i m ■I' ^^ .V -^ ci- ...x^^ ■^ -5-^ «f/ o5 ■^'i'. ,0 o ZiO' A BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON © Harris & Ewing MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON ANONYMOUS with Sixteen Portraits THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY cmcAOO PHILADELPHIA Toronto > ' / (.uv^-^ Copyright, 1923 The John C. Winston Company Copyright, 1923 Women's News Service, Ino. Printed in the U.S. A. CONTENTS PAGE Introduction 11 Alice Roosevelt Longworth 17 Defying Convention 23 The Hatless Woman in the Senate Gallery. 26 Entpr Nick 29 Alice the Politician 36 Mrs. Woodrow Wilson 41 The Woodrow Wilson Language 47 Butlers and Cave Dwellers 52 The Contrasts of March the Fourth 56 The Tongues of Washington 57 The Penalties of Greatness 60 Florence Kling Harding 63 Her Finger on the Pulse 67 ^' Just Folks" 70 The Hospitable Hardings 72 Four Thousand Handclasps 76 Mrs. Calvin Coolidge 82 Real Boys 85 Smiling Through 88 Steering a Safe Course 90 Abolishing the Bustle 94 Burdens and Beatitudes 96 Thomas D. Schall, the Blind Congressman 98 Mrs. Thomas D. Schall 98 5 CONTENTS PAGE Social Publicity 106 Mrs. William E. Borah 114 Mrs. Medill McCormick 124 Mrs. Miles Poindexter 131 Cabinet Wives 140 Mrs. Charles Hughes 142 Mrs. John Weeks 145 Mrs. Henry Wallace 146 Mrs. Edwin Denby 151 Mrs. Albert Fall 152 Limitation of Social Armaments 157 Mrs. Stephen Elkins 162 Washington's Diplomatic Set 165 Madame Riano 166 Madame Sze 168 Madame Jusserand 171 Princess Bibesco 173 Glimpses of the Great 175 Lady Geddes 175 The Floral Offensive, or The Battle OF THE Buds 184 Ailsa Mellon 187 Calling Days in the Capital 194 Supreme Court Wives 202 Mrs. William Howard Taft 202 Mrs. Oliver Wendell Holmes 207 6 CONTENTS PAGE Mrs. Louis Brandeis 208 Mrs. George Sutherland 210 Wives of Senate Lame Ducks 211 Mrs. Truman Newberry 211 Mrs. Atlee Pomerene 212 Mrs. Joseph Sherman Frelinghuysen 215 Mrs. Ira Clifton Copley 216 Mrs. Harry New 216 Mrs. William Calder 219 The Social Lobby 221 Mrs. John B. Henderson 227 Dinner Delays 229 Mrs, Key Pittman 233 Women in Congress 236 Jeannette Rankin 236 Alice Robertson 237 Winnifred Mason Huck 238 Mae Ella Nolan 240 Mrs. Herbert Hoover 244 Back to Main Street 255 Mrs. Frank Wheeler Mondell 255 Mrs. Philip Pitt Campbell 257 Miss Volstead 258 Mrs. Wells Goodykoontz 259 Mrs. Edgar Clarence Ellis 259 Mrs. William Wallace Chalmers 260 7 ILLUSTRATIONS Mrs. Calvin Coolidge Frontispiece PAGE Mrs. Nicholas Longworth. 19 Mrs. Woodrow Wilson 43 Mrs. Warren G. Harding 65 Mrs. William E. Borah 117 Mrs. Miles Poindexter 133 Mrs. Henry Wallace 147 Mrs. Edwin Denby 153 Madame Sze 169 Lady Geddes 179 Miss Ailsa Mellon 189 Mrs. William Howard Taft 203 Mrs. Joseph Frelinghuysen 214 Mrs. Wiij^iam Calder 218 Mrs. Herbert Hoover 245 Princess Cantacuzene 261 INTRODUCTION I WONDER if I dare! There is so much unrecorded history in Washington — inside history — so many unre- lated facts; the social ascent, the political glissade, the reason WHY ! No, there isn't an ounce of malice in me. My soul oozes sweet sympathy, yes, and my claws are carefully manicured, but I wonder if I dare face the task! However, it will be great fun rummaging in the past, the near- past, and revealing the present; holding the Mirror to Facts — in their curling pins, and with- out powder on their noses. Wasn't it George Eliot who said, "The happy woman, like the happy nation, is the one without a history"? That's probably true; I don't know. But there's a lot of history that hasn't yet been pub- lished; it isn't all in books. Take the Cabinet wives of this administration! Individually and collectively, you couldn't call them vivid personalities. They don't scintillate 11 INTRODUCTION and dazzle. No need to wear smoked glasses when you meet them. Not a bit! They were born, married, and came to Washington, because their husbands got Cabinet appointments. Most of them are now busy minding their own business. It's a useful, but not a spectacular, occupation. Not one of them has been caught bootlegging and dope peddling, and there isn't a movie star in the bunch. They don't openly break the com- mandments or conventions, nor do they publicly advocate dress reform or birth control. They don't hunt cults or isms, coin new words, create new fashions, or go to the White House in bathing suits. To write a movie scenario about any one of them, would be like trying to give a dinner party off a caraway seed. Yet haven't you noticed how interesting dull people can be — if they are only dull enough? I don't mean actually to suggest that the Cabinet wives are dull— and there is a lot of fun among the foolish. You can strike more stars from the rough edges of human nature than you can get from a meteor — if it's rough enough, and there's friction. Sometimes people take themselves seriously, and it is quite a mistake. There is Mrs. Francis 12 INTRODUCTION Parkinson Keyes, writer and busy Senator's wife. She suffers from a serious personal dignity, and sense of importance. She doesn't get half as much fun out of life as Mrs. Poindexter. Yes, the one who has been indiscreet, and has been rewarded by a diplomatic post. Mrs. Poindexter never went to a party that she didn't come home chuck- ling over something that somebody had done — something wrong, of course. ''And what did you do?" I asked her one day. "Heaven knows!" she answered. "But I hope they got as much fun out of me as I got out of them." A man goes down in history for the greatness of his courage in war, or prowess in politics. But when a woman keeps fifty hungry people from eating the decorations while the honor guest is found, sobered, and dressed for the dinner she wears no laurels for that achievement. While a man is pounding on the entrance door to the Inner Circle, his wife is quietly oiling the social key, which will gain admittance more surely. I'll tell you about that key, later on. The parry and thrust on the Senate floor is reported in the press, but there is less blood spilt here than in the flight of javelins across the tea 13 INTRODUCTION tables. But this does not make a headliner — not yet. Just wait! I have Hved in the Capital so long, and have seen the rise and fall of so many administrations — and people — that looking back is like exploring an attic. I remember so many women when they first paddled on the outer edge of the social puddle. Now they can float alone — without even wings. The stumbling newcomer who tripped over tradi- tions now considers herself the social arbiter. I particularly remember one Senator's wife; she learned the road by bitter experience. Well, she ought to know it. Now, she seems to have ac- quired a sort of plush finish. When I see Alice Roosevelt Longworth come into the Senate gallery, and fling aside her hat, I always seem to recall the day she stood on her head to convince a woman that exercise was the best cure for lumbago. Do you remember the social launching of Mrs. Woodrow Wilson Number Two? Did you ever see behind the smoke screen which always protects the First Lady of the Land? But if I let my pen run riot now, I shall get most terribly mixed up. I think I will take them 14 INTRODUCTION one by one, or in groups, the official, diplomatic, and social people, who have hit the high spots in private, as well as in public. I am claiming this as a privileged occasion, and if sometimes I turn my Mirror suddenly and catch people unexpectedly in their mental negligee, well — I will leave the verdict to you. 15 ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH TlKE Alice Longworth — she's a singular character, that's what she is — singular. There was a time when she was considered wild, unconventional, daring. Perhaps she was. Yet I would rather call her singular. As a child she was singularly shy. You would scarcely believe that, but she was. As a girl she was singularly impulsive. No one doubts that. As a woman she is still singular; she retains her individuality, those forceful characteristics" in- herited from her father, which set her a little apart. Few women in America, outside the active workers in some public cause, have focused public interest to such an extent as Alice. The reflections of her Boudoir Mirror show — but you shall see them for yourself in a moment. Poseur? Certainly not. What she does, uncon- ventional though it may be, is not inspired by a desire to shock, so much as an expression of self- determination, a vigorous protest against irksome customs and restrictions. Her attitude is one of supreme indifference to public opinion. 17 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON Other people may model their modes and man- ners according to established precedents, but Alice Longworth will leap the social barrier with the same agility with which she performs athletic stunts, such as standing on her head. I must tell you about that. One day a woman sat miserably talking about her health. She detailed her symptoms and their reactions, her sufferings and the heroic mart3Tdom which never permitted her pain to dim the happi- ness of her home. You know the sort of woman! "Have you ever tried standing on your head?" asked Alice, leaning forward and betraying a sudden interest. The woman looked at her for a moment, uncer- tain whether or not to take offense. But there was not a flicker of a smile on that Roosevelt face. "It acts like a charm," she said. "Here, lend me a safety pin." She secured the hem of her skirt between her knees, and taking a cushion, placed it on the floor. The hjTDochondriac watched with bewildered interest. Alice Longworth put her head on the cushion, and shot her legs aloft, where she remained poised perfectly. Standing on her head, and kicking at 18 © Harris & Eiring MRS. NICHOLAS LONGWORTH ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH the chandeliers was a sort of daily exercise with her. The woman gasped, and looked at the faces of the other guests. Oh, yes, there were quite a number present. They all knew Alice, and being deeply rooted in respectable orthodoxy, they envied the woman her daring, because she could do it and get away with it. No other woman in that room could have stood on her head and re- tained such perfect equilibrium of body or com- posure of mind. "There, you try that every day, and you won't have lumbago or heart trouble,'* and she stood erect, returned the safety pin, and resumed her seat with leisurely ease. All the world knows, of course, that Alice was one of the pioneers in smoking, and left a trail of ashes and smoldering disgust through conserva- tive circles. The disapproval of the dames was to her like the ash, and she flicked it aside as meriting no more consideration. She was not deliberately rude, but rather delighted in the shocked look of her elders. She came and went like a merry flash, and skated skillfully over very thin ice. Alice Roosevelt had many of the priv- ileges of a princess, without any of the restrictions. 21 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON One night Mrs. Leitner gave a party. It was a large and gorgeous affair, with diplomats and officials and titles there. Oh, this was some years ago, before the turkey trot and cigarettes had been accepted in the Best Society. Few women were smoking then, and those who did, kept it dark. Madame Riano had acquired the art in Spain. She had been over with the ambassador, and had fallen into line with her adopted countrywomen. In the middle of Mrs. Leither's ball, Alice Longworth took it into her head to give an exhibi- tion of the new dance, the turkey trot. But to add zest to the performance, she lit a cigarette first, and smoked while she danced. She sailed down the middle of the room, puffing little jets of smoke at the ceiling, to the horror of the women. I forget who the man was who danced with her that night. As one woman said, "Alice looked like a steam engine coming down a crimped track.'" Society was shocked; unusually shocked. Even the press was shocked. Such behavior at a private ball! Not alone Washington papers beat the air in protest, but New York made this notorious young woman a headliner, and the episode was 22 ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH related in full, as a horrible example of modernism run riot. "Now isn't that the cutest story you ever heard?" Alice said, laughing, when she read the shocking details of her conduct, tucked, frilled, and flounced, and set forth for the public. Defying Convention I suppose most of you remember Count Cassini, who was Russian Ambassador during the Roose- velt regime. He appeared in Washington accom- panied by a young and beautiful lady, known as "The Countess Cassini". It soon became known that she wasn't a countess — that she wasn't any sort of Cassini. Old Washington, sedate, mid-Victorian Washing- ton, put up its lorgnette and then dropped it. The alleged Countess became invisible to the naked eye. There was merely a hole in the air where she stood — nothing more. Official Washington looked at each other behind its feather fans, and said: "Well, really, my dear — But one must draw the line somewhere!" So they drew it at the Countess. The Countess, however, made a singular appeal 23 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON to Alice Roosevelt. She's that sort. If she likes people, she doesn't ask for their birth certificate and demand their marriage lines. Perhaps it was the adventurous spirit, the quest for big game, the sense of danger, but whatever the bond, the Countess Cassini and the Princess Alice became inseparable companions. "Princess Alice" was a familiar press title for the White House daughter during her father's regime. It wasn't her regal bearing, however, which induced reporters so to designate her, but rather her royal indifference. What did these two do? Hus-s-s-sh! What didn't they do? you might ask. Hurdle racing was one popular pastime. After dinner they would arrange the ottoman, chairs, and other suitable furniture at intervals round the room, and have a hurdle race. If you backed Alice, you always backed a favor- ite, for she generally came in the winner. She didn't let skirts impede her progress by hanging down too long. A hitch or two, and away she went. Oh, they were gay times at the old Russian Embassy in those days! There is no doubt that Alice had a high old time, and if she missed any- thing, it was because she hadn't heard of it. 24 ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH The Russian Ambassador finally rushed back to Russia, and returned with the announcement that his fair companion had been adopted. Yes, adopted. Washington matrons didn't even blush watermelon pink, for some of them, even then, were well, er — nearly sophisticated. But in those pre-war days, trial marriages hadn't been invented (though to my mind all marriages are more or less of a trial), and the Russian after- thought didn't mend matters. Washington still refused to accept the Countess, though it didn't fail to see the fair Alice at her side, and to say — well, more than its prayers. But Alice, of course, was always socially acceptable. Some of us here remember, not long after, that one of the Sunday papers carried a highly flavored, largely illustrated story of the hapless Countess, who, it seems, is now living in retirement some- where in Italy, earning a precarious living by taking in plain sewing — or does she go out by the day? Now, if she had come to Washington, Alice might have been able to divert considerable custom her way. Not that clothes loom largely on her horizon. Neither as Alice Roosevelt, nor as Mrs. Long- worth, has she been absorbed in dress. 