Affection and Trust: The Personal Correspondence of Harry S. Truman and Dean Acheson, 1953-1971

by David McCullough

  The kind of money passing about today in politics would have been beyond their imagining, just as it would have been difficult for them to have contemplated a time to come when people would no longer write letters.

  There is, to be sure, a gradual change in tone and focus, as age comes on and “the man with the scythe,” as Truman says, casts a shadow.

  They send each other speeches they have given, report on the birth of grandchildren, write of illnesses and news of the deaths of old friends like George Marshall. “I sat and read it and read it again because my spectacles became clouded the first time,” Truman writes.

  It is interesting, too, to note what is not to be found in the letters. There is little or no complaining or self-pity, no extensive rehashing of events in order to explain or justify past mistakes, no time taken up with what-might-have-beens.

  The last letter in the collection, like the first, is from Truman. “I was greatly pleased by your kind and generous letter on my eighty-seventh birthday,” he writes to Acheson on May 14, 1971. “Coming from you, this carries deeper meaning for me.”

  Truman liked to say that at least fifty years had to go by before a judgment by history can be fairly made, that one had to wait for the dust to settle. It has now been more than fifty years since most of these letters were written, so it is not only high time we have them in hand this way, it is the perfect time.

  —David McCullough

  April 2010

  Harry Truman greeted by members of his Cabinet and staff on his return on October 18, 1950, from the Wake Island meeting with General Douglas MacArthur. From left to right: Special Assistant to the President Averell Harriman, Secretary of Defense George Marshall, President Truman, Secretary of State Dean Acheson, unidentified (partly obscured by Snyder), Secretary of the Treasury John W. Snyder, Secretary of the Army Frank Pace, and General Omar Bradley.

  1

  February to December 1953

  A New Outlet for “the Truman-Acheson Front”

  Harry Truman and Dean Acheson experienced their sudden transition on January 20, 1953, from President of the United States and Secretary of State to private citizens, with some shock. The exercise of power to which they had become accustomed had now to be given up, and revisited only in memory. Their shared sense of loss, together with their friendship, drew them toward each other, and they started writing letters.

  Their first letters crossed, prompted only by their respective thoughts of the other. Letter followed letter, the range of subjects grew, and their friendship was recast for this new time in their lives. They shared their thoughts about what the current occupant of the White House and his advisers should be doing. They also sought to be influential by speaking out and writing, and they could do this as a team, as partners attempting to keep the country moving in the right direction, something they felt the new President too often did not seem to know how to do.

  Between their forging of a renewed relationship through their correspondence, and their continuing and often coordinated presence in the public-policy arena, the two men carried into the post-presidential years what Acheson called “the Truman-Acheson front.” They were still working together—the chief always loyal to and admiring of the brilliance of his adviser, and the adviser always loyal to and admiring of the true heart and true instincts of his chief—just as in the past.

  Acheson and his wife, Alice, hosted a luncheon at their home immediately following Eisenhower’s inauguration ceremonies, for Harry, Bess, and Margaret Truman and about thirty-five members of his administration. Afterward, the Trumans boarded a train for the long journey back home to Missouri. As the train left the station, Truman waved goodbye to Acheson and the others who had joined him in running the country during some of the most momentous, perilous, and fateful times in its history.

  · · ·

  February 7, 1953

  Dear Dean:

  There are not enough words in the dictionary on the favorable side, of course, to express the appreciation which Mrs. Truman and I felt for your wonderful luncheon of the twentieth. I never have been at a function of this sort where everybody seemed to be having the best time they ever had. We will never forget it, as it is one of the high lights of our trip to “Washington and back.”

  I hope that we will never lose contact. Should you be in this part of the world be sure and come to see us. You can rest assured that I’ll make my presence in Washington known to you if ever I get there, which, of course, I may at some time in the future.

  Please express our thanks and appreciation, with all the adjectives you can think of, to Mrs. Acheson.

  Sincerely yours,

  Harry S Truman

  Truman sent Acheson a second letter the same day, this one concerning some last-minute State Department business.

  February 7, 1953

  Dear Dean:

  Thanks a lot for the appointment of Thomas K. Finletter and Adrian S. Fisher on the Panel of the Permanent Court of Arbitration to the Hague Conventions. They are two excellent and able gentlemen and I am sure will make good on the job.

  Sincerely yours,

  Harry S. Truman

  [Handwritten postscript:] Hope you and Mrs. Acheson are having a grand vacation. I’ve had some sixty thousand letters and telegrams—99.4% favorable! Believe it or not. You’ve never seen as much crow eaten, feathers and all.

  The favorable letters and telegrams were especially welcome to a brand-new former President of the United States who left office following a presidential campaign in which his administration was tarred with the failure to end the Korean War and characterized in the most strident and acrimonious fashion as corrupt and soft on communism. His approval rating when he left office was a dismal 31 percent.

  The Achesons escaped, soon after Truman’s departure from Washington, to Antigua, in the British West Indies.

