Shirley Temple

by Anne Edwards

  A rampant black-market system known as kalabule (meaning “to take away without looking”) had replaced the legitimate economy, and inflation rose 50 percent in one year. People who “had talked about their ability to achieve, now [spoke] only of their capacity to endure.”

  The man Shirley was to replace, Ambassador Fred Latimer Hadsel, had held the post since September 1971.* He and his staff had to deal not only with the severe problems in their host country but with their own shaky financial and living conditions, because the State Department insisted that the embassy staff pay for food, shelter and other commodities in Ghanaian cedis. To do otherwise was against Ghanaian law, “a consideration,” Shirley’s future counselor for public affairs, Kenneth Bache, recalled, “the staff of the American embassy were almost unique in observing.” He added ruefully, “Many foreigners, notably Lebanese, who had arrived with suitcases full of dollars, pounds, Swiss francs, etc. (as well as many well-placed Ghanaians), were ready to trade in other currencies. The result was that as soon as landlords could find pretexts to get us out of their houses, they did so, and turned them over to people less concerned with such niceties of law.” As a result of the State Department’s decision, the American members of the embassy staff were forced to scrounge for decent living quarters and staples without resorting to the black market. Nor did the policy make it easy to find Ghanaian workers willing to fill the nondiplomatic jobs—both clerical and domestic.

  “The economy simply was not functioning,” Bache continued. “What little was produced was promptly smuggled out in search of virtually any currency other than the worthless Ghanaian cedi. Even gainfully employed Ghanaians spent much of the work day on lines to buy soap or cooking oil, during which time they did not produce even for the smuggling trade. Ghana, which had had the heady experience of carving out its own destiny under the charismatic Kwame Nkrumah, was now as badly off as any of its Third World contemporaries—indeed, worse off than some prominent ones such as its next door neighbor, Ivory Coast, which was in the process of supplanting Ghana as the world’s leading cocoa producer.

  “It’s not much of an overstatement, if any, to suggest that the Acheampong regime’s security lay in part in the fact that few potential rivals saw much to be attained by seizing power. Certainly there was very little wealth to skim off.”

  Those citizens who had some foreign currency at their disposal tried to obtain a visa for either the United States or Great Britain. “Every morning when we opened the doors to the American embassy, at least fifty people would be waiting to apply, and the numbers never seemed to dwindle,” another staff member recalled. “They would line up at dawn.”

  Because students had a greater chance of obtaining visas, fraudulent educational documents were submitted by at least two-thirds of the applicants. Even so, two thousand Ghanaian students made their way to the United States in 1974.

  “There’s no country club life for an envoy in Accra,” Robert Price, an American who had just returned from there, commented. “And when you leave Accra to go up-country there is no indoor plumbing. It’s a rough job.” Shirley had replied that she was quite capable of roughing it.

  “There was keen anticipation of Ambassador Black’s arrival in Ghana,” Ralph H. Graner, economic/commercial counselor at the American embassy in Ghana remembers. “In fact, there was so much anticipation that . . . an American television network program [60 Minutes] decided to cover it.* [Along with the television personnel and camera crew] a protocol official from the government of Ghana was present at the airport, members of the embassy staff and their spouses were there with several other ambassadors assigned to Ghana from other countries . . . as I recall that crowded arrival scene, although she must have been tired from such a long flight, Ambassador Black carefully met and chatted with every person there to greet her.”

  “I want to see the embassy now,” she requested as she was being led to a waiting car. The marine guards, she confided, “are all going to be waiting to see what the new Ambassador is like—is this going to be a working Ambassador or one who wants to play tennis all day?”

