Bess Truman

by Margaret Truman

  Bess responded to this hint by going to a family party at Vivian Truman’s farm. Dad told her he was “most happy” about the visit. “I have a terrible time with my immediate family about which you, of course, know not a thing. But that visit will help a lot.”

  That last sentence stirred Bess’ ire. Was he implying that the Trumans were mad at her because she did not visit them often enough? I suspect that was what Dad meant, but he denied everything. He labored through an explanation of various Truman family feuds and ended by asking Bess not to play newspaper reporter and “begin putting hidden meanings on my remarks.”

  Dad’s letters kept Bess in touch with daily doings in the White House, as well as matters of state. He was becoming more and more convinced that the Great White jail was haunted.

  I slept well but hot, and some mosquitoes bit my hands and face. Night before last I went to bed at nine o’clock after shutting all my doors. At four o’clock I was awakened by three distinct knocks on my bedroom door. I jumped up and put on my bathrobe, opened the door, and no one there. Went out and looked up and down the hall, looked into your room and Margie’s. Still no one. Went back to bed after locking the doors and there were footsteps in your room whose door I’d left open. Jumped and looked and no one there! The damned place, is haunted sure as shootin’. Secret service said not even a watchman was up here at that hour.

  You and Margie had better come back and protect me before some of these ghosts carry me off.

  Mother tended to be skeptical about the White House ghosts. So was I, and I said so in one of my letters to Dad. Back came this reply.

  Now about those ghosts. I’m sure they’re here and I’m not half so alarmed at meeting up with any of them as I am at having to meet the live nuts I have to see every day. I am sure old Andy [Andrew Jackson] could give me good advice and probably teach me good swear words to use on Molotov and de Gaulle. And I am sure old Grover Cleveland could tell me some choice remarks to make to some political leaders. . . . So I won’t lock my doors or bar them either if any of the old coots in the pictures out in the hall want to come out of their frames for a friendly chat.

  By this time, the White House staff had stopped marveling at the down to earth way the Trumans treated them and were just enjoying it. Here, along with a report on a cleanup campaign, is some repartee Dad exchanged with Mayes, a tall, cadaverous White House butler, who, except for his color, had a striking resemblance to Abraham Lincoln.

  The Blue Room is torn up now. They have been washing windows, cleaning Venetian blinds, cleaning the chairs and scrubbing the floor. There is no carpet in the State Dining Room and the third floor looks like an attic. I go up there for sunbaths on the days I can get them in. I told old Mayes when I started up there that a few more days would make me as brown as he is. He said, “You’d better not get that brown, they won’t let you stay in a first class hotel.”

  Dad was still worried about giving Drew Pearson any ammunition, as this letter makes clear: “I failed to answer your question about your car. It seems to me that if you can get a good price for it you may as well sell it and buy a bond and then when we leave the great white jail a new car can be bought. The new cars won’t have the bugs out of them for two or three years anyway. Be sure though that no regulations or price ceilings are in any way infringed, no matter how good you may think the friendship of the person you sell to may be. The temptation to take a crack at the first family for pay is almost irresistible and so far we’ve escaped any factual misdemeanor and I’d like to finish with that reputation. Save the number. . . .”

  Many more of Dad’s letters in the fall of 1946 kept Mother in touch with his ongoing problems with the recalcitrant Congress, Secretary of State Jimmy Byrnes, and the man who was becoming the biggest headache of all, Secretary of Commerce Henry Wallace. Among Mr. Byrnes’ many defects was his tendency to hog the conversation, even when he was talking to the president. “Jim Byrnes came in for one drink,” Dad wrote in December, “and stayed for dinner! You can’t beat that.” The next day Mr. Byrnes brought the Prime Minister of Greece to see the president and met his match: “Saw the Greek prime minister with Byrnes. Almost had to throw him out of the office. Even Byrnes, as great a conversational pig as he is, was out-talked and after a half hour I began ushering him to the door - and he was still going at top speed and finally had to have the door shut in his face.”

