The day was clear, and the temperature had moderated somewhat since morning, though the warmth of summer had not yet come to Washington. Tulips were blooming in the White House garden.

My car was waiting, and when I entered it, I was driven from the White House grounds, with the Secret Service car following behind.

A little more than forty-eight hours before, the streets had been filled with silent mourners as Franklin Roosevelt’s body had been slowly carried to the White House. Now the traffic was normal.

The route by which I was taken led up Pennsylvania Avenue and around the Capitol to its eastern front. There the car was driven into the narrow passage beneath the broad stairway that leads up to the formal entrance to the Capitol’s southern wing. Guards were waiting at the archway before which the car stopped, and I was led inside and directly to the elevator. It, too, was waiting, and in another moment I stepped out on the floor above, where I was met and taken to the Speaker’s office. Less than four days before I had entered Sam Rayburn’s private office with no such formality.

I was greeted by a delegation appointed by Speaker Rayburn and President Pro-Tempore McKellar of the Senate, and I conferred for half an hour or so with those who were gathered in the room. Then at one o’clock, the delegation that had met me escorted me to the House floor and to the rostrum.

I entered the House chamber at 1:02 p.m. and was greeted by a standing ovation which I knew to be a tribute to the office of the President. Senators, representatives, and justices of the Supreme Court were there before me. Members of the Cabinet, high government officials, and many members of the diplomatic corps had risen to their feet. Those who filled the galleries had also risen. I looked up and caught a glimpse of Mrs. Truman and Margaret.

For me it was a very stirring moment. I was so affected that I completely forgot an important bit of protocol.

“Mr. Speaker,” I began.

Rayburn, who was with Senator McKellar on the rostrum just behind me, interrupted me at once.

“Just a minute, Harry,” he whispered as he leaned toward me. “Let me introduce you.”

He spoke softly, but the microphones that stood before me had been turned on, and he was heard all over the chamber and all over the country over the radio networks. Then he straightened up:

“The President of the United States,” he said in his full voice.

I had now been introduced, and so I went ahead.

I pledged myself to carry out the war and peace policies of Franklin Roosevelt, and I made it clear that I would work for the peace and security of the world. I asked for public support for a strong and lasting United Nations organization. I called upon all Americans to help me keep our nation united in defense of those ideals which had been so eloquently proclaimed by Roosevelt.

I reaffirmed our demand for unconditional surrender and expressed my full confidence in the grand strategy of the United States and our allies. I expressed, as well, my confidence in the ability of Admirals Leahy, King, and Nimitz, and Generals Marshall, Arnold Eisenhower, and MacArthur to carry out the tasks assigned to them, and left no doubt that this direction would remain unchanged and unhampered.

There were many indications of approval of what I said. I was applauded frequently, and when I reaffirmed the policy of unconditional surrender, the chamber rose to its feet.

“At this moment,” I concluded, “I have in my heart a prayer. As I have assumed my heavy duties, I humbly pray to Almighty God in the words of King Solomon, ‘Give therefore Thy servant an understanding heart to judge Thy people, that I may discern between good and bad: for who is able to judge this Thy so great a people?’

“I ask only to be a good and faithful servant of my Lord and my people.”

I returned to the White House, and with Steve Early and Bill Hassett, two of my able secretaries, I tackled another batch of accumulated work. Also, I was advised that Blair House had been readied for us and that we could move in that evening. Mrs. Truman, her mother, Mrs. David W. Wallace, and Margaret were already moving out of the Connecticut Avenue apartment. Since Blair House is directly opposite the old State Department Building and little more than diagonally across Pennsylvania Avenue from the White House, I decided I would go and come on foot, little realizing what security precautions would be required on that short walk.

It was a little after five when, flanked by Secret Service men, I started for our new home. I had given no thought to the problem of getting there and was somewhat surprised when, as we reached the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue at the cross street of Executive West, the traffic lights turned red in all directions. They remained red, too, until I had reached the front entrance to Blair House.

This was about the time of the heavy traffic hour, and I had no knowledge at first that the lights had changed because of a request of the Secret Service. But when I did find out, I asked that the normal traffic signals be restored, for I felt that I could wait and observe the traffic regulations along with the other pedestrians. However, this didn’t work well either, for the Secret Service began to worry about the crowds that waited to watch me go by. To allay the anxiety of the security people, I eventually had to arrange to make four trips daily from the rear of the White House all the way around to the rear of Blair House and back. It became monotonous, and I didn’t like it, but there was little else that I could do.

