quietly as you did
Peking." Kissinger has continued to
date Miss Maginnes—they have quiet
evenings at the opera and theater in
New York—but the Hollywood pho-
tographers catch him with actress,
and these are the pictures that appear
in the press.

Occasionally Kissinger puts down the actresses he knows. "I go out with actresss," he once explained, "be-
cause I'm not very apt to marry one."
And: "These starlets I go out with
aren't even sexy." The fact is, however,
that Kissinger is utterly fascinated.
"I've never met actresses before," he
confided to a friend, as if he were dis-
cussing some rare Polynesian tribe.
He was amazed by their megalomania and
astonished by their frantic desire for
publicity. He was in addition undoub-
edly having as marvelous a time as a
kid in a candy store: Henry Kissinger's
life, it may safely be guessed, has not
heretofore been full of beautiful wom-
en who would drop anything for an
evening with him. (His 15-year mar-
riage ended in 1964; Kissinger's ex-
wife lives near Boston with their two
children, Elizabeth, 13, and David, 11.)

"What you have to remember about Henry," says one of his friends who goes back to his Harvard days, "is that he's the creep nobody would ever eat lunch with. He was the kind of kid other kids would steal a candy bar from just for pure meanness. He had a terrible childhood, he was a grind, he thought of himself as a hopelessly asexual object. All of a sudden he gets some power and everything changes.

"It's his one area of weakness," the friend went on. "He really can't quite believe it. He told someone once that he realized that as soon as he was out of power this wouldn't be happening, so he was going to get all he could while he could. But he still can't believe it. At the same time, with power he has become more confident and more attractive. He really isn't a creep any more. Now it's conceivable that he might be appealing to women. He doesn't understand that. He thinks it's just power."

Henry Kissinger once said about
himself that he had "a first-rate mind

and a third-rate intuition about peo-
ple.” Most of his friends would lower
that second estimate to fifth-rate when
it comes to the women Kissinger has en-
countered in Hollywood. There were,
of course, some who loved him for his
mind, and so forth, but there were also
those who wanted simply to use him for
whatever career benefits might accrue
from being seen with the country’s sec-
ond most powerful man. Kissinger
staunchly defends Miss St. John from
these charges: He genuinely likes her,
and he does not mind if every so often
she loses control and rushes off to her
press agent and tells all—on the con-
dition she will then manage to clam up
for the next few months. Miss St. John
has in fact been employed more fre-
quently since she began being photo-
graphed with Kissinger, but as her press
agent pointed out when she was first
linked with the Presidential adviser,
she could use the publicity: "She
hasn't had a part in six months. She
hasn't worked except for making a
$35,000 television commercial for
somebody who makes sunglasses."

Kissinger has learned to shun the
actresses who want him for publicity,
but he has learned the hard way. The
lesson came at the hands of a starlet
named Judy Brown, a simple, good-
natured, not terribly successful per-
former who has appeared in one X-
rated Danish film called *Threeforme*
and two R-rated films of equal obscuri-
ity, *Women in Cages* and *The Big Doll
House*. Miss Brown was seen with Kis-
singer at a number of Los Angeles night
spots over a period of about a year.
She served him homemade chopped
liver one day, and the gesture so
touched him, she reports, that he said:
"You better stop that or I'll fall in love
with you." He brought her milk for
her ulcer. "All sorts of milk," said Miss
Brown. "Gallons and quarts, every-
thing." She spent a day lying in the
Palm Springs sun with him; he read
*The Godfather*, she, *The New Cen-
turions*. "I found that very romantic
and compatible," said Miss Brown.
He took her to San Clemente, and they
went for a walk on the beach. "I made
him do that," Miss Brown recalled. "I
made him get out and be a normal per-
son and walk on the beach—with the
Secret Service men behind us in full
dress, although I don't know how nor-
mal that is. We were holding hands
and we had our arms around each oth-
er. I was in shorts and he was in casual
dress, and it's very rare to see him in
casual dress. He's always in a suit and
tie. Always."

One night—the night before Nixon
was to announce his historic trip to
China—Kissinger and Judy Brown
went off to dine at Le Bistro. During
dinner a Secret Service man came over
to the table and said that photographers
were waiting outside. Kissinger na-
turally concluded they had been sent by
Miss Brown's press agent, so he allowed
his aides to sneak him and his date
through the back kitchen and down to
the alley, where a car was waiting.
Judy Brown was furious.

"If you're so worried about being
recognized and photographed in pub-
lic," she snapped, "why don't you take
out secretaries?"

"I don't like secretaries," Kissinger
said. "I like actresss."

"Well," said Miss Brown, "you can't
have your cake and eat it."

"Then I'll do without my cake," said
Kissinger.

Shortly thereafter, Miss Brown told
the entire story of her relationship with
Kissinger to Will Tusher, a writer for
*Silver Screen Magazine*. The article
contained information about how Kis-
singer had once kissed her in the lobby
of the Beverly Hills Hotel but usually
refused to be affectionate in public.
"He's big under the table," Miss Brown
revealed to Tusher. "We hold hands a
lot under the table." Kissinger's re-
sponse to the article was to call Miss
Brown "a publicity maniac" and to in-
sist, rather ungallantly, that he had
seen her only three times in his life.

"I can understand why he wanted to
avoid the photographers at the Bistro,"
Miss Brown said afterward. "It would
have come out the next day, and it
would have taken away from the Presi-
dent's speech. Imagine, you see a head-
line, Nixon is going to Red China, and
right next to it a picture of me and Kis-
singer. It would ruin that.

