Funny Letters From Famous People

by Charles Osgood

  Kansan newspaper editor William Allen White was a lifelong Republican who, like many other lifelong Republicans, admired FDR. He once wrote the president asking for a photograph of him in a favorite seersucker suit. Roosevelt sent it to him with a letter which began:

  Dear Bill:

  Here is the seersucker picture, duly inscribed by the sucker to the seer.

  Having read a report that, while on a deer-hunting expedition, Vice President John N. Garner had accidentally shot a cow, FDR wrote the following letter, which was read at a dinner where Garner and his guests planned to enjoy the venison resulting from his hunt.

  December 9, 1937

  PRIVATE BUT NOT TOO CONFIDENTIAL

  Dear Jack:

  I have read in the papers that tonight you and twenty-four members of the Senate are attending the funeral of my old friend Bessie. I knew her many years ago when I was hunting in northern Pennsylvania. She was the pet of the camp and would always come when you whistled and eat out of your hand.

  I am sorry, indeed, that Joe Guffey removed the tinkling little bell which was always worn around her neck. It makes me feel so chokey when I think of her untimely demise that I do not think that I could attend the funeral service tonight even if I had been invited.

  I understand fully, of course, that this unfortunate hunting accident was not your fault—and I am glad, too, that if Bessie had to go, you shot her instead of whistling her up and cutting her throat with a knife. Dear Bessie probably never knew what hit her.

  Under all the unfortunate circumstances attending her death, I hope, nevertheless, that all of you will enjoy the wake.

  F.D.R.

  FDR ardently believed that women’s rights issues deserved wider recognition. But in a letter to his friend Mary Dawson, with tongue firmly implanted in cheek, he expressed his impatience at being “chiseled” by suffragettes:

  The White House

  Feb. 10, 1949

  Dear Molly:

  You girls have got to realize that this chiseling business on your part must stop somewhere. I have put more girls’ faces on postage stamps in the last seven years than all of my thirty-one predecessors put together. In fact, old Martha Washington was the only female face on letters up to my Inauguration. I even put Whistler’s mother on a stamp. And just a few days ago, Louisa Alcott blossomed forth, even though she was an awful old prude.

  Now, instead of asking me for a special stamp for the Women’s Centennial congress, if you had asked me to put Greta Garbo’s face on a stamp, I might have listened.

  Yes, taking it by and large, a careful survey of the past seven years shows that you girls, as a matter of fact, have been so petted and pampered that if any female voter dares to vote for Dewey, Vandenberg, or Taft next Fall, you will be out of luck. So, keep up the good work and if we inaugurate a Democratic President in 1941, I will guarantee that he will provide one new female stamp each year.

  As ever yours,

  Franklin

  Roosevelt wrote to his good friend Admiral Ernest J. King to tweak him over his reputation as a fearsome and courageous leader:

  The White House

  August 12, 1942

  Dear Ernie:

  You will remember “the sweet young thing” whom I told about Douglas MacArthur rowing his family from Corregidor to Australia—and later told about Shangri-La as the take-off place for the Tokyo bombers.

  Well, she came to dinner last night and this time she told me something.

  She said, “We are going to win this war. The Navy is tough. And the toughest man in the Navy—Admiral King—proves it. He shaves every morning with a blowtorch.”

  Glad to know you!

  As ever yours,

  F.D.R.

  P.S. I am trying to verify another rumor—that you cut your toenails with a torpedo net cutter.

  FDR sent this note to Mrs. Roosevelt in 1942:

  Do you remember that about a month ago I got sick of chicken because I got it (between lunch and dinner) at least six times a week? The chicken situation has definitely improved but “they” have substituted sweetbreads, and for the past month I have been getting sweetbreads about six times a week.

  I am getting to the point where my stomach positively rebels and this does not help my relations with foreign powers. I bit two of them today.

  Harry Truman

  IN A LETTER written to his mother in 1945, shortly after he became president, Harry Truman mock-complained about all the clocks in the White House.

