New Folks at Home

The new tenants at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue had their share of moving-in headaches. Ike Eisenhower found the bookcases empty in his White House office, and the pale green walls all but stripped of their pictures.* When Ike started to open his mail, he had to buzz for a letter opener. A little later he tugged in vain at the drawer of the broad mahogany presidential desk (which once belonged to Teddy Roosevelt). "Mr. Simmons." said Ike to Receptionist Bill Simmons, "is there a key to this desk? I can't get into this drawer." Simmons produced a key, Ike opened the drawer and pawed tentatively through some confidential papers left for him by the man who had just moved out.

Some of Ike's staff members had to ask the Secret Service to lead the way to new offices. Others were temporarily stymied until the old civil-service retainers showed them how to order such basic items as pencils and paper clips. The usually efficient White House switchboard got calls mixed up. And one of Ike's personal secretaries, Wave Chief Yeoman Helen Weaver (who has 20 medals as a crack pistol shot), got lost for a while on an errand between the east and west wings of the White House.

Businessman's Lunch. Ike was out of his new bed at 7:30 on the first morning, even though he had not turned in until 2 a.m. He put on a brown business suit, a white shirt and brown figured tie, sat down in his bedroom to eat a breakfast alone (his usual: a half grapefruit and cup of coffee). He was just two minutes behind his own schedule when he got in his office downstairs at 8:02. (To a staff member who complained mildly about his early starting hour, Ike said jovially: ''You change. You're younger.")

The first item of business was a conference with Attorney General Herbert Brownell about Charles Erwin Wilson's troubles with Congress (see below). After staff conferences and the morning mail, Ike got around to that other eternal function of high office: handshaking. First, a call from Pillsbury Mills Vice President Bradshaw Mintener & wife, who helped Candidate Ike get a big write-in vote in the Minnesota primary last March 18. Then 29 red-jacketed members of the Palomino Mounted Patrol of Colorado, followed by the boys of the Junior Police Band of Denver. Each one expected, and got, the presidential grip.

Unlike Harry Truman, Ike likes business lunches. For his first in the White House he invited his campaign friends, Colorado's Governor Dan Thornton and Wisconsin's Governor Walter J. Kohler, in for fried chicken. They talked, among other things, about federal encroachment on state tax sources. Ike took them on a 45-minute tour of the White House, and was back at his desk by 2 o'clock. At 3:30 he watched benignly as seven members of his personal staff were sworn in. Two hours later, Ike walked over to a more elaborate ceremony in the great East Room of the White House. There, before full-length portraits of George & Martha Washington, Chief Justice Fred Vinson swore in the members of the Cabinet--plus Federal Security Administrator Oveta Gulp Hobby and minus unconfirmed Erwin Wilson. A Cabinet member's commission must be signed by the President and countersigned by the Secretary of State. Secretary of State John Foster Dulles was sworn first, and his commission was countersigned by interim Secretary H. Freeman Matthews. Thereafter, Dulles countersigned for the other Cabinet members with a rare and wonderful flourish, thus:

No Leaks. On his second day, Ike broke his own schedule to linger at a family breakfast with Mamie, son John and John's wife Barbara. It was the last time they would be together before Major John started back to his job (assistant operations officer) with the 3rd Division in Korea. Ike didn't get to the office until 8:50, but he put in a full day working over his State of the Union message (set for delivery to a joint session of Congress next Monday), conferring with his staff and greeting callers.

The Cabinet met for the first time on Friday, and its two-hour session from a news viewpoint was remarkable for one reason: not even the most headline-conscious Cabinet member dared violate Ike's no-leak edict to tell what had happened.

Saturday, on Ike's schedule, is supposed to be a day for rest and relaxation. But on his first presidential Saturday, Ike held what was, perhaps, his most important conference of the week. For half an hour he talked over Korean war problems with the new commander of the Eighth Army in Korea, Lieut. General Maxwell Taylor.

Dew-Drop's Day. During the week the White House announced that Ike would return Harry Truman's Independence, a DC-6, to routine VIP service. Ike will fly instead in the plush VIP Constellation No. 8610. The decision had an ironic twist. No. 8610 is nicknamed the Dew-Drop because--according to legend--the Air Force got it ready in 1948 for Tom Dewey, the G.O.P. candidate who never got to use it.

The press gave Page One treatment to an announcement about itself. For weeks, capital reporters have been telling each other that Ike was going to cancel out the give & take press conferences (and some of Ike's advisers thought he should). Last week, as his first official act, Press Secretary Jim Hagerty reassured the newsmen. The President not only will stick to the old schedule of press conferences but also is trying to work out some way to talk to the people via television, perhaps once a month.

The President also:

P: Got off a birthday letter to his trusted friend and political adviser, Kansas' Senator Frank Carlson, 60.

P: Delighted the tiny Duchy of Luxembourg by cabling congratulations to well-liked Grand Duchess Charlotte for her 57th birthday celebration.

P: Discussed his forthcoming State of the Union message with G.O.P. House and Senate leaders. Stringent starting time of the meeting: 8:30 a.m.

* But Harry Truman had left in front of the fireplace Ike's old World War II globe, presented in 1946 by General Eisenhower to President Truman.

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