by J. B. West
“You are not to use the mansion as a passageway,” she informed both the President’s staff and the social staff. “Please walk outside the House when going from one wing to another.” And if she happened to run into anyone from east or west wings who didn’t have specific business in the central mansion—whether he was a messenger or Sherman Adams, the President’s top assistant—she’d chase him outside.
As the Executive Mansion command post, we’d always answered our telephone simply, “Usher’s office.” But one of the President’s assistants complained that he never knew to whom he was speaking. So the next time the phone rang, I answered, “West speaking.” Mrs. Eisenhower was on the other end of the line.
“Never call yourself ‘West,’” she said. “You are Mister West, and you must insist that everyone refer to you in that way. You must establish your authority with everyone. You are not a servant.”
The domestic staff were never addressed as “Mr.” or “Mrs.” Once one of the maids forgot, and referred to the maître d’ as “Mr. Ficklin,” and Mrs. Eisenhower reprimanded her. “You’re to address him as Charles,” said the First Lady.
2
IT WAS IMPORTANT TO Mamie Eisenhower to be set apart from the throngs. After she’d stood in her first receiving line at the White House, she asked for a platform “so everyone can see me.”
Down in the carpenter’s shop, we built a small platform, elevating her about a foot, so that the tiny First Lady could look her visitors in the eye as she shook hands. We covered the stand with an Oriental rug, and hauled it out for her second reception, for the D.A.R.
But it didn’t work. “We almost lost me,” she laughingly told me the next day. “They nearly jerked me off the platform.”
So at the next reception, for the wives of conventioneering Shriners, she stood on the landing of the grand staircase, overlooking the Green Room, and waved to more than 2,000 ladies as they passed by. Except for a few hurt feelings from unshaken hands, this arrangement seemed to work all right. A few days later, receiving 1,500 Republican women, she stood on the bottom step facing the lobby, and four top Republican ladies stood on the second step, immediately behind her.
She rested for ten minutes after greeting each group of two hundred, while they were served tea. When she came back downstairs to meet the second group, she stopped by my office.
“Would you please have the social aides speak to the ladies standing behind me, and ask them to step back a couple of steps? They’re so close nobody knows who is me!”
Mrs. Eisenhower loved the crowds of admirers who paid homage to the First Lady of the land. She also enjoyed riding in the back seat of the big White House limousine, waving to people on the street when they recognized her. In a parade, she usually rode in a car behind the President’s car.
“Invariably somebody would yell ‘Where’s Mamie?’ to the President up in the car ahead,” her Secret Service agent told me, “and she’d roll down the window, poke her head out, and shout back, ‘Here I am, here I am!’”
Even though she tired easily, she delighted in greeting the crowds who trooped through at White House receptions. We had thousands of political ladies, Girl Scouts, convention wives, Salvation Army volunteers, every possible group we could receive. To every lady who passed by the receiving line, she had something to say.
“I love your earrings”—or “What state are you from?”—“Oh, yes, I bought a beautiful shawl in Idaho….” If there were a thousand people going through the line she’d have a thousand little items of small talk for them. In fact, she could charm the socks off anybody she met.
Mamie Eisenhower as a hostess was spectacular. In her diamonds and décolleté gowns, she fairly sparkled. She and the General applied more spit-and-polish, more pomp and circumstance, to their lavish, formal entertaining than any other President and First Lady in my White House existence.
She selected the flowers for every luncheon and dinner we had. She chose the linens for State dinners and place mats for luncheons, even the place cards and tiniest souvenirs. Rather than simply being in the right place at the right time, like the Trumans, she insisted on our being in the right place at the right time.
