Harry Truman's Excellent Adventure - Matthew Algeo [65]
I’d noticed a Mexican flag flying over the entrance to the hotel when we checked in. It turned out that Felipe Calderon, the president of Mexico, happened to be staying at the Waldorf as well. This wasn’t unusual, Blauvelt explained. “There isn’t a day that goes by that there isn’t at least one head of state in residence.” The hotel even has a diplomatic affairs department. “Heads of state, if they’re coming to New York”—here Blauvelt waved his hand in a fait accompli gesture—“they know.”
Our stay at the Waldorf was expensive (Sunday brunch, ninety-five dollars per person) but uneventful. Which is exactly how the Waldorf wants it. We never ran into President Calderon. The suite that Harry and Bess stayed in, 32-A, was occupied, but I did manage to sneak a peek at the door. It was white. (In 2008, the suite directly upstairs, where Cole Porter—and, later, Frank Sinatra—once lived, went on the market. The rent was $140,000. Per month. But that includes a washer and dryer. And pets are allowed.)
While in New York, I also went to the River Club, where Harry, Bess, and Margaret had lunch with Life editor Daniel Longwell and his wife. It was, and (as I discovered) still is, a very exclusive private club on the east side of midtown Manhattan, in a grand building that overlooks the East River (as well as the FDR Drive, but the FDR Drive Club doesn’t have the same ring, I guess). The New York Times has described it as “ultra-discreet.” The club was founded in 1931. Its early members included Theodore Roosevelt’s son Kermit and department-store heir Marshall Field III. The current membership list is closely guarded, of course, but it’s worth noting that the club is located inside the River House, an exclusive co-op whose residents include Henry Kissinger.
Rather naively, I walked in the front door and asked the guard, a gentleman in a green uniform with gold trim, if he had any pamphlets with some information about the club. Maybe an application form. Like it was a Gold’s Gym. He looked a little confused. “No,” he said. “We don’t have nothin’ like that.” Clearly, the River Club is not hurting for members. Then I asked him if he could tell me a little bit about the club, how old it was, who belonged to it, that sort of thing. “No,” he said. “They don’t want us to be talkin’ about nothin’ to nobody.” I was under the distinct impression he wanted me to leave. So I did. All I got to see was the lobby, which, truth be told, was quite nice, with lots of plush carpeting and brass fixtures.
Harry was up bright and early again on Monday, June 29, emerging from the hotel for his walk at 6:57. He took a slightly different route than the day before, but the spectacle was the same. Everywhere he went he was met with welcoming cries: “Hi, Harry!” “Try again in three years!” “We miss you, Harry!” It was hard to believe that barely a year earlier he had been the least popular president in American history. Even Truman himself had a hard time believing it. “The whole trip has been heart-warming,” he said. “I am amazed at the friendliness, and it makes me think that I haven’t spent my life in vain.” But the constant attention also gave him a greater appreciation of his life back in Independence, where his presence was regarded with nonchalance. “I couldn’t live in New York,” he observed, “although I’ve enjoyed this visit very much. I don’t like going around wearing false whiskers and dark glasses.”
At noon, Harry, Bess, and Margaret had lunch at the Waldorf with Basil O’Connor, president of the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis and the head of the Harry S. Truman Library, Inc. O’Connor was spearheading the library’s fundraising efforts. After lunch, he announced that four hundred thousand dollars had been raised and another four hundred thousand pledged toward a goal of $1.75 million. The rest of the money, O’Connor told reporters, would be raised in “small sums” from