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TIME: Almanac 1993
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TIME Almanac 1993.iso
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1992-09-23
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WORLD, Page 33The PresidencyPresent at the Construction
By Hugh Sidey
All summer long John Kennedy had brooded, waiting for
Nikita Khrushchev to make good on his threat to get rid of "the
bone in my throat" -- partitioned Berlin. But he had not
anticipated what would happen on that warm August afternoon in
1961 when he set out from Hyannis Port, Mass., on the yacht
Marlin loaded with family and his favorite picnic dish, fish
chowder.
When the flash came from Washington that the Wall was going
up, the Army major on duty became so agitated that he walked
into the surf in full uniform to deliver the bulletin to
Brigadier General Chester Clifton, the President's military
aide, who was swimming just offshore.
Clifton signaled the Marlin back and handed Kennedy the
terse message. "You all go ahead," J.F.K. told his family. "I
won't be out." He climbed into a golf cart with Clifton and in
silence rode to his house. "Why in hell didn't we know about
it?" he blurted, not expecting an answer. "What can we do?" he
asked, turning to Clifton. "What can the military do?" Clifton
told him that out of some 40 contingency plans for Berlin, he
could not recall a single one dealing with a wall being built
between the Soviet and Allied sectors. In fact, there was not
much he could do.
Later, in the Oval Office, he sighed that the Wall would
stay until the Soviets tired of it. "We could have sent tanks
over and knocked the Wall down," he mused. "What then? They
build another one back a hundred yards? We knock that down, then
we go to war?"
When Kennedy did see the Wall, the event became one of the
great spectacles of the cold war, his speech one of the most
memorable in his presidency. When Kennedy flew into Berlin that
June morning, he had a text that did not please him. "You think
this is any good?" he asked the U.S. Berlin commander, Major
General James Polk, who had joined the Kennedy caravan. Polk
scanned the speech and replied bluntly, "I think it is
terrible." Kennedy agreed and began to write a new one. But
before he taunted the builders of the Wall, he rode four hours
through the streets of West Berlin in the midst of a human fury
of adoration intensified by the city's constant isolation.
Nothing before in Kennedy's exuberant political life had
approached this demonstration of between 1 million and 2 million
cheering, roaring Germans.
At Checkpoint Charlie he asked that family members and
other guests not climb up to the viewing stand. Mouth set,
Kennedy studied the strange, gray emptiness before him. Then,
in far windows in East Berlin apartments, three women appeared
waving handkerchiefs. "Isn't that kind of dangerous?" wondered
Kennedy. Yes, he was told. Kennedy stood several seconds in
tribute to those tiny figures.
The crowd that waited for him to speak in front of West
Berlin's city hall occupied every foot of the square and all
the connecting streets. Kennedy raised his jaw and chopped the
air with his hand, his voice growing ragged as he shouted his
challenges to the other world and answered with his famous
refrain, "Let them come to Berlin." In that moment the tribute
Kennedy gave to those people was as honorably held, as
profoundly pure as anything he had ever said. It was made of
truth and given to history. "Ich bin ein Berliner."