The man in the brown pullover sweater and gabardine slacks had lost the Presidency just two weeks ago. Now, like any other carefree vacationer, he spent his mornings playing better-than-duffer's golf at Georgia's famed luxurious Sea Island. He whipped long drives across the watery 13th, cracked out iron shots with careful deliberation. As he had said he would be, Tom Dewey was "deaf, dumb and blind" to politics.
His golfing partners were old friends: Carl Hogan, Manhattan antique dealer and Pawling neighbor; husky Secretary Paul Lockwood. Their lunch sandwiches and hot soupcame by station wagon from the...
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