She disapproved of the U-shaped banquet arrangement in the State Dining Room, where previous Presidents had sat across the table from their wives. “I don’t think the First Lady should have her back to so many of the guests,” Mrs. Eisenhower said, and she devised a new seating plan for State dinners: The President and First Lady would sit side by side in the throne-like mahogany chairs, at the head of an E-shaped banquet table—just like royalty. The Eisenhowers were hosts to thirty-seven heads of state, in addition to the visual ten-event “social season.” But it was the Annual Military Reception that General Eisenhower enjoyed most. Somehow his shoes had a touch more mirror-shine, his back was a little more erect when the thousands of top brass in Washington came by the White House to meet the Commander-in-Chief. It was as if he were on military review. “This is your reception, isn’t it, Mr. President?” he was asked.
“You’re darn right. This is the one I’m having fun at!” he replied. Mrs. Eisenhower, dressed in her flowery designer gowns, glowed with pride as she welcomed her old friends, the generals and admirals and their wives, to the gracious home of their commanding officer.
It wasn’t just her position at the pinnacle or the elegance of her home that made Mamie Eisenhower enjoy living in the White House, however, for as she happily told me one morning, “I’ve got my man right here, where I want him!”
After all the years of separation during World War II and even the return to an official, though civilian, life at Columbia University, Mrs. Eisenhower was perfectly delighted that her husband’s home and office were under one roof.
As a couple, the Eisenhowers were openly affectionate, unlike the more reserved, though devoted, Trumans, or the distant Roosevelts. He always knew the right sentimental touch, the proper number of carnations to send, the significance of the heart-shaped silver box to present her as one of his many gifts. It was perfectly natural for President Eisenhower to reach over and put his arm around “Mrs. Ike,” as he called her. Having shared their home life with a staff for many of their married years, they didn’t seem to mind if we observed them holding hands or exchanging a goodbye kiss. They simply ignored us.
Anyway, all of the mansion staff had years of training in pretending not to see or to hear the First Family, though it did seem to be a novelty to have a President and his wife sleeping together in the White House.
President Eisenhower awakened about six, dressed quickly with the assistance of Sergeant Moaney, took a few swings with his golf iron to limber up, ate breakfast in his own dressing room while reading the morning papers, or in the private dining room downstairs with visiting Congressmen, then, accompanied by Military Aide Robert Schulz, walked over to his west wing office.
The change in Presidential style from Mr. Truman to General Eisenhower was a marked one. President Eisenhower, with the ingrained habits of Army command, was much more formal in his official life than the plain-spoken Mr. Truman, who had grown up in the political world where give-and-take is a necessary part of the art of survival. And just as Mrs. Eisenhower quickly established the chain of command for her bailiwick in the White House, the new President established his own highly regimented command structure.
Unlike Mr. Truman, President Eisenhower confined his work to regular hours in his west wing office. It wasn’t that he devoted less of himself to the job, though.
“I believe there is a point at which efficiency is best served,” he told me. “After you spend a certain number of hours at work, you pass your peak of efficiency. I function best in my office when I relax in the evenings.”
Painting was relaxation for President Eisenhower, as were golf, bridge, hunting, cooking and escape reading. And I learned early in the administration that he hated interruptions in his relaxation.
Late one afternoon, the White House switchboard annou
nced an emergency call for the President, who couldn’t be located. I knew where he usually was at that hour—standing at his easel in the little “painting room” overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue. There was a phone in there but he had it fixed so it didn’t ring.
“Secretary of State Dulles is on the phone and says he must speak to the President,” the operator told me.
I ran upstairs and knocked on the door to give the President the message. He was just painting a coat-sleeve on a portrait of golfer Bobby Jones.
“Damn!” he exploded, throwing his brush down on the little table where his paints were laid out. “I can’t do anything around this place.”
But he could—and he did.
President Eisenhower accomplished a great deal in his first six months of office. He quickly ended the wage-and-price controls imposed at the outset of the Korean War. He had come into office pledging to end the thirty-two-month-old war, and on July 27, 1953, the country breathed a sigh of relief as an armistice was signed at Panmunjom.
At sixty-two, Dwight David Eisenhower was tall and trim. He laughed easily, flashing the truly remarkable grin that was his trademark, throwing back his head in deep laughter of pure enjoyment. As quick to anger as he was to laughter, the President could turn the air blue when something displeased him. Accustomed to authority, his request was automatically a command and was delivered as such.