  The sprawling city of Accra is on the Gulf of Guinea in Ghana’s southernmost region. Sandy, palm-studded beaches extend along the gulf. To the east are the rain forests and high mountain ranges that form a natural border between Ghana and the small country of Togo. To the west are equatorial forests and the Ivory Coast. The massive Volta Lake is nearby, but one could not swim in the Volta or drink its water. Accra is humid most of the time, with the long, warm rains coming in two seasons—April to July and September through October. In August, the crowds reach maddening density at the two most popular beaches—Labadi, which is frequented mostly by Europeans, and the coco-palmed Mile 13. The harmattan (a strong wind that often lasts from December through February) was momentarily due to arrive and cover everything in its path with a thick red carpet of dust.

  The American embassy on Ring Road East was a strikingly designed neoclassic building, incongruously set among great coco palms and banana trees and squat, stucco neighboring buildings. “The Embassy was a security nightmare,” Kenneth Bache recalled, “as it would be easy to be trapped inside; and it could not be expanded without radically distorting its design.”* The ambassador’s two-story residence, only a short distance from the embassy (“Ten minutes on a slow traffic day. If it was a heavy traffic day, it could take forever.”), contained few of the luxurious features and bore no resemblance at all to the Blacks’ Tudor-styled home in Woodside. “The downstairs looked like a cruise ship, large and open, and the upstairs was an amazing mish-mash of very small bedrooms, and very large adjoining bathrooms,” Shirley said in describing the residence. “The garden was very pretty but airless. If only the British in the old Colonial days [when the house had been constructed] had built near the sea . . . but the British always seem to want to build inland and have lovely gardens.” However, her new home did come with sufficient household staff. Since their wages could not be paid in foreign currency, Shirley soon learned the importance of dash (the Ghanaian word for a tip).

  “Our first night,” Susan recalled, “as we explored the garden of our official residence, the air around us was filled with a sound which resembled hundreds of creaking wheels . . . they were the cries of a large colony of fruit bats which roost in the trees about the house.” The Blacks soon “accepted their dusk to dawn creaking as a friendly part” of their home environment as well as their “every-Sunday ritual: malaria tablets with breakfast,” for Ghana has a variety of the disease that is “quickly fatal.”

  Malaria was not the only disease to fear. Measles was also “a killer . . . the water [in Ghana] carries many parasites,” Shirley revealed, “and even a cold can almost take a life. So part of my work was to improve health conditions. We had this ‘model kitchen’ [in the residence] but it wasn’t what you would think of as a model kitchen. It was a large plastic drum in which we kept boiled water. We had to boil water about twenty minutes to get out all the parasites.”

  Almost from the start of her tour of duty, she lived under a terrorist-group death threat. “I asked the State Department to ask [the terrorist group] why, and they said for the publicity.” The explanation did not dispel the Blacks’ concern for their well-being, but as a child Shirley had been aware of the constant danger of kidnapping. Caution had been observed, but had not been allowed to inhibit her normal routine. The Blacks had been used to the open spaces of California and the warm evenings when they could sit on the terrace; they continued this after-dinner ritual in Ghana, but under the watchful eyes of embassy-employed Muslim guards stationed at a discreet distance, and armed with bows and arrows.

  One night, shortly after the Blacks’ arrival in Ghana, their appearance in the garden startled the old Muslim guard on duty. Because snakes were more likely to move about in the open at night, Ghanaians seldom ventured into their gardens. Upon seeing the two figures outlined dimly in the shadowed moonlight, the old man drew back his bow string and aimed
directly at Shirley, who was closer to him, obviously believing she was an intruder. Shirley froze as she caught sight of the man poised to shoot his arrow. “I thought back frantically,” she recalled. Ghana had been a colonial state with allegiance to Queen Elizabeth. She waved her arms in an imperious gesture she had seen the queen use in a documentary, and then repeated the gesture rather widely. “He got frightened and dropped his bow, and took off with Charlie in hot pursuit,” she remembered.

