Margaret Truman (8 page)

VIII

FDR started out with a staff of fewer than one hundred people, but by 1945 the number had increased to 225. Some of the personalities who swirled through and around the Roosevelt Oval Office would make a book unto themselves. The prize for most colorful character undoubtedly went to Major General Edwin “Pa” Watson, a rotund Alabamian who was the Roosevelt White House's court jester. FDR's day invariably started with a visit from Pa, who always had a funny story for him.

Many people thought Watson was just a joker. But he was by no means politically stupid. As appointments secretary, he had a lot to do with who got to see the president. In 1944 he made sure no one who had a good word to say for Vice President Henry Wallace got anywhere near FDR for several months. That bit of infighting played no small part in making Senator Harry S Truman the Democratic nominee for the job. Watson joined this cabal (of which my father was totally unaware) because he knew FDR was dying and the vice president of 1944 was very likely to become president. He and many others thought Wallace would be a disaster.

Watson was an unlikely candidate for the select group of White House insiders who can say they helped change the course of American history. But proximity to the Oval Office almost guarantees such surprises.

IX

The Truman aides who appeared in the West Wing underscored the growing maturity of the White House staff system. Dad was particularly careful about selecting his appointments secretary—no one sees more of the president or needs to be closer to what he is thinking. His choice for the post was Matt Connelly, who had worked for him on the World War II Truman committee.

Matt did more than schedule appointments, of course. He was the “contact man,” as he later put it, for politicians across the country when they came to Washington. Not all of them could get to see the president but they all saw Matt.

Matt made a big difference in the 1948 campaign, when Dad, the underdog by umpteen points in every poll, made his famous whistle-stop campaign across the country. Matt's role as presser of political flesh outside the Oval Office put him on a first-name basis with politicians all over the country. One reporter noted that on the Republican candidate's campaign train, “local politicians did not get the red-carpet treatment they received from Truman's aide, Matt Connelly.”

The other indispensable Truman aide was Charlie Ross, who literally worked himself to death as press secretary, as I described in the opening chapter. Charlie had enormous prestige with the press corps and was greatly loved by all the Trumans.

X

None of these Truman staff members sought or got the kind of publicity that Roosevelt's aides accumulated. Grandstanding was taboo in the Truman White House. There was only one exception to this rule—a big handsome Missourian named Clark Clifford. Some historians have called him “the Golden Boy” of the Truman White House.

There is no doubt that Clark was a smart lawyer and a polished writer. My father valued his services and his candid advice. But after Clark left the White House to launch a lucrative law practice in Washington, he began taking credit for almost everything the Truman administration did.

A distressing number of reporters and even a few historians believed Clark. They did not seem to realize that the phrase my father had on his desk—“The buck stops here”—was a description not only of presidential responsibility but of presidential leadership. No single White House aide or even all of them put together can claim credit for the big decisions. A president makes them in the lonely hours of his day (or night), after listening to dozens of people.

XI

Succeeding presidents assembled new staffs, who soon displayed some of the tendencies that were already becoming apparent in the post–World War II White House. Infighting and vying for the president's attention were raised to fine arts and an enlarged ego became a predictable side effect of working in the West Wing.

In the all too brief Kennedy regime, another side effect developed. The president emanated such glamour and charisma that his aides could not help sharing the glow. As Dave Powers, JFK's old Boston pal, put it: “He made everybody around him look ten feet tall.” After JFK died, Powers added: “Now he's gone and they're shrinking.”

The Kennedy staff was relentlessly male. But in their midst was an important woman whom most of them barely noticed: presidential secretary Evelyn Lincoln. In appearance and demeanor, she was neither glamorous nor powerful, but she was capable and, equally important, loyal.

JFK remarked one day to his favorite speechwriter, “If I said, ‘Mrs. Lincoln, I have cut off Jackie's head. Would you please send over a box?' She would [reply] ‘That's wonderful, Mr. President. I'll send it right away. Did you get your nap?' ”

Mrs. Lincoln had far more power than most White House watchers suspected. People could get to see the president through her door when they were turned away by JFK's appointments secretary. But the biggest surprise came when Mrs. Lincoln published her book. While her portrait of JFK is affectionate on the whole, it revealed just how much this bird-like woman saw and remembered. Her JFK did not always wear his famous smile. He often blew his stack and berated everyone in sight, including innocent bystanders. At the same time, the book is a touching story of a country girl from the plains of Nebraska who fulfilled a lifelong hunger for glamour and excitement by getting a job in the White House.

XII

In his memoir of his days in William Jefferson Clinton's administration, Secretary of Labor Robert Reich offers this glimpse of the White House staff.

The Secretary of Transportation phones to ask me how I discover
what's going on at the White House. I have no clear answer. . . .
The decision-making “loop” depends on physical proximity to B—
who's whispering into his ear most regularly, whose office is closest
to the Oval, who's sitting or standing next to him when a key issue
arises. . . . In this administration you're either in the loop or out of
the loop, but more likely you don't know where the loop is, or you
don't even know there is a loop.

