An E Ticket Ride for Gorbachev

This is a tale of two Californias, separated in time by the space of 30 years. You can choose the California you like best, but you may be surprised.

The first California is the one that will soon greet Soviet President Mikhail S. Gorbachev when he pays a call on Stanford and San Francisco. (Why this man is snubbing Los Angeles remains a mystery. Does he think he’s gonna catch Madonna sipping a soda in San Francisco?)

In any case, this California is the one we recognize. When Gorbachev arrives, it will be revealed in all its egregious excess. Freeways will be jammed with adoring fans as well as California-Lithuanians, California-Soviet Jews, Berkeley Trotskyites and the Jesus Saves folks from Glendale. Everyone will pack together on the sidewalks, blinking in the sunshine, waiting to say their piece.

There will be T-shirts (“The Gorby Tour ‘90: San Francisco, Palo Alto”), and on television we’ll get to watch our gubernatorial candidates try to maneuver themselves into a tight close-up with the man they understand--probably correctly--to be more admired in California than them.

Unless the unpredictable happens, it will be a raucous good time. Gorby will jump from his limo to mix with the crowds and charm the socks off everyone. He will go to San Francisco and admire the view. He will outdo the Pope, or come close, and go home happy.

Now for the other California.

As you probably know, there was another occasion when a Soviet supreme leader came to California. That was 1959, as deep as you can get into the Cold War. A very different time, and a different California.

When Nikita Khrushchev announced his intentions to visit the state, he said his aim was to “reduce tensions” between the two countries. But in Los Angeles, the first stop on the Khrushchev tour, no one was falling for that line. The goal of the city fathers was to badger, bait and, if possible, humiliate the Soviet leader.

Even before Khrushchev’s arrival, Mayor Norris Poulson warned Los Angeles citizens that the visit would be conducted under “trying circumstances” and no cheering, please.

When Khrushchev asked for a tour of Disneyland, he was told nothing doing. Instead, the premier was taken to the 20th Century Fox commissary for a lunch with 300 movie stars. In a gesture that amounted to cultural understanding in those days, the American tables were supplied with Chardonnay, the Russians’ with vodka.

As the Chardonnay and vodka took its toll, the lunch degenerated into several rounds of “toasts” between Khrushchev and the studio heads. Each one became more carping than the last. The studio chiefs wanted Khrushchev to admit that socialism could never produce the assembled glory of the movie stars surrounding the premier. Khrushchev wanted to know why he couldn’t visit Disneyland.

“Do you have rocket launching pads there?” he asked. “What is it, an epidemic of cholera or something?”

The question was never answered, and maybe that was the point. Khrushchev was being shown just who was in control. At a formal dinner that night, Poulson shook his finger at Khrushchev and said, “You will not bury us.”

The next morning, newspapers carried accounts of Mrs. Khrushchev, describing her as dowdy and pointing out her poorly made clothes. When the Russians departed the city at Union Station, headed for San Francisco, neither Poulson nor any other city official appeared to wish them well on their journey.

Khrushchev, of course, was no innocent in these exchanges. He traded insult for insult and spent most of his train trip north telling reporters what he thought of his reception in Los Angeles. He described the movie “Can Can,” as “immoral,” and a piece of “pornography.” He refused to forget about the Disneyland slight, asking again and again why he had been kept away.

The trip improved in San Francisco, but only slightly. Union leaders tried to prove their mettle by interrogating Khrushchev on working conditions in Russia, while the premier heaped scorn on their toadying to capitalism. After two more days of this, Khrushchev finally left.

All in all, a tense and ugly encounter. Reading through the 30-year-old accounts of the Khrushchev visit, it is difficult to find anyone to admire.

This does not mean that we are somehow “better” now because of our attitudes toward Gorbachev. But this time, most likely, we would be glad to take the Soviet president to Disneyland. Maybe that’s progress.