Don of a new era

But this day is special - "thrilling" he says. Slovakia, a former part of the communist axis, has been invited to join NATO - and Rumsfeld, long a cold-war warrior, relishes the triumph. "Here we are!" he beams as he steps into the lights of television cameras. "[The world] has changed."

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Rumsfeld recalls his Chicago childhood with Czechoslovakian immigrants, his impassioned "Captive Nations" speeches in Congress in the 1960s, and his vigil as NATO ambassador for President Nixon in the early 1970s.

Now, Slovakia stands as proof that "freedom is ascendant, and the cause of liberty has prevailed over the darkness of tyranny and terror and will do so again," he says later.

The obscure incident illustrates one of Rumsfeld's overarching beliefs: A strong America leads aggressively in the right direction, and the world invariably comes around. It's less unilateralism than an "America-knows-best" brand of paternalism. American might and right proved decisive in winning the cold war. It will win the war on terrorism. It worked in Afghanistan. It will work with Iraq.

Today, with the United States again poised on the brink of war, Rumsfeld's leadership style and core beliefs are shaping the use of American force at a pivotal point in modern history. In coming weeks, he will counsel President Bush on the use of preemptive military action to overthrow the Iraqi regime - with repercussions that could either transform or destabilize the Middle East.

Those decisions will flow from a complex man known to be both dedicated and, at times, domineering.

Friends, classmates, employers, and colleagues say Rumsfeld possesses an unusual mix of traits. He is solidly conservative but not strident, principled but pragmatic, old-fashioned yet forward-looking. Sober about the world's dangers, he is optimistic about tackling them.

His blunt convictions have won him praise, yet critics call him an abrasive, arrogant warmonger. Rumsfeld often voices exasperation that his views are distorted or misunderstood. Regardless, the hard-charging Midwesterner is a force to contend with in American politics.

"He has a lot of influence," says former President Ford, who first appointed Rumsfeld Defense secretary in 1975.

At the heart of Rumsfeld's worldview is the moral imperative of American leadership, which he embraced, along with his own duty of public service, half a century ago. As a clean-cut student on scholarship at Princeton in the 1950s, Rumsfeld was so inspired by former Illinois Gov. Adlai Stevenson's address at the March 1954, senior-class banquet that he has handed out copies for years.

"The world's fate now hangs upon how well or how ill we in America conduct our affairs," Mr. Stevenson said. "If America stumbles, the world falls."

Eight years later, in 1962, Rumsfeld repeated this conviction from train platforms along Chicago's North Shore, handing out pamphlets in an upstart congressional candidacy that would launch his political career. "Maintain a firm, no-back-down foreign policy based on the rightness of our position, and backed by our military strength," read his debut statement, featuring a fresh-faced 29-year-old Rumsfeld under the words "From Where I Stand."

Now a feisty 70, Rumsfeld stresses that America must lead a struggle against terrorism and weapons of mass destruction, confident that other nations will follow.

"It's less important to have unanimity than it is to be making the right decisions and doing the right thing, even though at the outset it may seem lonesome," he told a group of Marines in August, recalling Winston Churchill's warnings about Adolf Hitler before World War II. "In unanimity, we often find an absence of rigorous thinking."

At his spacious Pentagon office, Rumsfeld shows visitors a bronze plaque with a quote from Teddy Roosevelt: "Aggressive fighting for the right is the noblest sport the world affords." Today, it would appear, the Defense secretary has no shortage of athletic opportunities.

The Fireman's Carry - a Drive to Win

He was known - and feared - as "the speedy take-down specialist." As captain of the Princeton wrestling team his senior year, Rumsfeld, or "Rummy" to friends, perfected a bold move known as the "fireman's carry." It involved rapidly seizing opponents by the arm and leg, hoisting them onto his back, and slapping them down on the mat.

One hapless victim of this move, a classmate named Shelly Ivey III, vividly recalls the day he made the mistake of challenging "Rummy" - and got a concussion. "I went down very quickly, right onto the mat," he says.

Rumsfeld's confidence was so high that he executed the difficult fireman's carry on bigger wrestlers. "It was his patented move," recalls Brad Glass, a fellow wrestler and Navy pilot. Entries in the 1954 Princeton yearbook echo Rumsfeld's prowess: "Captain Don Rumsfeld ... appeared on the mat to twist his opponent into submission."

Many people who know Rumsfeld well, including his wife, say he is, in essence, a wrestler: Fiercely competitive, comfortable with one-on-one battle, ultraconfident in his ability to win. Even now, in a city filled with exceptionally ambitious people, he stands out for this trait.

