"Little Southern Pats"

President Harry Truman gave no sign that he knew his feet were wet; he was peppy, dapper and punctual as usual, and he reflected a hearty good cheer. But there was something a little unreal about his brisk attitude of unconcern. The angry waters of Democratic politics washed muddily through the White House all week and the President scarcely moved without sloshing in the stuff.

He began his press conference by calling Columnist Drew Pearson a liar. The reason: Pearson's charge that the President, in private conversation with an unidentified Manhattan newspaper publisher, had called New York Jews disloyal. Speaking slowly and without heat, Harry Truman told newsmen: "I want to pay attention to a vicious statement . . . it is just a lie out of whole cloth."

Soothing Words. Next day, he met with the executive committee of the Democratic National Committee. The committee had spent two days in private argument, but members had emitted various soothing off-the-cuff announcements--that the Southern revolt was not serious, that the President's declaration of candidacy had calmed intraparty bickering, that he would be nominated on the first ballot at Philadelphia, and would probably have Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas for a running mate.

Having thus presented an unbroken, if slightly mottled, front to the world, the members trooped into the White House state dining room for luncheon. The occasion was to be strictly social; they were to meet the President and Cabinet and quietly absorb 32 pounds of smelt which an American Legion post had just sent from the State of Washington's Cowlitz River.

Visitor from the South. But politics raised its head immediately. A Mrs. Lennard Thomas of Montgomery, Ala. adjusted a floppy black hat adorned with pink plumes, gave the President "some little Southern pats" to attract his attention, and engaged him in conversation on his civil rights program. It went, said Mrs. Thomas later, like this:

Mrs. Thomas drawled: "You don't know where I'm from."

"Oh, yes, I do. You're from Arkansas."

"Worse than that."

"Alabama," the President replied.

"Just then," said Mrs. Thomas, "a waiter came up and knocked the cup of coffee the President was holding out of his hand. The President was real nice about it. The waiter--yes, he was colored--was so apologetic it was pathetic. The President said: 'That's all right, Pete.' He's so human."

The President then read Mrs. Thomas a passage from the Constitution; he announced, she said, that he would not take back anything he had said on civil rights.

For some reason, this convinced Mrs. Thomas that he was "not going to ram anti-segregation down our throats." She added: "The White House looked just like a beautiful home instead of a cold ole capital. I do feel that we're all right."

But at week's end, members of the Southern Governors' Conference loudly announced that things were all wrong. Seven members (six governors and Virginia's Senator Byrd, who represented Governor Tuck) voted to "fight to the last ditch" against the nomination or election of Harry Truman or any other candidate advocating equal rights for Negroes.

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