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Feeling on top of his job has given Ike the confidence to move—quietly. He has an aversion to stirring up unnecessary national crises, has deliberately tried to soothe the nation's nervous system—left jangled and jumpy by an unbroken procession of Truman crises. For example, Ike takes a serious view about provocative incidents such as the shooting down of U.S. planes, but he refuses to get headline-bent about them; he decided not to address a joint session of Congress to make his request for permission to defend Formosa (TIME, Jan. 31), because he did not want to create excitement.
Beyond his dislike of crisis, Ike had another inhibition about politics: like many military men and civilians, he believed that military life has few lessons relevant to civilian politics. Ike in 1953 thought that, as a military man, the complexities of civilian politics were beyond him; this belief strengthened his natural inclination to leave politics to the politicos. Actually, as commander of the Allied forces in Europe in World War II and later as NATO commander, his greatest successes were political. He probably knows more about the intimate political workings of more nations than any other individual in the Western world, including Winston Churchill.
Stag Dinner. The results of the 1954 congressional election helped to convince Ike that his political experience and instincts were just as reliable as those of any politico. He decided that the time had come for him to strike hard for the kind of Republican Party that he wanted. First he called in G.O.P. National Chairman Leonard Hall to get the facts straight about the election. Then, one night in mid-December, he gave a stag dinner for a group of his most trusted advisers from the 1952 campaign: Hall, Vice President Dick Nixon, U.N. Ambassador Henry Cabot Lodge, Old Presidential Friend Lucius Clay, Attorney General Herbert Brownell, Postmaster General Arthur Summerfield, Deputy President Sherman Adams, Press Secretary Jim Hagerty, ex-White House Assistant C. D. Jackson—along with nine others whose views he respects. After a dinner of steak Chateaubriand, they talked strategy over liqueurs in the Red Room until 11:30, well beyond the usual quitting time for Ike's stag dinners.
Soon afterward, the offensive began to roll. Len Hall became a White House regular. Last month Ike appointed Arizona's ex-Governor Howard Pyle as administrative assistant in charge of patronage on federal-state projects. A few days later, he called in Washington's Governor Arthur Langlie to urge him to run against Democrat Warren Magnuson for the Senate in 1956. Last week Ike approved plans to talk personally to every Republican national committeeman, every member of the financial committee, every state chairman, and delegates from every major Republican women's group in the U.S.
The Obstructers. There is still one weak spot in the offensive. Ike has not learned to deal with Republicans in Congress as a forceful political strategist. His powers of personal persuasion are strong; his congressional liaison men are shrewd in estimating votes; and his House tacticians, notably Massachusetts' Joe Martin and Indiana's Charlie Halleck, are loyal and effective. But Ike has not developed the feeling for maneuver that made Teddy Roosevelt a master at getting results in Congress.