Diplomacy: The Liveliest Ambassador

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The job of U.S. Ambassador to France was once the envied passport to a life of gaieté parisienne. Since Charles de Gaulle's relations with Washington turned frosty in the early 1960s, however, the post has had some of the aspects of representing the U.S. in a hostile land. There were those who suspected Lyndon Johnson of shipping Sargent Shriver to the Siberian salt mines when the President picked him to succeed Career Diplomat Charles ("Chip") Bohlen in Paris. Bohlen made no secret of his sense of futility in dealing with the Elysee and the Quai d'Orsay. Undaunted, Shriver has brought to his new job the same inventiveness and dash with which he led the Peace Corps and the U.S. war on poverty; in a few short months, he has given U.S. diplomacy a rare and welcome panache.

Shriver and his wife, the former Eunice Kennedy, set a tone of informality from the moment they arrived. They were soon bicycling busily around the chic 16th Arrondissement. In front of the ambassadorial residence, the five Shriver kids found the wide gutters of the elegant Avenue d'léna excellent for sailing model boats.

Beatles and Indians. When the Shrivers arrived in Paris, the U.S. flag was flying from the top of the residence, Shriver explains, "because they were afraid that hanging it out over the door, someone would come along and either tear it down or throw something at the house." He and Eunice put it back in its proper place. "Now," he says, "it's there above the door every day, and nothing's happened." The once well-manicured lawn has been turned into a badminton court, to the Gallic gardeners' profound dismay. The residence's ornate furniture has either been shoved aside or put in storage. The walls are now covered with paintings by Jackson Pollock, Jasper Johns and Georgia O'Keeffe, plus a collection of Indians by George Catlin and Roy Lichtenstein's pop portrait of George Washington.

The diplomatic happenings on the Avenue d'léna have become a new fix ture of the Paris scene. So far, the Shrivers have staged half a dozen soirees for 30 to 50 young French and American students and professional people. Shriver acts as moderator, pacing about, sitting in a chair or squatting on the floor. On one such evening, Economist Walter Heller discussed the new Gaullist idea of employee participation in management with French economics students, financial writers and young Finance Ministry experts. Another evening pitted Evangelist Billy Graham against the World Council of Churches' Eugene Carson Blake before a group of worker-priests and students. Recently, U.S. Health, Education and Welfare Secretary Wilbur Cohen squared off with some 50 French university students, many of them turtlenecked rebel leaders of last May's uprising.

Bare Feet and Bathrobe. When the Orchestre de Paris left last week for an American tour, the usual thing would have been for the U.S. ambassador and his wife to have the conductor and the concertmaster to dinner. Not the Shrivers: they asked all 110 members, from Conductor Charles Munch to the tym-panists, and included a batch of French music critics in the bargain. Shriver gulped down his dinner and table-hopped. His characteristic opener: "Very glad to have you here. What else do you think we should be doing?"