It was that evening, I remember, that I wrote my mother and my sister my first letter to them as President.

Dear Mamma & Mary [it began]: Well, I have had the most momentous, and the most trying time anyone could possibly have, since Thursday, April 12th.

Maybe you’d like to know just what happened. We’d had a long, drawn out debate in the Senate and finally came to an agreement for a recess at 5 p.m. until Friday, Apr. 13th.

When I went back to my office, a call from Sam Rayburn, Speaker of the House, was awaiting me. Sam wanted me to come over to the House side of the Capitol and talk to him about policy and procedure and, as Alice in Wonderland would say, “shoes and ships and sealing wax and things,” . . .

But - as soon as I came into the room Sam told me that Steve Early, the President’s confidential press secretary wanted to talk to me. I called the White House, and Steve told me to come to the White House “as quickly and as quietly” as I could. Well I told Sam I had to go to the White House on a special call and that he should say nothing about it.

I ran all the way to my office in the Senate by way of the unfrequented corridors in the Capitol, told my office force that I’d been summoned to the White House and to say nothing about it. . . .

When I arrived at the Pennsylvania entrance to the most famous house in America, a couple of ushers met me . . . and then took me up to Mrs. Roosevelt’s study on the second floor.

She and Mrs. Boettiger, her daughter and her husband the Lt. Col., and Steve Early were there. Mrs. Roosevelt put her arm on my shoulder and said, “Harry, the President is dead.”

It was the only time in my life, I think, that I ever felt as if I’d had a real shock. I had hurried to the White House to see the President, and when I arrived, I found I was the President. No one in the history of our country ever had it happen to him just that way.

. . . We waited for Bess and Margaret to arrive. We then had to scurry around and find a Bible for me to put my hand upon to take the oath. They finally found one. If I’d known what was afoot, I’d have used Grandpa Truman’s Bible, which was in my office bookcase.

You of course know from the papers what happened and what has happened since.

Saturday afternoon, the White House funeral; Sunday morning the burial at Hyde Park, today my speech to Congress.

This afternoon we moved to this house, diagonally across the street (Penn. Ave.) from the White House, until the Roosevelts have had time to move out of the White House. We tried staying at the apartment, but it wouldn’t work, I can’t move without at least ten Secret Service men and twenty policemen. People who lived in our apartment couldn’t get in and out without a pass. So - we moved out with suitcases. Our furniture is still there and will be for some time. . . . But I’ve paid the rent for this month and will pay for another month if they don’t get the old White House redecorated by that time.

My greatest trial was today when I addressed the Congress. It seemed to go over all right, from the ovation I received. Things have gone so well that I’m almost as scared as I was Thursday when Mrs. R, told me what had happened. Maybe it will come out all right.

Soon as we get settled in the White House you’ll both be here to visit us. Lots of love from your very much worried son and bro.

Harry

I wrote Mamma often, and regularly each weekend would telephone her and sister Mary, who lived with her. I was deeply devoted to her, and we were very close. She was a wonderful mother. At ninety-two, she was still keen and alert and saw things in their true perspective, even at a time like this. When asked by a press representative at her home in Grandview, Missouri, to comment on how she felt about her son being President, she said, “I can’t really be glad he is President, because I’m sorry that President Roosevelt is dead. If he had been voted in, I’d be out waving a flag, but it doesn’t seem right to be very happy or wave a flag now.”

We were settled in Blair House now, at least for a time - a mansion with a long history as a social center of Washington where important members of the government, from Jackson’s time on, were entertained by succeeding heirs of the Blair family. At various times six Cabinet members had lived in it, and four Presidents - Jackson, Van Buren, Lincoln, and Taft - often visited there as friends. On many other occasions, too, other presidents and leading figures visited the house, which became the property of the United States Government in 1942.

We took up residence there with some trepidation. This had nothing to do with politics. I suppose that the demands of protocol and the many things that had to do with officialdom made us uneasy about our prospects for a reasonable family life.

Mrs. Truman had been happy as the wife of a senator and had fallen in love with Washington. She had many friends among congressional wives and others in official and private life. She knew, however, that these relationships would probably change now that she was the First Lady of the Land. She was entirely conscious of the importance and dignity of White House life. She was not especially interested, however, in the formalities and pomp or the artificiality which, as we had learned from our years in Washington, inevitably surround the family of a President. In this connection, we had our daughter Margaret to think of, a schoolgirl who wanted and needed friends. Would she now be isolated from all the normal relationships that are so important in the lives of youngsters?