  Dad’s clash with Henry Wallace was a far more serious matter. The secretary of commerce decided that he was FDR’s heir apparent and began issuing pronouncements on foreign policy, strenuously criticizing the president’s tough attitude toward the Russians. Henry had been making disapproving noises ever since Dad escorted Winston Churchill to Fulton, Missouri, on March 3, 1946, to receive an honorary degree from Westminster College. With President Truman’s obvious endorsement, Churchill told the local audience - and the world - that Russia was ringing down “an iron curtain” across Europe. In Henry Wallace’s confused mind, this made Churchill and Truman warmongers.

  Mr. Wallace was launching a tradition that has become a knee-jerk reaction in certain parts of the academic world and in the media. He blamed the United States for our difficulties with the Russians. He saw nothing wrong with letting Moscow do what it pleased in Poland and the rest of Eastern Europe. He wanted to reduce our defense spending to the brink of unilateral disarmament. Things came to a boil when Henry gave a speech voicing most of these sentiments to a Soviet-American friendship rally in Madison Square Garden in mid-September. He had brought the speech to the White House and gotten Dad’s approval of a version that criticized both the Russians and the British. He then gave an entirely different version, eliminating almost all criticism of the Soviets. He ended his jeremiad by claiming that Harry Truman agreed with every word he had just said.

  When reporters rushed to the White House and asked Dad if this was true, he confirmed it, without realizing the double cross that had been pulled. The result was a major fiasco. Mr. Byrnes, who was talking tough to the Russians in Paris, threatened to resign. Editorial writers heaped abuse on Truman’s two-headed foreign policy. Dad poured out his woe to Bess, who was still in Missouri. He did not receive much comfort from her. “It was nice to talk with you [last night],” he wrote on September 16, “even if you did give me hell for making mistakes.”

  The mistake was trusting Henry Wallace. Nevertheless, Dad still struggled to come to an understanding with him.

  Henry came to see me last night and stayed from three-thirty to six. He finally agreed to make no more speeches until Byrnes comes home. I don’t think I ever spent a more miserable week since Chicago.

  I simply had to tell Henry that he could make no more speeches on foreign affairs. He didn’t want to quit the Cabinet because I told him he had the right to do as he pleased outside the Cabinet. He finally agreed to stop talking. This affair . . . is one of the worst messes I’ve ever been tangled up in and I hope another one doesn’t come up again soon but it undoubtedly will.

  The crackpots [left-wing Democrats] are up in arms and we’ll probably lose the Congress and New York and then we’ll have a time sure enough. But it can’t be helped. I hope we can manage to get over the next two years without too much trouble. The world picture is none too bright. Looks like Marshall will fail in China [General George C. Marshall, Army chief of staff during World War II, was trying to negotiate a truce between the Communists and the Nationalists]. I’m not sure that with Henry muzzled, Byrnes will bring home the bacon [an agreement with the Russians]. We’re staring another round of strikes in the face. The army and navy are at each other’s throats again and my Cabinet family just keep bickering all the time. But you’ll say, well you brought it on yourself and so I have no consolation whatever.

  I don’t suppose I deserve any! Well anyway, it’s only five days to Tuesday.

  He was referring in that last sentence to Bess’ scheduled return to the White House. As you can see, their quarrel over the presidency was not completely resolved
. But it was out in the open now, and they could face it as partners.

  Meanwhile, the Wallace imbroglio continued to boil, with the secretary of commerce revealing the ugly side of his personality, as well as some devious ideas about the presidency that he had acquired from FDR.

  I have written a letter to Henry asking for his resignation. After our long talk of day before yesterday he evidently held a session of his help and every word of our two-hour conversation was quoted in the [Washington] Daily News. I told Henry in the confidential letter that I could never talk frankly to him again, therefore it was best he resign. I also told him that I didn’t believe he could work on a team, particularly a team as important as the President’s Cabinet. I expressed the opinion that he would undoubtedly be happier out of the Cabinet than in it.

  We [had] agreed on exactly what he would say to the press. He said just what he agreed to and then answered questions which completely nullified his agreed statement. Then when I saw the news piece I hit the ceiling.