25 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON The Hatless Woman in the Senate Gallery Any day you may see Alice Longworth come into the Senate. In winter a heavy beaver coat envelops a figure still slim and graceful. Her hat, no matter how becoming, is flung instantly aside, and shows her hair growing rather prettily around her forehead, and knotted at the back. It is the same in the few private homes where she visits. Off comes her hat the minute she is inside the door. She hasn't much hair, but it is pretty, and there is scarcely a gray streak in it. Alice has big, dreamy eyes; at least they look dreamy until her interest is roused. Then they light up with vivid intelligence. Her skin is smooth and fair, and has no suggestion of the beauty parlor. In fact, she has no artifice of that kind, and her charm, though definite, is elusive. Did you know that ''Alice Blue" was named for her? She was always very partial to dull blues, and this shade became very popular during her residence at the White House. Since then, of course, we have had the Harding Blue and the Princess Mary Blue. Now we are getting a brand of Tutankhamen Blue. Well, every blue has its day! When rubberneck tourists come chattering and 26 ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH clattering into the Senate chamber, and the barker points out the persons and places of interest, he has only to indicate the hatless woman leaning forward in the Senate gallery, listening intently. "That is Mrs. Nicholas Longworth, daughter of Theodore Roosevelt," he says. Interest in the Senate instantly wanes. All eyes turn to the Roosevelt daughter, and there is admiration, almost reverence at times, in the eager look from this mixed group. In many ways she is like her father. Over and over again I have watched her, but she shows no embarrassment; in fact, she seems absolutely unconscious of this scrutiny. Interest in politics has always been very real with Alice, and she has found it an absorbing topic. An interesting debate in the Senate was a lure she could not resist. Not long after her marriage, I think it was, she was giving a big luncheon party. In the m.iddle of it, some one called her up to say that an important issue had suddenly developed in the Senate. Grabbing a hat, and hurling an abrupt apology at her guests, Alice left the astonished crowd to finish the party without a hostess. Why, even last year, Alice went to New York 27 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON for Christmas, with the intention of staying over New Year's Day. No sooner had the Economic Conference proposed by Senator Borah crowded the murders off the first page, than she came home. PoHtics comes first with her always. She sat in the gallery listening, her languid eyes alight. "Hullo, I thought you were staying in New York until after New Year's Day," one woman said to her. "Fancy staying in New York, with all this happening here," and she flung out a gesture indicating the Senate floor, where a wordy con- flict was taking place. Alice was only two days old when her mother died. Her grandmother, Mrs. Martha Roosevelt, you know, died the same day, and the double tragedy overshadowed the arrival of this vital little person. Her aunt, Anna Roosevelt, who was afterwards Mrs. Cowles, took charge of the baby until Theodore Roosevelt married Edith Carew in London. But Theodore Roosevelt was always particularly fond of Alice; she had a special comer in his heart, and there was a rare camarad- erie between them. I think it was back in the early seventies that some one divided the inhabitants of the United 28 ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH States into three groups — saints, sinners, and the Beecher family. A more recent version would have substituted the Roosevelt family, for pre- sumably they have always been a law unto them- selves. Yet not outlaws. I remember a dinner at the White House one night. It was the first time I had been a guest of President Roosevelt. Alice wore a dress of her namesake blue, and long white kid gloves. I fairly gasped when I saw her eat asparagus with her fingers without removing her gloves! It may have been a bet or a dare, but it was probably just a perverse impulse, or perhaps there was present some one especially correct whom she wanted to shock! She was never in awe of the great, and parental discipline did not impose too rigid a regulation upon personal conduct. Enter Nick Alice Roosevelt was terribly disappointed when her father refused to let her go to London for the coronation of King Edward. But for consolation, she had that memorable Taft trip to the Philip- pines. That was about a year later, and oh, the wonderful stories we heard about that tour — stories in which the fair Alice was star actor. 29 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON These tales, well spiced, were the savory served at many a dinner table. They had percolated to America from the Far East, no doubt expanding in transit, and taking on a more lurid hue. Nicholas Longworth was one of the Taft party, and the romance, which had been budding, blos- somed fully on the voyage. There is no doubt that Alice supplied conversa- tion for many a dinner party by her activities in the Far East. "My dear! Have you heard about Alice Roose- velt and the sacred elephant?" ''Do you know what Alice did in a Chinese temple?" That she was the theme of conversation in no way dimmed her ardor for adventure. If fellow travelers did relate how she had, when dared, dived fully dressed into the plunge bath, what did she care? And if there was nearly a war because she had ridden a sacred elephant outside a Chinese temple, while the pig-tailed officials prayed for vengeance — or was it an encore — why worry? Goodness, how time passes! That is over seven- teen years ago. I wonder how many remember the excitement there was about her engagement and wedding, and the maneuvering for invitations. 30 ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH No one was surprised at the engagement, be- cause the barometer had been "set fair" for some little time. After its announcement, Alice seemed supremely happy. Functions at the White House took on an added interest. Would Alice and her fianc^ be there? The bride elect became the cen- tral figure, and so often after a brief appearance, she would quietly disappear — she and Nick. All through the winter, I remember, each day Alice would accompany Nick to the Capitol. Even on her birthday, a few days before her marriage, she made her daily pilgrimage to the shrine of politics with her future spouse. And the wedding! Washington will never quite forget that. The President wished to make it a quiet affair, but that couldn't be done. Close relatives and important officials were the basis of the invitation list, but it grew until it held a thousand names. Social America was on tiptoe, hoping for an invitation. The Has-Beens tried resuscitation, and the Never- Wasers resorted to novel tricks to break in. Many people, quite unknown to the Roosevelts, sent expensive presents, and then brazenly asked for invitations. Their gifts were promptly returned. 31 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON Strange, how some people seem to spend their lives courting snubs: never content with where they are. I could tell you a few who have — but that must wait till I get started on "breaking into society", and the best methods to use. Some jimmy the lock, and others creep in on the dumb waiter. But to return to the presents. Exaggerated stories of the value of the gifts and jewels being showered upon the bride elect grew out of the President's reluctance to have the list published. Fed by imagination, they grew alarmingly. This brought a crowd of appeals. Some asked that Alice should give from her plenitude to various worthy causes. Others made personal requests for a silver teapot or a few spoons, where there had been duplication. They had caught the souvenir habit. A few anonymous epistles were sent with a hint of future peril, should she retain this abun- dance which had been thrust into her hands. Nearly all the foreign royalty laid gifts at the feet of America's Princess Alice. We were so excited waiting to see what would come next. The Spanish King sent antique jewelry, Austria a diamond and pearl pendant. I forget what the King of England sent, but the jewelled bracelet 32 ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH from the Kaiser, I think, AHce afterwards gave to the Red Cross, during the War. I know the French gift was Gobehn tapestry, and the ItaHan King sent mosaic from Florence. So did Pope Pius IX. The Taft party, who had watched the romance grow and flourish, gave her a necklace of diamonds and aquamarines. Embroideries came from China and Japan, and I think Nick Longworth gave his bride a diamond necklace. They were married on a Saturday, and Congress adjourned without avowing a reason, so as to avoid establishing a precedent. Not that the marriage of a President's daughter and a Congressman happens often. But you never know. I remember Nellie Grant (Mrs. Algernon Sar- toris) was there. She had been married in the White House thirty-two years before. In spite of all those jewels, Alice doesn't care a fig for personal ornaments. Jewelry makes no appeal to her. When earrings were not fashion- able, she always wore them. Since the demand for earrings in the ten-cent stores has so definitely indicated the trend of fashion, she has ceased to dress her ears. A long platinum chain, studded with diamonds, is one of her favorite ornaments, and from this she suspends a gold turtle as big as 33 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON a door stop. It is rather incongruous, but some- how it has a personal appeal to her, and that out- weighs all fashion. You know how the people out West worshiped Theodore Roosevelt! A few years after the mar- riage of Alice, I had a Western woman staying with me. She was tremendously elated one day when we received an invitation to a dinner at which Alice was to be present. She had never seen any of the Roosevelts, and all her interest seemed to center in the Longworth pair. There were five women at that party whose jewels were worth the proverbial king's ransom. We talked to Mrs. Marshall Field, who was clustered with pearls as big as hen's eggs. Mrs. Ned McLean wore her diamond tiara, and the famous Hope diamond, which is, of course, the larg- est in the world. You are never permitted to forget that fact. Some one is sure to remind you of it, and tell you all about the curse that hangs over the stone. They may even go so far as to mention a specific incident to prove this superstition in con- nection with the present owners of the gem. Inci- dentally, Ned McLean says that his wife doesn't buy her diamonds by the stone, but by the pound. Beside Mrs. McLean sat Mrs. Townsend, one 34 ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH of the Cave Dwellers, who has seen the rise and fall of many administrations, and was in all the glory of her far-famed jewels. Mrs. Joe Leither looked like a living chandelier, all aglitter. In the midst of this bejewelled group sat Alice Longworth and she didn't wear a single ornament! When we got home, and sat talking over the events of the evening, and discussing the clothes — you know how women do, when they brush their hair — the Western woman said: " So that was Alice Roosevelt, and not a diamond on her." There was a tinge of disappointment in her voice, for I believe she had expected her to look like the Queen of Sheba, after having read the list of wedding presents. Alice has always been a person of few intimate friends, and Sunday evening supper at the Long- worth home is an exclusive affar — exclusive in so far as you must be one of that intimate circle. ' "Come and have supper; Nick feels like playing to-night." That is the probable form her invitations will take. Nick Longworth is a violinist of more than amateur ability, but he plays seldom — only when the inspiration stirs him. There was one night I particularly remember. 