That night in Blair House, I studied a report which had been handed me by the Secretary of State. It dealt with the world’s critical food situation. There existed at that time a most serious shortage, not only of certain basic foods but also of cotton, wool, and coal. The situation was especially grave in certain liberated areas which had suffered from a disastrous winter the year before. “The end of hostilities,” the report I read explained, “would aggravate an already critical situation. The success of any plan agreed upon at San Francisco can be seriously jeopardized, if not defeated, by internal chaos in the liberated countries.”

With this situation in mind, the Secretary of State recommended that I instruct the military authorities to review and revise their food and material requirements downward so as to make available additional supplies to these areas.

“On the side of U.S. domestic requirements,” his report continued, “certain of the civilian agencies seem reluctant to carry out the ‘tightening of the belt’ anticipated by President Roosevelt without further instructions from you. . . . I also recommend that you instruct the appropriate civilian agencies particularly the War Food Administration to explore all possible reductions in U.S. consumption.”

I was familiar with these difficulties from my experience on the Hill and felt that the Secretary of State was rightly alarmed. I regarded this as one of the most urgent crises I had to resolve.

I met with the American delegates to the San Francisco conference for the first time on Tuesday morning, April 17. They were presented to me by Secretary of State Stettinius. The delegation was made up of the Secretary himself, who was chairman, Senators Connally and Vandenberg, Congressmen Bloom and Eaton, Governor Stassen, who, as a commander in the Navy, had just reached Washington from the Pacific, and Dr. Virginia Gildersleeve. Cordell Hull, who was a member of the delegation, was ill and could not attend. This delegation had been appointed by President Roosevelt and was an excellent and representative one.

The members knew what the people and the government expected them to strive for at San Francisco. I told them that what we wanted to accomplish was to set up an international organization to prevent another world war. I emphasized that I wanted them to write a document that would pass the U. S. Senate, and that would not arouse such opposition as confronted Woodrow Wilson.

Following this meeting, I signed an amended Lend-Lease bill which extended this most useful law for another year. Lend-Lease was part of our arsenal of war. I was on old ground here, for through my work on the Truman Committee I had gained much knowledge of the impact of war mobilization on the civilian economy. I also knew, quite apart from any thought of the isolationist group that was ready to turn its back on the world as soon as it thought our immediate war interests had been served, what had been bothering the Senate about the use of Lend-Lease funds. Hardly more than a month before, as Vice President, I had cast the deciding vote in the Senate in order to get the bill passed.

Here at home we had been untouched by the ravages of war. Even here, of course, we were faced with the sizable problem of reconversion to peacetime production as soon as facilities became available. But for our allies who had suffered so greatly from war devastation the need was desperate. Something would have to be done to cushion the shock of reconstruction, but I did not consider this to be a proper continuing function for Lend-Lease. I knew that if we undertook to use any Lend-Lease money for rehabilitation purposes we would open ourselves to congressional criticism. However, the critical problem of rehabilitation that our allies were facing was still with us, and we had to find a way to meet it. The reconstruction of Europe was a matter that directly concerned us, and we could not turn our back on it without jeopardizing our own national interests. It seemed to me that the proper way to accomplish this was through the Export-Import Bank and, so far as possible, through the International Bank.

The approaching end of the war in Europe meant that decisions would have to be made soon in our own war production program. There was no reason why this should interfere with stepping up supplies for the Pacific. By this time, we had developed such an enormous industrial capacity that the country was already confronted with surplus war production facilities. Supplies to the Pacific, once the war in Europe had been ended, could be increased even while we began to reduce our total output.

The President’s relations with the press are of the utmost importance. By way of the press he maintains a direct contact with the people. I was especially interested, therefore, when at 10:30 a.m. on April 17, 1945, I held my first press and radio conference.

It is often helpful for a President to judge, from questions put to him by the reporters, what is going on in the minds of the people. Good reporters are always in close touch with developments and with what the people want to know. I have always made a sharp distinction between the working reporter and the editor or publisher. I always got along well with the reporters. They try to do an honest job of reporting the facts. But many of their bosses - the editors and publishers - have their own special interests, and the news is often slanted to serve those interests, which unfortunately are not always for the benefit of the public as a whole.

Important as I knew the White House press conferences to be, I felt compelled to announce that I would cut them to one a week. I did this so as to be able to devote more of my time to the heavy load of business my office had to handle. I needed time to keep up with the mounting developments on the home front and elsewhere in the world. I decided also to continue the practice established by my predecessor of barring direct quotation of my replies and comments while permitting indirect quotation. The idea of a press conference is to find out what the President thinks about pending matters, but it must be obvious that he should not be quoted directly on every question. That could often change an answer from an expression of opinion to a final commitment. This would serve no useful purpose, for in order to avoid commitment on matters still pending, the President would be reluctant to answer or even to suggest a clue that might reveal his line of thought.

