Anna's Back

One day last week a rickety, hard-used little toy wagon, with most of the red paint scuffed off the magic word "Express" on its side, was parked casually at the base of the fat, towering northwest column of the White House front portico. Beside it rested a vehicular gadget best known to childhood as an "Irish Mail," a contraption very like a railroad handcar.

Both these toys lay neglected as Master John Boettiger, 5, pursued his recurring ambition to become a White House guard. But not for long. Interests ebb & flow fast at five. Soon, Johnny was back at his habit of riding the Irish Mail or the Express wagon back & forth on the long cement walkway that stretches just south of the sprawling White House, flashing briefly at one end into the vision of his grandfather, the President of the U.S.

Master John's parents last week were back in the White House to stay, so that Anna Roosevelt Boettiger, the President's only daughter, can help keep her father company.

Anna Boettiger (rhymes with hot-i-grr), tall, rangy, good-natured and now 38, is also on hand to make sure that the President follows his new, relaxed routine.

Eleanor Roosevelt described the goal in a brief My Day reference: "We are going to keep him away from work for certain periods of time, no matter how unpopular we are." Wife & daughter want to guard the strength Franklin Roosevelt regained in his rest at Bernard Baruch's Hobcaw Barony. Now that the President has abandoned his luncheons with politicians, generals, admirals, diplomats and visiting firemen, Anna Boettiger frequently lunches with him, and the conversation is deliberately kept light.

Soldier Boy. Anna's day at the White House begins at 6:45 a.m. (she always means to get up at 6:30, but never makes it). The Boettigers, including little Johnny, all sleep in one bedroom (under the President's rules, it is a violation of military security to say which one). The Boettigers have breakfast by themselves (the President has his own later, in bed).

Then Major Boettiger, an AMG official stationed at the War Department since his return from Italy early this year, goes off to work, and little Johnny goes off to kindergarten. The boy stays there until 4 p.m., eating lunch and taking a nap at the school. He rides both ways on the street car, accompanied by a Secret Service man.

Things are pretty quiet around the White House until Johnny comes march ing home. He quickly changes into his khaki uniform, Sam Browne belt and over seas cap, which are as near to G.I. as regulations allow. (He broods over the fact that he cannot wear regulation buttons, insignia and decorations.) Sometimes he gets in an awkwardly uneven game of ping-pong with his mother, or a swim, but usually he breaks out of doors to climb trees and get all dirty. When this palls he remembers his ambition, and strides down to the guard house to help the soldiers protect the White House. Johnny is usually in bed by the time his father and mother and Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt have dinner together.

Children's horseplay has been missing from the White House ever since Johnny's half sister and half brother (Sistie & Buzzie) went away. Sistie, now a handsome and dignified 17, is a junior at a San Francisco girls' school; Buzzie, 14, will enter high school in Seattle in the fall.

"Put Me Anywhere." Anna Boettiger came back to the White House for Christmas only; she had train reservations to return to Seattle in January. (Her husband's contract as publisher of Hearst's Seattle Post-Intelligencer will go on again after the war. It has nine months to run.) But then Major John came back from Italy; and she decided that the President needed a daughter's care after his winter of flu. Last week Anna Boettiger had decided to stay on indefinitely. The Boettigers promptly leased their ten-bedroom lakefront home near Seattle to a dozen SPAR officers at $350 a month.

The President's daughter will preside over social engagements and welcome visitors of state any time Eleanor Roosevelt is off on a trip, but she has made it plain that she will not be considered an "assistant hostess." She has reiterated her old instructions to dae State Department's protocol office: at White House guest dinners, "Put me anywhere, I'm not official."

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