The Clinton White House may have been more chaotic than most, but in any administration there are always a few aides who are determined to be in the “loop” at all costs. George Stephanopoulos spent four years in the Clinton White House as the president's senior adviser. Young, bright, and photogenic, Stephanopoulos was quickly singled out by the press as one of the stars of the White House staff. Eventually, however, he began to sour on life in the West Wing. Everywhere he looked, including the mirror, he saw vanity, ambition, and a love of power. Add in the long hours, the constant stress, and the ups and downs of presidential moods, and Stephanopoulos decided to preserve his sanity by bailing out at the end of Clinton's first term.

XIII

Some stars, such as Karl Rove and Condoleezza Rice, have emerged in George W. Bush's West Wing, but so far no one seems to have become a golden boy (or girl) or a grandstander. There have been rumors of intrigues and rivalries, backstabbing and betrayals—some of which may actually be true. Such things happen even—or perhaps especially—in the White House. But we will have to wait a few years for insider books to be written and historians to mull over diaries and letters and E-mails before we really know what's been happening. Meanwhile, I continue to believe that, whatever their political views or personal agendas, most of the small army of men and women who work in the West Wing have a genuine commitment to the country. They may never experience the close personal relationship that John George Nicolay and John Hay enjoyed with Abraham Lincoln, but there is a bond of mutual respect and affection. There is also the realization that grueling hours and constant crises are not a bad trade-off for the privilege of serving the president of the United States.

Questions for
Discussion

What qualities should a president look for in selecting staff members?

Why is the job of appointments secretary so important?

Why are White House staff members apt to resign after a year or two on the job?

II

The job title chief usher dates back to Benjamin Harrison's administration. There are various explanations of why it was adopted, but the most plausible one is that in the old days, the top man at the President's House was the man who ushered people in to see the chief executive.

The most durable chief usher in White House history has to be Irwin Hood Hoover, who went by the nickname Ike. Hoover was a twenty-year-old employee of the Edison Company when he was sent to the White House in 1891 to install the first electric lights for Benjamin Harrison. When he was finished, he got a letter from the commissioner of public buildings, offering him a permanent job as the house electrician. Hoover accepted the offer and he soon figured out why it had been made. President Harrison and his family were afraid to touch the light switches for fear of being electrocuted!

Ike would turn on the lights in the downstairs rooms in the evening and turn them off when he came to work the next morning. It took the Harrisons the better part of a year to get up the nerve to use the electric lights in the living quarters. They were equally fearful of pushing the electric call buttons to summon the servants. “There was a family conference every time this had to be done,” Hoover wryly recalled.

Ike was promoted to usher in 1904 and became chief usher during the Taft administration, a job he held for the next twenty-five years. In all that time, there was only one problem he was unable to solve. When Herbert Hoover became president in 1929, there were two Mr. Hoovers in the White House. To avoid any confusion, Mrs. Hoover insisted that Ike be referred to as “Mr. Usher.”

III

I'm sorry to say that slaves were not uncommon in the pre–Civil War White House. Abigail Adams, the first woman to examine the place with the eyes of a practiced hostess, thought at least thirty servants were needed to run it. She was unquestionably right, but the early presidents tried to cope with far fewer than that number because Congress, already convinced the president was overpaid at $25,000 per year, declined to include the White House in their budgets.

Jefferson tried to economize by importing some of his slaves from Monticello, but he soon decided this was not a good idea. They did not get along with his French steward, who had a poor command of English and an autocratic style. By the end of his first term, Jefferson was telling his daughter back in Monticello that he preferred white servants. “When they misbehave, [they] can be exchanged,” he wrote. He meant fired and replaced, of course.

Andrew Jackson imported slaves from his Tennessee estate, The Hermitage. President Zachary Taylor, another slave owner, used blacks from his Louisiana plantation. But a change in the American attitude toward slavery was beginning to take hold in many people's minds. Fearful of political repercussions, Taylor kept his slaves out of sight. They worked only in the second-floor family rooms and slept in the attic. Free blacks, who had previously comprised most of the household staff, were dismissed lest they be mistaken for slaves.

When the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution brought an end to slavery in 1865, blacks returned to the White House workforce but they were not always integrated. In President Ulysses S. Grant's administration, the inside servants were white and the outside ones black.

In later administrations, white and black servants worked side by side and those who were entitled to meals ate together as well. This was the norm until 1909, when Helen Taft hired an arrogant housekeeper named Elizabeth Jaffray, who decreed that henceforth white servants and black servants would eat in separate dining rooms.

When Calvin Coolidge discovered the whites were getting better food, he gave orders that the same meals be served to both groups, but it was not until Eleanor Roosevelt got to the White House that anyone addressed head-on the issue of segregation.

Mrs. Roosevelt's solution was to fire the whites on the household staff, except for the housekeeper, and hire only blacks, which solved the problem—up to a point. Integration finally came to the White House during my father's administration. The man who banned segregation in the armed forces in 1948 could hardly tolerate it in his own household. The President's House has been an equal opportunity employer ever since.