At the time my first press conference was held, I had been President less than five days. It was the first opportunity the reporters and White House correspondents had to question me.

“The first thing I want to do,” I told them, “is to read the rules.

“‘News emanating from the President’s conferences with the press will continue to be divided in categories already known to you, and in keeping with the practice of President Roosevelt’s news meetings with the press.

“‘These categories are: first, off the record, confidential announcements which are to be kept secret by the newspapermen attending the conference and not passed on by them to outsiders.

“‘Background - or not for attribution - information which may be given to the press for its guidance and use, the source of which cannot be published nor disclosed. In other words, it cannot be attributed to the President.

“‘News information which may be attributed to the President, when it is given to the press by the President at his conference, but which cannot be directly quoted.

“‘Statements by the President cannot be directly quoted, unless he gives special permission.’”

I then told them that Steve Early and Bill Hassett, Jonathan Daniels and Judge Samuel I. Rosenman, all of whom had served under President Roosevelt, had offered to stay and help me get things organized. I added that Matthew J. Connelly was to be my confidential secretary.

I then read a letter from Mrs. Roosevelt to me.

My dear Mr. President:

There have been many thousands of letters, telegrams and cards sent to me and my children, which have brought great comfort and consolation to all of us. This outpouring of affectionate thought has touched us all deeply, and we wish it were possible to thank each and every one individually.

My children and I feel, in view of the fact that we are faced with the paper shortage and are asked not to use paper when it can be avoided, that all we can do is to express our appreciation collectively. We would therefore consider it a great favor if you would be kind enough to express our gratitude for us.

Sincerely,

Eleanor Roosevelt

I was now open to questions.

I told them I favored the international monetary program that had been sent to Congress by President Roosevelt, and that I favored the Reciprocal Trade Agreements program, as well.

A question was asked about an appointment, and I replied that I was not prepared to discuss appointments as yet.

I was asked what I thought of the proposed Missouri Valley Authority, and I referred my questioner to a speech I had given on the subject. I was asked how I stood on the Fair Employment Practices Act, the right to vote without being hampered by poll taxes, and other matters that were of especial interest to Negroes, and I referred my questioner to my Senate record.

“Mr. President,” I was asked, “is there any possibility that you will go to the United Nations Conference at San Francisco near the end?”

“There is not,” I answered.

“Will you send a message, Mr. President, to the San Francisco conference?” To which I replied, “I shall probably welcome the delegates by an opening statement when they arrive for their first meeting.”

“Over the radio?”

“Yes.”

“Could you tell us, Mr. President, some of the considerations that led to your decision not to go to San Francisco?”

I answered, “I have a competent delegation going to San Francisco to negotiate and represent the interests of the United States. I shall back them up from this desk right here - where I belong.”

“Do you expect to see Mr. Molotov,” I was asked, “before he goes to San Francisco?”

“Yes,” I replied, “He is going to stop by and pay his respects to the President of the United States. He should.”

“Mr. President, do you have a desire, as soon as possible, to meet the other Allied leaders - Marshal Stalin and Prime Minister Churchill?”

“I should be very happy to meet them,” I said, “and General Chiang Kai-shek also. And General de Gaulle; if he wants to see me, I will be glad to see him. I would like to meet all of the Allied heads of governments.”

Other questions followed, usually unrelated questions that forced my mind to leap in many directions.

Would Mrs. Truman have a press conference?

Did I intend to lift the ban on horse racing?

What were my views on the disposal of synthetic-rubber plants?

What about my Cabinet?

What about a rumor that Stalin had reached an agreement “with the new Polish government approved by the United States and Great Britain”?

Some of these I refused to discuss. Some I answered. Some I merely put off to a more appropriate time. And finally I heard the signal that always ends these conferences: “Thank you, Mr. President.”

I kept my calendar of appointments clear that afternoon so as to devote my time to handling many administrative matters that had been accumulating.

Russian Foreign Minister Molotov, French Foreign Minister Bidault, Sergio Osmeña, President of the Philippines, and T. V. Soong, Foreign Minister of China - all were due for special talks at the White House in the next few days.

