Margaret Truman (5 page)

VII

The Lincoln Sitting Room is a small room next to the Lincoln Bedroom. It had no significant place in the history of the White House until August 6, 1974, when President Richard M. Nixon stayed there until about two A.M. writing his resignation speech.

The speech marked the end of the Nixon presidency in the welter of lies and half-truths and snarling vindictiveness of the Watergate scandal. The trouble began during the 1972 election campaign, when overzealous subordinates burglarized the offices of the Democratic National Committee in Washington's Watergate apartment complex. For almost two years, Nixon lied to judges, Congress, and the American people to defend these men. The situation began to unravel when Congress learned from an aide that Nixon had taped almost every conversation in the Oval Office.

In late July 1974, on one of these tapes, his lawyers heard Nixon telling his top aide to use the CIA to restrain the FBI investigation of the break-in. It was incontrovertible proof that Nixon had obstructed justice—a doubly serious crime when it was committed by a president who has taken a solemn oath to uphold the law. Meanwhile, the Supreme Court had ruled that the tapes had to be turned over to the special prosecutor investigating Watergate.

On July 30, 1974, this most isolated of presidents could not sleep. At 3:50 A.M. he sat up in bed and began listing the pros and cons of resigning. As dawn grayed the windows, he decided against it. The following day, however, his top aides listened to the damning tape and came to the conclusion that resignation was the only option.

Emotional scenes between Nixon and his family consumed much of the next two days. His daughters and their husbands, along with First Lady Pat Nixon, begged him not to resign. While the president wavered, his staff continued to push for resignation. Finally Nixon collapsed once and for all.

When he went to bed that night, the president found a note on his pillow from his daughter Julie. She begged him to delay the resignation for a week or ten days. Nixon later wrote that if anything could have changed his mind, that plea might have done it. But he had already decided to accept Secretary of State Henry Kissinger's argument that his resignation was best for the country.

On August 8, Nixon told a stunned nation: “I shall resign the presidency, effective at noon tomorrow.” After breakfast the next morning, the president and first lady said good-bye to the White House staff gathered in the West Hall. A weeping Pat Nixon and daughter Julie followed the president to the East Room, jammed with aides and staffers. The Marine Band burst into “Hail to the Chief” one last time. Nixon gave a rambling speech in which he blurted out an amazingly accurate summation of what had happened to him. “Always remember, others may hate you—but those who hate you don't win unless you hate them, and then you destroy yourself.”

After that, the Nixon family went downstairs to the Diplomatic Reception Room, where the new president, Gerald Ford, and his wife, Betty, were waiting. The Fords accompanied them past a military guard of honor to an army helicopter. At the steps of the helicopter, the ex-president shook hands with Ford and ascended the steep ladder. At the top he turned and, to everyone's amazement, managed to summon a smile. The door closed and the helicopter thundered into the blue sky.

VIII

Almost every part of the White House and its grounds are permeated with memories of important moments in American history. I can never look at the North Lawn without remembering August 14, 1945—the day the Japanese surrendered and World War II finally ended. Dad announced the glorious news and then he and my mother went out on the lawn to wave to a huge cheering crowd.

Everyone who has ever lived or worked in the White House has similar associations and memories. We have all had the privilege, and sometimes the pain, of being eyewitnesses to history. In truth, the house itself is history, which is why I and millions of other Americans pray that it will always be protected at all costs.

Questions for
Discussion

Why did the British burning of the White House turn out to be good for the United States?

Of the many historic events that have taken place in the White House which do you consider the most important?

What kind of decisions do presidents find most difficult to make?

II

Two days before Christmas in 1963, less than a month after Lyndon and Lady Bird Johnson moved into the White House after the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, and the day the official mourning for President Kennedy ended, Lyndon said to a startled Lady Bird, “Let's have Congress over tonight.”

The White House butlers hastily whipped up gallons of punch, and the kitchen staff set to work making enough tea sandwiches to serve to some five hundred congressmen and their spouses, plus presidential staffers and cabinet members— well over a thousand people in all.

It was the biggest short-notice party the White House had ever seen and it was a spectacular success. After the gloom following the Kennedy assassination, everyone was ready for something upbeat. More to the point, LBJ schmoozed with key congressmen and convinced them that he would continue the policies of his predecessor.

III

One of the most amazing things about a White House event is the sheer perfection of it all. Then again, why shouldn't it be perfect?

The White House has a staff of almost a hundred people, including floral designers, chefs, butlers, and social secretaries. There's a chief of protocol to advise on seating; the U.S. Marine Band to supply music; a bevy of military aides, resplendent in their dress uniforms, to keep things moving at the proper pace; and, perhaps the biggest perk of all, a contingent of servants to take care of the cleanup.