35 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON There must have been about twenty people there, each wearing the garb society had prescribed for such semiformal occasions. AHce received us in a costume of her own de- signing — long, black, satin trousers and a loose, embroidered blouse. " I always like to wear trousers when I listen to music," she said, curling up on the divan among the cushions. "Skirts get in the way when I sit like this, and I always do when Nick plays." Alice the Politician "Tiger! Tiger!" called Alice Longworth. I thought she was going to recite Blake's poem, but she was merely talking to the tiger skin, a souvenir of one of her father's hunting expeditions, spread in front of the open fireplace. In every home there is a characteristic comer, some room more expressive of the owner than others. The Longworth drawing room is of the conventional type, but it is in the living room that you find the Roosevelt revealed. The big tiger skin gives a definite note, a per- sonal note. Alice worshiped her father, and would have fought like a tiger to defend him personally or politically. Photographs of Theodore Roose- 36 ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH velt, etchings and busts of him are there, with autographed pictures of famous men and women. There are also interesting cartoons reminiscent of past and present poHticians and events. It is a comfortable room, with an atmosphere of being lived in and loved. Not untidy, it has, however, the orderly disorder of books that are read, cushions that give comfort, pictures that please, and a faint odor of smoke. It is the home of people who prefer to live at home. The Longworths are splendid pals. Each accords the other a generous freedom, differing without dispute, and meeting life's problems with understanding. Alice likes men and enjoys their company. Not as a vamp does she seek them, but for a pleasant interchange, a clash of wit, for deep reasoning, and good fellowship. Next to her husband comes her brother Ted. She is very fond of Ted. Her inanimate loves are politics and books, and they have, as I have told you, a real fascination for her. She is a great reader, and devours weighty volumes and frivolous nonsense. Far into the night she reads. I often think she prefers books to people. She certainly spends more time in their company. 37 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON Formal visiting is anathema to Mrs. Nicholas Longworth, I can assure you, and her Congressional calls are a huge, unpaid, social debt. Let no Con- gressman's wife feel personally aggrieved if her call remains unacknowledged. She treats them all alike. "I hate calling; I just can't do it," she says, and there the matter usually ends. Occasionally she applies a measure of self- discipline to herself, and sets out to pay off some social debts. She started out one day with a Senator's wife — I think it was Mrs. Borah — with the fixed inten- tion of paying calls. When they arrived at the first house on the list, she hesitated. "Oh! I don't think I'll go in here," she said. "I'll wait for you." She waited, and Mrs. Borah went in. When the car stopped at the second place, she sat back contentedly. "You go in — I'll wait." Again she shirked. At the third place it was the same. When her social tour ended, her companion had left cards on ten women, but Alice had stuck to the car with amazing fidelity, and returned home with her indebtedness undischarged. 38 ALICE ROOSEVELT LONGWORTH "I wasted the whole afternoon," she told me that night. "Absolute waste of time, I call it." "And didn't you leave a card?" I asked. "Not one," and she smiled a lazy smile, and sat back among the cushions. If Nick Longworth were a different type of man, Alice might find plenty of activity in playing his particular game; but politically, do you think he will rise much higher? Frankly, do you? What a sensation it would cause politically, if Alice decided to throw her hat into the ring! She could join the Lucy Stone League, and become a Roosevelt again. That would be worth thou- sands of votes. And what a Senator she would make! I was out at a little tea party a few weeks ago, when some one suggested that Alice ought to run for the Senate. Instantly the room seemed riddled with ideas. Talk thickened. For ten minutes her assets and liabilities were tossed like leaves before the wind. "She's a brilliant woman," said one. "Look at her training in public life, her knowl- edge of politics. Why, she loves the game more than anything on earth, I imagine," said a second. "She'd make a good Senator, but a rotten candi- 39 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON date," came in a Southern drawl. "She doesn't like people, and won't shake hands, and she has never been active in women's organizations." "You mean that she doesn't 'suffer fools gladly,'" came from a red-headed woman. "That's just it," said the hostess, as we gathered our coats and made for the elevator. But just think what it would mean to have one electric, vivid, fearless, audacious young woman in that stuffy, stodgy assembly of fence-fixers, seed- senders, and afraid-of-their-mitten mediocrities! And what a dare-devil campaign it would be! Can't you see sober traditions being broken, and precedents being carted away by the trash man! Why, the revelations of old Tutankhamen's tomb v/ould pale before some of the stories that would develop in that battle. And if she got in! Of course she wouldn't be spectacular all the time, but wouldn't those old partridges sit around, waiting, for fear they'd miss it when she was in action, making a six-cylinder speech. Well, who knows what the future may hold, but I hope I am still alive to see it — if she should stand. I'd just hate to miss the fim. 40 MRS. WOODROW WILSON SHE'S handsome in a heavy way, but her face sags," said a New York woman. That was the first description I had heard of Mrs. Wilson. Up to that time I had not seen her. I beheve that's a fairly accurate picture. To some she is handsome, and to others heavy. Dem- ocrats, no doubt, see her comeliness, and Republi- cans note the sag. Funny, how often we see what we are looking for. You know the old Japanese saying: "A bee flying over a field sees honey; a crow sees carrion!" Curiosity lent a keen edge to interest when the second Mrs. Wilson blossomed out as a White House bride. One Cave Dweller, with elevated eyebrows and arched instep, sniffed and murmured "Trade!" (Of course some of the Best People buy their jewels at Gait's, and after all, we are a democracy!) It was soon after her official d^but, I think, that a funny incident happened at Mrs. Moran's. Don't you know who Mrs. Moran is? Well, she is the safest bet in Washington. Just lay your 41 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON money that she will be in the receiving line, and you'll never lose. How does she get there? My dears, she has oodles of money, and even when she isn't asked to take a box at the hundreds of charity balls, she just volunteers. Oh, you must have seen Mrs. Moran! Well, she had loaned her big house on Massa- chusetts Avenue to those writing women, the Pen- women's League, for an annual fair. And Mrs. Wilson was there. She was piloted up and down by the president of the League, an important little woman, who had three feet of ostrich feather hang- ing down her back from her hat. I think she's in Europe now. Just off the main hall was a room in which delicious coffee — Turkish coffee — was being served, and this room, like the rest of the house, was decorated with gay posters. As Mrs. Wilson was led into the coffee room, two prominent Red Cross women, in their best uni- forms, sat at one end. "Oh, here are two" — the League president paused, her hand pointing to the Red Cross officials. They immediately stood up, braced their shoul- ders, and preened themselves. Mrs. Wilson, following the pointing hand, met 42 Harris & Swing MRS. WOODROW WILSON MRS. WOODROW WILSON their gaze, and a mutual acknowledgment of the introduction had just began — that half-formed smile — when the Penwomen's president concluded her suspended sentence. "Chromo posters, done by the camouflage de- partment of the army." Her eyes saw nothing but a hole in the air where the Red Cross women stood, but were fixed on two large, gaudy posters just behind them. The Red Cross women looked at each other, and realizing that they were not on the list of exhibits, subsided onto the couch. "A chromo poster!" said one in amused disgust. "Why, did you think you were a cameo?" asked her companion. But Mrs. Wilson had not checked her smile. She bowed most graciously to them before admir- ing the chromo posters, and the little president went on talking incessantly, quite unconscious of what had happened. It is strange how the multitude so often deserts a leader when his star has passed its zenith. And then, after a sharp and certain fall, a wave of sym- pathy will surge up, and give defeat a splendor that triumph never wore. Woodrow Wilson ex- perienced that. M. Viviani singled out the homage 45 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON paid to Woodrow Wilson by the American people as one of the most striking incidents in his sojourn in this country. He marveled at it. Woodrow Wilson sought a quiet neighborhood when he left the White House. It was quiet then. Now it is a tourist resort. On Sundays and holi- days crowds go there to look at the home of the defeated Democrat. Same take their lunch and their children, and make a picnic on the pavement. Motors line up, and their occupants peer at the windows and pray for the opening of a door to reveal the vanquished chief. One family which used to live opposite, has movied. They have sold out and gone in search of seclusion. They were tired of this vigil of an ador- ing crowd, which left egg shells and orange skins on the step, after an all-day effort to catch sight of Woodrow Wilson. On his birthday, hundreds of men and women stood for hours in the pouring rain outside the house, waiting to see him drive past, that they might pay him the tribute of a personal greeting. Nearly every Saturday night the ex-President goes to Keith's theater. Like other studious men, he seeks diversion in the froth of foolery, hence his choice of vaudeville. In the same way he is a 46 MRS. WOODROW WILSON great reader of detective stories, to even the bal- ance of his mental meat. And each Saturday night, as the shambling fig- ure is assisted to his seat, the waiting audience stands and makes audible its admiration. After the performance, hundreds line the streets. I have seen them, in rain and snow, waiting, waiting. And when the big automobile comes out of the alley from the side entrance, there is a burst of cheering and clapping, as the machine hurries into the distant dark. That is Woodrow Wilson to- day, and Mrs. Wilson is usually close beside him. The Woodrow Wilson Language A humane old woman, who gathered stray ani- mals, had among her refugees a French poodle, well-bred and intelligent, but a sad dog; he grieved as one without hope. Meat and medicine failed to touch the root of his trouble, so some one suggested that she should talk to him in French. At "bon chien," he trembled with joy, and "pauvre petit" sent him into an ecstacy. There is a lot said for the attraction of opposites, but we do like some one who speaks our own language; who understands. It may be what 47 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON Freudians call the Narcissus complex, but in plain American, "Ain't it the truth?" If Mrs. Wilson doesn't exactly speak the Wood- row Wilson language, she at least seems to under- stand it. "What on earth attracted him to Edith Gait?" I heard a woman remark when the engagement was announced. One authority states that he was first attracted to her by the simple statement that she had never been to the White House until invited there to lunch by Margaret Wilson. Though an old resi- dent of Washington, she had not availed herself of the democratic privilege, and had waited for a special invitation. That may be. Some say that Margaret Wibon planned the match, and that she is now devoted to her stepmother. Margaret certainly is clever. Now, I don't believe either Jessie or Mrs. McAdoo would have thought of such a thing. Perhaps Margaret's distaste for White House life inspired it, and so she brought up the relief. There is another version, a more authentic one, I believe. Dr. Grayson, who so often accompanied the President on his drives, had noticed a very 48 MRS. WOODROW WILSON attractive woman driving alone in an electric machine. " I like the look of her. I wonder who she is? " he said to the President. I believe the White House car often followed the same route as this electric machine. When it turned to the right, so did the presidential car. One night Dr. Grayson met her — no, it wasn't Mrs. Gait, it was Miss Gordon, her intimate friend. I believe the way the Doctor convinced the lady that his gracious greeting was really the outcome of a sincere desire to have met her, was to recite from memory the registration number of her car. Soon afterwards he met Mrs. Gait. He liked her, and he had a hunch that the President would also like her. And it was in this way that the invi- tation to lunch issued by Margaret Wilson came about, via Dr. Grayson. But Mrs. Gait didn't say "yes" the first time of asking. Like a true woman, she hesitated. I once heard that the happiest moment in a woman's life was when she had decided to say "yes," but hadn't said it. You all know that delicious interlude — unless you are among the hasty ones, who say "yes" and decide afterwards. 4 49 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON Oh, you young ones, don't miss those dehcious moments by saying "yes" too soon! ' Mrs. Wilson was born a BolHng, and she is entitled to affix F. F. V. after her name. Her tastes, I fancy, go back to the period when perfect ladies didn't get into moving pictures — they didn't have the movies then perhaps — and didn't arrange for a proof for the press when having their photo- graphs taken, with an eye to the social columns. Isn't she a lineal descendant of Pocahontas? The Wilsons seemed to shun the camera more than some of the Presidents. Have you ever noticed how Mrs. Wilson always managed to draw into the background a little, and so give the impres- sion that the President is perceptibly taller, which, of course, is not the case. That was always her attitude. She was proud to be Mrs. Woodrow Wilson, but she didn't want to wear the dome of the Capitol for a tiara. I remember the summer when the first Mrs. Wilson died. There was a nice old man, a staunch Democrat and admirer of the President, who was overwhelmed with grief, and wanted to pay his tribute of condolence at the White House. Since it was a hot, humid day, the old fellow decided to wear his black alpaca coat. 50 MRS. WOODROW WILSON ''Better put on your proper coat, your Prince Albert," said his wife. ''It isn't quite respectful to call in that one.'