Rumsfeld's relentless drive has made some critics charge that he's overeager to push toward military action - notably against Saddam Hussein. His management style, too, has rankled subordinates, including the top military brass whom he regularly grills on war plans and weapons systems. Last spring he publicly humiliated Secretary of the Army Thomas White when canceling a major army weapons system, the Crusader.

Yet Rumsfeld's steely determination has also made him the Bush administration's personification of the global war on terror.

"Wrestling is a man-on-man, no-second-place-money sport, which is what politics is," observes Ned Jannotta, a close friend who managed Rumsfeld's four successful House campaigns. "He has the guts to take on an issue head-to-head when he may win or lose."

Rumsfeld's tenure as defense chief is the latest stint in a political and business career in which he has repeatedly taken on challenges as an underdog and ended up on top.

At 29, Rumsfeld made a long-shot bid for Congress, taking on a veteran Illinois legislator in the Republican primary. He worked 15-hour days on the campaign, run by high school buddies on a shoestring budget out of one of his father's fixer-upper properties in Winnetka, Ill. On election night in 1962, Rumsfeld was riding in friend Art Nielsen's blue Buick when he learned the crucial 50th ward was going his way. "He jumped out of the car and let out a Princeton war whoop," Mr. Nielsen recalls.

In Congress, Rumsfeld mastered the floor rules. Too impatient to climb the seniority ladder, he became a party activist. Working with a core of young moderates, he helped orchestrate Mr. Ford's election as House minority leader in an effort to rejuvenate the GOP leadership after Goldwater's presidential loss in 1964. "He wasn't a mean partisan like [Newt] Gingrich or an ideologist," says former Rep. Ed Derwinski (R) of Illinois, who served with Rumsfeld for six years. "He was a gentleman and his loyalty ran to the party, which put him in the mainstream."

Still, Rumsfeld illustrated a shrewd political instinct and an ability to roll over opponents. Before the Watergate scandal broke, for example, he sensed trouble and left his job as an economic adviser to Nixon to become US ambassador to NATO in 1973.

"He didn't like what he saw was going on in the inner sanctum of the Nixon administration," recalls Ford. After Nixon resigned, President Ford immediately called his friend Rumsfeld back to become his chief of staff and later Defense secretary. Rumsfeld proved a skilled turf battler.

"He was one of the toughest operators in Washington," says Robert Ingersoll, a former US envoy who observed Rumsfeld's quiet maneuvering in Ford Cabinet meetings. "[Secretary of State Henry] Kissinger usually rolled over most of the other bureaucrats, but he didn't roll over Don - and I think Don rolled over him a few times."

That's not to say he lacks a softer side. Despite his busy career, he stays in touch with a close coterie of Chicago friends, taking time for visits and personal notes. He and his wife, Joyce, his sweetheart from New Trier High School in Winnetka, have three children and several grandchildren who gather regularly at the family ranch in New Mexico.

But as Pentagon chief and corporate CEO, Rumsfeld has earned a reputation as a tough, demanding boss. Using a dictaphone to send out memos so prolific they are called "snowflakes," he goes through endless revisions of everything from corporate mergers to war plans. "Every day he would come up with a new idea," says Mr. Jannotta, a Chicago investment banker who worked with Rumsfeld on a 1980s merger. "He was never satisfied until he had turned over every stone and not too concerned if he had made someone stay up all night doing it." The dramatic turnaround and 1985 sale of the Chicago-based G.D. Searle & Co. launched CEO Rumsfeld's multimillion-dollar fortune.

Indeed, Rumsfeld's sheer energy is legendary - especially for a man tied with George Marshall as the oldest Defense chief ever. Rising most days at 4:45 a.m., he arrives at the Pentagon by 6:30. Often wearing hiking boots and a cardigan sweater, he prefers to work standing up behind his desk. At home, he works into the evening in a room with a large television and desk stacked with papers. His wife tries to get him to bed by 9:30, friends say.

On whirlwind trips abroad, he jets across time zones and continents, working while reporters half his age sleep in the back of the plane. He then shows up fresh at a Pentagon briefing shortly after his return "looking as if he just stepped out of the shower," one correspondent groans.

Although he no longer wrestles or works out on the trampoline, he skis and plays a mean game of squash - taking on far younger men. "He plays squash as if he's using the racket as a weapon," says Jannotta. "I've won if I come off the court with my head still on."

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