  February 10, 1953

  Dear Mr. President,

  You and Mrs. Truman have been constantly in our thoughts these last three weeks. We see glimpses of you in papers weeks old and read fragmentary reports of you. But you are more vivid in our minds. We have spoken often of that last poignant day together and shall never forget the sight of you on the track platform as the train grew small and smaller down the track. We wish that you would both escape to the peace and privacy for a while of a place like this enchanted and blessed isle, where the sea and air and all around us combine to make rest and relaxation inevitable and delightful. We read and sleep and swim—Alice paints—we keep the world and its doings away from us. But we talk about the great epoch in which you permitted us to play a part and which now seems ended in favor of God knows what.

  One of the glorious things which I have read—and which you probably know—is Paul Wilstach’s edition of the correspondence between John Adams and Jefferson. If you do not know it, by all means get it. There were two robust old codgers. I think one gets a wholly new affection for Adams.

  We are here, I hope, until the end of March. This note brings to both you and Mrs. Truman our devotion and solicitude. I know that these are difficult weeks for you both.

  Affectionately,

  Dean

  Truman’s correspondence with Acheson would often be handwritten, as was this letter. Bess Truman, whom Truman calls in understatement “an anti–public office holder,” had a moment of softness when she saw the thousands of people who greeted them at the railroad depot and their home. The book deal Truman mentions is for his memoirs. Truman’s daughter, Margaret—“Skinny for short”—apparently gave him a full report of a Democratic Party event in New York City on February 14 featuring Adlai Stevenson and Averell Harriman.

  February 18, 1953

  Dear Dean:

  Your letter of Feb. 10th is a jewel I shall always treasure. Never will Bess, Margaret and Harry forget that wonderful afternoon with you and Mrs. Acheson and the official family of a former President of the United States. It was the happiest luncheon I ever had or ever will have.

 
The send off at the Union Station, the spontaneous meeting in front of your house, the crowds along the line of the B and O—how could any man describe them or want more.

  Mitchell, the Porter, stayed up all the night long and reported that at Grafton at 12 midnight, at Clarksburg old Stonewall’s birthplace at 2:30 A.M., at Parkersburg at 3 A.M., people wanted a look at the old “ex.” All across Ohio, Indiana, Illinois just the same. At St. Louis some three or four thousand on the platform of the Union Station. Same all across Missouri. At the hometown our county police force had expected 300 and there were more than 10,000 at the Mo.P. depot and 5,000 in front of the house at home.

  Now why? and again why. Mrs. T. said when we finally arrived inside the house, “Well, this pays for all the thirty years of troubles.” Some admission for an anti–public office holder, I’d say.

  Dean, if it hadn’t been for you and all that official family who were at your house on Jan. 20, it could never have happened.

  I’ve had fifty or sixty thousand letters—99.9% favorable and complimentary editorials and columns by the score from terrible papers like the Cleveland Plain Dealer, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Los Angeles Times, the terrible Knight papers, all eating crow, feathers and all!

  Our successors are making hay for the Democrats at a great rate. More power to ’em. I keep still! How can I? But I do. Stevenson made a grand talk in New York on Saturday night and Harriman did a grand job as Chairman. I had a reporter there named Margie (Skinny for short) who gave me the low down and it was all good.

  Hope you and Mrs. Acheson are having the grandest time possibly to have, and from your letter I’d judge you are. We are going on a Pacific jaunt beginning March 22 from San Francisco, winding up in Honolulu for 30 days and back here about May 5th.

  I’m about to sell out a book for a fantastic sum. It’s not worth it but I’m sorely tempted.

  My best to you and Mrs. Acheson—and the Boss joins me, may we never lose contact!

  Sincerely,

  Harry S. Truman

  The Achesons were still in Antigua at the time of this letter. Antigua became their favored winter retreat for many years.

  February 21, 1953

  Dear Mr. President,

  Two letters from you came to me today—a record even in the old days. One about our last luncheon. I am glad—very glad—that it gave you and Mrs. Truman happiness. To us it was more moving than I can ever say—To see around you the devotion which you inspired and which had done faithful and good work to the end and could be gay, however heavy the heart was. None of us will ever forget that day—or many others—where you led us to do what did not seem possible to do.

  Since I wrote you last, I have gone on with my idle life, mostly reading—with swimming and some moderate use of alcoholic beverages. The Thomas Life of Lincoln has impressed me very much. I think you would like it. Most Lincoln books get so bogged down in legend or detail or papers that I have never been able to see what the man was like. What made him tick? Why did he decide this way instead of that way? I used to look at his portrait and wonder what he would have said to me if I had brought him the problems which I brought to you. This book makes it clearer. I begin to feel that I know a little more. But I am not willing to swap chiefs with any Secretary of State before—or since—Jan. 20, 1953.

  Alice joins me in affectionate greeting to you and Mrs. Truman.

  As always,

  Dean

  The book that Acheson is talking about below, and which Truman referred to in his letter of February 18, is Truman’s memoirs, which would be published in two volumes, in 1955 and 1956.