* "But that is such a hot coat; it's cruel to ask a man to wear it a day like this." "I know, but don't wear your alpaca, father," she pleaded; "it doesn't look right." "But the heat!" he protested. "It's uncomfortable, I know, but think of the President — what he is suffering." The gallant old man went in and took off the old alpaca and struggled into his hot Prince Albert. Perspiring, he set off to the White House. When he saw the President and his daughters, stricken with grief, he felt glad that he had made the little sacrifice of his personal comfort. It wasn't much, and nobody knew about it, but he was conscious of having paid a special tribute of affection and respect to his President. One day, less than a year later, the old man sat reading his paper as he ate breakfast. There he saw the announcement of the engagement of the President to Mrs. Gait. He threw the paper aside indignantly. "And to think I took off my black alpaca coat!" was all he could say. 51 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON Butlers and Cave Dwellers There was quite an epidemic of marriages at the White House during the Wilson regime. Indeed, it has been called the "Administration of Vital Statistics." Jessie Wilson married Dr. Sayre, and Eleanor became Mrs. McAdoo. Mr. McAdoo now has children and grandchildren about the same age, because this was his second venture. Margaret, who was the eldest, escaped the con- tagion. She was very much occupied with public philanthropy, in which Major Pullman, one of the police heads, was also considerably interested. Their association in these works inspired some people with the idea that another romance was brewing. The press sensed a news story and followed up clues. At last, unable to bear the strain of suspense any longer, the newspapers announced, not the engagement, but the rumor of an impending engagement. One morning, Mr. Lewis Brownlow, District Commissioner, arrived at his office. A member of his staff was an Irish girl, an hereditary clerk, who was handed on from one Commissioner to another. She was poring over the newspaper, her eyes bulging, her face pink with suppressed excite- 52 MRS. WOODROW WILSON ment. She had just read the rumor of the engage- ment between Margaret Wilson and Major Pull- man. As Mr. Brownlow came in the door, she looked up and said: *'My Gawd, Mr. Brownlow, Mag's going to marry a cop!" Before Woodrow Wilson led Mrs. Gait to the altar, and the White House, each day for many weeks, a black-garbed lady had taken a drive around the Speedway in her electric machine. Daily, about the same hour, a Senator's wife, in a similar automobile, patrolled the blossom- bordered drive. They eyed each other at first; later they smiled, and eventually they exchanged a tentative greeting. The Senator's wife often wondered who this lady of mystery might be. She appeared to live in the city, but was not seen else- where. The day the engagement of Woodrow Wilson and Mrs. Gait was announced, the picture of the bride elect was published, and that Senator's wife got some shock when she recognized in her lady of mystery, the new mistress of the White House. The Cave Dwellers, as I have said, were not very enthusiastic. You know they are the ancient inhabitants of the city, who are here by right of birth or bargains, and not the will of the people. 53 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON The Cave Dwellers have their own social code, and they receive or do not receive whom they please. There are no official strings tied to their bow — or they would have you think so. Mrs. Gait had lived in Washington— she had been with them, but not of them. An invitation to the White House means nothing to a Cave Dweller, at least, nothing special. You see, she has had so many. So the Cave Dwellers did not call. Individually, yes, perhaps. En masse, no. When Mrs. Wilson first came to the White House she had to face many social problems. I really think there ought to be a training school for Presi- dents' wives that would give them a chance to try their fences. The long line of dead and gone wives who have graced this ancient house have set up standards, evolved codes, modified, expanded, duplicated, and generally left a position nominally very simple, but actually very complex. The acquisition of a butler is an important milestone. Some people even divide the world into two classes— those who have butlers and those who haven't. I heard one family sternly condemned : "Why, they're impossible— they don't even keep a butler." 54 MRS. WOODROW WILSON No, the speaker wasn't a Cave Dweller. She was a Congressman's wife from the Middle West, but she has been here a long time. That was her test. I heard a new arrival under discussion one day. Should she be asked to lunch or not? ''Well, ask her once, and if she cuts her lettuce with a knife, we'll know what to do in future." These are simple things compared with the prob- lems that beset the path of a newly installed First Lady, especially if she is handicapped by being a late arrival in the picture. Politically, it might have been better for Mrs. Wilson if she had been a glad-hander, and able to supply this deficiency on the part of her husband. Even as President, he was singularly cold in his enthusiasms, and failed to kindle a responsive spark. I have seen his picture at the movies create more vital interest than the personality of the man himself. Don't you remember when he complained: "The people don't love me!" But, somehow, love was not the emotion he inspired. His was a cold, brilliant intellect, which compelled admiration in his followers, rather than affection — personal affection. I recall one occasion when a man referred to him familiarly as "Woody". 55 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON I don't like it as a description, but perhaps it was a term of endearment. I like that idea better. Mrs. Wilson the Second certainly did not forget her own people. The Boiling family were con- stantly projected onto the White House screen. If the President and Mrs. Wilson drove in the park, they were fortified by a few Boilings. Was it a theater party, there was a generous sprinkling of Boilings in the box. Wherever they went, the scene was peppered with her relatives. The Contrasts of March the Fourth I often wonder how Mrs. Wilson felt that day — March 4, 1921. To me it is such a vivid picture. Outside, the cheering crowd, the pushing, sway- ing mass, straining for vantage points; the excite- ment of anticipation, the exaltation of victory. Tall, handsome, smiling, the victor, Warren G. Harding, arrives for his triumphal inaugural ceremony. A shambling, pathetic figure, conscious of defeat, conscious also of the physical disability which had robbed him of his dignity of bearing, is assisted from the Capitol to his car. Too frail to face the ordeal, he signs his name for the last time as Presi- dent of the United States, and turns away. 56 MRS. WOODROW WILSON Warren Harding mounts the steps, a handsome hero, the people's President. Woodrow Wilson drives away — along Pennsyl- vania Avenue. A little negro boy jumps on the running board of his car. The distant cheering grows fainter as he leaves behind him his triumph and his failures. He takes with him his ideals— and his pain. Within a stone's throw of the Capitol, within earshot of the plaudits of the multitude acclaiming a new leader, a man lies dead. Champ Clark does not hear the cheers of welcome to his rival, for Death has already whispered in his ear: ''Your pilgrimage is ended. You shall never be President of the United States. Come! Follow me!" The Tongues of Washington Mrs. Wilson doesn't play politics, at least not in the sense that Harriet Taylor Upton, Emily Newell Blair, or Maud Wood Parks do. Partisan politics, watering the elephant and gathering thistles for the donkey, nothing of that kind! Some time ago, Mrs. Wilson ventured to attend a meeting of the Democratic women in Baltimore. That started it! The Whispering Gallery was in 57 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON fine form, and it echoed and reechoed with mur- murs, exclamations, and strange asseverations. ''He has sent her over to spy out the land!" was the theme played, with variations, on the vibrant chords of women's tongues. "From battle, murder, sudden death, and the tongues of Washington, Good Lord deliver us!" is the prayer of one pious soul in the District of Columbia each night. Bad politician as he may be, Woodrow Wilson knew better than to send his wife on such an errand. He once said that she had better political judgment than he had. On hearing this, one woman remarked, 'That isn't a matter of much pride." Well, I suppose it isn't possible to keep all the oats cut, and while there is party politics, you will always find the partisan and the prejudiced. Speaking of party feeling, I remember a luncheon Genevieve Clark Thompson, daughter of Champ Clark, gave during the war. She called it a stag luncheon, and invited thirty lone women to Dower House, in Baltimore. You know, it was formerly the home of Lord Baltimore. Agnes Hart Wilson was there. Her father was in the Cabinet then. Labor, wasn't it? 58 MRS. WOODROW WILSON "My dears! Do you know what happened to Mrs. Baker?" she said. "No, Agnes, what?" asked Genevieve. "Well, Secretary Baker has gone to Europe about the war, and she was going home. On the train, in the very next compartment, sat four men, criticizing the administration. They hadn't a good word to say for it, and they fairly ripped Mr. Baker to pieces. One said: " 'I hope a submarine gets him before he comes back.* "That was too much for Mrs. Baker. She felt that something ought to be done. First she thought of calling the conductor, and wiring ahead for detectives to arrest the speaker at the next station. Finally she decided to take the matter into her own hands, and she let them have it, I can tell you. " 'What's it got to do with you?' asked one of the men. " 'It's got this to do with me — Mr. Baker is my husband,' she said hotly, 'and I demand your names, as I am going to report the matter.' " 'Sorry you happened to hear; it was only a private conversation,' said one, as he handed out his card with maddening coolness." 59 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON "What did she do then?" asked Genevieve. " Oh, she reported it to the authorities, but they didn't seem to do much; the Attorney-General didn't press it very hard." "And were they really German spies?" asked one guest, her eyes bulging with excitement. "Oh, no! Merely Republicans," replied Agnes Wilson, contemptuously. The Penalties of Greatness As I have already told you, when Mrs. Wilson Number Two came to the White House, there was the usual rush of clubs and organizations to enter- tain her and run an eye over the new Lady of the Mansion. One national organization gave a recep- tion in her honor, but they didn't have a club house then. They held their social sessions in a room behind a tailor's shop. Desiring to make it as impressive as possible, the Committee requested the tailor to move his pressing board, and close the door, so that in passing into the club room, the First Lady might not be suffocated by the steam rising from a half- pressed pair of trousers. The tailor, a born Democrat, wanted to see all that was going on. So he kept the door open, 60 MRS. WOODROW WILSON and continued the sacred rite of pressing trousers, watching for the White House entourage through a veil of vapor which arose from the moist cloth. At last she came, flanked by two women secre- taries, or something, to act as buffers. No doubt the President feared that in a group of brilliant women, his State secrets might be jeopardized unless his wife was properly fortified in case of an unexpected questionnaire. Furniture and fittings had been hastily borrowed to add to the beauty and comfort of the club room. There was a settee. In that settee was a broken spring. Beside that settee was a vigilance com- mittee of one, specially appointed to keep Mrs. Wilson, who is no lissome lass, from sitting on that broken spring. But she did. The vigilance committee had for one sad moment relaxed, and there was a— plonk. Mrs. Wilson had sat down. She was with many apologies and some effort assisted to arise, and accommodated in a more secure and seemly setting. Then the procession formed and the introduc- tions began. You know how it is. You mumble your name, or somebody in advance mumbles it for you, and the guest shakes hands, and endeavors to acconamodate each with an individual smile. 61 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON One woman paused to have a little chat, and held up the whole line. "I have been connected with Lady Blank's hospital in Canada," she volunteered, recounting her war sacrifices. "Have you, really?" said Mrs. Wilson smiling. Her face is very pleasant when she smiles and her interest is aroused. But have you noticed that rather hopeless expression, that droop, in repose? She was looking very pleasant that day. I had never seen her look so well. The woman still stood in front of her. "Yes, indeed, I have," she said, and diving a hand into her pocket, she produced a white veil. "And this is the veil I wore the day I saw her, and I want you to accept it," thrusting the crumpled treasure into Mrs. Wilson's hand. One of the buffers on her flank quickly relieved Mrs. Wilson of the embarrassing gift, and hid the precious gossamer from sacrilegious eyes. Mrs. Wilson murmured strange phrases of grati- tude. There was a determined effort at the rear of the line. A forward movement crowded the generous donor off the center of the stage, and the program proceeded. Oh! the penalties of greatness! 