(5 of 6)
That is the plan. But it will never be more effective than the willingness of the U.S. to back it up. To sell it to the people and to Congress is the peacetime job of Ike Eisenhower.
Salesman of Security. It is not a mission for which Ike has been specifically prepared. His whole life was a preparation for Dday, 1944: West Point, the best of the service schools, long service as a crack staff officer who rocketed from lieutenant colonel to five-star general in 45 months. But he had never had to fight the Army's case before Congress.
He works hard at this new job. From the moment he arrives at the Pentagon until he leaves for the old red brick Chief of Staff quarters on Fort Myer's brass hill, he goes like a piston. He must devote at least part of his time to routine administration. But the bulk of his day is spent in his salesman's mission.
If there is a major military committee hearing in Congress, Ike packs off to the Hill. If there is a military speech to be made, he makes it. In between he sticks to his office, talking to Congressmen, other military bigwigs, Washington officials. He entertains infrequently, even less frequently ventures into the Capital social merry-go-round.
General Ike. At least once a week he sits with his old mentor, George Marshall, either at his own office, or at Marshall's quarters in the State Department's new building on 21st Street. Unlike Marshall, who can make a major decision after reading a memo and reflecting for five concentrated minutes, Ike lingers over his problems, chewing them over with his staff. Where no one ever addressed Marshall by his first name, Eisenhower is "Ike" to all senior generals, "General Ike" to the junior brass.
The greatest lesson Eisenhower has yet to learn is Marshall's ability to thread his way through the pressures and contradictions of domestic politics. Though Ike was able to stand up to tough-minded Winston Churchill, he is finding that his manner is not forceful enough and has not the sense of urgency to impress Congressmen as Marshall did when he was Chief of Staff—and a wartime Congress was more easily impressed.
Against those shortcomings, he can pit the trust the American people have in him and the prestige of his military victories. He will also have the bitter comfort, if he fails, of the example of his predecessor from the last postwar era. Like Eisenhower, General John J. Pershing stepped into the Chief of Staff's office from military glories abroad. He fought for the same goal Ike was striving for now: a long-range military policy. Before the belligerent and emotional pacifism of the early '20s "Black Jack" Pershing had to bow.
Bone & Sinew. So far Ike has not bowed, but he has scored no striking success. The people and their representatives in Congress have not yet got down to considering the bone & sinew of the planners' program.
In the House Armed Services Committee last week, hearings began on the President's bill for universal military training, which the services estimate would funnel at least 750,000 men a year into a military manpower pool. Its chances of passage are slim. Not until last week did the bill for unification of the services reach the Senate floor. That bill may squeak by before adjournment.