SusanEisenhower.com

As the holiday season gets underway, the Washington political scene has been busier than ever. In recent news, the health care bill continues to undergo adjustments, the Democrats are proposing to raise the federal debt ceiling, and the President has outlined his strategy for Afghanistan, a discussion of which is ongoing. This is considerable activity given ordinary Washington Christmas seasons. But these are not ordinary times.

The bracing temperatures and the early evenings are evocative of other unforgettable holiday seasons, including one twenty years ago—when the news that Soviet Nobel Laureate, physicist, human rights advocate, and anti-Afghan war protester, Andrei Sakharov, was dead.

I remember, vividly, the unfathomable news. The historic meeting of the Soviet Congress of People’s Deputies was underway, just after the first competitively held elections in the Soviet Union. It was a tumultuous gathering and during one of the most contentious moments, Sakharov, an elected member, rose to present his draft Constitution of the Soviet Union. The response to his proposal was electrifying, yet frightening at the same time. The struggle for the future of the country had reached a critical point, especially in light of the political upheaval in Eastern Europe. Fear, anger, patriotism, betrayal, shock — all were deeply felt and utterly palpable. On December 14, just days after Sakharov’s emotional presentation, the news broke that the father of radical reform in the USSR was dead of a heart attack.   Read more…

Walter Cronkite, who died this last week at age 92, was one of the giants of the newspaper and television industry, and it is totally fitting that his passing has received such widespread notice. This despite the fact that Cronkite left his position as anchor of CBS News twenty-eight years ago. He is best remembered for a sobriquet “the most trusted man in America.” Though such an accolade was doubtless the brainchild of some promoter, it rings so true that it is repeated over and over again.

As one who counted him as a friend, I feel a very special sadness. Though today he is remembered principally for his role in establishing the television anchor, the veterans of the Second World War hold the name Walter Cronkite with a special warmth, much like that of Ernie Pyle. We feel that he was one of us.

He took risks greater than those of most frontline soldiers. The various tributes being rendered nearly all mention that he accompanied a B-17 bomber on a raid over Germany, but they rarely note that he glided into Holland with the 101st Airborne (Screaming Eagles) in the fall of 1944. He was later at Bastogne during the Battle of the Bulge.

There were no heroics in him; he was far too secure in himself to be pretentious. Forty years ago, when I was writing a book about the Bulge, I wrote Walter about a minor incident in which he and several other reporters politely declined General Maxwell Taylor’s offer of a jeep ride through particularly dangerous territory. Taylor had an urgent reason to make the trip; he was desperate to rejoin his division (again the 101st), which was bottled up in Bastogne. The reporters had no such motivation. To my question, however, Walter made no excuses; he simply wrote “I chickened.”   Read more…

The last few weeks have seen the passing of some great American figures: Robert McNamara, Walter Cronkite and Frank McCourt. I was fortunate to have met each on more than one occasion, though I knew McNamara very well. In the late 1980s, in the last days of the Soviet Union, he and I were recruited to be part of an international foundation established in Moscow. It did a great deal of work on nuclear arms control and other security issues. But through the conduct of its business, it made many other contributions. For one thing, it was the first US-Soviet board of its kind. And in 1988, we were the organization that managed to bring our fellow board member Andrei Sakharov to the West for the first time. The International Foundation for the Survival and Development of Humanity, named by Sakharov himself, was the source of many stories in my 1995 book, Breaking Free.

Over the course of these years, and after many trips together, I became fond of “Bob” as we called him. McNamara was a dynamic hard-charger, but also a thoughtful man who spent increasing time thinking about his legacy and the impact of his many decisions and personal choices. One could not help but empathize with him, quite aside from the nature of his role and the weight of history’s verdict. He was a man engaged with his conscience, especially in the lengthening days of his life, and he generously shared his feelings with many of us. Bob and I may have seemed like an odd pair of friends—given the age difference and political affiliation—but I valued his friendship and the strong sense of accountability he felt for his past. Like many others, I will miss him greatly.   Read more…