62 FLORENCE KLING HARDING WHEN Amos Kling opposed the marriage of his daughter to the strugghng editor of the Marion Star, he couldn't be blamed for omitting the White House from his calculations. Twenty years ago it is doubtful if Warren G. Harding had allowed his fleeting fancy to roam that far. As a matter of fact, the lamented President was never an ambitious man. He was of a contented mind. He liked the quiet harbor where his barque was moored and was content to signal a friendly greeting or a timely warning to the big ships sailing far out on the tumultuous political seas. He took life as he found it — and liked it. He was neither an adventurer nor a reformer. Mrs. Harding had a determined father, accus- tomed to obedience in his children. Florence inherited some of this virtue. She showed it when Banker Kling issued this ultimatum: "You must make your choice — ^your father, or Warren Harding. Which is it to be? " There wasn't any hesitation. Florence's deci- 63 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON sion laid the cornerstone of President Harding's political career. It is said that even in those early Marion days she heard the distant call to him and felt the lure of the gi^eat unknown. Always she believed in him, encouraged him, and sometimes urged him. Ah, who can tell what dreams she dreamed for him as she mended his socks on the little front porch that was destined for a place in the history of America! Politics so often follow prosperity; haven't you noticed that? When the paper began to pay, politics beckoned the genial editor. Mrs. Harding saw the gesture, and nodded. It was her white- gloved hand that pointed ''Stop" and "Go" through the devious paths that led from the Ohio state legislature to the United States Senate. In those old days, when she was circulation manager of the paper, she used to ride a bicycle, and pedal home half an hour before Warren, in order to broil the steak. No butlers then; not even a servant. The first butler arrived on the scene after the nomination. When Mrs. Harding first arrived in Washington as a Senator's wife, she came on a stretcher — an invalid. But as First Lady she returned in the triumph of health. Even as a Senator's wife she 64 Harris & Ewing MRS. WARREN G. HARDING FLORENCE KLING HARDING always wore her clothes well. She is neat, and I always imagine her hairpins in graduated rows in a box, and her pins stuck in patterns on the cushion. Her Finger on the Pulse Mrs. Harding was never content to be on the fringe of things. Whether it was running a news- paper or running a nation, she wanted to keep her finger on the pulse. Her autobiography would not be brilliant with epigrams, scarred with scan- dals, nor would it make ripe reading for the blasd. It would be the chronicle of an intelligent woman, who had tried earnestly and honestly to do her job in life as she saw it. If she had ambition, certainly it was not for herself. The limelight always made her wince a little. This has been called the Age of Jazz, but Mrs. Harding's regime was characterized by nothing that was frivolous or trivial. With earnest endeavor and conscientious exactitude she walked her path, balancing carefully between extremes. Neither in dress nor in modes or manners did she follow breathlessly the pace set by the ultra progressives. Neither did she stay bogged in the mud of medievalism. Mrs. Washington intro- duced ice cream to the American menu, but no 67 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON new dish is credited to Mrs. Harding, although she is somewhat celebrated as a, cook. The effort among some couturieres to create a vogue for "Florence Harding blue" failed because Mrs. Harding wore black and white and yellow and green as frequently as she wore blue. She was natural to the point of being naive. There was something sweet and distinctly feminine about the way in which she conducted her first shopping tour to New York after she became our '' First Lady ". It was almost as if she had brought a bit of Main Street and planked it down right into Peacock Alley at the Waldorf! But it was so human and everydayish that everybody liked it when she showed her new clothes to the reporters and had her picture taken right in the midst of them. Of course we liked it! Well, if it was a breath of Main Street that Mrs. Harding brought to the White House, let us have more of it, for it was a spirit of friendliness, in fact the very essence of neighborliness that was typical of her entire administration. To newspaper people she was always most generous and most understanding. Soon after Mr. Harding was nominated they were preparing to motor from Washington to Marion and their 68 FLORENCE KLING HARDING car was parked in the back yard while final preparations for the journey were being made. The cook, an amiable soul, had been left on guard, but not being acclimated to the new presi- dential atmosphere, she forgot her vigil and left her post to gossip with the chauffeur next door. Seizing this unhoped-for opportunity, newspaper photographers, assigned to the task of getting a "close up" of the President elect, sneaked up and lowered the top of the car. Mrs. Harding, passing the kitchen window at the moment, was startled to see the top of the car slowly collapse, and the next instant the cook, too, was back on the job. "Who lowered that top?'' came in stentorian tones. Now these were men who had been decorated for valor in France, but their courage evaporated instantly. They didn't wait to dig themselves in, but their heels were visible one brief instant as they disappeared over the fence. And even as they ran Mrs. Harding was remon- strating with the cook. "Think of those boys being so clever," she said. "They really deserved that picture!" And those same boys never knew how she felt about it. 69 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON "Just Folks" The Hardings used to say often that they were "just folks" and there are many stories, told now in affectionate memory, of a neighborliness, hitherto unknown among the White House occu- pants, that illustrates how consistently they held to that mental attitude of good will toward the whole world. One of these is of a luncheon given Mrs. Hard- ing at a fine old Southern home in Atlanta. The truth is that the hostess was somewhat discon- certed to learn that the First Lady had had her luncheon on the train — but that isn't the story. It seems that the guest of honor was much interested in the delectable dishes served, and, being a good cook herself, she was interested in the sheer art of the affair from a culinary stand- point. When told that the "artist" was a good old-fashioned negro "mammy", Mrs. Harding expressed a desire to meet her, and after luncheon the cook had a distinction not usually bestowed upon cooks. She was called in and presented to the First Lady. Mrs. Harding took both of the black hands in her own white-gloved ones and "just being pleasant", she said, "How would you like to 70 FLORENCE KLING HARDING come to the White House and cook for the Presi- dent and me? " But the old darky was frank too. "No, thank y'r, ma'am. I been raised in Atlanta, 'en Vd ruther wo'k fer white folks es I knows what kind uv white folks dey is. I ain't acquainted in Washington." And no one enjoyed the joke more than Mrs. Harding did. On another occasion when she was being enter- tained in New Orleans she was interested in the efficiency of the negro waiters and concluding her after-luncheon speech she said, "I don't want to leave until I have shaken hands with every one of these boys." Being First Lady of our great land is a full time job for anybody, and Mrs. Harding tried to put in full time on it, despite the fact that she was never physically strong. She was always ready to see people if it was at all possible and she gave of herself freely— so freely that at last a break- down forced her to give up all social duties and succumb to a prolonged and serious illness. Mrs. Harding never got over that purely feminine habit of preparedness. As long as she was in the White House she took a very personal interest in the housekeeping affairs of the estab- 71 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON lishment and never left things entirely to the professionals in charge. She liked to have a little preliminary survey to see that things were all right. You know the feeling. We women are all like that. I think it was George Washington who gave a dinner in New York, when it is recorded that "He said grace and they dined off a boiled leg of mutton." Well, things are not so simple as that now. The Hospitable Hardings The Hardings were always so gracious and so cordial and so human that their impulse would probably have been to go back to the open door policy of other days at the White House. Mrs. Harding said that somehow it always seemed unkind not to see people who really wanted to be seen. But the policy of permitting people to inspect the White House at their pleasure had to be abandoned some years ago. In this day of persistent and aggressive journalism, one could never know when an ambitious reporter might be hiding behind a door or under the dining table. My grandfather used to tell of an illiterate old man from the West, who came to Washington in President Madison's time. He had a request to 72 FLORENCE KLING HARDING make. First, he wanted a judgeship. On being refused, and convinced that he was not fitted for the position, he shd down the scale, ending up with a petition to be made a constable. When the President refused even that, he said: "Well, give me a pair of your old breeches." They may not be content with old breeches these days, but they are none the less persistent in their demands. Because they seemed so demo- cratic, the Hardings were besieged with many requests ranging from a cabinet or diplomatic post to an autographed photo of Laddie Boy. Mrs. Harding was always proud of being a small-town woman. She never wanted to be anything else. She remembered when she didn't have things. When roses and carnations were four or five dollars, a bouquet from the White House, with a gracious message, expressed the understanding of a woman who once knew what it was to make ends meet, and who liked flowers at her party. Choice blooms often went to Con- gressional homes, and her theater box and motor car were constantly at the disposal of the less fortunate. The Harding relatives didn't figure in the picture as the Boilings did in the Wilson regime, however. 73 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON Mrs. Harding understood the small-town curi- osity, and the value of a close-up of the high spots in the Capital when a visitor was relating adven- tures in Washington back in the home town. "Wouldn't you like to go up and see the other rooms in the White House?" she asked a Middle Western woman one day. "I know how curious I used to be about it all," she admitted frankly. It is singular that of the last five Presidential families, the Roosevelts alone have come through their term without affliction. President Mc- Kinley's death was a tragic ending to his career, and his wife had been an invalid. Mrs. Taft, who had planned such great social events for their regime, was stricken with illness. President Wilson, who came in in vigorous health, went out a broken man, and Mrs. Harding ,had just recov- ered from a serious malady which confined her to the White House for many months when she started bravely on the ill-fated Alaskan trip with the President. Many will recall the fine day early in their first summer at the White House that the Hardings threw open the grounds and held their first garden party. It was a magnificent success. The weather was perfect, the green lawn a velvet 74 FLORENCE KLING HARDING' carpet splashed with gay colors — the red uniforms of the band, the bright frocks and hats and parasols. It was a distinct change after the seclusion of the previous administration. I think it was Mrs. Pomerene who remarked, "Aren't things different now?" as she looked over the friendly crowd being made welcome. Mrs. Harding tried one innovation that after- noon. In order to indicate the close of the party the band played "The End of a Perfect Day." However, some one had previously announced that this was Mrs. Harding's favorite melody, so it was a pointless allusion so far as the guests were concerned. A second time it was played, but the hint failed to penetrate the pleasure-sodden minds of the party. In the ball room, where the dancing was in progress, the end of the party was again proclaimed. At last it seemed to dawn on some that the oft- repeated tune had a suggestion of finality, and the crowd gradually dispersed. "Are you going to establish that as a definite custom for the termination of White House func- tions?" one woman asked. "Not after this!" said Mrs. Harding laughing. 75 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON Four Thousand Handclasps The big receptions at the White House are a fearful physical strain — physical, mental, moral — all of them. Just imagine shaking four thousand individual hands, and providing foui' thousand individual smiles. After hours and hours of it, there must surely come a time when it is merely a blur of faces and the mechanical clasping and imclasping of hands. There was a time, particularly during the demo- cratic Jefferson administration, when it was held that all social courtesies savored of courts and kings. But politeness is the universal language, as order is heaven's first law. So it had to come. Each official or group is supposed to have an allotted place in the order of precedence; and rank, length of service, or age are the determining factors. Just between ourselves, I may say that the lower the rank, the more exacting on precedent. When equality is the keynote of a constitution, it is difficult to make these differentiations without resorting to court customs. The authorities who made the Executive, Legislative, and Judiciary coequal did not consider the social aspect. The heads of the three departments of State cannot enter the door at the same time — think 76 FLORENCE KLING HARDING of Mr. Taft! Wouldn't there be a jam? Yet each has the right to first place. The solution is found in the entertainment of each gi'oup separately. That is why the President holds four official receptions each season. In the old days it used to be nine. But much of the simplicity inaugurated by the Wilsons has stayed. To the first are bidden the foreign ambassa- dors, because one must always be polite to visitors. The ambassadors take rank according to length of service. It would never do to try to arrange them in the order of importance. Each is naturally most important to himself. If they didn't apply the term of service, it would have to be done alphabetically or according to weight. M. Jusserand is now Dean of Ambassadors. ''Doyen" some of them prefer to call him. The diplomatic reception is really the most spectacular, as the foreigners are all turned out in their gold braid and medals and feathers and fancy millinery. Some look quite bewitching, and have a courtliness of manner which befits the ceremony. The second reception is given to the Judiciary. There are no wigs nor gowns here, nothing frivo- lous. They're too old for that; most of them, 77 