But around the house, he liked to be totally “at ease.” He dressed casually in sports clothes—bright, open-collared shirts and slacks, and he often swung a golf club as he walked through the halls. Though he observed every formality of White House entertaining, he hated getting dressed up.
“I think white tie and tails makes for a very stiff evening,” he complained to me.
At his Inaugural the new President had insisted upon the less formal day dress of striped trousers, shorter club coat rather than cutaway, dark overcoat and dark Homburg hat. When the Congress complained that he was breaking tradition, he retorted: “If we were going back to tradition we would wear tri-cornered hats and knee britches.”
The changing flavor of the government from President Truman to President Eisenhower could be found also in the Cabinet room and at the game table. Whereas Mr. Truman played poker, mostly with old political cronies, General Eisenhower’s game was bridge, and his playing partners generally were corporation executives such as W. Alton Jones, board chairman of Cities Service, New York investment banker Clifford Roberts, public relations counsel Bill Robinson and publisher “Jock” Whitney. Around the President’s bridge table in the Monroe Room, the bidding was as spirited and the competition as serious as a day on the Stock Exchange.
Also reflecting American business and finance were members of his new Cabinet: Wall Street lawyer John Foster Dulles, the architect of the Cold War strategy against Communism; Midwest industrialist George Humphrey; and General Motors President Charles E. Wilson, who angered Congress at first by refusing to sell his GM stock. Another important appointment was California Governor Earl Warren, named Chief Justice of the Supreme Court in 1953, and who, less than a year later, led the court to its historic decision outlawing segregation in the public schools.
Those were the faces we saw most often at the Eisenhower White House. Except for official or ceremonial occasions, the new Vice President, former California Senator Richard M. Nixon, rarely came over.
3
MRS. EISENHOWER WAS NOT an early riser. She called for me anytime from 8:30 until 10:00. Carrying my note pad and pencil, I appeared with the butler who served her breakfast in bed. She’d already been up to put on her makeup, and to tie the pink ribbon in her neatly curled hair. And every morning, she asked for fresh flowers for her bedroom—two brandy-snifters full of pink rosebuds and a tall vase of pink carnations, her favorites.
Three days a week, masseuse Helen Smith came into her bedroom in the early morning.
“I’ve just had a six-mile walk,” Mrs. Eisenhower laughed, after her massage. “This is the only exercise I need!”
It was soon evident that Mrs. Eisenhower wanted to be “in the pink” at all times. Taking her color cue from the giant, custom-made pink headboard and dust-ruffle we had outfitted for her bed, she brought over Margaret Truman’s floral sitting-room curtains, which had some pink in them, and we had a fitted king-size bedspread made to match the curtains. Also from Margaret’s room, the President’s wife moved in a couple of upholstered chairs in the same pink-and-green floral print, as well as the solid-color pink waffle-weave chairs that matched the new headboard and dust-ruffle.
At first, she was terribly disappointed that she couldn’t transform the entire mansion. But since the house had been so recently—and entirely—refurbished, Congress deleted the $50,000 usually granted each new administration to paint and decorate. Looking around at the bland department-store reproductions, she asked brightly, “Can’t we bring out the real antiques?” When I answered that we had none stashed away anywhere, she was crestfallen. “But isn’t there any way we can get historic furniture for this house?”
“Donations only,” I answered, pointing out the few genuine pieces.*
“Well, I guess I’ll just have to make do!” she said, marching resolutely off. But Mrs. Eisenhower had a long history of moving into an official house and making it hers. Instead of redecorating, she improvised.
For her bedroom she switched carpets with Margaret’s sitting room, taking the green in exchange for the mauve-and-gray. From the West Sitting Hall, Mrs. Eisenhower borrowed the kidney-shaped kneehole desk Mrs. Roosevelt had used, to store all her checks and stationery. Then the President’s wife decorated her dressing room and bathroom entirely in pink, too, except for the green rugs.