  The ship’s clock in Mrs. Wallace’s [his mother-in-law] room bangs away in that crazy sailor count of bells. The old grandfather clock in the hall has a high squeaky voice like fat tenors and there is a hoarse clock, a little timekeeper with a big voice—like most small people.

  Before he departed to attend the Potsdam Conference in 1945, Truman wrote to his mother:

  Dearest mother:

  I am getting ready to see Stalin and Churchill and it is a chore. I have to take my tuxedo, tails, preacher coat, high hat, low hat and hard hat.

  Truman was, of course, famous for his “plain speaking.” He did not suffer fools lightly, and he found a good deal of his job as president to be a tremendous waste of time. In a letter to his sister in 1947, Truman wrote:

  All the President is, is a glorified public relations man who spends his time flattering, kissing, and kicking people to get them to do what they are supposed to do anyway.

  Truman wrote three whimsical memoranda while at the White House, just before Christmas in 1947:

  I have appointed a Secretary of Semantics—a most important post. He is to furnish me 40 to 50 dollar words. Tell me how to say yes and no in the same sentence without a contradiction. He is to tell me the combination of words that will put me against inflation in San Francisco and for it in New York. He is to show me how to keep silent—and say everything. You can very well see how he can save me an immense amount of worry.

  Then I have appointed a Secretary of Reaction. I want him to abolish flying machines and tell me how to restore oxcarts, oar boats, and sailing ships. What a load he can take off my mind if he will put the atom back together so it cannot be broken up. What a worry that will abolish for both me and Vyshinsky.

  I have appointed a Secretary for Columnists. His duties are to listen to all radio commentators, read all columnists in the newspapers from ivory tower to lowest gossip, coordinate them and give me the result so I can run the United States and the world as it should be. I have several able men in reserve besides the present holder of the job, because I think in a week or two, the present Secretary for Columnists will need the services of a psychiatrist and will in all probability end up in St. Elizabeth’s.

  In a note written in November 1949, Truman humorously commented on the formality of dining at the White House, which he frequently referred to as “the finest prison in the world”:

  Had dinner by myself tonight. Worked in Lee House office until dinnertime. A butler came in very formally and said, “Mr. President, dinner is served.” I walk into the dining room in the Blair House. Barnett in tails and white tie pulls out my chair, pushes me up to the table. John in tails and white tie brings me a fruit cup, Barnett takes away the empty cup. John brings me a plate, Barnett brings me a tenderloin. John brings me asparagus, Barnett brings me carrots and beets. I have to eat alone and in silence in the candlelit room. I ring. Barnett takes the plate and butter plates. John comes in with a napkin and silver crumb tray—there are no crumbs but John has to brush them off the table anyway. Barnett brings me a plate with a finger bowl and doily on it. I remove the finger bowl and doily and John puts a glass saucer and a little bowl on the plate. Barnett brings me some chocolate custard. John brings me a demitasse (at home a little cup of coffee—about two good gulps) and my dinner is over. I take a hand bath in the finger bowl and go back to work. What a life!” When Truman announced his intention to streamline the government severely by getting rid of what he felt were some unnecessary government bureaus, a woma
n wrote to tell him that she was building a new house and needed furniture. Would he mind sending on a few of the discarded bureaus?

  Truman wrote back that he had disposed of the bureaus already, but that if she were interested, he had a “secondhand, no-damned-good cabinet I’d like to get rid of.”

  Paul Hume’s infamous Washington Post review of Truman’s daughter Margaret’s singing performance sent Truman into an infamous rage. Though Hume allowed that Miss Truman was “extremely attractive,” he went on to state that she “cannot sing very well” and “has not improved” over the years.

  Truman wrote the following letter to the thirty-four-year-old Hume on White House stationery:

  Mr. Hume:

  I have just read your lousy review of Margaret’s concert. I’ve come to the conclusion that you are an “eight ulcer man on four ulcer pay.”