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON not all. But it is usually solemn and pompous, even though they have a petticoated judge or two. Next comes the reception to Congress — Cabinet, Senate, and the Representatives of the House. The foiu*th reception is given to the Army and Navy. Since we are a peace-loving nation, the Army and Navy do not rank so high as in other countries. It is a long process, this reception business. Just take my hand, and Fll lead you. After a lengthy wait in line, you are disgorged from a machine at the door and swallowed up in a crowd, all furred and feathered, which is ex- changing its wraps for tickets. You put the ticket in your bag, or down the heel of your shoe, or behind your ear and take your place in the queue. You watch the painted faces of dead and gone ladies of the White House, as you creep, serpent- like, down the hall. The long-past hostesses look placidly from the walls as the procession moves, two and two, along the wide corridor. Then you turn up the stairs, up and up, your view being obscured by the broad back in front. At the head of the stairs you turn to the left. Inch by inch you gain ground as the minutes fly 78 FLORENCE KLING HARDING past. At last you reach the dining room, paneled in dark wood, the mantel banked with flowers and ferns and the furniture spirited away. You keep in line, hugging the walls and trav- ersing three sides of the room before you pass through the Red Room. You are getting nearer now. Ahead you can see the President and his Lady as they stand on your right in the adjoining room. Here the men give a last hitch to their ties, and square their shoulders, while behind fans the women make a valiant effort to repair the damage incurred en route. There is a final fluffing out of frills and the last dab on the nose. As you cross the threshold into the Blue Room, you fall into single file. You try to shout your name into the confiding ear of the polished official who bends confidentially toward you. But your voice comes in a trembling whisper, and you clear your throat and try again. Then it comes with a roar. You are introduced to the President, who, with a smile and a kindly greeting, passes you on to his wife, who repeats the smile and greeting, and you make way for the next. On your left, roped off with a velvet cord, are the special guests, who also watch you pass. At 79 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON least, you think they do, and for a moment you feel as important as the filling in a sandwich. Suddenly you emerge from the Blue Room into the Ball Room, where you find the crowd which has preceded you. The ordeal is over. You meet many strange and interesting people there, and see the most wonderful frocks and jewels. But it is soon over. It usually takes one hour from the time you fall into line in the corridor until you have shaken the President's hand. It is an interesting hour, full of people and anticipation, the glitter of jewels, the soft scene of powdered faces and necks and arms; bare backs and black backs, men with too many clothes for comfort, and women with too few for charm, and the odor of scent, smoke, and sarsaparilla. If you have been to but one of such functions you will doubtless remember every detail of the experience, but it is doubtful if Mrs. Harding will linger long over such memories. To her it was the individual touch that meant something. She liked informal afternoons on the Mayflower with the newspaper women, or a chat over the tea cups with some woman of achievement. Some day, when time shall have lessened the 80 FLORENCE KLING HARDING poignancy of her grief, she may remember some of the many amusing little incidents she enjoyed so keenly, for her sense of humor saved many a situation from sordidness. But registered indelibly in the American consciousness is a distinct im- pression of the fineness and friendliness of Florence Kling Harding as First Lady of the Land. 81 MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE MRS. COOLIDGE assumed the First Lady- ship with many quaUfications for the job. There is something in the poise of her head, the big, brown, intelligent eyes, and the slight dilation of the nostrils that suggest class and distinction. You know the sort of thing — alert, eager, enthusiastic, with head held high, she looks out on the world — a world full of interesting things. Do you remember March 4, 1921? The eyes of the nation turned toward the White House. President Wilson, "in residence" on the last day of his administration, was to receive his successor, the late President Harding, Mrs. Harding, and the Vice-President and Mrs. Coolidge. The gates at the entrance stood hospitably open for the first time in three years. At the door. Head Usher Hoover, imposing dignitary, who has served at least five Presidents, awaited the visitors. Recent events had given the situation a dramatic tenseness. The country felt it; the principals felt it; even the major-domo felt it. 82 MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE There was nothing but an exchange of courtesies between the incoming and outgoing Presidents. People saw the new President pass, surprisingly grave. Mrs. Harding, coated in caracul, was stamped with the approval of Mrs. Ned McLean; sartorially, at least. Then came the Coolidges. The Vice-President, even then, wore his poker face. He wasn't born a New Englander for noth- ing. He's got the New England complex, and looks as though he believed emotions to be im- moral. I wonder if the Massachusetts Senate still calls him "Cal". Mrs. Coolidge, however, has a sense of humor, and she collects friends, as a barque does barnacles. And they stick as closely. Mrs. Marshall had set the pace in popularity for First Lady in Waiting, but Mrs. Coolidge didn't seem to get out of breath in keeping up to it. That official reception at the White House on the memorable March 4th was Mrs. Coolidge's second visit. But oh, what a difference! "Life is a funny thing," she said to me that evening. "You know, the first time I came to the White House, I brought my class of deaf and dumb pupils. Their affliction was a terrible handi- cap, and it took much longer to show them round. 83 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON The delay annoyed the head usher, and he grew impatient. Finally, in exasperation, he invited us to leave. I realized, of course, that we had taken more than our share of time, and didn't blame him. But, behold! It was the very same man who opened the door to us to-day — and bade us welcome!" What a training school for a President's wife — among deaf mutes! How strangely appropriate! It certainly has taught her patience — a patience that gets tested to the utmost time and time again. I guess the President himself often longs for the peace and silence of a deaf and dumb school, after a long presidential day. And Mrs. Coolidge, too, after the welter of words in Washington, must dream of that silent sanctuary! Mrs. Coolidge didn't have to send out any questionnaire to decide whether a home or a career was the better for a woman. When she took young Calvin for better or worse, she knew that she didn't get any credit for originality of thinking. At least ninety-nine per cent of women agree with her — provided you get the right kind of man. To be sure, that kind aren't so thick that it takes a traffic cop to handle the crowd. 84 MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE Real Boys Now there are a pair of young Coolidges, fine strapping boys. Apartments aren't homes, but arriving in Washington in the spring of 1921, the CooHdges took over the Marshall apartment at Wardman Park Inn, known since the Marshall occupancy as "The Little White House", and society began to gravitate in that direction. You see, they made no secret of the fact that all they had was the salary that goes with the job. Mrs. Coolidge managed to make that apartment very like a home. Yes, she's quite domesticated. Funny how virtuous and appealing domesticity appears in the eyes of male editors and press agents! During the campaign, don't you remember how we had Mrs. Coolidge's blueberry pie and mincemeat and doughnut recipes, until I wondered if the poor girl was ever out of a bungalow apron. In holiday time, the boys came home, but Ward- man Park didn't cramp their style or take the edge off their youthful enthusiasm. At that age, life centers on things to eat and watching the wheels go round. Dances are a bore, and girls — well, when you can watch planes at Boiling Field, and the wireless at the Navy Yard, and can swim at Henderson's Castle, or listen in at the McLean 85 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON radio at "Friendship", I ask you, what does a young chap want with girls? This is the first time since the Roosevelt regime that we have had boys in the White House, and they are real boys, too. Remember how Kermit rode his pony right up the White House steps? I was paying some calls at Wardman Park one afternoon, and a nutty, buttery smell came seeping from beneath the Coolidge door. "What's that?" asked the woman with m*e, sniffing the savory odor. "Popcorn," said I. "Mercersburg draws the line at popcorn, which is very shortsighted. So when the Coolidge boys come home from school, out comes the electric grill and chafing dish, and there is a popcorn feast added to the vice-presi- dential calendar." If you live in an apartment you must have a chafing dish. I just love the man who said that a chafing dish was merely a frjdng pan that had got into society. It is, but it fits there a lot better than many people do. The chafing dish has poise, and the frying pan hasn't. I like the word poise, don't you? It's so handy. The Coolidges are truly democratic. The fact that father was governor of Massachusetts didn't 86 MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE prevent one boy from serving a paper route. Another hired out to weed potatoes. They needed experience, so why should father's position handicap them? In this case it didn't. When news reached Calvin Jr. that his father had suddenly been elevated to the presidency, the lad called the new President over the telephone and congratulated him, expressing surprise and grief over the news of President Harding's death. Then he announced that he could not go to the White House for some time. You see he had a perfectly good job working on a farm at three dollars and a half a day, and he saw no reason whatsoever why he should give it up to go and idle away the days at the White House until school opened, just because his father was Presi- dent. Now 'the Coolidge boys are just like that. They are real boys, but withal they are extremely practical and quite self-reliant. They do quite a bit of thinking for themselves. Many prerequisites go with position, but per- sonality always counts a great deal. Some people are accepted for what they represent; others, even after they have relinquished office, find their engagement book nearly as full. They know that the invitation then is purely personal. Others 87 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON fade off the social landscape like last year's snow. With them it was solely the position that held them in line. Now, long before Mrs. Coolidge went to the White House she was really popular. In fact, I don't believe she ever needed to cook a meal at home. She could lunch and dine out the whole year round. But that doesn't mean a free meal ticket. Hospitality begets hospitality, and in such matters there must be reciprocity. And, oh ! this business of balancing parties! It is as bad as try- ing to balance a budget! If there is one quality needed in official life, it is tact. Smiling Through You have heard of the Senate ladies' Tuesday luncheons, haven't you? Mrs. Coolidge used to preside charmingly over these simple feasts. The whirr of sewing machines drowned the gossip during the war, when Mrs. Marshall had her team sewing shirts for soldiers. Since then, the ladies of the Senate have continued their weekly reunion, but it is merely a social gathering in Caucus Hall. It is quite informal, and they take turns in bring- ing the salad, cake, pickles, and sandwiches. ► After the last election one or two of the lame MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE ducks' wives, sore at defeat, had grown barbs on their tongues. When Mrs. Borah offered condolence to Mrs. Poindexter, her overtures were met with a curt reply from the very frank lady. "You ought to be sorry, when your husband contributed to Miles' defeat. Why didn't he come and speak for him, as he promised, if you were so anxious to have him returned?" ''Oh, Mrs. Poindexter, your husband's manager said that you were all so sure of victory, that it was not necessary." Of course, each had a different version of the story, but there was a slight hush in the assembly for the instant. I can tell you that it takes tact to preside over such functions. Mrs. Coolidge believes that the wives of public men, like children, should be seen and not heard. No human dictaphone will ever turn anything she says into a press record; certainly not anything she says will create a sensation or cause embarrass- ment. She observes Safety First Week over the entire fifty-two. Mrs. Coolidge is human— but discreet. Mrs. Coolidge is a New Englander in all that 89 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON the word implies, so it goes without saying that she went to college, and also that she taught for a few years after graduation — in that school for the deaf and dumb. Could anything have been more appropriate for a woman who was destined to be the wife of our President? How to be deaf and dumb at the proper moment, how to speak when spoken to, how to use one's eyes in the place of one's ears — and, above all, how to exercise patience and then more patience. All women who are thinking of marrying politicians should follow the example of Mrs. Coolidge and seek a close and prolonged association with the deaf and dumb. And a few blind associates would not be amiss. Steering a Safe Course I often think the Vice-President must feel like the extra tire carried on the back of a car. It gets the ride and the dust, and everybody hopes there will be no need to use it. " I never can tell whether it is the Vice-President, or Medill McCormick," said one ingenuous