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DIPLOMACY: Kremlin Man

17 minute read
TIME

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In the hot afternoon sun some 15,000 New Yorkers and tourists jammed the sidewalks outside Manhattan’s new showplace Coliseum one day last week, while more than 50 cops held the bulging lines. Soon a string of limousines pulled up. Out stepped the President of the U.S., the Vice President, Commerce Secretary Lewis Strauss, Under Secretary of State Douglas Dillon, U.N. Ambassador Henry Cabot Lodge and a retinue of other officials. Waiting to greet them at the Coliseum’s main door was a barrel-stout man with iron-grey, curly hair and a broad smile: Frol Romanovich Kozlov, 50, First Deputy Premier of the U.S.S.R.. the Kremlin’s No. 2 man. sent by Nikita Khrushchev to officiate at the opening of Russia’s flashy exhibition of science, technology and culture (TIME. July 6).

The ceremony was far more than a hands-across-the-sea tribute to an elaborate display of cultural and industrial wares. It was a milestone in the new day of person-to-person diplomacy, and both sides were aware of the high stakes. President Eisenhower had shifted his schedule to fly up to meet Kozlov. because 1) he was genuinely interested in seeing what manner of $10 million show the Russians had opened at the U.S. front door, and 2) he was more interested in seeing that Vice President Nixon gets the same kind of reciprocal top-level treatment when he opens the U.S. exposition in Moscow on July 25. For his part, genial Frol Kozlov, as Khrushchev’s understudy, was out to get a look at the Soviet Union’s chief competitor and potential enemy (his last known trip outside the U.S.S.R.: to Hungary, with Khrushchev, in April 1958), and in the process to make whatever propaganda he could.

Icebreakers & Warmth. For a stranger in a strange land with strange dignitaries, Kozlov took over with hostly firmness, attached himself to the President with only a young interpreter bobbing along between them. Kozlov, who speaks no English, boomed out his small talk, and the interpreter translated softly. Ike small-talked back as they headed for the escalator. He recalled his visit to Russia after V-E day in 1945. “We visited the Leningrad trenches, and then we visited the house of a very famous Russian poet —but I forgot his name.” “Pushkin?” offered the interpreter. “Yes, Pushkin,” recalled Ike. The President was guided to the exhibit’s centerpiece, a display of the shiny models of the three Russian Sputniks and a replica of the Lunik nose cone. “Just think of the millions and millions of miles,” he muttered politely. At the model display of the Soviet nuclear icebreaker Lenin, Kozlov shouted in Ike’s ear: “That’s what we use atomic power for.” The President, author of his own wide-ranging atoms-for-peace program, smiled and replied: “I’ve been preaching that for six years.”

Orange Juice & Wine. Kozlov was still talking animatedly when they settled down in a glass-enclosed lounge for a breather. The Russians offered some champagne, but Ike courteously turned it down. He took an orange juice, and so did Kozlov. But the Russians still persisted with the champagne, and Ike politely accepted “just a little,” was handed a full glass.

No sooner did Ike mention that the U.S. produces good red wine than Kozlov sent for some. “Oh no.” protested the President. “Have some!” boomed Kozlov. “Well,” sighed the President, “just a little.” Ike lifted the glass, studied the color, sniffed the bouquet, took a sip. “Very good,” he said. “We drink port after dinner.” The small talk persisted. Kozlov asked the President if he was in a hurry. “Oh. we’ve got about a half hour,” he replied. He held up his wrist to display a new watch. “It has the days and the moon phases,” said Ike. Kozlov shook his head in admiration.

The company plowed on through a fast tour of the exhibit of Soviet art. which turned out to be mostly a collection of representational paintings glorifying the joys of Communist life (e.g., Volunteer Pioneer of the Virgin Lands, showing a windswept Russian youth gazing squarely into a bucolic future). At length, the presidential party headed for the elevators. Said Ike to Host Kozlov: “I think this is a very, very admirable exhibit.”

