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Although the Harrimans have five houses of their own (in Manhattan; at Sands Point, N.Y.; Kobe Sound, Fla.; Sun Valley, Idaho, and one of the small houses at Arden), they are now spending most of their time in the ornate old governor's mansion in Albany. They seem to enjoy it. Harriman usually goes home for lunch, frequently has a glass of upstate New York sherry as a starter. For a recognized connoisseur of fine French wines, this bow to state pride may be a considerable trial, but Politician Harriman takes it without a grimace. "It's really quite good," he says.
On the walls of the governor's mansion, Marie Harriman has hung a fine collection of American art. Once (1930-42) the proprietress of a famed commercial gallery, she has in their Manhattan town house a magnificent collection of fine paintings—Seurat, Gauguin, Renoir, Picasso, Van Gogh, Cezanne. A gracious and gregarious woman, she has become a popular hostess in Albany.
"Cherish It for Me." Getting elected and serving as governor has been a strong tonic for Averell Harriman. He is thriving on the job. Since the campaign of 1954, he has gained 15 Ibs. (he quit smoking), his face has filled out, he looks and sounds stronger than he has for years. He will be 64 next week—a factor that will not help him in the presidential sweepstakes—but he has been taking every opportunity to show his vigor, e.g., if there is a rock pile handy when he is making a street-corner appearance, he will charge briskly to its top. In the 1954 campaign a photographer had to ask him to "show a little more affection toward the baby." By now, Harriman can romp with a roomful of tots and look as if he enjoys it.
Harriman has learned to say the politically right words. Arriving home from a trip to Europe last fall, he expressed his gratitude to the "fine Irish pilot" who had safely landed the plane in which he was riding after a tire blew up, complimented the burgeoning economy of Israel, and told of the inspiration he had gained from an audience with the Pope. In Elmira last month, when an Elmira College coed gave him a cloth donkey on which she had embroidered the college "E," he told her, "I'll cherish it always." Later, after getting into his car, he tossed it to his bodyguard, Ed Galvin, and cracked: "Here, Ed, will you cherish it for me?"
As a diplomat, Averell Harriman came over as a generous and kindly man, but in his new role as a politician, other characteristics have come to the fore. He can be sharp and hard, and at times genuine strains of bitterness pour out against his political foes. One day last summer he told a Washington newspaperman, with more venom than humor, that he hoped "this damned heat is drying up that Gettysburg farm and blowing it away." Talking recently to Democratic wheelhorses from Auburn, the home of New York's crusty old (75) Republican Representative John Taber, Harriman growled: "He's the most constipated, cantankerous, narrow-minded s.o.b. I ever saw. He's a Yale man—yes, he really is, and I went to Yale, too, and I tell you that when I look at Taber and some of the other graduates of Yale, I'm almost tempted not to contribute my support to the place."