  So now I’m sure I’ve run the crackpots out of the Democratic Party and I feel better over it. Henry told me during our conversation that as President I couldn’t play a square game. That I shouldn’t let my right hand know what my left did, that anything was justified so long as we stayed in power. In other words, the end justifies the means.

  I believe he’s a real Commy and a dangerous man. If I can’t play square I won’t play. It’s four days!

  The next day, the President was feeling a lot better about getting rid of Mr. Wallace.

  The reaction to firing Henry is terrific. The stock market went up twenty points! I’ve had an avalanche of telegrams from Maine to California agreeing with the action. I’ve also had some from New York, Detroit and California calling me a traitor to FDR. and a warmonger. But I think I’m right. Charlie Ross told me I’d shown I’d rather be right than President and I told him I’d rather be anything than President and Clifford [Clark Clifford, White House counsel] said, “Please don’t say that.”

  Anyway it’s done and I feel like Mon Wallgren’s Swede. This Swede owned a fine retail business and was doing fine, but according to Mon he became somewhat intimate with a lady named Gina Olson. Gina came to his store one day and told Ole (Mon’s Swede) that she thought she was due to produce a child but that she wasn’t sure. Well Ole walked the floor, kicked and cussed himself for a fool and wished he’d behaved. Gina came back shortly and told Ole that the Doc could not see her until the next day. So they decided to take a walk and discuss the situation. The walk led them to the town reservoir. Gina said to Ole with Mon’s Swede accent, “You know if what I believe is true is confirmed by the doctor tomorrow, I shall come up here and jump into that reservoir.” Ole threw his arms around her and said, “Oh, Gina, you don’t know what a load you take off my mind!” Also in Mon’s Swedish dialect.

  Well Henry’s demise makes me feel like Ole did - but not for the same reason, thank God.

  That reminds me, I had a telegram from Steve Early [FDR’s press secretary] which said, “Thank God, Steve.” Just three days.

  Three days later, Bess arrived on schedule and went to work as First Lady. A letter she wrote to me in October gives us a good idea of how frantic some days could be. Dad was speaking at the UN in the late afternoon. Bess stayed in Washington to attend the Community Chest luncheon, keeping a promise she had made to one of her close friends among the Senate wives.

  I had to leave before Elsa Maxwell’s talk to catch the plane at 2:30. We got to NY at 3:40 and were whisked to the UN Bldg & rushed into a reception room where Lie [Trygvie Lie, secretary general] and someone else greeted us. Then to [the] auditorium where Spaak [Henri Spaak of Belgium] made a speech in French & then Dad’s speech.

  Then about 75 motor police took us to the Waldorf where I had to hurry & dress for the reception. . . . We shook hands with 835 (according to H. Vaughan) [General Vaughan, Dad’s military aide] & then rushed to dress to make the train at 8:25. The Byrneses [the secretary of state and his wife] came home with us so we had to be polite and sit up and talk all the way when I had planned a good nap.

  Later in the fall of 1946, Bess launched the first full-fledged White House social season since 1941. It was, to quote Edith Helm, “pressed down and running over” because there now had to be two of everything where only one had done the job before the war.

  In 1916, when Mrs. Helm went to work for Mrs. Woodrow Wilson, there were only thirty-five chiefs of mission (diplomatic jargon for ambassadors) in Washington. In 1946, there were sixty-two. The official guest lists (VIP’s of all stripes and nationalities) had doubled from 1,000 to 2,000. The State Dining Room, which seated 104, could not hold all the chiefs of mission and their wives at one dinner so there had to be two dinners. The official receptions, which, believe it or not, could handle 1,000 guests in the good old days, also had to be twinned to keep everyone happy.

  Here, from Mrs. Helm’s records, is a list of the Trumans’ official entertaining for that first season.

  November 26, Tuesday, Diplomatic Dinner, 8 p.m.

  December 3, Tuesday, Diplomatic Dinner, 8 p.m.

  December 10, Tuesday, Judicial Reception, 9 p.m.

  December 17, Tuesday, Cabinet Dinner, 8 p.m.

  January 7, Tuesday, Diplomatic Reception, 9 p.m.

  January 14, Tuesday, Dinner to the Chief Justice and the Supreme Court, 8 p.m.

