WOMEN: The Silent Partner

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The recreation hut in Squaw Valley's Olympic Village was a wall-to-wall mob scene of vividly dressed, ruddy-cheeked young athletes, gathered there from 30 countries for the 1960 Winter Olympics. In their midst a smiling, fragile-looking woman in a ruby-red suit and a black topcoat struggled to keep her footing. As two waves of muscular young men converged on her, someone called out: "Can you breathe?" Breathing hard, the Second Lady of the Land nodded, finally succeeded, by holding her pen at chin level, in writing her autograph for an eager French athlete. "I'm getting squashed," admitted Pat Nixon, "but it's all right."

Three feet away, her husband, Vice President Richard Nixon, proudly recited his few Russian phrases to a beaming blonde in a bright blue ski suit. "Pat," he called over his shoulder, "come here and talk to this girl. She's from the Urals." For a moment the three stood swaying and talking together in the midst of the crowd, recalling the Nixon visit last summer to the Soviet Union. Then a Japanese skier crowded in, said he was from "the Northern Islands." "I've been there." said Dick Nixon. Between autographs and greetings, Pat gratefully gulped down most of a chocolate milkshake in a paper cup which a friend handed her. A group of Australian hockey players squeezed in. "We'll be watching you in the next few days," promised Pat. The trainer of the Russian skating team swiveled into position before the Nixons, fastened a silver tie clip to the Vice President's collar. "Sputnik," he said, pointing to the engraving on the clasp. "We're so happy to see you," said Pat. "I have a memento for you." And she handed him a green ballpoint pen.

"You Raise Oranges." After half an hour of jostling conversation with the Olympians, the Nixons slipped away and walked down an icy path to Squaw Valley's reception center, where a welcome party for them was already blazing up. In front of a huge open fire, Pat paused long enough to take off her coat (with lapels solidly festooned with Olympic buttons pinned on by the eager young athletes) and fur-trimmed galoshes (borrowed for the occasion from her teen-age daughter). Then she headed resolutely for the reception line. A Swedish official in a white sweater kissed her hand. Danny Kaye stopped to chat for a moment, and Art Linkletter, in a shaggy bearskin scrape, got a guffaw from Dick Nixon, and a comment: "Is this man or beast?" Then a stocky man in a blue-and-white Norwegian sweater came by. "I'm Bob Bennett," he said. "I'm sure you don't remember me, but I'd like to shake your hand." Replied Pat, without a moment's hesitation: "Of course I remember you. You were our campaign manager in Tulare County in 1950. After that big meeting we had there, we went out to your house. You raise oranges." Muttered Bennett in wonderment as he walked off: "It's been ten years."