Book Review: The President and the Apprentice

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The President and the Apprentice:Eisenhower and Nixon, 1952-1961

by Irwin F. Gellman

Yale University Press, 2015

Received orthodoxies are as boring in history as they are in any other field of constant inquiry, and their vulnerability to concerted challenge is actually a strength, not a weakness. No matter what the received orthodoxy – that Cleopatra committed suicide, that Napoleon Bonaparte was a disastrous little tyrant, that, God help us all, President Kennedy was killed by Lee Harvey Oswald – the field of history only benefits from dissenters consulting the records, marshaling their facts, and making an assault on the ramparts. The process keeps academics on their toes, keeps interpretation from calcifying into cant, and, not the smallest thing, very often makes for great reading.

Irwin Gellman's new book The President and the Apprentice is as perfect a case-in-point as the current season is likely to provide. The orthodoxy Gellman challenges in his book's nearly 800 pages is one that's been passed from one history to another as complacently as a plate of beans: that President Eisenhower took an instant, visceral dislike to Richard Nixon and maintained that dislike all through the eight years Nixon served as his Vice President and beyond. “The two men never shared equal billing and were never buddies. Ike was old enough to be Nixon's father,” Gellman writes, adding, “Despite their age difference, however, they developed a close and cordial relationship and worked well together throughout Ike's tenure in office.” Accounts to the contrary of that “cordial” Gellman dismisses as lazy rumor-peddling by historians who in many cases haven't consulted the primary sources to determine whether or not the things they relate really happened:

Yet instead of concentrating on what Ike and Dick accomplished, authors have invented stories about Eisenhower's ambivalence, dislike, or even hatred of Nixon, and repeated those fables for so long that they have morphed into fact. The stories of Eisenhower's disgusted pencil jab as he watched the Checkers/fund speech, of his nonexistent effort to dump Nixon from the 1956 Republican ticket, and of his boorish reply to a question regarding Nixon's contribution during a 1960 press conference have been passed down from decade to decade because they seemed to confirm what many people wanted to believe. But the impressions bear no resemblance to the truth.

No resemblance to the truth? Well, let's take the three examples Gellman cites in that passage. First, there's the “disgusted pencil jab” as Eisenhower watched Nixon's famous 1952 televised speech in which he defended himself against allegations that he'd made too-free use of an election fund established by some of his backers (which seems like small beer in today's election reality, in which candidates are openly bought and sold by billionaire backers, but it was a big deal at the time). The speech was very effective, an oily, cynical grab at sentiment (“Checkers” was the name of a little dog a supporter had given to Nixon's daughter), and the “disgusted pencil jab” Gellman mentions refers to Eisenhower's reaction to watching the speech. He saw it while on campaign in the Public Hall in Cleveland, Ohio, and Gellman goes one step further than simply characterizing the general's reaction; he reproduces the actual notes Eisenhower took:

I've seen brave men in tough situations – None ever came through better – Man bares his soul to you – I've been talking - About evidence of corruption – About men who sold their birthright (in the words of a judge for a dirty mess of dollars –) Something different – Technically no decision rests with me – but am not trying to duck. Any issue – If Chairman calls on me and he wants – I'll give him my considered judgment. None of advantage or dis-advantage in getting votes will count. I'll ask Nixon to see me – My mind will be made up on one conclusion only – Is this man one you'd like to see [as] you [r] Vice President. No consideration of convenience.

Those notes are taken in real time, jotted down while Eisenhower watched the speech, and any fair reading of them shows what could charitably be described as a lessening of enthusiasm. Regardless of the formal gesture of support he issued later, during his first hearing of Nixon's speech, Eisenhower goes from sympathy - “none ever came through better” - to neutrality - “technically no decision rests with me” - to, well, it's hard to know how Gellman construes “I'll ask Nixon to see me” as exactly encouraging. The fact that witnesses saw the general “angrily” jabbing at the paper is immaterial – Eisenhower took all his notes that way – but the notes themselves aren't quite a hymn of unalloyed support.