  January 21, Tuesday, Reception to the Officials of the Treasury, Post Office, Interior, Agriculture, Commerce and Labor Departments and Federal Agencies, 9 p.m.

  January 28, Tuesday, Dinner to the President Pro Tempore of the Senate, 8 p.m.

  February 4, Tuesday, Army and Navy Reception, 9 p.m.

  February 11, Tuesday, Speaker’s Dinner, 8 p.m.

  February 18, Tuesday, Congressional Reception, 9 p.m.

  These, of course, were only the highlights of a schedule that included innumerable teas, luncheons, and personal appearances to cut ribbons and to beam on various groups from the Washington Committee for National Civilian Rehabilitation to the Girl Scouts.

  For the official dinners and receptions, Dad and Mother decided to revive the “Little Procession,” which had been dropped during the Roosevelt years because of FDR’s crippled condition. Here is how it went on one of the most spectacular evenings, the Diplomatic Reception. At about 8:30 p.m., the ambassadors arrived in splendid uniforms or full evening dress, their coats ablaze with decorations. They marched into the East Room, four abreast. Meanwhile, the Cabinet members and their wives were being greeted by Dad and Mother in the president’s study on the second floor.

  At 8:45 p.m., four young servicemen, led by an officer, came to the door of the study and asked permission to remove the colors. These were the flag of the United States and the president’s own flag, flanking his desk. The president gave his permission, and two of the young men removed the flags. They saluted and marched down the stairs and took stations to the right and left of the door leading to the Blue Room.

  As the clock struck nine, the president and the First Lady began the “Little Procession.” They descended the stairs, followed by the Cabinet members and their wives. Dad and Mother, looking dignified (my friend Drucie Snyder and I were practically falling over the upstairs railing to see all this), took up positions beneath the chandelier in the Blue Room. The Cabinet retreated to the Red Room, and my parents began greeting the representatives of the nations of the world on behalf of the United States.

  Dad loved this aspect of his presidency. He thought the pomp and ceremony encouraged respect as well as friendship for the office and the American nation. Gradually, Mother came to feel the same way.

  After shaking hands with the president and First Lady, the diplomats were escorted into the Red Room to meet the Cabinet. Then everyone went to the State Dining Room, where coffee, tea, sandwiches, and cake were served, and the Marine Band played dance music until midnight.

  It was exhausting to shake hands with 1,000 people and get up the next
day and perhaps shake hands with another 300 at a tea. There sometimes were two teas in a single day. Toward the close of the social season, Mother wrote to me: “These two weeks are really going to be a handshaking two weeks - conservative estimate forty-one hundred - I’ll be plenty glad when February 19th arrives!” When someone asked her how she did it, she laughed and said: “I have a strong tennis arm.”

  The truth was somewhat more painful. Mother wrote me two letters about the February 1947 reception for Lord Alexander, the governor general of Canada, and his wife. “They arrive at four for tea, then dinner & the lengthy reception. Help! (or leave off the “p” and add an “L”).” The next day she wrote to tell me how much she liked the handsome British couple. She added almost casually: “The reception of course was horrible - 1341 - & my arm is a wreck this a.m.”

  During the fall of 1946, Mother rang down the curtain on another White House activity that had attracted a lot of attention from the press: her Spanish class. In the fall of 1945, a friend had persuaded her that it might be good for inter-American relations - and also good publicity for the Trumans - if the First Lady invited a group of Cabinet wives and prominent Washingtonians to study the language with her in the White House. Study groups were an old independence tradition, and Mother said yes. Soon she was meeting each week in the White House library with Mr. Ramon Ramos, a dignified, earnest professor of Spanish, and a dozen ladies, including Graham Black, Supreme Court Justice Hugo Black’s wife, Margaret Patterson, wife of Army Secretary Robert Patterson, and Mamie Eisenhower.

  I had more than enough studying to do at George Washington University, so I stayed away from this sideshow. But Dad and I got a lot of laughs from listening to Mother’s complaints about some of the members of the class, who apparently thought it was a strictly social occasion and never looked at a book from one week to the next. Mother studied hard and acquired a working knowledge of Spanish.