Finest Jail

Like everyone else, Harry Truman had his worries; as President he had more than the normal share. But nothing seemed to dampen his resilient spirits. Last week he was having the time of his life passing out two boxes of shiny new pens, the gift of an anonymous admirer. On each was stamped the same inscription he uses on his match folders: "I swiped this from Harry S. Truman."

He also enjoyed one minor triumph over governmental red tape. A bronze bust of the President had been presented by Mexico's President Miguel Aleman to the University of Kansas City, where both received honorary degrees last spring. But because no evaluation had been made to customs officers (although no actual duty is required on art for exhibition), the 600-lb. statue had remained in the Kansas City customs office since last June, padded with 18 seat cushions from a Mexican bullfight ring. Last week a satisfactory price tag was finally attached and the statue released. The price: confidential, in the interests of presidential dignity.

The President found time for a few other sorties from his job. One night he visited the restored, 195-year-old Gadsby's Tavern in Alexandria, was ushered in by Colonial-style linkboys to see a revival of David Garrick's Miss in Her Teens. On Sunday he walked eight blocks to Washington's First Baptist Church, where he gave a little talk to the Sunday-School class.

But Harry Truman could never escape for long. Earlier in the week to a group of visiting state bank commissioners, he had implicitly confessed that as President he does not spend all his time laughing. The White House, said the President with a wry grin, is the finest jail in the world.

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