gallery sitter to another. "Oh, that's easy," said the second. "Both take things seriously, but Medill was named for his grandfather, who was a newspaper man, and all 90 MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE newspaper men know that nothing is as serious as you think it is. Then, the top of Medill's head is round, where Calvin Coohdge has a plateau. Not exactly handsome, either of them," she con- cluded comfortably, "but the wives have the good looks and style in both these families." Vice-Presidents don't get much chance to shine, really. We never really began to know Mr. Cool- idge until he became President, though Mrs. Coolidge had registered quite definitely and delightfully in the social consciousness of the National Capital. With Roosevelt it was differ- ent. It took more than a bolster to smother him, and more than a trapdoor to keep him down. Mr. Marshall was no mere figurehead, of course, but neither was he a limelighter. His position was very awkward, because he differed vitally from the Wilson policy in many things, and his friends knew it. I don't believe his enemies ever found out; they certainly didn't get it from Mr. Marshall. He steered a safe course and dodged the rocks and shoals and reefs like a master seaman. He never committed a breach of good taste. I don't think any man ever left a public position with so many friends and so few enemies. And Mrs. 91 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON Marshall was a big factor in establishing that record. You mightn't be fearfully impressed when you look at the President, but you can't forget that he had a spectacular career as governor of Massa- chusetts. People seem to think that a man who could subdue a strike of policemen was a good man to have on guard, even when all is quiet on the Potomac. But there. isn't any doubt about Mrs. Coolidge. She has certainly helped sweeten the social souffld of official Washington. She has graced parties big and late, small and early. She has been patroness for this and that. Her motto is "One church, one club, one husband, one political party." It's a wise old motto! She even stays in Washington in August, when anyone is in danger of being mired in the melting asphalt, believing that she can add to her husband's comfort. Devotion could go no further! Speaking of patronesses, one young man recently decided to abolish them. He declared for the independence of the girls and, fired with fervor, he voted that the highest tribute they could pay the modern miss was to remove the platoon of patron- esses from the social scene. 92 MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE One wise woman took the fervent youth gently by the ear and led him to a secluded spot. "Do you know why they have patronesses?" she asked him. "Yes, to spy on the girls," he replied indignantly. The wise woman shook her head. "No, dear boy, that's not the reason. Did you ever hear of a thing called charity? Well, charity is one of the stepping-stones to society. This is a system — a terrible system, I'll admit — but an approved system for squeezing money from the rich and giving it to the poor. They lay for the privilege of being a patroness. High up socially, they don't pay much. They lend their name. But the lower you go on the social scale, the higher you climb financially. Being patroness is one way of buying your way into society. You can't abolish them. Ask the treasurer! You have a lot to learn about the world and its way yet, laddie, but your patroness is no spy. She is a financial necessity." The youth, enlightened and subdued, withdrew his motion. The patroness remains. Mrs. Coolidge belonged to the socially elevated, who lend their name. It is the still obscure who hand out the biggest checks. 93 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON In dress Mrs. Coolidge prefers a Tremont Street conservativeness to the more ultra models calling for an act of faith and one shoulder strap. Do you remember that blood-red suit Mrs. Coolidge had when she first came as our ''Second Lady"? The wool for that was grown on one of the Vanderbilt estates, and the material was a gift from the people working there. She doesn't have to go out to shop now. ^ Jm- porters crave the honor of sending crates of exclu- sive models to the White House for her choice. Doing shopping at home is not the exclusive prerogative of the President's wife. I know one Washington woman who had seventeen crates of spring hats sent down from New York from which to make her choice. And Mrs. Medill McCormick finds the world too full of big interesting things to waste much time on clothes. So she practically has a buyer in New York. If she needs a hat, a suit, a gown, a wire brings it speeding down. Abolishing the Bustle The Lady of the White House can exercise quite an influence on fashions, and often has. Did you ever hear about how Mrs. Cleveland abolished the bustle? 94 MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE In those days, Congress didn't spend so much time in session, and newspaper men from other states, reluctant to return to their home towns during the recess, resorted to every trick to justify their continued existence in Washington. There were about fourteen of them who used to meet each day, and after conference, some one usually succeeded in digging out a story worthy of transmission. One day there was nothing, absolutely nothing. They sat disconsolate, fearing an immediate recall, owing to the dearth of news in the Capital. "Can't we send a society item?" suggested one. "Yes, if you've got one; there isn't a line in sight now," replied a second. "Then let's manufacture one," said the first. There they sat solemnly trying to think of something that would do. "I've got it!" said the originator of the idea. "Let's say that Mrs. Cleveland has decided to abolish the bustle." "Brilliant!" They sat and scribbled, and in an hour the message was being sent broadcast — a message that was to revolutionize the fashion of the day. Mrs. Cleveland was young and beautiful then, 95 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON and the nation looked to her as a guide in such matters. It was a trivial thing, of course, and she didn't consider it worth a contradiction. Yet if she appeared in the old-fashioned bustle after this definite statement to the contrary, it would mean so much explanation. So she did the simple, courteous thing, and immediately ordered a gown without a bustle. Exit the bustle! And the man who did it afterwards became a great editor. Whether or not Mrs. Coolidge is to bring about any revolution in dress remains to be seen. Burdens and Beatitudes The duties of a President's wife are not set forth in any handy book on etiquette, but here are a few of the things she is expected to do. Expected, really, is rather a mild term, for some of the letters contain demands, even threats, but not all, for there are also earnest pleas and gracious petitions. She must paint the farmhouse and the barn; provide a new tractor; send a gasoline engine and some dynamite; lift the mortgage; supply cows; buy stock for setting up deserving Republicans in business; prevail on her friends to purchase 96 MRS. CALVIN COOLIDGE butter and eggs from the Blank farm; send girls to Europe to study music and art; provide ward- robes for social aspirants; launch debutantes; adopt babies; educate orphans; send just ONE handkerchief to be raffled at the bazaar; autograph just ONE photograph to sell at the church fair; dress ONE doll; and get pensions for everybody. Every day brings some new appeal, and to all of them there must be a courteous response, though neither picture nor cow, autograph nor doll is sent. There are no exceptions to prove this rule. It has to be inflexible. Life is full of prayers, threats, demands, and simple requests. But if you are built on the Coolidge plan, you can do it and keep smiling. There is a basic cheerfulness in Mrs. Coolidge's make-up, and much tolerance, but perhaps that three years with the deaf and dumb has helped her more than anything else. It has taught her to be patient and made her adaptable. It enables her to endure — yes, endure — the burdens and beatitudes of her position. 97 THOMAS D. SCHALL, THE BLIND CONGRESSMAN Mrs. Thomas D. Schall A CONGRESSMAN'S wife in overalls! Did you ever meet her? No! I thought not. You don't find her at the women's clubs, at the bridge luncheons, or at receptions. You never will see her jazzing till dawn. Her life is too full of work, of sacrifice, and, most wonderful of all, of a great joy for what she has achieved. One door in the House Office Building bears the inscription, "Thomas D. Schall, Minnesota." Inside you find Thomas Schall, the blind Con- gressman, and Margaret, his wife. Not alone his wife, but his eyes, his secretary, in very truth his helpmeet. She is short of stature, with tiny hands and feet, blue eyes that twinkle, and a mass of wavy, blonde hair, and as a sartorial setting for these she wears — blue overalls! "I began to wear them in wartime," she says, "when we didn't have much money for dresses, 98 THOMAS D. SCHALL and they are so comfortable and convenient, I always wear them for the office." Just think of it! They were both at college, and Margaret first saw him when a thrilling baseball game was being played. There were jeers at the losers, followed by a lesson in manners. Tom Schall leaped in with handy fists, and diverted attention from his vanquished comrade, who had got mixed up in it. Margaret Huntley saw it! She wasn't surprised when she learned that his middle name was David. You know how it is with girls! They were both prize winners; Tom won all the oratorical honors, and Margaret gathered in the trophies for French and German. They hadn't much to start with in their matrimonial part- nership but a great faith. Tom had struggled from obscurity as a chore boy, bootblack, newsboy, and janitor to his own law office in Minneapolis. It was a small office, neither crowded with furni- ture nor clients. Some who sought assistance paid for his services in farm produce. One offered a dilapidated old cider press in exchange for legal advice. But the two youngsters playing the game of 99 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON Life laughed at obstacles, and Margaret managed the little apartment called home with the same economy and energy that Tom showed in the office. There were four happy years, with success just in sight, then — tragedy. The hand of Fate shut off forever for Thomas Schall the sight of the world and the face he loved. An electric cigar lighter had short-circuited, and was the instrument of destruction. He was blind. "What shall I do?" he cried in despair to his brave little wife. "Oh, what shall I do? Sell shoe-strings on the street corner?" "No, dear," said Margaret Schall. "I will be your eyes, and you shall still practice law." He had grappled with Fate from the cradle, but this was the acid test. Could he read aright life's problems through her eyes? Could he meet men in combat, with only a woman's hand to guide him? " She has never failed me — never ! " That is the tribute he pays her after long, long years of un- changing night. Margaret Schall studied law, in order to brief her husband's cases. Unlike the seeing lawyer, he could not refer to authorities or notes. He had to depend entirely upon his memory. At first she had to read and reread the facts for him to mem- 100 THOMAS D. SCHALL orize. But the darkness has led to greater con- centration, and now, after one reading, he is almost letter perfect. Together they have fought the demon of dark- ness, and together they have won. But there were times when even his wife didn't know the blackness of his soul or the despair that threatened to over- whelm him — times when he wondered if it were not best to escape from his eternal night! Why cumber the earth and be a burden to others? But the brave little woman in overalls by his side always dispelled the gloom. There was a faint chance held out in the early days, an operation which meant restored sight, or death. But the chance was so small! Success at law rewarded their gallant effort, and Thomas Schall decided to enter politics. He is now serving his fourth term. Margaret didn't know anything about politics then; now she loves them. So closely are the Schalls associated that when newspapers out home publish the Schalls' pictures, there is generally the caption: "This is the team for us." I was sitting talking to the blind Congressman one day when his wife had been called out of the room. 101 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON "She is my eyes, she is my pencil; it was she who had faith in me, and gave me courage to go on when the world went black. I have never seen her in overalls, but I know that she wears them with as much grace as she wore her silkiest dress — when I could see." Mrs. Schall knows all about the bills her husband drafts; in fact, she has drafted many of them, and knows their status and popularity. She knows and loves the people he represents. They are her people, too. People have found fault with Tom Schall for appointing his wife as secretary. " It would be so easy for a disinterested secretary to deceive a blind Congressman," he answers, "and, incidentally, to lighten his own labor. But with my wife, whose interests are my own, nothing is neglected. In fact, I think we hold the record for answering Congressional mail within twenty- four hours," he adds proudly. Tom Schall was a little apprehensive when he set out on his first campaigning trip, with a chauf- feur to guide him. When he came home, he told his wife of his success with his audiences. "Why, kid, it's just like taking candy from a sick baby!" 102 THOMAS D. SCHALL Then Mrs. Schall decided to get into the game. She drove the car and selected the location for him to speak when they reached town. "It's important to get a good background, and to have the wind blowing toward the audience, not away from it. Local committeemen don't think of those things!" Quite true! It takes a woman to weld the prac- tical and artistic. I remember one campaign they had. When Tom was speaking, Margaret would take a hammer and handbills and decorate the town. Do you know, they went abroad in 1918, and Margaret Schall was granted special permission to accompany her husband into the front-line trenches. At Fiume she was under fire, and she translated for her husband's sightless eyes the pages of history that were being written in blood. Even after they were homeward bound, her courage was again put to the test. The first day out, the Ml Vernon, on which they sailed, was struck by a submarine. Mrs. Schall had arisen early and was fully dressed when the shock came. She hurried below to assist her husband and bring him on deck. Then she tied him to her waist by a rope, and as they were both good swimmers, 103 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON she was prepared to guide him at sea, just as she did on land. When they came on deck, she electrified the captain by her cheery "Good morning. Captain." No hysterics, no weeping, not even an audible prayer. Is it any wonder that he recommended that she be cited for bravery when in great danger, and that his request was granted! Even her husband marveled at her extraordinary coolness. "Why, I knew we couldn't be drowned, because the lines in my palm show a rescue from ship- wreck." Mrs. Schall, I may tell you, is a wonderful palmist, and her rescue at sea is not the only pre- diction that has come true. She doesn't wear her decoration. "I'm saving it to give to Peggy when she is old enough to appre- ciate it, " she says proudly. Although Peggy has a wonderful nurse, it does hurt to refuse her pleading "Take Peggy, mother," when Mrs. Schall leaves for the office every day. Peggy has two brothers, Tom, Jr., and Dick, and they seem to have solved the question of per- petual motion. Hence the farm in Maryland. Margaret engineers a ragged Ford out to the 104 THOMAS D. SCHALL country when the day's work is done. That is home — home with plenty of space to romp with the children, an orchard, a vineyard, and quite an ambitious vegetable garden. This home which Tom Schall loves so well he has never seen, except through the eyes of his wife. But sadder still, he has never seen the faces of his children. He knows only the picture that mother-love paints. 