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Khrushchev's space challenge was underrated from the beginning by the U.S.—and it still is. But the very show of technical prowess helped prove how the West's pundits had underrated the appeal of independence and liberty in the so-called battle for men's minds. To millions of the world's uncommitted peoples, Communism's ability to master space was less impressive than its inability to master its own nature—and the symbol of Communism in 1959 was not that of Red rockets reaching for stars, but of Red China reaching brutally into Tibet and India.
Against that abhorrent spectacle, and the memories of Hungary and other Communist conquests, the U.S. example of liberty under law, of self-restraint imposed by what Jefferson called "a decent respect to the opinions of mankind," of willingness to use strength to protect independence stood out as powerful assets. Dwight Eisenhower had been shaped by those principles—and in 1959, carrying a message of peace with freedom to three far continents, he represented them to the world as could no one else.
"We Can Trust Him." Last week, returned from his journey to Europe, Asia and Africa, Eisenhower towered as the world's best-known, best-liked citizen. His trip had been one of breathtaking excitement, high point of a bold venture into personal diplomacy. How that venture came about and developed was one of the year's most fascinating behind-the-scenes stories. But its real meaning lay in an understanding of Ike the Man and Eisenhower the President.
At 69, closing out the seventh year of a presidency marked by three major illnesses, Dwight Eisenhower had never looked better. His color was high, his face firm (a slight puffiness around the eyes was the most visible sign of his age), and there was spring to his step (he sometimes startled visitors by bounding up stairs two at a time). On his trip he stood bareheaded in the Italian rain (it was just after greeting the King of Morocco in foul Washington weather that he suffered a stroke in 1957), stood for more than 100 miles while riding through the streets of eleven countries, came out of it all with less apparent fatigue than most of those who accompanied him.
His popularity, as marked last week by his Gallup rating (see chart), is a U.S. phenomenon. Anyone seeking specific reasons why the people like Ike will get answers no more complicated than "he's a good (or decent, or honest) man," or "we can trust him," or "he does his best." But Dwight Eisenhower is not that simply explained, and there are contradictions in his public image and private personality. Although he can tie words into knots ("I do say this: I may have, but I am not saying I didn't, but I don't believe I have. I do say this ..."), he has been vastly successful in making himself understood. His warm grin is known around the earth, but in private his temper can flare with crackling, barracks-room fluency. He seems boundlessly friendly and outgiving, but White House insiders have long since grown used to having him pass in the halls without a nod or a word. He has seen and been seen by more crowds than any other man of his time, but in fact he dislikes crowds and is uncomfortable with them.