The Press: Unlucky Pierre

It was U.S. Presidential Press Secretary Pierre Emil George Salinger's first trip to Russia, and he had come with commissions of the utmost gravity: to improve communications between the world's two leading powers and to arrange a swap of television appearances between his boss and the boss of all the Russians, Nikita Khrushchev. Alas for unlucky Pierre—he never had a chance. From the moment he was met by Aleksei Adzhubei, editor of Izvestia and Khrushchev's son-in-law, the swart, short, 36-year-old ex-reporter from San Francisco found himself up to his cigar butt in fast moving, stomach-stuffing Soviet hospitality.

Eight Birds in a Row. After a huddle with U.S. Ambassador Llewellyn E.

Thompson Jr., Salinger was rushed to Khrushchev's riverside dacha near Ogo-revo, 20 miles from Moscow. This walled, mustard-colored stone pile, built in 1956, boasts numerous balconies, a movie theater, a billiard parlor and five dining rooms—but only one bedroom (Khrushchev's). Salinger got it.

Next morning after a hearty pancake breakfast, Khrushchev himself turned up to take Salinger on a 45-minute boat ride on the Moscow River, and make a few jokes about an old comrade named Joseph Stalin, recently reinterred. The two were hardly alone: a secret security agent sat stolidly in the front seat alongside the pilot; a whole boatload of them trailed the Premier's craft at a discreet distance.

Soon it was lunchtime, and hungry Pierre, refreshed by the sun and the river breeze, was more than ready. But the Premier wanted to go skeet shooting. "I always shoot first and miss so the guests won't feel bad," said Khrushchev genially. He was as good as his word—twice.

Then, quite by chance, Salinger scored one hit in six tries. Khrushchev's smile vanished. He grabbed the gun and blasted eight clay pigeons in a row.

Caviar, Pel'meni and Palaver. Now lunch? No. "You have to walk for your lunch," said the 67-year-old Khrushchev as he led Salinger on a five-mile tour of the estate, meanwhile identifying, with an amateur horticulturist's pride, nearly every bush and tree along the way. "I never met a journalist who knew anything about agriculture," said Khrushchev. He showed Salinger a pond full of carp. "I guess they don't know the Chairman of the Party is here," grumbled the Party Chairman when no fish broke the surface. But at that one fat carp came up,

and the Party Chairman gloated: "They got the word." Finally lunch on the patio—caviar and pel'meni, a kind of Iron Curtain ravioli, flushed down with vodka, champagne and several Georgian wines—and, for hours after, a long conversation in which Khrushchev did most of the talking. The Soviet Premier enjoyed himself so hugely that he decided to do it again the following day and bring Mrs. Khrushchev and the kids, i.e., Son Sergei, Adzhubei and his wife Rada. Salinger had to pass up a planned engagement with Russian newsmen in Moscow.

Four Pounds, Two Titles. Despite all this social activity, not to mention Rigoletto at the Bolshoi and a Russian circus, Salinger managed to squeeze in a little duty. He toured the Izvestia and Pravda plants, talked with newsmen in Moscow, Leningrad and Kiev—all off the record.