FOREIGN RELATIONS: The Seraph of Foggy Bottom

Seraphim, according to Holy Writ, are members of a high angelic order who function as messengers of the Kingdom of Heaven. In Isaiah’s vision they had three sets of wings, the better to aid them in their flights through space and eternity. and they traveled with the speed of light. On earth last week, a sort of human seraph was buzzing around the planet at a fabulous rate for a messenger tied to mere aircraft. In less than a fortnight he had: munched mangoes in Manila with President Magsaysay; lunched in London with Winston Churchill: held high-level sessions with Chiang Kai-shek in Taipei and Konrad Adenauer in Bonn; dropped out of the clouds for a brief visit with Dwight Eisenhower in Denver; read a detective story in mid-Pacific and slept seraphically across the Atlantic.

Secretary of State John Foster Dulles is the most traveled Cabinet officer in history: he has logged a total of 152,128 miles on 14 diplomatic missions outside the continental U.S. since taking office. Moreover, he is the first Secretary of State to use travel as part of his method of operation. Dulles, by frequently putting the secretarial ear to the ground at various points on the globe, combines the benefits of localized U.S. embassy reports with his own understanding of the global situation. And at age 66 he has made a discovery that Grandfather John Watson Foster (President Benjamin Harrison’s Secretary of State) would find hard to believe: a modern-day Secretary of State has more time for undisturbed thought and concentration aloft in an airplane than he has in his paneled, guarded office in Foggy Bottom.

Disappointed Hostesses. When Dulles got back to Washington last week from his travels in the Pacific (TIME. Sept. 20). he had no notion of taking off again for a while. But on his desk he found a three-page cable from Britain’s Anthony Eden, reporting his progress in seeking a substitute for EDC and suggesting a nine-power conference this week in London (see FOREIGN NEWS). Dulles’ advance man in Europe, Deputy Under Secretary Robert Murphy, sent word recommending a quick firsthand look at the European situation. Dulles decided to go at once. With characteristic speed, he was off again just 54 hours and 21 minutes after landing in Washington.

Behind him Dulles left his wife and secretary (both too exhausted after Manila to face another trip) and two disappointed hostesses (the wives of the Dutch and Norwegian ambassadors) who had been expecting him to dinner. With him he took a new relay of advisers—all European specialists—a change of linen (with nylon accessories, to beat the laundry problem) and two constant companions: a pair of swimming trunks and his dinner jacket. As the big Air Force DC-6 carried the traveling Secretary into the North Atlantic night, U.S. TV audiences saw his image and heard his voice in a report on the Manila Pact, which he had kinescoped earlier in the day. As soon as the “Fasten Seat Belts—No Smoking” light winked out. Dulles changed into slacks, a comfortable sport shirt and a well-worn pair of slippers. Then he summoned his staff to the midship lounge, began preparation for the next day’s conversations with Adenauer.

When the cocktail hour approached. Dulles joined his staff with a rye-on-the-rocks. At dinner conversation was light, with no shoptalk allowed. Afterwards, Foster Dulles got back to work, scanning radiograms, planning details of his Bonn and London discussions. By 9 p.m. he was snugly bedded down in his blacked-out cabin at the rear of the plane. Beside him, as always, were his yellow tablet and pencil, ready for midnight thoughts. Usually, Dulles reads himself to sleep with whodunits, but on the way to Europe he had no need for a soporific.

Disappointed Bobby-Soxers. Eight hours later, the Secretary was up and around, jotting down the statement he planned to make at Bonn’s Wahn Airport. He shaved with a safety razor, an old-fashioned brush and lather. While he breakfasted on orange juice, boiled eggs and coffee, his secretary typed out the statement. When the pilot reported the ground temperature, Dulles chose a suitable ensemble (blue double-breasted suit, Homburg), being careful, as he dressed, to tuck his statement in his breast pocket. Landing in Bonn, Dulles looked tanned and completely relaxed, ready for work.

After a busy day in Bonn, the Secretary hurried on to London, bypassing Paris in what seemed a calculated rebuke to the French. At the London airport, on his way home, he was amazed to see a mooing chorus of bobby-soxers led by cheer leaders. But as Dulles climbed out of an embassy limousine, an aide explained that the youngsters had not turned out to see him off at all. They were waiting for Crooner Frankie Laine, expected on the next Paris plane. “I thought they were there to greet me,” chuckled Dulles. “What a disappointment. See what fame means?”

At week’s end, he headed north to Canada for a few hours on his island hideaway in Lake Ontario. As he departed, he got formal confirmation of his next travel plans: after addressing the U.N. General Assembly in New York this week, he will probably have to make another trip to London for the forthcoming nine-power conference.