No Big Shot

When her name was called, Mary Margaret Truman smiled and walked out across Constitution Hall's big stage. But instead of handing her a sheepskin, George Washington University's President Cloyd Marvin beamed at the crowd and said: "I now hereby turn over my powers of conferring this degree to Harry S. Truman."

The President rose in cap & gown, grinned proudly, put an arm around his daughter and handed her the diploma. Mary Margaret seemed a little flustered. But she turned, smiled again and kissed his cheek before she walked offstage. Her father's grin broadened at the solid applause which followed her and he looked up happily at the presidential box where aunts, uncles and cousins were sitting with Bess Truman.

He was still enjoying himself when he rose again to accept an honorary LL.D. degree and to deliver the commencement address. He touched only once on the uproar over his proposed strike legislation. "The Government of the U.S.," he said, "is organized for the rights of the individual. We fought for [this] during the war. We are going to continue that fight." He spoke lightly of calamity howlers, reminded his audience that Henry Clay, in 1833. had cried that the U.S. was soon to be "an elective monarchy, the worst of all forms of government." He added: "I know you are not going to listen [to those] who tell you that the end of things has come."

The Best Years. The week gave him other chances to be plain Harry Truman, the man who lived in Independence, Mo. before he lived in the White House. On Memorial Day. after placing a wreath on the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, he slipped off for a family party on the presidential yacht Williamsburg. And at week's end he motored to Chestertown, Md. to receive another honorary LL.D. (his eighth) and to address the graduates of tiny, ancient Washington College.

As at Constitution Hall, he talked with obvious enjoyment. He stood under the sun on a wooden platform, spoke almost conversationally to the 24 seniors, the relatives and faculty members who sat on folding chairs on the lawn before him.

His theme: his antipathy toward big business, big cities; his faith in small colleges, banks and towns. Almost nostalgically he recalled spending "the best ten years of my life" on a 540-acre farm in Jackson County, Mo. "I would rather see a thousand banks," he said, "than one National City Bank. I would rather see a hundred steel companies than one United States Steel Corporation." Explained the biggest shot in the biggest Government in the world: "Those small institutions give some two or three men a chance to be big shots in their communities. When you go to [big ones] you will find one 'bigshot' and a hundred or so vice presidents."

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