And what about the “dump Nixon” rumor? Gellman pins it on White House advisor Harold Stassen in the months before the 1956 Republican Convention. Stassen had taken an instant, visceral dislike to Nixon, and according to Gellman, Stassen virtually single-handedly created the idea that there was a movement in Republican circles to drop Nixon from the ticket. Gellman's archival work here is wonderful and convincing, and the fact that Nixon himself, in much later memoirs, thought there'd been a widespread movement to oust him is immaterial – Nixon thought of everything that way. (Although Eleanor Roosevelt, who'd taken an instant, visceral dislike to Nixon, thought at the time that he was the least likely viable running mate).

And finally there's that bit about Eisenhower's “boorish reply.” Here Gellman is referring to a question a reporter asked Eisenhower in August of 1960, about what signature contributions Nixon had made to his administration. Without missing a beat, Eisenhower grinned and said “If you give me a week, I might think of one.” He later wrote Nixon a stern semi-apology, but there's no denying he said it, and there's very little case to be made that he didn't mean it.

Gellman complains that Nixon biographers and historians have ignored the evidence that's been right in front of them all along, favoring instead juicy rumors of mutual contempt. He's done a great deal of research in the primary sources and finds no evidence of such mutual contempt. He mentions, for example, that although Henry Cabot Lodge was a close adviser to President Eisenhower and later ran as Nixon's vice presidential running mate in 1960, historians never consult Lodge's collected papers at the Massachusetts Historical Society as to Lodge's impressions of the relationship between the two men. But what do those papers actually reveal? Let's take one example. In 1959, Lodge, who'd taken an instant, visceral dislike to Nixon, was the official White House escort for visiting Russian premiere Nikita Khrushchev during his trip to see America. There were many tense moments during that visit, and one of them took place at Camp David. Khrushchev, who'd taken an instant, visceral dislike to Nixon during Nixon's earlier visit to Russia, gave vent to his feelings:

During the meal, Khrushchev suddenly launched into a violent attack on the vice president for his role in the kitchen debates. Nixon defended his actions and reminded the chairman that he had attacked American policy before Nixon reached Moscow. Khrushchev ignored that criticism and went on to insult the president, who was visibly upset and barely maintained his composure.

When writing about this incident – at which both Eisenhower and Lodge were present, of course – Gellman relies on the President's datebook and on newspaper articles, both of which mention that Khrushchev outburst irritated Eisenhower. No mention of Eisenhower defending his Vice President. No mention of Lodge defending his future running mate. And the Henry Cabot Lodge papers, where we might expect to find at least a private note of support for Nixon? Silence.

There are a lot of similar silences in Gellman's book. It's impeccably researched, but it frequently seems blind to implication or subtlety, especially on the theme of political expedience, which is a potentially crippling blind spot, since political expedience explains a lot about Richard Nixon, and a lot about why so many people who could be reasonably suspected of hating him still found the wherewithal to have their pictures taken with him, and to use him as much as he was using them.

Does Gellman convince, ultimately? He comes damn close, and in the process tells at great length a great story in always-gripping prose. And as he admits, he's not trying to make a case that Eisenhower and Nixon were buddies – his contention here, buttressed about as well as it possibly could be, is that the two men didn't hate each other and were a very effective team. About the effectiveness there can be no real doubt – Eisenhower gave Nixon a broader and more politically important portfolio than any vice president had ever had before, and as an account of that vice presidency, Gellman's book could scarcely be surpassed. And about the currents running underneath that damning “cordial”? Well, we know how Eisenhower acted – and spoke – about subordinates when he felt cordial about them, and we know how he acted – and spoke – when he disliked them, and we know how he acted – and spoke – about Nixon. If Gellman's book nevertheless causes readers to question such projections, more power to it.As for Nixon, well – apart from his saintly mother, he took an instant, visceral dislike to every single living individual he ever met, including Checkers. Some orthodoxies aren't going anywhere.