Not since the day in April 1945, when 348 reporters had jammed into Harry Truman’s first press conference, had there been such a turnout. Well before the appointed hour of 4 p.m., 219 reporters were jockeying for position outside the oval office in the west wing of the White House.* For his first Washington press conference since the election, Harry Truman wore a triumphant grin.
When the cry of “all in” came, the President rose from his desk, observed slyly that he hadn’t seen many of the correspondents since September (when many deserted him to cover Tom Dewey). The newsmen were loaded with questions about his plans, but the New York Herald Tribune’s Bob Donovan shot first. What had the President to say, he asked, about an article in the current Atlantic Monthly by Chemist Bradley Dewey charging White House suppression of a report on the Bikini atom bomb tests?
Harry Truman paused, then said that Mr. Dewey must be mistaken—that seems to go with the name. Everybody roared; the show was on.
Teeth-Pulling. In 3½ years, Harry Truman had learned not to be too trigger-happy in answering questions. When the teeth-pulling began, he was patient. Had Jim Forrestal been asked to stay in the Cabinet? Yes. Secretary Marshall? Yes. “Cap” Krug? Yes. Finally, he gave in. There will be no changes in the Cabinet at this time, he said. All the Cabinet members are willing to stay. He thought that answered all the questions.
But it didn’t. Reporters suspected that sooner or later some Cabinet members who are lukewarm toward Truman’s domestic program would fade out. A reporter asked about the future. Said Truman: the same questions had been asked in 1945 and the situation had adjusted itself. (All but Forrestal eventually left.) Well, the situation would adjust itself again.
“Could you enlighten us on the China situation?” a reporter asked. Harry Truman, looking pained, said that he had made statements on China three times before (which offered China little hope of substantial aid). He would see Madame Chiang, he said; that was the first thing she had asked for when she got to the U.S. But as for sending General Douglas MacArthur to direct China’s defense (as proposed by Nationalist officials), the answer was NO—period.
Another newsman, recalling that the President had set Attorney General Tom Clark to work on an antilobbying bill, asked: “Would you be against lobbyists who were in favor of your program?” Well, that was a different matter, the President said, exploding in laughter at his own remark. Such people probably wouldn’t be called lobbyists, he added. They would be citizens appearing in the public interest. After the laughter subsided, the President said that he would not ask for anything that was not in the interest of all the people.
Nothing to Fear? From the back of the room, a reporter called: “Mr. President, Sam Rayburn said that business has nothing to fear from your administration?” Truman stretched to his full height, peered challengingly over the heads of the front row through his thick glasses and asked: Did business have anything to fear in the last 3½ years? Just look at the dividends.
A reporter pointed out that Jay Franklin, a New Deal columnist who ghosted some of Truman’s campaign speeches, had written that there now would be a sharp shift in U.S. foreign policy, away from the Marshall policy of containment. That, the President countered, was a typical columnist’s comment. Had the President read any recent columns in which he found any truth at all? No, Truman laughed, truthful columns are hard to find any time, but he couldn’t find any at all lately.
Aside from his own efforts, what did the President think produced his election victory? Everybody in the Democratic Party, said Truman extravagantly, did everything possible, and as soon as the people got the facts they voted right. But they didn’t get the facts from the columnists. There were other factors—Barkley, the farmers, labor, etc. And how about Tom Dewey? Oh, he was the greatest asset of all, said Harry Truman.
That broke up the show.
At week’s end, the Commander in Chief cruised down to Norfolk on his yacht and presented a 281-piece, $10,000 silver service to the ship’s company of his favorite warship, the Missouri, the only U.S. battlewagon now operating. The silverware was a gift from the people of Missouri. A Washington Post story had reported that the “Mighty Mo” might be headed for the mothball fleet, if the Navy’s budget was held down. The President called reporters together and snapped: “Some smart aleck who poses as a spokesman for the Navy said the Missouri is going to be taken out of commission. The Missouri will not be taken out of commission. I want to make that as strong as I can make it, and I am speaking as the President of the United States.”
*Still walking to work from his temporary residence in Blair House, the President last week ordered that a special traffic-light system which stopped all the traffic for him be discontinued. The District of Columbia’s safety drive awarded him the honorary title “pedestrian of the week.”
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