Rocking the Boat

Rocking the Boat

Rocking the Boat

Rocking the Boat

Excerpt

UNTIL LAST MONTH (March, 1961), I had not been at the White House since 1957, when I was asked to compose a speech for President Eisenhower.

At that time the White House was as serene as a resort hotel out of season. The corridors were empty. In the various offices of the Executive (wings contiguous to the White House proper) quiet gray men in waistcoats talked to one another in low-pitched voices.

The only color, or choler, curiously enough, was provided by President Eisenhower himself. Apparently his temper was easily set off; he scowled when he stalked the corridors; the Smile was seldom in evidence. Fortunately, Eisenhower was not at the White House often enough to disturb that tranquillity which prevailed, no matter what storms at home, what tragedies abroad.

Last month I returned to the White House (a de-

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