dual personalities

It seems like a good time to bring back this classic photo of antics in Mayberry.

While we’re at it, let us remember that on this day in 1945 Harry Truman became President when President Roosevelt died. He had been vice president for 82 days and had only met with the President alone twice. He had rarely discussed world affairs or domestic politics with Roosevelt; he was uninformed about major initiatives relating to the war and the top-secret Manhattan Project.

That afternoon, Truman presided over the Senate as usual. He had just adjourned the session for the day and was preparing to have a drink in House Speaker Sam Rayburn’s office when he received an urgent message to go immediately to the White House. Truman assumed President Roosevelt wanted to meet with him, but the First Lady informed him her husband had died after suffering a massive cerebral hemorrhage.

Shortly after taking the oath of office, plain-spoken Truman told reporters: “Boys, if you ever pray, pray for me now. I don’t know if you fellas ever had a load of hay fall on you, but when they told me what happened yesterday, I felt like the moon, the stars, and all the planets had fallen on me.”

Truman’s presidency was full of discord and his approval ratings fluctuated wildly. You will recall that we went to war in Korea and that 78% of the people believed hat Soviet agents had infiltrated the government. There were serious steel and coal strikes and an assassination attempt. Truman’s longtime friend and chairman of the Democratic National Committee was forced to resign after being charged with financial corruption. Never one to respond calmly, the President replied to a bad review of his daughter’s concert by the music critic of the Washington Post thusly:

I’ve just read your lousy review of Margaret’s concert. I’ve come to the conclusion that you are an “eight ulcer man on four ulcer pay.” It seems to me that you are a frustrated old man who wishes he could have been successful. When you write such poppy-cock as was in the back section of the paper you work for it shows conclusively that you’re off the beam and at least four of your ulcers are at work. Some day I hope to meet you. When that happens you’ll need a new nose, a lot of beefsteak for black eyes, and perhaps a supporter below!  Pegler, a gutter snipe, is a gentleman alongside you. I hope you’ll accept that statement as a worse insult than a reflection on your ancestry.

I wonder what Harry would have done with a Twitter account?

Sic semper erat, et sic semper erit.

*The Merchant of Venice, Act 1, Scene III