PRESIDENTS ARE ONLY HUMAN

New Zealand Listener, Volume 14, Issue 359, 10 May 1946, Page 18

PRESIDENTS ARE ONLY HUMAN

Memoirs of a Policeman in the White House

VERYBODY should know that kings and presidents are only human beings, but it is sometimes good for us to be reminded of the fact. Nobody should have any doubt about the humanity of four presidents of the United States this century after reading these excerpts from a new autobiography, "Starling of the White House," published in America by Simon and Schuster. For almost 30 years, from 1914 to 1943, Colonel Edward W. Starling was the _ personal bodyguard for five U.S. presidents. Head of the White House Secret Service Detail, Starling was the faithful shadow of Wilson, Harding, Coolidge, Hoover, and Roosevelt. His descriptions of them as just plain people give fascination to his memoirs, which were _ published posthumously, Starling having died two yeérs ago. OF WILSON HEN spring came, our boss (he was then 58) was in love. He was courting a handsome widow, Mrs. Edith Bolling Galt, who lived at 1308 Twen-

tieth »treet. "She’s a looker,’ Pat McKenna, the doorkeeper, told me. "He’s a goner," said Brooks, the valet,

who was our barometer for Presidential moods. ee ‘THE wedding took place on December 18, at eight o’clock in the evening ... We ran into the siding at Hot Springs about seven o'clock the next morning. Soon after we stopped I went

back to the private car. I entered quietly and walked down the corridor flanking the bedrooms. Suddenly my ear caught the notes of a familiar melody. Emerging into the sitting room I saw a figure in top hat, tailcoat, and grey morning trousers, standing with his back to me, ‘hands in his pockets, happily dancing a jig. As I watched him he clicked his heels in the air, and from whistling the tune he changed to singing the words, "Oh, you beautiful doll! You great big beautiful doll. . ." ‘ * 2 * Ser WILSON looked down at her feet. "I have a lace untied," she said. ‘She looked at me expectantly. Immediately I dropped to one knee. "May I tie it for you?" I said. She rested her foot on my trouser leg, the skirt of her handsomiely- | tailored suit, at the same time, to reveal a shapely ankle. | "Thank you," she said. I «tensed’ my shoulder to keep my hands from shaking. Remember, this was twenty-five years ago. When I set her foot back on the ground she said, "You make a very neat bow." Then she looked beyond me and smiled,

The President was standing by the car, staring straight ahead, his nose pointing and his .jaws working — tell-tale signs of his anger. Quietly I went to the Secret Service car. He didn’t speak to me for two weeks, OF HARDING \WARREN GAMALIEL HARDING was a handsome man, friendly and cordial, with sympathetic and gentle eyes. His mouth was weak, and I noticed that he had a "high stomach" — his paunch sat way up, crowding his _ breastbone. It was several days before I met Mrs. Harding, who was eight years her husband’s senior. She seemed well gréomed, neatly dressed and highly marcelled when in public. She had a determined

mouth, but her eyes lacked decision. They reflected ambition, but they had a clouded, puzzled look, rather than the clear brightness which is associated with an active and logical mentality. Like her husband, she appeared to be in excellent health, but in the way which such news has of getting around we soon were

informed that she had only one kidney. The President called her The Duchess, and showed her deference in every way, as did his friends. % * * ] ASKED George B. Christian, his secretary, what exercise the President took, and _ what

sports he enjoyed. "He loves to play golf,’ Christian said, "and if he can get into the low nineties he’s tickled to death. He enjoys any sport so long as it is not brutal or painful to the players. "He loathes prize-fighting, for instance, and hunting. He is sensitive to the infliction of pain on anybody or anything." This was my first insight into the character of a man-who could not bear to believe that there was evil in any man, or selfishness behind any plea for help. To the boys at the Press Club he said, "It is a good thing I am not a woman. I cannot say ‘no.’ " He chewed tobacco a great deal, and I wondered at the time whether this might not be the source of some of his digestive disturbances. He smoked, too, but I have seen him tear open a cigarette and empty it into his mouth when he was nervous and wanted a chew. Considering the opinion in which most people hold the habit of chewing tobacco, I wonder how President Harding ever