105 SOCIAL PUBLICITY IF you look in the telephone directory in Washington, you will find about a hundred Hugheses. Yet when you say " Mrs. Hughes ", everyone knows exactly whom you mean. There is" no need to say "Mrs. Charles Hughes", or "Mrs. Charles Evans Hughes". She is simply THE Mrs. Hughes. The real test of social superiority is evidently not the accumulation of distinguishing names, but the ability to discard them all and retain your identity. If some day there is a Smith or a Brown in the White House, it will be the same. Should we have half a dozen Representatives with the name, say, Johnston, it is the one who becomes THE Johnston and can discard the baptismal tag who has surely achieved distinction. And so with his wife. When you can say "Mrs. Johnston", denoting a specially distinctive woman who needs no qualification for identification — then the prestige of being THE Mrs. Johnston is hers. In short, she has arrived. And so it is in addressing people of high rank; you throw the superfluous 106 SOCIAL PUBLICITY names overboard. The higher you go, the less labeling you need. But oh, what importance is attached to names — names that look well in print! People are often invited to functions not because of their brains or wit or beauty, but because of their name. Con- versationally they may be like unto cold pudding, and be as graceful as an old bus horse, but if they bear a name that looks well in the newspapers, they are acquitted of all else. If you don't believe me, just watch the social columns. If there is any other justification for asking some of the frequent guests, Fd like to know what it is. Why, many hostesses are quite candid about it! "I'm so sorry to put you next to Mrs. Blank. I know she's such a bore — but — " A gentle pressure on your elbow as she propels you toward your fate. A flicker of an eyelash, a quirk at the comer of her mouth — you understand the signs. She has taken you into her confidence. Perhaps the bore is influential in the D. A. R., president of a literary club, has a cousin married to a countess, or a husband in the Cabinet. Or it may be dollars that afflict her! But she is a welcome guest. Oh, you know the kind, I'm sure. The value of a name is not overlooked by hotels 107 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON and restaurants either. I remember the wife of a one-time noted Senator, who was chaperoning two schoolgirls in New York. One of the girls had a beau, who decided to entertain the little party at dinner. He was arranging with the proprietor of a restaurant that had at one time been very- fashionable, but which had somehow fallen from grace. The shrewd proprietor, realizing that the youth hadn't much money, offered to provide the entire dinner, decorations and all, if he were permitted to publish an account of the party next day, stating that the Senator's wife was the hostess. The boy, seeing no harm in it, agreed. It was a charming little dinner, and the chap- erone was apprehensive as each course was served, knowing that the boy was no Rockefeller. 'Tm afraid your friend is a very extravagant young man," she said to her prot^gd. ''But it was a charming dinner." Next day she read with amazement an account of the dinner she had given. Later the boy con- fessed how the story had been fabricated, so that the restaurant might appear to be regaining its old patronage. The publicity side of entertaining is made mani- 108 SOCIAL PUBLICITY fest in the compilation of invitation lists. Each day social and official circles are combed for news of dinners, dances, and parties. In the desire to have the news first, newspapers often anticipate the event, and you may read a full account of the party before you go to it, even to the dresses worn. But there is another social grade, the dear old Climbers. They issue invitations to all sorts of people who never by any chance accept, and then send their invitation list to the newspapers for publication. There is nothing to stop their sending invitations to Mrs. Hughes, Princess Cantacuzene, Mrs. Coolidge, Princess Bibesco, Madame Jusserand, Lady Geddes, or the Haniharas. And there is no law — criminal law — to prevent these invitation hsts being published in the press. The Climbers recognize no social law — yet. All's fair in love and war and social exploitation! This is a sort of social false pretence, but it is done daily by certain people and associations. They know these guests will never, never accept. They don't expect them to. It is all a bluff. There are other Pushful Persons, usually with money, resource, and brass-bound sensibilities. 109 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON Society has not yet opened its door to them, so they decide to pick the lock. A new official is appointed or a foreign celebrity arrives in the city. They are promptly on the scene with their request: "I want to give a little dinner in your honor; what night will suit you — Thursday of next week? No! Then perhaps the following Tuesday? No! Well, what about the Friday after? No! Then let us make it Wednesday three weeks, if that will suit you!" In despair, seeing no hope of lying an escape through the whole season, the newly arrived capitu- lates. Then the Pushful Person sends out invita- tions to other great and near-great, baiting the hook with the celebrated guest of honor. Some, out of pity for the guest, accept. Others, genuinely grateful, are willing to come. In this way social indebtedness is incurred, and the Pushful Person receives reciprocal invitations. One aspiring matron on the fringe of the official set decided to capture society in one fell swoop. Her husband, no less ambitious, was her guilty accomplice. She planned a wonderful dinner party of thirty — thirty carefully selected people. 110 SOCIAL PUBLICITY If she carried this, it would put the imprimatur of society on her forever; she felt sure of it. The caterer was engaged, the decorations ordered, and the household in a tumult of ex- pectancy. "It is such a pity," she naively confided to me, "but I have planned my dinner for the most unfor- tunate night. Everyone seems busy. Do you know I have had twenty-eight regrets from the thirty I invited." Then, following the Scriptural example, she sent out into the highways and byways, and gathered in, at very short notice, a group of willing partici- pants in the revelry — people whose combined social tonnage wouldn't sink a bag"of kittens. But the grateful guests didn't know of the tragedy that underlay that party; of the strategic social advance that failed. These people are usually great students of books of etiquette and social usage. They like to be letter perfect. By the way, one of the latest guidebooks through this wilderness states that at the conclusion of the party, the debutante shall say to the hostess, "I've had a perfectly WON- DERFUL time!" But the hardy annual merely says, "Good-by!" The omission of "wonderful" 111 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON indicates that she is not newly hatched socially, and the wonder has quite worn off. Enthusiasm goes with the bud, but a more blas^ air becomes the seasoned campaigner. Now don't forget! A noted artist who was in Washington for a few days, met a friend by appointment at one of the Women's Clubs. She just breezed in and out again, a matter of minutes. But a paragraph was rushed to the papers next morning that the famous portrait painter had dined there the previous night. So trivial, but good publicity. Have you heard the latest term for "Publicity Agent"? That has become so commercialized — smells of trade — that in more exclusive circles it has been replaced with the dignified phrase "Press Attache." No, I don't know whether or not they wear cocked hats and swords, but they are sure to bear some insignia of office — they'd have to with that title. Yes, I believe the term is more favored by women. Can't you remember a number of people at one time waiting in the social shallows, who now can swim — without wings? They splashed a bit at first, and some nearly drowned at the deep end — nearly. Now they are entitled to the freedom of 112 SOCIAL PUBLICITY the social pool. Well, if they are satisfied with what they got for what they gave — why worry? New arrivals, of course, come in for special enter- tainment in Washington, and there are always new arrivals on tap. Much of this emanates from a real desire to be courteous to strangers within the gates, and is quite apart from the system of exploitation for personal advantage. And you find one group which actually shuns publicity. Their invitation lists are not sent to the press; their entertainments are not starred; their parties are a personal pleasure and not a public proclamation. Here you generally find real people — men and women who have no need for publicity to insure their position; or whose prestige is not imperiled by contact with other than the socially elect. Their invitations are issued with a desire to extend hospitality and not to win noto- riety. When making up the list they are con- cerned with the person himself, and not with how his name will look in print. 113 MRS. WILLIAM E. BORAH THE first time Mrs. Borah, ''Little Borah" her intimate friends call her, dined at the White House was during the Roosevelt administration. It must be fifteen or sixteen years ago. She was a quiet little mouse, with soft, golden hair, and she was shy — very shy in public. She had just arrived from Idaho, and was awed by the Capitol, overwhelmed by the White House, and thought all Senators superior beings. I can see her now as she used to sit, day after day, hang- ing over the gallery, her face alert — listening. And when Billy Borah spoke! I think this dinner was the first time she had met President Roosevelt, and she was very nervous and apprehensive. *'My dear," she said to me next day, **It was wonderful. I sat next to the President — on his left. When the man in uniform showed the plan of the table, and I saw where I was to sit, I thought I'd die. I didn't know what to talk about." Mrs. Borah did not venture to open her mouth until after the first course. Then she said timidly: 114 MRS. WILLIAM E. BORAH " I saw your friend, William Allen White, when we passed through Kansas the other day." That did the trick. "I think White's book. Stratagems and Spoils, the best political story ever written," replied the President, alight with enthusiasm. "I have just sent a copy of it to Jusserand for a birthday present." One of Theodore Roosevelt's first questions to her was: ''How many children have you, Mrs. Borah?" "I wanted to tell him I had nine," she confided to me. "I knew he would like me better, but I thought it best to tell the truth, and say I had none." There had been a much jewelled group at the dinner that night, their first big dinner party, and on the way home. Senator Borah said to his wife : "Did you feel very much out of it, Mary, with- out any jewelery? " Amazed, she answered, "Why, I never thought of it, I was so excited." Little Borah found her first social pilgrimage in the Capital rather an ordeal. It is an old story now, but still a vivid memory in that active brain housed beneath the fluffy golden hair. 115 BOUDOIR MIRRORS OF WASHINGTON Being a newcomer, she had to pay her calls, so she faithfully set out. At the first house she came in shyly. The hostess was talking to a group of friends, and took no notice of the name announced, but extending a limp hand diagonally, continued her conversation. "He didn't exactly eat with his knife," she said, describing a recent dinner guest, "but I expected that any moment." This met with great laughter. She was an influ- ential hostess, and you always laugh at jokes from such a source. It makes you popular; it's tact. Mrs. Borah hovered in the offing a moment, stood on the fringe of the group, then quietly slipped away. A few days later the two met across a luncheon table. "Why didn't you tell me you were Mrs. Borah when you called the other day?" the woman de- manded. "You look far too young to be a Sena- tor's wife." I think it was President Monroe, when making a triumphal tour of part of the country, who was asked if he were not weary. "A little flattery will support a man through a great fatigue," he replied. 116 Harris '^^ sXV -^'.j ^^A >0 .-^^ ^v'' N^^ V\" "^^ v^^ 1»