She had brought her own bedside tables and cigarette tables (the rest of the Eisenhower furniture went into storage), a large collection of oil paintings, mostly landscapes by her husband; a trophy case containing all of the General’s military decorations, medals, and jeweled swords; and racks and racks of dresses.
Never, before or since, has a First Lady had quite so many clothes! We found that the new closets in the White House were nowhere near sufficient for the vast Eisenhower wardrobe. At first she was disturbed that there wasn’t enough room for them in her dressing room. “I want my clothes with me,” she said. Soon the third-floor storage rooms were overflowing with dresses, in addition to those in the dressing room. “I’ve never been able to throw anything away,” she laughed, and to prove her point, she showed me her wedding dress, neatly encased in plastic as if it might be used tomorrow. Mamie Eisenhower liked to wear full-skirted Mollie Parnis dresses, imaginative little Sally Victor hats, and strapless evening gowns. (She was also fond of colorful costume jewelry, although the safe in her bedroom contained quite an inventory of expensive jewels.) To take care of all those dresses and of her, she installed Rose Woods in Vietta Garr’s room on the third floor and into her slot on the White House payroll. Rose rinsed out the First Lady’s stockings in the bathroom lavatory every night, and dressed her mistress in the late mornings.
Mr. Eisenhower’s valet, the same Sergeant Moaney who’d laid out his clothes throughout Europe and at Columbia University, also joined the staff. George Thompson, who filled in for the valet on Moaney’s day off, was astounded at his duties. “I even had to hold his undershorts for him to step into,” he told us.
Mrs. Eisenhower brought her mother, too, settling Mrs. Doud across the hall from her own bedroom, in what had been Margaret Truman’s little bedroom.
Gay, sprightly, with a personality much like her daughter’s, Mrs. John S. Doud had been widowed in 1951. Although she retained her home in Denver, she actually lived with the Eisenhowers in the White House. But as far as we were concerned, she kept her own counsel most of the time, staying quietly in her room, as had Mrs. Truman’s mother.
Like her daughter, Mrs. Doud stayed in bed until noon. And every morning, they chatted across the hall by telephone, each sitting up in her own bed, resting against doze
ns of pillows. “This is a long-distance call from Mother,” Mrs. Eisenhower joked one morning, waving her ever-present cigarette in the direction of Mrs. Doud’s room.
Because the First Lady used her bed as her office—she had a little standup bed tray where she signed letters, paid bills, wrote notes to herself—she didn’t need the small room where Mrs. Truman and Mrs. Roosevelt had worked. Directly above the Usher’s office overlooking the north lawn, Pennsylvania Avenue, and Lafayette Park, that little office was now the President’s painting room. In the late afternoon or on weekends, Mr. Eisenhower stood by the hour at the tall easel, painting landscapes from memory or portraits from photographs.
With the limited amount of rearranging finished—Roosevelt’s and Truman’s official portraits were removed from the front hall, replaced by Washington and Lincoln—Mrs. Eisenhower gave up on finding antiques and concentrated on running the 132-room establishment.
“I have but one career, and its name is Ike,” Mrs. Eisenhower once announced. But as far as we were concerned, she made a career of the President’s house.
On the wall opposite the elevator, she nailed a little plaque, “Bless This House.” It had hung in twenty-eight previous homes, from a one-room apartment to a French mansion, and now in the B. Altman White House.
She never treated the mansion as government property, it was hers. And she took such fastidious care of it that we almost believed it was hers. She became truly alarmed if things went wrong.
One such problem rated a 7:00 a.m. phone call to the housekeeper.
“Come up to my bedroom as soon as the President goes to his office!” Mrs. Eisenhower ordered. Miss Walker, alarmed, stopped by my office first. “Perhaps you’d better come up with me,” she said. “It sounds like disaster.”
It was the earliest we’d ever seen Mrs. Eisenhower. And she wasn’t in bed.