"He couldn't tell me that at that time.
Now of course I know he had other
things on his mind. You see, it's very
difficult for me... and I guess I want to
think that I'm always being catered to.
He'd just gotten back from Paris, and
I didn't know what was going on in his
mind, that it was about China. ... And
I asked him that night at the Bistro, I
said, 'Tell me what you've been doing.
What did you do in Paris? What did
you do in Pakistan?' He couldn't tell
me, and I got uptight about that. I said,
'Tell me things. Tell me about it. Talk
to me. I want to know.' He said, 'I
can't tell you right now. When I can,
I will. When we're in San Clemente
and I have more time, I'll tell you any-
thing you want to ask me.'"

The flap with Miss Brown was of
course mere prelude to *l'affaire Hune-
belle*. Danielle Hunebelle, a respected
French journalist with gamine good
looks, came to Washington to inter-
view Kissinger for an article for the dis-
tinguished French magazine, *Réalités*,
and to do a television film on him. The
rest is history, albeit of a strange and
sappy sort.

Henry Kissinger is naturally flirta-
tious—if a bit heavy-handed at it.
Lines like, “When are the two of us
going to run off together?” are harm-
less staples in his conversation. One
reporter who wore hot pants to his of-
fice a year ago was greeted with: “What
are you trying to do? Seduce me? You
know I like these hot pants very much.”
It is possible that Danielle Hunebelle,
whose English leaves something to be
desired, mistook Kissinger's banter for
something more. Kissinger is also kind
to a fault; he now realizes that rather

*continued*

128 McCALL'S. NOVEMBER 1972

How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways:

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*continued*

than putting up with Miss Hunebelle's incessant phone calls and throbbing letters, he should simply have told her off. In any case, for reasons that are clear to no one, Danielle Hunebelle fell madly in love with Kissinger and even ran her car off the road when he came to Paris and went out instead with CBS producer Margaret Osmer. She then drowned her sorrows by writing a book about the entire experience. *Dear Henry* is a potboiler, an utterly absurd work; nonetheless, it has done well for its author if not for its subject. Kissinger is described in it as having a disorderly bedroom full of dirty laundry, bad table manners and pudgy fingers. "We were two romantics, made for passion like Tristan and Isolde," writes Miss Hunebelle.

Kissinger was puzzled and astonished by *Dear Henry* and did not quite know what he had done to deserve it. "If you speak with me three times," Kissinger told a recent visitor to his office, "our relationship will be deeper

than mine was with Hunebelle." Beyond a dinner or two in the early period of their acquaintance, nothing romantic occurred; he was genuinely surprised by the depth of Miss Hunebelle's response. When this reaction was repeated to Miss Hunebelle during her recent tour to promote her book, she said: "Henry praises only estimates of strength and force. If you do not have a nuclear bomb under your pillow, he is not interested. Look at the North Vietnamese, Indira Gandhi, the Japanese and me. Our story is exactly the same. Because we have no nuclear bomb under our pillow, Henry never expected our reaction."

The White House reaction to Kissinger's life-style? The President is reportedly somewhat amused and somewhat appalled. The White House social office is mainly amused, and delights in seating Kissinger next to women like Zsa Zsa Gabor and Cristina Ford at State Dinners. Kissinger's aides refer jokingly to Hunebelle—especially when dealing with other female reporters.

## What Doctors Prescribe Most
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("Another Hunebelle," one of his aides said when I expressed the hope I might see Kissinger for longer than I had been promised.)

Kissinger's other women come in for their share of discussion, too. More than a year ago, just after the formation of the National Women's Political Caucus, the President and some of his aides joked in front of the press about the organization. When Nixon asked who Gloria Steinem was, Secretary of State William Rogers replied, "That's Henry's old girl friend." This remark led Miss Steinem to say: "I am not now and never have been a girl friend of Henry Kissinger." Kissinger was quite hurt by Miss Steinem's attempts to slough him off as a mere acquaintance when he insists that he has had dinner with her seven or eight times. "Gloria Steinem is not now and has never been my girl friend," he said at a Washington Press Club dinner. "But I am not discouraged. After all, she did not say that if nominated, she would not accept or if elected, she would not serve." As the noted political writer Richard Harris commented in *More*, the journalism review: "General Sherman's hackneyed line has been put to many poor uses, but only Dr. Kissinger could use it to suggest that an offer of his companionship was something like being offered the Presidency."

It is a hot July day in Washington, and I am sitting in Henry Kissinger's office in the White House. It all seems somewhat absurd: Kissinger is just back from a secret trip to Paris to see the Viet Cong, and I am here to discuss his image, his women, his private life, his future. Kissinger does not seem to mind. He is relaxed, pours me a cup of tea, seems almost candid. He cannot imagine marrying while he is in the White House, he says; no woman could separate him from what he does. He concedes his intuition about women leaves something to be desired, but claims he has improved. "I used to be D plus," he says. "Now I'm about a B minus." He has absolutely no idea of what he will do when he leaves the White House, but he is not worried. Does he know what he is doing? Has he gone too far? Has he become not the administration's sex symbol but its buffoon, unintentionally making a fool of himself? Kissinger clearly does not think so. History will not judge him on his behavior with women.

And it occurs to me as I leave that the people who think he has gone too far have not considered what really going too far might be. He is not, after all, jumping into swimming pools at parties, or throwing pies, or appearing on "Laugh-In," or becoming engaged to ecdysiasts. He has not yet appeared on the "Tonight" show—although it is not hard to imagine it: Gloria Steinem is not now . . . A delightful girl, very interested in foreign policy . . . Now when I bore people . . . It's not hard to imagine, is it? And don't rule it out. "I know what I'm doing," says Henry Kissinger.

130