Dreams & Dolls. For all Kozlov’s pride in the chock-full Soviet exhibit, the plain fact was that it mirrored not Russian life today but a combination of genuine achievements (e.g., in the sciences) and a happy dream of the future. Wrote the New York Times’?, Russian-speaking Max Frankel. just after a two-year tour of duty as a Moscow correspondent, during which he made a swing through the breadth of the Soviet Union: “Many a Russian would agree with the one who expressed a desire to come to the New York exhibit to find out how he lives . . . [It] strives for an image of abundance with an apartment that few Russians enjoy, with clothes and furs that are rarely seen, and with endless variations of television, radio and recording equipment, cameras and binoculars that are not easily obtained in such quality or range in Soviet stores.” Frankel’s reply to those who might say, “I didn’t know they live this well”: “They don’t.”*

That night Kozlov matched politely pointed speeches with Vice President Nixon at the formal opening of the exhibit.

Nixon: There are basic conflicts of interest and deeply clashing ideologies that cannot easily be removed.

Kozlov: The Soviet people have undertaken the task ‘not only to catch up with but, let me say outright, to surpass you in the not-too-distant future . . .

Next day, Kozlov took a side trip to a Long Island toy factory (where he posed in a Steve Canyon helmet and was presented with a $30, two-foot doll for his eleven-year-old daughter), and a Camden, N.J. shipyard (where he inspected a nuclear-powered merchant vessel now abuilding). By the time Frol Kozlov was ready to fly off for the serious business in Washington, the U.S. was ready to admit that he deserved a closer look.

Chewing Firecrackers. Physically, Frol Kozlov is a sturdy specimen (5 ft. 8 in., 176 Ibs.) of Kremlin man. His hands are small and active, and so are his well-shod feet. He has a big, oval face, pale as a Siberian snowfall, and his nose is straight and narrow-bridged. When he smiles, a thin upper lip edges high to reveal a set of glistening teeth and a flash of gold, and little lines creep round his fleshy face and forehead like crinkled aluminum foil. His wide, short neck is well-proportioned to fit his wide-shouldered chest and broad stomach. In his jovial moments he bellows; at his most earnest his voice modulates softly and melodiously. He changes his expression in a flicker; impressing the curious stranger, his small, blue-grey eyes grow bluer, his smile brightens. But he can harden his massive face when he talks to a group of underlings; on such occasions, his rat-a-tat of verbiage has the sound of a man chewing firecrackers.

A second generation Bolshevik, Kozlov was born in 1908—three years after the first big uprising against the Czar—in the village of Loshchinino. Ryazan province. His parents, he says, were poor farmers who owned their land but had to piece out their living by working at a nearby textile factory. At 15, Frol went to work in the textile plant and at 18 became a member of the Communist Party, which sent him off to a worker’s school and later to Leningrad Polytechnic Institute. Engineer Kozlov served for a time as foreman in a steel plant, and in 1939 his record catapulted him into the job of party secretary of his plant, and in 1944 he was working for the party’s Central Committee in Moscow.

The “Case.” Kozlov’s climb to the big time paralleled the infamous purges that constituted the so-called “Leningrad Case” of 1948-49, when Stalin Protege Georgy Malenkov directed liquidation of Central Committee Secretary Andrei Zhdanov. When the pall lifted, there, mysteriously, was Frol Kozlov, party leader of the city. Good Communist Kozlov kept his nose clean, and in 1953 First Secretary Nikita Khrushchev did him the honor of traveling all the way to Leningrad to install Kozlov as party leader for all of Leningrad region.

Step by step, Kozlov climbed, until February 1957, when he became a candidate member of the Communist Central Committee’s powerful Presidium. It was in this capacity that Kozlov, skilled in the ways of Kremlinfighting, is reputed to have saved Khrushchev’s neck by rallying the 130-man committee and, in so doing, helping Khrushchev to defeat the Malenkov-Molotov-Kaganovich wing of the party. That was in June 1957; that same month Kozlov was awarded full membership in the Presidium. Less than a year later, Khrushchev made him First Deputy Premier, ranking him with the crafty Armenian First Deputy Anastas Mikoyan. But Khrushchev has admitted to friendly diplomats that Kozlov, not Mikoyan, is his choice for successor as Premier.

Goot Mawrning & Goodbye. Not long after Kozlov’s plane landed in Washington, he was treated to a warm, off-the-cuff welcome by Dwight Eisenhower at the presidential press conference. Asked his impressions of Kozlov, Ike replied genially: “Well, of course in most of the personal visits with representatives of the Soviet government you find that you have had a rather pleasant personal experience. They are outgiving, they apparently like to have fun, they appreciate a joke, they see humor in a number of things and so, by this standard . . . you might say I found a man that was very friendly, and frankly I enjoyed the visit I had with him. It was entirely personal.” But Ike admitted that in the formal conference set for that morning, he was braced for more serious talk than the Manhattan chitchat.