When we lived in the White House, I often used to slip downstairs before an important dinner just to take a look at the State Dining Room. It was a truly magnificent sight—the paneled walls, the marble mantel, the dining table set with gold flatware and gleaming crystal and china.

The room is also a mini-museum of American history. Inscribed on the mantel is John Adams's famous prayer invoking blessings on the White House. Hanging above it is George P. A. Healy's portrait of Abraham Lincoln.

There's a small, and fortunately invisible, piece of Truman history in the State Dining Room. Way back in the dark ages—1946—I had a dinner dance at the White House for some of my friends. The party was held in the East Room, but in the course of the evening, one couple wandered down the hall to the State Dining Room.

Intrigued by the massive chandelier that hangs above the mahogany dining table, the young woman asked her escort to lift her up so she could touch it. When he did, she grabbed the metal arms to steady herself. Whereupon he decided to walk away and leave her dangling high above the floor. Fortunately, one of the butlers heard her screams and helped her down.

The young woman and I were the only people who didn't find this prank amusing. Even my father, whom I expected to be as indignant as I was when I told him about it the next day, burst into laughter.

IV

Planning for a White House formal dinner is no easy matter. The guest list, menu, table settings, and floral arrangements are chosen weeks in advance, and the White House kitchen swings into action early in the morning of the appointed day. The menus vary but there are a few rituals that are always the same.

One is the entrance ceremony for the president. It consists of a small parade led by the Presidential Color Team. In my day, they were called the Four Horsemen but now there are five of them, one for each branch of the armed services— Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, and Coast Guard. Back then, the Air Force was part of the Army.

It is the Color Team's job to go to the president, who is usually in the living quarters upstairs, and request permission to secure the colors. This means removing the American and presidential flags and carrying them down the Grand Staircase to the room in which the president will be receiving his guests. As the president and first lady follow the Color Team downstairs, the Marine Band announces their arrival with a fanfare, “Ruffles and Flourishes,” followed by “Hail to the Chief.”

At a dinner Jack and Jacqueline Kennedy gave in honor of my father in 1962, my parents and my husband, Clifton Daniel, and I had a private pre-dinner visit with the Kennedys, so we were part of the march down the Grand Staircase. For my parents, it must have seemed like old times, but I had not taken part in the ceremony that often and Clifton was a complete novice. He scolded me for forgetting to tell him that the line of march comes to a halt during the brief pause between “Ruffles and Flourishes” and “Hail to the Chief.” As a result, he kept on walking and almost rear-ended Jackie.

By the way, if you've ever wondered where “Hail to the Chief ” came from, it's an old Scottish air that was introduced by Sarah Polk for a supremely practical reason. Her husband, James, was not a particularly imposing man and she was afraid he might be overlooked when he entered the room at a large gathering.

V

President William Howard Taft once remarked to his chief military aide, Major Archibald Butt: “The White House is a big political asset when used wisely.”

Unfortunately, toward the end of his single term, Taft used the White House unwisely. When he and his wife celebrated their silver wedding anniversary in 1911, they accepted more than a million dollars' worth of silver trays, teapots, and the like, many of them from total strangers who simply wanted to curry favor with the president.

The gifts were a five-star scandal at the time. They'd probably call it Silvergate today. But in spite of my misgivings about that aspect of the event, I have to concede that the Tafts' twenty-fifth anniversary celebration ranks as the most spectacular White House party of all time.

Since their anniversary fell in early June, the Tafts decided to have a garden party. It was to be held on the South Lawn in the evening and the guest list was to include just about everyone they had ever met. The lawn was to be decorated with hundreds of multicolored lights and paper lanterns. The illuminated White House would provide the backdrop.

It took a team of electricians four days to cover all the trees and shrubbery in the President's Park with lights. When they were finished, Taft requested still more lights, including spotlights to showcase the fountain on the South Lawn and the American flag on the White House roof. The flag was to be kept waving by a battery of electric fans concealed behind the chimneys. Some four thousand people attended the party and shook hands with the Tafts beneath an arch with “1886–1911” spelled out in lights.

The U.S. Marine Band, which had been scheduled to stop playing at one A.M., continued until two on orders from the president. Before retiring for the night, Taft gave instructions for the lights to remain in place and the musicians to return the next evening. The South Lawn would be open to the public from eight to eleven P.M. so they, too, could enjoy the spectacle.

VI

If William Howard Taft deserves first prize for the most enchanting party ever given at the White House, Andrew Jackson deserves the booby prize for a pair of wingdings that he hosted. A frontiersman born into humble surroundings and elected by a larger popular vote than any of his predecessors, Jackson was “the People's President” and the people descended on Washington in droves to see him sworn in.