  The new ambassador held her initial staff meeting on Tuesday afternoon, December 3, just two days after her arrival. “My first impression on meeting her,” Bache remembers, “was how incredible—seemingly almost unnaturally—she had retained her well-known childish appearance. She was a little chubbier than perhaps a woman of her age would normally consider desirable, [which] created the illusion of. . . [her having] the same baby fat that helped make up her appearance as a child star. But it went beyond that. Her walk was clearly reminiscent of her [strutting] gait in the movies. Her intonation . . . was certainly recognizable from the old films. All this helped make me damn near incredulous when I was offered [at this first meeting] with a cup of coffee, a plate of Oreo cookies [brought with her from California]!

  “ ‘Charming’ is an inescapable adjective for Ambassador Black. She concentrated her attention heavily on you in any interchange. She obviously worked hard in making you feel good and being entertaining. By the same token, she did not like dealing negatively with anyone. She had her dislikes, but she usually relied on others to convey disapproval or other negative messages.”

  Shortly after this meeting, she presented her credentials to Acheampong in the grand reception room of the palatial Administrational Building built by Nkrumah (the cost of which had nearly bankrupted Ghana.) “It was probably the most thrilling moment of my life,” Shirley remembered. “Standing alone in a little canopied setting with the Ghanaian Air Force band playing ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ was almost too much. I was covered in gooseflesh; then the talking drums of welcome really covered me with gooseflesh; the talking drums go all the way to the pit of your stomach. To me it was like The National Geographic magazine come to life.”

  Seated on a massive carved wood throne, dressed in an elaborate uniform embellished with a dazzling display of ribbons, gold-braid and medals, the large, dark-skinned Acheampong was an imposing figure. On cue, Shirley stepped forward from her canopy and walked toward him. He stood, towering over her as she handed him a leather portfolio. “Your Excellency,” she said in a strong, clear voice, “I am deeply honored to present the letters by which the President of the United States, Gerald R. Ford, accredits me as Ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary of the United States of America to the Republic of Ghana. Thank you.” Acheampong handed the portfolio to an aide, and with equal formality, in a grave, deep voice, welcomed her to Ghana.

  Variously a Roman Catholic, an Animist, a Rosicrucian, Acheampong also “dabbled in black magic.” He chain-smoked cigarettes and had an enormous capacity for whiskey. “He was very fearful that people were out to get him,” Shirley commented. “He was a complicated man.”

  She settled right into a stiff routine of long hours and much commonplace drudgery. But the role of American ambassador to Ghana also involved a great many social events—with Ghanaians, with diplomats from other countries, and with members of the American community living in Ghana, which, apart from the embassy staff, included executives from the thirty-five American companies operating in the country, a few traders in African arts, Peace Corps volunteers, missionaries and a handful of Americans married to Ghanaians.* Well-known personalities did not often visit Ghana, and Shirley was sought out as a guest at all large events, either governmental or social, rapidly establishing herself as the most popular foreigner in residence.

  Confirming President Ford’s feeling that Ghana would be honored by Shirley’s appointment, Kenneth Bache comments, “The presence of a celebrity ambassador . . . symbolized some sort of importance accorded them by the U.S.; and it drew media attention to them, which had some prestige advantages and could have helped with the tourist trade if they had been prepared to handle tourists. Unhappily, Accra’s two hotels operated pretty much the way the rest of the economy did. [Nevertheless,] quite a number of American journalists who otherwise would not have included Accra on their itinerary did show up to do stories on the ‘moppet ambassador.’”

  Her ambassadorial style was a unique blend of show-business know-how and serious dedication to her job. She undertook her diplomatic chores in blithe disregard of protocol. Invited by Accra’s Market Women’s Association for an official visit to the city’s teeming outdoor Makola Market, she wore a colorful African dress and matching head scarf, and greeted the “market mammies,” as the women who ran the stalls were called, in the native Ghanaian languages of Fanti, Ga and Twi. “It was an exciting and heart-warming experience,” she recalled. “They were all wearing local cloth and singing songs of welcome; they spread cloth on the ground in front of me. I didn’t want to step on it until they explained it was a sign of welcome. So I stood on it and did a Highlife [a native dance] in my walking shoes. It wasn’t hard to learn. The music is complicated, but the step itself is easy.” After this accomplishment, she was “cheered, hugged, kissed and touched by literally thousands of the market women.” From this time, Shirley, at formal state functions, frequently wore African dress bought from the stalls of the Makola.

