Just Cruising Along

Here it was October, with the leaves falling, and Harry Truman had not yet had his summer vacation. When he appeared for his weekly news conference, he looked a little like a man who could use one. The usually natty Mr. Truman seemed almost rumpled after a day that began at 5 a.m.; by late afternoon h's shirt was mussed and his four-point breast-pocket handkerchief had lost its Esquire esprit. For the first time in months, Harry Truman seemed to have a little trouble keeping the reporters in hand.

The conference had hardly gotten under way when he made one slip. A reporter asked about plans for a final settlement of the Korean war. It had not been taken up with him, said the President. General MacArthur was making a broadcast asking the Koreans to surrender . . . At the mention of the broadcast, the presidential staff gasped in unison; the surrender speech was still two days off and supersecret. Hurriedly, Harry Truman grabbed for the ball. The newsmen would have to keep the matter of the surrender terms off the record, said he, until MacArthur delivered his speech, which he did at week's end (see WAR IN ASIA).

"Damn Slow Running." Then there was Jonathan Daniels' Man of Independence, the biography of Harry Truman which skidded onto the scene last week with a screeching of brakes (TIME, Oct. 2). Ex-Secretary of State Jimmy Byrnes, whom the President had characterized, according to the book, as a man who ''failed miserably" in his job and "ran out" when the President needed help, had lost no time snapping back. "Hell," said Byrnes, "if he felt that way, why should he have wanted a miserable failure around at any time . . .? My letter of resignation [was tendered] eight months previous. So he says I ran out on him? Well, I'd call that damn slow running!"

Did the President stand by the quotations in the book? Four times newsmen gave the President a chance to disavow them and each time he passed up the opportunity with a sharp no comment.

Waterborne Poker. But as the week wore on and the good news from Korea flooded in, Harry Truman began acting more like his exuberant self. In a burst of speed which amazed his staff, he finished off, three days before the deadline, the tremendous stack of bills the vacation-bound 81st Congress had piled before him. It even looked as though he would be able to revive some reluctantly mothballed plans for windmilling personally into the 1950 congressional elections. His lieutenants, who had expected to find the President deskbound by Korean worries, worked up an itinerary of radio and television speeches and probably some on-the-spot exhortations on behalf of shaky Democratic contenders wherever they are.

By the end of the week, the presidential desk was clear and the crew had polished up the brass on the good yacht Williamsburg. Harry Truman packed up his white wool yachting cap and a covey of his best speechwriters and set out for a lazy eight-day session of waterborne poker, napping and perhaps some occasional phrasemaking in preparation for the political lists. It was to be a comfortable trip. The Williamsburg wasn't going any place in particular--just cruising along Chesapeake Bay.

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