Too Much Hospitality

The good-will visit of Uruguay's President Luis Batlle Berres to the U.S. ran so smoothly early last week that it almost seemed to be proceeding without human effort or strain. There was an easygoing chat with President and Mrs. Eisenhower in Washington, a busy schedule of informal talks and formal parties in Boston, and a quick flight to Chicago. But during predinner cocktails on Batlle Berres' first evening there, it was suddenly and painfully shown just how much human effort had gone into the trip. While holding (but not yet drinking) a Scotch-and-water, he fainted, showed symptoms of internal hemorrhage, and was rushed to a hospital, where doctors diagnosed a gastrointestinal disorder, aggravated by extreme exhaustion. The medicos said that his general condition was excellent, but prescribed several days' complete rest.

Probably the most relaxed part of the whole trip was the tea break with the Eisenhowers at the White House. It was scheduled for half an hour, but the chief executives and their ladies exchanged gifts (an antique dueling pistol for Ike, an Uruguayan nutria lap robe for Mrs. Eisenhower, framed photographs of the Eisenhowers and a bust of George Washington for the visitors), enjoyed themselves so thoroughly that an hour slipped by. Then Batlle Berres hopped a plane for a Boston dinner date, spent the next two days being feted at breakfasts, luncheons and dinners and talking about boosting sales of Uruguayan wool to New England mills.

Looking back at his hectic travels from the dead calm of a comfortable hospital bed and a milk-and-cream diet, Batlle Berres had a philosophical thought on U.S. hospitality: "Everywhere I went," he smiled, "people gave me Scotch and water. I had to go to the hospital to find out how good this country's milk is."

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