The black, Russian-built Chaika, right on time, drove past the barbed-wire fence up to the door of the massive stone and stucco building that serves as the U.S.
embassy residence in Vienna. Out of the residence door, like a broncobuster sprung from his chute, bounded John Fitzgerald Kennedy. He dashed down the steps to meet his bald, fat guest. "How are you?" he asked smilingly. "I'm glad to see you." Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev grinned politely and shook Kennedy's hand. Thus, one cold, wet day last week, the youthful leader of the Western alliance greeted the tough leader of world Communism.
As Wilson and Roosevelt and Dwight Eisenhower had gone to Europe before him, President Kennedy went to Paris and Vienna with the express diplomatic purpose of winning friends and influencing enemies. In his luck-starred political career, John Kennedy had often handled that sort of challenge with smooth, winning assurance—but never before had he faced such a difficult friend as France's Charles de Gaulle, or such an unpredict able enemy as the Soviet Union's Khrushchev. As he carefully told the country beforehand, Kennedy's European rendezvous with history were not intended for strategic decision or diplomatic agreement. Instead, his mission was to take personal measure of the man De Gaulle and the man Khrushchev—and to let them take their measure of the young Bostonian who directs the most powerful nation on earth.
Advance Billing. No momentous decisions were expected, and if any were made, they were not immediately an nounced. But the job of measuring was thoroughly done. Kennedy found De Gaulle to be in accordance with the advance billing: a messianic, convinced statesman who, in six frank and open talks, came not an inch closer to accepting the U.S. view that France should cut short its do-it-yourself nuclear-arms development and live up to its NATO commitments. De Gaulle found Kennedy to be clever and knowledgeable, but still unsure in the manipulation of national power. But the personal relationship went better than anyone had expected. Thanks in large part to the help of Jackie Kennedy at her prettiest, Kennedy charmed the old soldier into unprecedented, flattering toasts and warm gestures of friendship. The young aristocrat of Massachusetts and the old aristocrat of Colombeyles-Deux-Eglises achieved a rapport that would help when France and the U.S. try to resolve the issues that divide them.
But measuring an enemy was not the same as measuring a friend. Kennedy found Nikita Khrushchev in good humor—at least on the surface. Khrush was ready to trade quips and toasts—but not a bit interested in making concessions on issues. If Khrush has a telling weakness, Kennedy seemed not to have found it.
In spending long hours in private consultation with Nikita Khrushchev, as with Charles de Gaulle, Kennedy was engaged in personal diplomacy to an extent never before attempted by a U.S. President. There were potential benefits—and obvious hazards. Both Khrushchev and De Gaulle have greater power than Kennedy to translate their personal impressions into political action within their countries. And if, in their taking of his measure, either found him wanting, then the meaning to the future could be dire.