  March 2, 1953

  Dear Mr. President,

  Your wonderful letter of Feb. 18 has made us very happy. What you say about the luncheon on the Twentieth, the crowds greeting you all the way home, the letters and editorial, and Mrs. Truman’s comment on the recompense for thirty years of public life. You ask why. I am sure that I know. It was because the thirty years were years of great public service by a brave and straight shooter and the people know it and appreciate it. You have done what they would like to have done and wanted done.

  Your speaking of the Cleveland Plain Dealer editorial is particularly interesting. A few days ago I got here a long letter from a linotype operator on that paper, enclosing a copy of the editorial. He wrote that for years the editorials about F.D.R. and you were so bad that he often wanted to chuck the job and be free from having to set them up. This one gave him some sense that it had been worth it to stay on just to say, “I told you so.” I have written him to say that the composing room is way ahead of the editorial room.

  We are delighted that you and Mrs. Truman are going to have a holiday in the Pacific and know that it, too, will be a triumphal tour. I just hope that people will give you a chance to rest and wish that Margaret could go along to see that you both did rest. We are disgustingly healthy and relaxed.

  I am most excited about the book, although I worry when remembering the biblical hope that mine enemy might write a book. Where is it? In Ecclesiastes I think. But there is one book that you have spoken of which I hope you will write—perhaps it will be this one—“From Precinct to President.” I see it not as an anecdotal book—which I am afraid the Life people will want, and which would stir up controversy (as they would urge it) without shedding light. But it would be built around two central themes. One would be your favorite description of the President’s function, to persuade people to do what they ought to do without persuading. This is the heart of the American democratic process. It is an essay in persuasion, not by a dictator with police and guns as his arguments. But by one whom the people are persuaded wants what they want—though they may not always be able to state it in detail, and who must also persuade them that the complicated steps necessary to achieve results in this complicated world are directed to the just satisfaction of the popular wants. This may be pretty much true in other democracies such as England, France, Scandinavia, etc. But we have a further need for persuasion. The division of powers, imposed on us in towns, counties, states and nation, to provide checks and balances, has made government in the U.S.A. a true art and the art of persuasion from start to finish. How all of these problems came to you and were solved by you from Jackson County to the White House would be a great and profoundly useful book to young and old. And your observations on whether the process is flexible enough for the atomic age, for the contest with the monolithic opponent, for the execution of policies with continuity as an essential ingredient, and upon the effects of persuasion à la McCarthy, which is a sort of bastardization of the process & a destruction of it—all of this out of your own experience would be wonderful.

  Another theme which goes along with this is the change in the function of government which began towards the end of the last century and came to full flower in the administrations of H.S.T. and F.D.R. The early needs of government were to be policeman, judge, soldier, to provide order, justice, security. But now, with the growth of populations and the complexity of relationships, a managerial element becomes strongly necessary. This emerged when the Granger movement produced the idea of the public utility and its regulation. F.D.R. and you had it in a vast number of fields—the banks, various aspects of the welfare problem, power, mobilization, foreign affairs, where in very truth you were engaged in managing with our friends. The development and strengthening of the alliance of the free.

  You may well say, “Whose book is this anyway?” It surely is yours. I am only putting in my plug for the one of yours which I want most. There will be many plugs for other kinds. But I have run on too long. It is the nearest thing to the talks I miss so much. Our deep affection to you and Mrs. Truman.

  As ever,

  Dean

  Acheson was still in Antigua when Truman wrote this letter. The “Canadian Ambassador” is probably Stanley Woodward, who was White House chief of protocol during the Roosevelt and Truman administrations and, from 1950 to January 1953, United States ambassado
r to Canada. Woodward and his wife would be Truman’s traveling companions during his 1956 European trip.

  March 6, 1953

  Dear Dean:

  I can’t tell you how very much I appreciated your good letter of February twenty-first. I am glad you received both of mine. I suppose you are having a good time with our Canadian Ambassador at this minute and I wish I could be there too. We are trying to get things in shape so we can leave for Hawaii in a very short time.

  I’ve been reading that Lincoln book you referred to and I like it very much. It seems to be the most sensible one that has come out lately. I am also going to get my hands on the one to which you referred in your other letter concerning the correspondence between Adams and Jefferson. I’ve read one or two of the letters Jefferson wrote to Adams and one from Adams to Jefferson which, in my opinion, would be difficult to publish in its entirety. They were most interesting.

  I hope you and Mrs. Acheson are getting a good rest and I hope you are getting a lot of enjoyment out of what is taking place in Washington. It is very interesting.

  Sincerely yours,

  Harry S Truman

  Acheson refers in this letter to Harry, Bess, and Margaret Truman’s journey to San Francisco with W. Averell Harriman (here “Averill”) in his private Union Pacific railroad car. Harriman was an influential member of the Truman administration, ambassador to the United Kingdom, the Marshall Plan administrator in that country, and Secretary of Commerce, later governor of New York.

  From San Francisco, the Trumans sailed to Hawaii for a month’s stay on Coconut Island, which was owned by Truman’s friend the California oilman Edwin Pauley.