got the reputation of being a ladies’ man, He wasn’t, of course, but the legends about him would make Casanova blush. On evenings when he did not play. poker or go to dinner he liked to attend the theatre. Sitting in the box with him, I could not help contrasting his manners with those of President Wilson. Between the acts of George M. Cohan’s Mary I saw him put his programme to his mouth and from behind it call out to an old crony in the audience. "Hey, John," he said: in a stage whisper, "how do you like the girls?" + OF COOLIDGE N awakening in the morning he would walk across the upstairs hallway to the Lincoln Room in his long nightgown and slippers. There he would peek out the window to see whether I was on the lawn. I stood there each morning taking my setting up exercises while waiting for him. If he did not see me he would

have Brooks telephone downstairs to ask if I were in the building. When he was satisfied that I was waiting, he would dress and come downstairs. . Sometimes he would tell the elevator operator to take him to the basement. Then he would try to

sneak out the east or the west entrance, just to fool me. Everyone on the staff co-operated with me and tipped me off, so I was always able to catch him. One day I turned the tables. on him and hid in the police box on the east side. He came out of the engine room, up the east steps, and passed right by me. [I

fell into position behind him. When he reached the gate he turned around with a look of glee*on his face; thinking he had at last eluded me. "Good morning, Mr. President," I skid. ce * x HEN we returned from our afternoon walks he would take me to the butler’s pantry and make two sandwiches of Vermont cheese, one for himself and one for me. He cut the cheese carefully, measured the sandwiches one against the other, and if they were not equal would shave off a little more cheese to make the balance. Then he would give one to me and we would sit down and eat them. The cheese was as strong as a billygoat. One day he said to me, "I'll bet no other President of the United States ever made cheese sandwiches for you." "No," I said. "It is a great honour." He added gloomily: "I have to furnish the cheese too." % ¥ %* INE day a friend sent me two rock bass, still alive, which he had caught on a fishing trip to Gunston Pass down the Potomac. I sent them up to the President -by Brooks, thinking it would stir his interest. I expected him to send them to the kitchen to have them served for supper. The next morning he said to me: "I put my little fishes in my bathtub and they swam around all night. One of them hopped out while I was asleep and Mrs. Coolidge had to come and pick him up in a newspaper and put him back." * * % OOVER was campaigning that summer and came to visit the President. The little fellow was very sour about it . . He sat on the front porch with Hoover while the photographers took pictures. He made no effort to converse with the nominee, and Hoover, a dreadfully shy and self-conscious man, could not keep things going. Finally the news cameraman asked the President to say something to Hoover. "Let him talk," the little fellow said surlily. "He’s going to be President." OF HOOVER S a fisherman the President knew what he was doing when trolling from a boat or fishing downstream with a wet fly. When it came to casting upstream with a dry fly he was out of his class, but so was every other President I have seen attempt this difficult feat. As the

years went by and the depression came, President Hoover grew nervous. His hands would tremble as he worked with his tackle. I have seen him catch a fishhook in his ‘trousers, his coat, and then his hat. It was odd to see this, for he looked like a man without

a nerve in his body. He was sturdy, pudgy, long-waisted, and_ short-legged. Almost he seemed an Oriental. I liked my new boss, but he held himself aloof. He took one walk with me, during the first few days of his administration. After that Mrs. Hoover came

along, and I walked behind them. It has been said that he resented the supervision of the Secret Service. He regarded us, it seemed to me, as a necessary evil. When. Ramsay MacDonald came to visit him, the two sat on the barks of the. Rapidan discussing international affairs. MacDonald glanced over his shoulder several times, watching me as I leaned against a tree. He seemed uneasy. | "That man can hear what we are saying,’ he said to the President. "Hadn’t you better tell him to go away?" "He won’t go," the President said gloomily. MacDonald became interested. "Who is he?" he asked. "He’s a Secret Service man," the President said. "They have to watch me." , % * * . y HEN his defeat was announced, the President went to Florida to do some sail fishing. After a successful trip the party boarded its special train at West Palm Beach. The President stepped out on the observation platform while waiting for the train to start. Among the crowd which had gathered was a Negro string orchestra, playing for whatever fees its listeners offered. Its leader, a roly-poly fellow, took off his hat and made a sweeping bow. The President, embarrassed by the gesture, reacted in his usual shy manner. He worked his right shoulder up and down and rattled the keys in his left trouser pocket. Just then the train began to move. The orchestra leader turned to the musicians and raised his hand. Instantly they came to attention and broke into the strains of a familiar melody-‘"Happy Days Are Here Again," the Roosevelt theme song.