IV

It took many years and several presidents to finally convince Congress that the government should bear the expense of running the White House. Until federal funds were forthcoming, only the wealthiest chief executives could afford to hire an adequate staff and host a suitable number of social events.

Congress's decision to allot funds to remodel the White House in 1902 was followed by a willingness to pay for a decent-sized staff. When Woodrow Wilson took office, Abigail Adams's ideal number of thirty had at last been attained. By the time the Trumans got there, Chief Usher Howell Crim presided over a staff of almost fifty people, including two assistant ushers, two electricians, five engineers, five carpenters, seven gardeners, two plumbers, a housekeeper, six cooks, three butlers and a maître d'hôtel, seven doormen, four housemen, five maids, and several typists and messengers. It seemed enormous at the time but now it is twice that size.

V

The transition from one administration to the next is always difficult for the household staff. As of twelve o'clock on Inauguration Day, they have a whole new family to deal with—a new set of personalities, different likes and dislikes, and more often than not, a complete change in routines.

The president's first dinner in the White House is an especially tense occasion. It's hard to be certain what his and his family's food preferences might be, especially on such a busy day. When the Nixons moved into 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue on January 20, 1969, chef Henry Haller and the housekeeper, Mary Kaltman, stood by in the kitchen. They had been stocking up on groceries for the previous two weeks. They knew that steak was a Nixon favorite but, just to be on the safe side, they bought everything they could think of that might please the presidential palate.

That evening, Mrs. Nixon called down to the chef. The president and his daughters, Tricia and Julie, and Julie's husband, David, wanted steak for dinner. Mrs. Nixon would dine in her room and all she wanted was a bowl of cottage cheese.

The steak was a no-brainer but there wasn't an ounce of cottage cheese in the house. Although Chef Haller was sure that every grocery store in the District of Columbia would be closed at that hour, he called for a White House limousine. Minutes later, the head butler was speeding around Washington searching for cottage cheese. Luckily, he found some in a local deli. Mrs. Nixon's dinner was soon served and cottage cheese quickly became a White House staple.

Herbert Hoover and his wife complicated the staff's lives when they insisted that, as far as possible, the servants should keep out of sight. “Heaven help you if you were caught in the hall when the president was coming,” one maid recalled.

People dove into closets and empty bedrooms at the first hint that the president or first lady might be on their way. One particular closet on the second floor near the elevator would often be full of butlers, maids, and housemen as the president strode down the hall.

For the residence staff, the arrival of the Franklin D. Roosevelts was like the return of sunshine. When FDR saw people ducking into closets as he was wheeled toward them in the upstairs hall, he asked what in the world was going on. When the Hoovers' predilections were explained to him, he told everyone to relax. There was no reason to be afraid of him or the first lady.

With every change of administration, the maître d'hôtel, who is in charge of organizing and serving the food at White House social events, may be called on to issue new orders to his staff of butlers. After Richard Nixon's first state dinner, he complained about the slow pace of the meal and suggested cutting the soup course. When his chief of staff, H. R. Haldeman, demurred, Nixon growled: “Men don't really like soup!” Haldeman retreated and called the president's valet, who told him Nixon had spilled soup all over his vest while trying to slurp and talk simultaneously. Haldeman fired off an “action memo” banning soup at future dinners.

The staff has long since learned to be philosophical. They are there to please the first family. They also know that no matter how outlandish the tenants' demands become, in four or, at most, eight years they'll be gone.

VI

White House doormen don't open doors. They welcome people to the President's House. At formal dinners, they take the guests' coats and present them with the escort cards that tell them which table they will sit at.

In the early days of the White House, there was only one doorman. He lived in a small room or lodge on the west side of the entrance hall and kept track of who went in and out. As more and more people started calling on the chief executive, the doorman began keeping a list, which was sent upstairs to the president or his secretary to decide who would be admitted.

If there were a prize for the doorman who witnessed the most history, it would probably go to Thomas Pendel, who became a doorkeeper in Abraham Lincoln's White House and stayed for over forty years. Even in his old age, Pendel retained vivid memories of the night Lincoln was shot. He could bring tears to the eyes of listeners as he told of hugging a distraught Tad Lincoln when the news of his father's death reached the White House.

When Ira Smith, another man who would become a White House fixture, went to work in the McKinley mail room in 1897, he encountered a graying Tommy Pendel.

“I'm the man who let him out,” Pendel told him.

“How's that?” young Smith asked.

“The way it was that night,” Pendel said. “He come down to the front door where the others was waiting for him. I remember it clear. The carriage was waiting and ready to take them to the theater where some famous lady was performing in a stage show. They was all ready to go and they come over to the door where I was standin' because I was an usher then like I am now. He was walkin' tall and straight and he smiled pleasant-like at me and I opened the door for him to go down to Ford's Theater. I'm the man who let him out.”

It dawned on Smith that Pendel was talking about Lincoln on the last night of his life.