Kozlov, who had been met at the airport by Nixon and exchanged unproductive words with Secretary of State Christian Herter, arrived in the White House lobby with a well-rehearsed “Goot mawrn-ing.” He, Herter and the President talked for more than an hour without so much as a flicker of change in the Soviet position on Berlin. “The cardinal question,” said he to reporters, as he came out solemnly, “was a question of peace, and I hope peace will prevail throughout the world. Goodbye.”

Equally unproductive was his long speech next day before a luncheon sponsored by the National Press Club and Overseas Writers. In 3,000 carefully chosen words he proclaimed the worn Kremlin line (“peaceful coexistence,” “cessation of nuclear arming,” “disengagement” —all on Soviet terms). Consenting to answer written questions, provided that he could screen them, Kozlov cheerfully fielded a few easy ones.

Q. Had he brought any new proposals from Khrushchev? A. No. Q. Could a summit conference break the current deadlock on Berlin? A. It would “be useful.” Q. What about the report from Russia-touring Averell Harriman that Khrushchev thinks the balance of power has shifted to the Russians? A. “I was present . . . and there was no rough talk with Harriman.” Q. Is Kozlov to be Khrushchev’s successor? A. “I know Comrade Khrushchev very well. He feels fine and he will live a long life.” On only one question did Kozlov narrow his eyes and speak in a menacing tone. The question of force on the Berlin problem, said he, “is being studied. If we fail to reach agreement . . . then our government will be compelled to conclude a peace treaty with the German Democratic Republic with all the consequences this entails. If force is encountered, force will be met by force.”

Sawed Off. As he and his entourage wandered through the tourist-packed Capitol, Kozlov seemed to show far more interest in the people than the sights.

Nixon-style, he would thrust his hand at surprised tourists, introduce himself, pat the heads of little children. Few knew who he was, but he was eager to autograph any handy piece of paper, insistently got himself photographed by camera fans (“Send the picture to me. Kozlov, the Kremlin, Moscow”). Accosting one woman during a supermarket tour, he asked whether she was the mother of a child who was with her. “No,” replied the elderly woman. “I’m a grandmother.” “Ah,” roared Kozlov, “but you are so young.”

He was in fine, enthusiastic form at a Blair House reception held by Richard Nixon in his honor. To the State Department’s Cultural Exchange Boss William Lacy, who showed up with a broken finger, Kozlov quipped that the accident was from an “EastWest handshake.” When Nixon introduced House Minority Leader Charlie Halleck as “a tough politician, like you,” Kozlov boomed a laugh. He smiled when he called Electrical Workers’ Union Boss James Carey a “tradeunion bureaucrat.” Introduced to little (5 ft. 10 in.) House Speaker Sam Rayburn, Kozlov observed that Rayburn’s opposite number in the Soviet Union is a lot taller. Replied Mister Sam dryly: “I’m kind of like Stalin—they sawed me off.”

For a while, it looked as if Kozlov, Christian Herter and Nixon were going to have a small summit meeting right there on the Blair House rug. “I want to straighten out one matter you discussed at the White House this morning,” said Secretary Herter. The Russian had told the President that the U.S. had forced the Soviet Union to pay “in gold” for American relief sent to starving Russians in 1921-23. “I was in Russia in 1922,” said Herter, who was Herbert Hoover’s assistant at the time, “and I went down the Volga. The money which the Congress sent to buy food for the hungry people of Russia was a gift from the American people. You probably don’t remember, because you were too young.” Replied Kozlov: “I remember very well because I was hungry.” Nixon broke in to say that Herbert Hoover had recently shown him a letter testifying to the fact. Cornered, Kozlov shrugged it all off: “The question is not disputed.”* Soon Kozlov got his revenge, planted one on Nixon.

Nixon: When it comes to foreign policy, Mr. Herter and I speak as one. You understand that, don’t you?

Kozlov: The truth is born out of argument. You should not always be one . . . There is never a day we don’t argue.

Nixon: The difference is we publicize our arguments.

Kozlov: You would publicize differences between you and Mr. Herter?

Nixon grinned, and the conversation took another turn.

