The President's Week

The President did not kiss any babies, but that was about the only trick he missed last week. All of a sudden, as the spring wind warmed the first few crocuses, the White House stirred with old-fashioned domestic political activity.

Past the helmeted guards with fixed bayonets, past the uniformed police and the civilian-clothed Secret Servicemen, now thronged an unusual number of civilians, some of them concerned only indirectly with the war. In went three Girl Scouts for the President's thanks for the 15,340,000 hours of service the Scouts had given since Pearl Harbor (see cut); in went Katharine Lenroot of the Children's Bureau and twelve 'teenagers to watch the President sign a Child Health Day Proclamation (May 1); in went Governor Charles Harwood of the Virgin Islands; Postmaster General Frank Walker; and New York Attorney Louis B. Wehle, longtime friend of the President.

On St. Patrick's Day the President outdid himself in his annual curtsy to the Irish vote. He went beyond the regular green tie to appear resplendent in green tweed suit, green-striped tie and green carnation, a pot of green shamrocks and a green cat on his desk.

It was a full week. To Eleanor Roosevelt, winging down the coast of Brazil (see p. 19), he sent a message on their 39th wedding anniversary. Day before, Second Son Elliott had been sued for divorce by Wife Ruth Googins, mother of three (see p. 86).

One day the President woke up with a stiff neck. Same day the elevator that carries him downstairs broke down; trapped, he spent the morning unable to greet John White, new U.S. Ambassador to Peru. Finally White went upstairs.

But the President's two 'meetings with the press were not lively. Nobody brought up the subject of paper matches. Hearstling Bob Considine had written in a feature series that the President "won't permit three cigarets to be lighted on one match." Next day WPB asked the U.S. to save paper, forget this superstition.

Some gestures and messages of the week were more notable than others. He issued a 121-word damnation of the German Army for using "the holy city of Rome as a military center," declared that "we have tried scrupulously . . . to spare religious and cultural monuments, and we shall continue to do so." Questioned about reports that he had reached an end of procrastinating over recognition of the French Committee of National Liberation, he announced that he had, indeed, drafted a new formula, but could not yet disclose it (see p. 19). He appealed to Finland to "disassociate herself from Germany,"--the day before Russia got Finland's "no" to the Russian armistice terms.

The President also:

P: Put the Soldier Vote problem up to the 48 Governors. Congress had said that a Federal overseas ballot could be used only with each State's permission, since State laws variously forbid or would interfere with such a ballot. Asked the President: Will your State approve a Federal ballot to supplement your own? Replied the Governors: five yeses; 14 maybes; 18 probably-nots or definite noes; five don't-knows. These 42 replies in hand, the President mulled what he said was the main question: would the Congressional compromise give any more soldiers the vote than no new legislation at all?

P: Met for the second time in three days with his vastly perturbed production and manpower chiefs, Donald Nelson and Paul McNutt. He would have an announcement soon, he said on drafting 18-to-25-year-old "indispensables" (see p. 63).

P: Appointed Secretary of Labor Frances Perkins and Senator Elbert D. Thomas as the Government's delegates to the ILO conference (see p. 18).

P: Made known his "deep regret" at the death of ODT Director Joseph B. Eastman (see p. 82).

P: Firmly said nothing about Friend Joseph Stalin's recognition of the Badoglio regime, except to reply to a reporter's query about its possible impact on international relations. He expected no impact.

P: Had a farewell party for Under Secretary of State Edward R. Stettinius Jr. and his experts, expected to go to London for what Cordell Hull called "talks . . . informal and exploratory . . . [on] matters that are of interest to the two Governments at this time." In the party was energetic many-medaled Dr. Isaiah Bowman, 65-year-old president of Johns Hopkins University. Dr. Bowman, whose books, map-making and fact-finding expeditions (notably in South America) made him a front-rank political geographer--as opposed to geopolitical writers--was a ranking adviser of Woodrow Wilson at the Paris Peace Conference in 1919, there helped fix European boundaries. A reporter asked if Dr. Bowman's presence meant that boundaries were to be discussed in London. Replied the President: they might discuss bananas, and Dr. Bowman knows where bananas grow.

P: Found the headlines sprouting red-hot rumors of another Roosevelt-Churchill meeting, perhaps immediately after the Stettinius conferences. The rumors seemed logical; there was certainly plenty to talk about. Some hinted that Joseph Stalin might again make it a Big Threesome.

P: Had a 15-minute chat with Thomas Rhea, a Democratic leader in Kentucky. Quizzed by the cold-eyed White House pressroom gang, Democrat Rhea gave the reporters to understand that the President had said he did not want to run for reelection. Then the Kentuckian gulped and hedged: the President had just used language which gave that impression.

"Did he tell you that?" a reporter persisted.

"Now, wait a minute," cried Thomas Rhea. "I don't know that he said that. My impression is that he would like to get out of the whole thing. I think he would like to retire like any man would after what he's been through." But Thomas Rhea thought the President would run and win anyway.

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