  It seems to me that you are a frustrated old man who wishes he could have been successful. When you write such poppy-cock as was in the back section of the paper you work for it shows conclusively that you’re off the beam and at least four of your ulcers are at work.

  Some day I hope to meet you. When that happens you’ll need a new nose, a lot of beefsteak for black eyes, and perhaps a supporter below!

  [Westbrook] Pegler [another Post columnist], a gutter snipe, is a gentleman alongside you. I hope you’ll accept that statement as a worse insult than a reflection on your ancestry.

  H.S.T.

  Adlai Stevenson

  AS GOVERNOR OF ILLINOIS, Adlai Stevenson was required to act on numerous bills proposed by the state legislature that he felt did little if anything to represent the best interests of the public. He sent the following letter to veto a bill called “An Act to Provide Protection to Insectivorous Birds by Restraining Cats.” It was a golden opportunity for Stevenson to make use of his celebrated dry wit.

  To the Honorable Members of the Senate of the Sixty-Sixth General Assembly:

  I herewith return, without my approval, Senate Bill No. 93 entitled “An Act to Provide Protection to Insectivorous Birds by Restraining Cats.” This is the so-called “Cat Bill.” I veto and withhold my approval from this bill for the following reasons:

  It would impose fines on owners or keepers who permitted their cats to run at large off their premises. It would permit any person to capture, or call upon the police to pick up and imprison, cats at large. It would permit the use of traps. The bill would have statewide application—on farms, in villages, and in metropolitan centers.

  This legislation has been introduced in the past several sessions of the Legislature, and it has, over the years, been the source of much comment—not all of which has been in a serious vein. It may be that the General Assembly has now seen fit to refer it to one who can view it with a fresh outlook. Whatever the reasons for passage at this session, I cannot believe there is a widespread public demand for this law or that it could, as a practical matter, be enforced.

  Furthermore, I cannot agree that it should be declared public policy of Illinois that a cat visiting a neighbor’s yard or crossing the highway is a public nuisance. It is in the nature of cats to do a certain amount of unescorted roaming. Many live with their owners in apartments or other restricted premises, and I doubt if we want to make their every brief foray an opportunity for a small game hunt by zealous citizens—with traps or otherwise. I am afraid this bill could only create discord, recriminations, and enmity. Also consider the owner’s dilemma: To escort a cat abroad on a leash is against the nature of the cat, and to permit it to venture forth for exercise unattended into a night of new dangers is against the nature of the owner. Moreover, cats perform useful service, particularly in rural areas, in combating rodents—work they necessarily perform alone and without regard for property lines.

  We are all interested in protecting certain varieties of birds. That cats destroy some birds, I well know, but I believe this legislation would further but little the worthy cause to which its proponents give such unselfish effort. The problem of the cat versus bird is as old as time. If we attempt to resolve it by legislation who knows but what we may be called upon to take sides as well in the age-old problems of dog versus cat, bird versus bird, or even bird versus worm. In my opinion, the State of Illinois and its local governing bodies already have enough to do without trying to control feline delinquency.

  For these reasons, and not because I love birds the less or cats the more, I veto and withhold my approval from Senate Bill No. 93.

  Respectfully,

  Adlai Stevenson, Governor

  Dwight D. Eisenhower

  UPON HIS PROMOTION to brigadier general in 1941, Dwight Eisenhower responded to the avalanche of congratulations by writing:

  When they get clear down to my place on the list, they are passing out stars with considerable abandon.

  In 1942, Eisenhower wrote a letter to his wife Mamie from dreariest wartime London:

  Dear Mamie:

  I’m trying to get me a little dog—Scottie by preference. You can’t talk war to a dog, and I’d like to have someone or something to talk to, occasionally, that doesn’t know what the word means! A dog is my only hope.

  Here’s an excerpt from a letter to Mamie from Frankfurt in the autumn of 1945:

  Dear Mamie:

  … George Patton has broken in to print again in a big way. That man is going to drive me to drink. He misses more good opportunities to keep his mouth shut than almost anyone I ever knew.

