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On another pressing issue, he also took the counteroffensive: "I stand for honest government," he said. He recalled Republican scandals of the 1920s and added that these were "no worse— ;no more immoral— than the tax laws of Andrew Mellon or the attempt to sell Muscle Shoals to private interests."
As Truman went on in this well-worked vein, his fellow Democrats beamed upon him. Many of the 6,000 came to the dinner convinced that Harry Truman was not their best possible candidate for 1952. But doubts must have been raised in some minds by his mastery of the formula, by his confidence, and above all by the way he convinces those who hear him that he is pouring out his whole mind, a plain man saying what he thinks. Not even Roosevelt had this ability in the degree Truman has it. Well the 6,000 have known (since 1948) what a priceless political asset it is.
Summing up, Truman said: "Whoever the Democratic nominee for President may be this year, he will have this record to run on." At that moment, in that hall, the thought that Harry Truman should be the nominee sprang out of all that Truman had said and the way he said it.
Historic Decision. With scarcely a pause for breath, Harry Truman shattered the thought. He turned from his typed script and read hurriedly from a sheet on which he had written with a pen a historic paragraph.
"I shall not be a candidate for re-election."
Smiles died and stillness fell on the hall. He went on:
"I have served my country long and, I think, efficiently and honestly. I shall not accept a renomination. I do not feel it is my duty to spend another four years in the White House."
A woman's voice shrilled: "Oh, my God!" There were cries of "No, no" all over the hall, then a single loud voice, "Oh, NO," as if a performer on a high wire had stepped into space.
Truman raced tonelessly through the concluding sentences of his prepared speech, snapped shut the leather notebook with his script and stepped back from the lectern. He came forward again when photographers summoned him and smiled, a little tightly. He turned to Bess Truman, who had risen, and drew her into range of the television cameras. His smile broadened, and he backed away again and, parting a curtain, left.
Reporters ran after him. "Is that decision subject to any change?"
"None whatsoever," he said, snapping his head forward vigorously. His eyes sparkled and he seemed to be bubbling with good humor and, perhaps, relief.
Bess Truman came up and was about to get in their limousine when a reporter asked: "Are you happy over that decision?" The reporter and all Washington knew the answer to that. She has borne stoically the very unwelcome burdens of her husband's position, and she has dreaded the possibility that he would run again. Bess Truman's reply to the question was in line with the self-effacing role she has played so well in the White House.
"Of course," she answered, "anything he says goes."