A cable from Ambassador Harriman had just informed me that Molotov was leaving Moscow that very day, going by a Soviet route across the Pacific. He would therefore take two days longer to get to Washington than if he flew across the Atlantic. Harriman himself, coming by the shorter route, was due the next day with a report on his last talk with Stalin and a report on his talks with Molotov’s deputy, Vishinsky.

His cable informed me that Vishinsky had told him that there was “a great public demand” for the conclusion of a Soviet-Polish treaty of mutual assistance and that one was now being prepared. Harriman, in reply, had properly cautioned Vishinsky that the world might interpret the signing of such a treaty, before the formation of a new Polish government, as an indication that Russia did not intend to carry out the Yalta agreements. Vishinsky, in what was typical Russian fashion, argued the necessity of such a treaty and maintained that the Crimea decisions did not preclude its negotiation.

I was disturbed. This was another Russian maneuver aimed at getting their own way in Poland, and I made up my mind that I would lay it on the line with Molotov. At the same time, I directed the State Department to register a protest in Moscow.

The department advised me later that our Embassy at Moscow was instructed to inform Vishinsky that the American government was much disturbed over the indications that the Soviet government was considering the conclusion of a treaty of mutual assistance with the governmental authorities then functioning in Poland. It was also instructed to request Vishinsky to defer action in this matter until the subject could be discussed with Molotov during his coming visit to me. I was advised later by the State Department that the British government was sending similar instructions to the British Embassy in Moscow.

Russia was being arbitrary about Poland and was arbitrary about Bulgaria, as well. The Secretary of State informed me that the American suggestion for tripartite supervision of Bulgarian elections, in order to ensure that they would be democratically conducted in accordance with the Yalta decision, had been rejected by Russia, The Soviet government declared that “foreign interference” in the holding of these elections was not needed. The Russians argued that there was no such “interference” in the recent Finnish elections and that Bulgaria deserved no greater mistrust than Finland.

A few hours after my first press conference was held, I went for the first time to the super-secret Map Room in the White House. Very few of the White House staff had access to this carefully guarded room, and very little was ever said about it. I had first learned that it existed after I became Vice President, when President Roosevelt sent me the following memorandum as he was getting ready to leave for Yalta:

January 28, 1945

HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL

Memorandum for the Vice President:

If you have any urgent messages which you wish to get to me, I suggest you send them through the White House Map Room. However, only absolutely urgent messages should be sent via the Map Room. May I ask that you make them as brief as possible in order not to tie up communications. If you have very lengthy messages, the Map Room officer will have to exercise his discretion as to whether it is physically possible to send them by radio or whether they will have to be sent by pouch.

F. D. R.

The Map Room was planned by President Roosevelt and was located on the ground floor of the White House, directly across the hallway from the elevator. Every morning Roosevelt would come down in the elevator from his living quarters and go to the closely guarded room.

It was lined with a map of the world and maps on larger scales of Europe and Asia, on which were outlined the locations of all major military forces in the world. Detailed maps showed the battle lines everywhere, and from the center of the room it was possible to see at a glance the whole military situation. It was an immensely important intelligence center. There had been nothing like it in the First World War. This was the first global war that had ever been fought with fronts on every ocean and every continent.

Changes in the battle situation were immediately marked on the Map Room maps as messages came in from commanders in the field. Messages came constantly throughout the day and night, so that our military picture was always accurate up to the moment. I frequently met our top military leaders in this room and went over in detail the situation on each front.

So accurate and complete was the information that was gathered together here that the Map Room became the very heart of all the military information necessary to conduct this global war. It played an important part in coordinating the decisions of the Allied forces. And certainly it helped me quickly to visualize the world situation and to grasp the basic military strategy.

By a special communications system and by means of special devices set up in this room, Churchill and I were able to telephone each other in complete security. These conversations were transcribed and kept as part of the diplomatic record for future reference.

It was at ten o’clock that night - the sixth evening since I had become President - that I addressed our armed forces throughout the world.

“All of us have lost a great leader, a farsighted statesman, and a real friend of democracy,” I told them over the radio. “Our hearts are heavy. However, the cause which claimed Roosevelt also claims us. He never faltered . . . nor will we. . . . I have done as you do in the field, when the commander falls. My duties and responsibilities are clear. I have assumed them. Those duties will be carried on in keeping with our American tradition. . . . As a veteran of the First World War I have seen death on the battlefield. . . . I know the strain, the mud, the misery, the utter weariness of the soldier in the field. And I know, too, his courage, his stamina, and his faith in his comrades, his country, and himself. We are depending upon each and every one of you.”

I closed with a quotation from Lincoln, now engraved in all our hearts: “With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in. . . .”