  John F. Kennedy

  PRESIDENT JOHN F. KENNEDY once received a letter from newspaper columnist Leonard Lyons in which Lyons told him the current prices for signed portrait photos of presidents, past and present: George Washington—$175; Franklin D. Roosevelt—$75; U. S. Grant, $55; John F. Kennedy—$65. Kennedy wrote back immediately:

  Dear Leonard:

  I appreciate your letter about the market on Kennedy signatures. It is hard to believe that the going price is so high now. In order not to depress the market any further, I will not sign this letter.

  Kennedy had quite a whimsical side. Consider this playful letter to a ten-year-old boy, who had written to ask Kennedy about the “little people” of Irish legend:

  March 1963

  Dear Mark,

  I want to thank you for your nice letter. I enjoyed hearing from you and hearing about your school.

  Your questions are quite pertinent, coming as they do just before St. Patrick’s Day. There are many legends about the “little people,” but what they all add up to is this: If you really believe, you will see them.

  My “little people” are very small, wear tall black stovepipe hats, green coats and pants, and have long, white beards. They do not have horses. I have never been able to determine where they live. They are most friendly, and their message is that all the peoples of the world should live in peace and friendship.

  Since you are interested in the Irish, I want to wish you a happy St. Patrick’s Day.

  Sincerely,

  John F. Kennedy

  Barry Goldwater was an excellent photographer. He once took a flattering picture of President Kennedy and sent it to him for an autograph. The picture came back with this inscription:

  For Barry Goldwater, whom I urge to follow the career for which he has shown so much talent—photography. From his friend, John Kennedy.

  (When, in turn, Goldwater sent Johnson his photograph of him for inscription, Johnson returned it with this inscription, and Goldwater hung it proudly in his chambers:

  To Barry Goldwater from his favorite target, Lyndon B. Johnson.)

  In his reply to an invitation to attend a testimonial luncheon in honor of Postmaster General Edward Day in Springfield, Illinois, Kennedy didn’t pass up the opportunity to tease him:

  Dear Edward:

  I am delighted to learn of the testimonial luncheon. I know that the Postmaster General will enjoy his day off in Springfield, and I am only sorry that I cannot join in this tribute.

  I am sending this message b
y wire, since I want to be certain that this message reaches you in the right place and at the right time.

  Lyndon B. Johnson

  AFTER LADY BIRD JOHNSON had purchased a radio station in Austin, Texas, she spent much time there while Congressman Lyndon Johnson was in Washington. Johnson missed having Lady Bird with him, and on one occasion wrote her the following note:

  Dearest Lady Bird:

  If you don’t start writing me more often, I’m going to have you drafted into the WACS. Then you will have to write to your next of kin at least twice a month.

  George Bush, Sr.

  HOT ON THE 1988 campaign trail, Michael and Kitty Dukakis got a lot of publicity for their irrepressible public displays of affection. George Bush’s campaign staff told him that he and Barbara should try out some PDAs themselves. Bush wrote his wife this note:

  8-8-88

  Sweetsie:

  Please look at how Mike and Kitty do it.

  Try to be closer in, more—well er romantic—on camera.

  I am practicing the loving look, and the creeping hand.

  Yours for better TV and more demonstrable affection.

  Your sweetie-pie coo-coo.

  Love ya

  GB

  Bush wrote this letter to a supporter on the subject of his famous aversion to broccoli:

  March 27, 1990

  Mr. Raymond J. Mitchell

  Miami Township, Ohio

  Dear Mr. Mitchell:

  Barbara was touched by your letter telling her of your wife’s rebellion against peas, caused by my rebellion against broccoli.

  Tell Janice Ann to “hang in there”; however, Ray, I cannot accept your check even though the cause of which you sent it in is a noble one. I love Baby Ruth’s and Heath Bars, too, but I just can’t spend your fiver on that. “Eat it today, wear it tomorrow.”