After taking his oath of office at the Capitol on March 4, 1829, the sixty-one-year-old chief executive rode to the White House on horseback. He had about an hour to greet his more important guests before the crowd of some twenty thousand people that had followed him from the Capitol surged past the doorkeepers and swarmed into the President's House.

Many of Jackson's fans climbed on chairs or tables to get a better look at him. Others elbowed and shoved their way to the refreshment tables in the East Room. In the crush, china and crystal were smashed, fistfights broke out, and women screamed and fainted. The president finally escaped through the rear door and headed back to his hotel while the White House steward brewed up a washtub full of whiskey punch and set it on the lawn to lure the revelers outdoors.

You might think Jackson would have learned a lesson from this debacle, but things weren't that much better at his last public reception in 1837. One of his supporters, a dairy farmer from upstate New York, sent him a giant wheel of cheddar cheese. It was four feet across, two feet thick, and weighed fourteen hundred pounds.

Jackson let the cheese age in the White House entrance hall for two years. He finally invited the public to enjoy it at the annual Washington's birthday reception. The city marshal and his deputies were posted at the door to maintain order, but the crowds outwitted them. They poured across the lawn and climbed in the windows of the East Room. Two hours later, the cheese was gone and the mob with it. The floors and rugs were littered with crumbs of cheddar, and the White House reeked of cheese for weeks.

VII

What Andrew Jackson needed, aside from a little common sense, was the small army of military aides who later became a fixture at White House functions. During Theodore Roosevelt's administration, the aides replaced the servants and Secret Service men who had formerly assisted, directed, and, if necessary, evicted guests at official events.

The military aides, who are chosen for their smart appearance, are an attractive addition to White House parties, but their duties go beyond being merely decorative. They are what you might call social traffic cops, charged with seeing that schedules are adhered to, receiving lines keep moving, and ceremonies begin and end on time.

The use of military aides at White House social functions is considered part of their duty to serve their commander in chief. This is also true of the U.S. Marine Band, a group of extremely talented musicians in scarlet uniforms who provide the music for state dinners and receptions and perform on the South Lawn for the arrival ceremonies for foreign leaders.

The Marine Band is the country's oldest professional musical organization. It was established by an act of Congress in 1798 and charged with providing music for the president of the United States and the commandant of the marine corps. Its first White House performance was for President John Adams's New Year's Day reception in 1801. A few months later, the band played for Thomas Jefferson's inaugural, and it has performed at every presidential inauguration since. Jefferson, an accomplished musician himself, affirmed the unique status of the band by naming them “The President's Own.”

The members of the Marine Band are graduates of the country's most prestigious music schools. They audition for places just as they would for a major symphony orchestra. Some or all of the band members appear at the White House over three hundred times a year. They may be called upon to provide strolling violinists, a string quartet, or a dance band, and they can probably play “Hail to the Chief” with their eyes closed.

VIII

Entertaining at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue involves complications and potential pitfalls that are unlikely to bedevil the average host or hostess. Some of the thorniest problems involve visiting royalty. When Princess (now Queen) Elizabeth and her husband, the duke of Edinburgh (now Prince Philip), visited the United States in 1951, my father decided to meet them at the airport. The State Department had a conniption. According to protocol, the president only shows up at the airport to greet heads of state. Dad, being Dad, went anyway.

An early diplomatic crisis arose in 1877 when Rutherford B. Hayes and his wife, Lucy, arrived in the White House. Strong supporters of the temperance movement, they never served wine or liquor in their home in Ohio. They planned to continue this practice in Washington to set an example for the rest of the country.

The State Department feared the ban might provoke an international incident. The White House guest list regularly included diplomats and other representatives of foreign countries. They were used to having wine with their meals and would be noticeably unhappy if it were omitted.

The first test came early on when two emissaries of the czar of Russia, Grand Duke Constantine and Grand Duke Alexis, visited the United States. Protocol required that they be given a formal dinner at the White House.

The State Department immediately went on red alert. Secretary of State William Evarts regarded it as unthinkable to subject the two young men to a “cold water” meal. To forestall such a possibility, Evarts enlisted the aid of a distinguished attorney who was an old friend of the president's.

In view of what they were accustomed to in their own country, the attorney argued, “a dinner without wine would be an annoyance, if not an affront” to the grand dukes and, by extension, an affront to Russia, a longtime ally of the United States. To Secretary Evarts's enormous relief, Hayes was persuaded.

The dinner was a splendid affair. The State Dining Room was bedecked with flowers, the U.S. Marine Band played a Russian march as the guests filed in to dinner, the food was magnificent, and there were no less than seven glasses at each place, one for water and the rest for each of the six wines that were served. The grand dukes could hardly complain about being annoyed or affronted, although they may have groaned about being hungover the next morning.