The two carried their running debate on to a reception that Kozlov held for Nixon at the Soviet embassy. Kozlov suggested that the supermarket and shopping area he had visited was strictly a showcase for his benefit. Not so, said Nixon. Besides, he added, did not the Russians bring their prettiest girls to model at the New York exhibit? Kozlov admitted that Nixon had a point. Speaking of markets, the Vice President mentioned that he himself was the son of a California grocer and was reared in a modest economic background. In turn, Kozlov confided a rare item of autobiography: “I was one of nine children. Five of them died in childhood because of a lack of enough to eat. Two were killed in the war. There is only my sister and myself left.”

Piety in the Sky. Kozlov was on hand at 6:30 next morning, more chipper than the night before, to board his chartered airliner for a lunch date with California’s Governor Edmund G. Brown in Sacramento. He slept during much of the trip but managed to rouse himself long enough to hold an airborne press conference. First crack out of the box, Hearst Reporter David Sentner asked Kozlov why Khrushchev did not curb subversive activities of U.S. Communists. The question seemed to shock Ambassador Menshikov, but not Kozlov. Said he blandly: “Our country never interferes in the internal affairs of any country, even the smallest, certainly not such a mighty country as the United States.”

When Kozlov was asked to comment on anti-Semitism in the U.S.S.R., Menshikov again could only smile weakly. Kozlov, who gained a reputation as an anti-Semite during the “doctors’ plot,” seemed offended. “I have many friends of Jewish nationality,” said he. Among them: a Leningrad rabbi, various Soviet officials, the wife of “President Voroshilov who unfortunately died recently. God give it that the Jews should live such a life in any other country as in the Soviet Union. They live better in the Soviet Union than in Israel.” Just then the pilot sent back word that too many people were in the tail section; the conference broke up, and Kozlov resumed his nap.

Kozlov bounded off the plane in Sacramento, was given a cream-colored Stetson that was too big for him, posed with two beauty queens, one of whom was a Negro (“Note her California tan,” said Brown). Seeing a map illustrating California’s big plans for a statewide water system (TIME, June 29), Kozlov observed: “Socialism is helping capitalism.” Replied “Pat” Brown quickly: “We don’t call it that.” Later, Roman Catholic

Brown called Kozlov’s attention to Pope John’s encyclical on peace, issued last week (see RELIGION). Declared Kozlov: “We will even support the Pope if he is for peace.”

As Kozlov followed his tight schedule to San Francisco, and aimed beyond that for Detroit, Chicago and Pittsburgh before swinging back to New York next week, the U.S. had gathered some facts and impressions about him. Not all the facts, for in his case, as in the case of all of the new generation of Soviet power men, the facts of his early and his formative years are fragmentary. He is a hearty, hard-driving man, a nimble and sometimes even engaging politician. Since he is at the top of the Communist heap, he is obviously a ruthless conniver; and since he got to the top so fast, he apparently has not dared to cross his boss.

His U.S. visit will do him a lot more good than it does the U.S. A largely unknown Soviet bureaucrat until his arrival, he is now a recognizable world figure. The U.S. can only hope that after his travels, he will relay more of what he has learned to Khrushchev (about whose misconceptions Harriman complained) than did Mikoyan; and that he will take back to the isolationists in the Kremlin a clear and straightforward account of the strength, unity and power of the U.S. people and of their conviction in their ideals.

* For his frank and truthful report Frankel was derided by Izvestia, which hinted that his visa might not be renewed. * Called upon to help Russia’s famine-stricken millions in 1921, American Relief Administrator Herbert Hoover ran into an astonishing sample of Soviet recalcitrance from the Red government itself. In his memoirs he writes that “the Soviet government had been subsidizing revolution over the world with Czarist gold.” Hoover demanded that the Communists spend part of their gold for food, threatened to abandon the project when he was refused. At length, the Russians contributed $18 million in gold. From U.S. sources, Government and private, Hoover and his organization rounded up an additional $60 million and with it bought enough to feed 18 million Russians. Later, famed Soviet Writer Maxim Gorky sent an impassioned letter of gratitude to Hoover, and in 1923 Lev Kamenev, President of the Council of People’s Commissars, sent him a scroll “in the name of the millions of people who have been saved,” assured him solemnly that the U.S.S.R. “never will forget the aid rendered to them by the American people . . . holding it to be a pledge of the future friendship of the two nations.”

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