  “I can’t imagine Princess Margaret making a better job of a royal stay than Ambassador Black accomplished in Ghana. And the Ghanaians treated her that way—as an American princess,” a staff member recalls. “She was installed with regularity as an honorary member of the various native tribes. Within a matter of months of her arrival, scores of newborn Ghanaian babies were being christened with her name.”

  Kenneth Bache remembers the time when, soon after coming to Ghana, she was inducted as an honorary chief in a tribal community in Cape Coast, a town about two hours out of Accra.

  “The event was part of a durbar, a lengthy and elaborate set of rituals involving dances, speeches, invocations, drumming and the like. The chief was seated on a raised platform at one end of an open field, where all the goings-on took place. She was on another platform at the other end. She had nothing to do but sit there—but she had to stay there for several hours without interruption, at least three, as I recall, probably more. She stayed the course, always sitting bolt upright, always paying full attention to what was going on, always smiling and appearing gracious and happy. The rest of us could sneak off and take care of the demands of nature. She could not. To this day, I don’t know how she did it.”

  Of her earliest meeting with a Ghanaian chief, Shirley noted “my deputy chief minister [Jack Linehan, who was 6'4"] was very tall and always sitting with his legs crossed. Well, you never cross your legs in front of a [Ghanaian tribal] chief—it’s an insult. And you never show the bottom of your foot either . . . I had [not been there very long]. I didn’t want to tell someone to stop doing something. But I was kind of gesturing to him to put his foot down . . . when the chief asked me something. I didn’t quite hear him and I tried to be very polite and said ‘yes’ to whatever he said. I had apparently agreed to marry him—my first diplomatic incident. He had several wives already and had very few teeth; he was an older man . . . that started me off [in Ghana].” Her first official job of diplomacy was getting out of this situation gracefully without insulting the chief, a feat she managed to accomplish.

  “I had met her in the fall of seventy-four, as she was about to depart for her new post,” Jack Linehan explained. “At the time, I was director of public affairs of the African Bureau in the State Department, and it was my job among other things to meet with all new ambassadors and talk with them about public relations and press and the like. With her, it was a different case, because she was certainly used to dealing with the press. [Three months later] she returned to Washington for consultations and at that time was loo
king for a new deputy—hers was on the verge of finishing his tour. . . . She asked if I would like to be her deputy, and I said yes.

  “One of my most vivid memories is of the opening of an international trade fair which was held by the Ghanaian government in Ghana and in which many nations participated. The American exhibition was in the first of two international buildings and directly across from the East German exhibition. Shirley advised me that the Ghanaian chief of state [Prime Minister Kofi A. Busia] would come first to the American exhibition before he went to the East German.” Shirley then went outside, returning a short time later with the prime minister. “I asked her how she managed it,” Linehan continued, “and she said, ‘Oh, it was simple. I wore my brightest dress, and as he came along, I stepped out and said, “Your Excellency, welcome to the American exhibition,” and I backed in front of the East German ambassador, so I simply upstaged him.’ I said, ‘Well, that’s pretty damn good,’ and she said, ‘Of course, I’ve been doing it all my life.’

  “Whenever I saw her standing at attention at a government function, that spunky child in Wee Willie Winkie came to mind. She could hold a ramrod position forever it seemed. And she never walked but marched up onto a stage,” a staff member adds. On another occasion, wearing a Ghanaian dress and several gold bangle bracelets, she was carried before a cheering throng of twenty thousand. “Four of them picked me up like a side of beef,” she smiled. “Then they gave me my royal scepter and stool.”