NOVEMBER 16, 1946
NEW YORK, Friday—Sometimes, these days, it seems as though weeks go by without my getting to see a play or read a book. All I have had time to do is to go to meetings of the United Nations and read long official documents! My reading for pleasure has been done in snatches.
Up at Hyde Park one weekend, I read halfway through Sumner Welles' book, "Where Are We Heading?" I found it most interesting and very informative, a real contribution from a man who was on the inside of our foreign affairs and was a very able and valuable public servant. However, one cannot read that book without having a little leisure, so I am still only halfway through.
Then I read part of that delightful volume, Theodore Roosevelt's "Letters to Kermit From Theodore Roosevelt 1902 to 1978." The letters to his children which were published some years ago were charming and had illustrations such as are reproduced on the inside covers of this new book. Theodore Roosevelt had a gift for friendship with his children, and he and Kermit had a special tie which, as the years went by, made their trips together such memorable experiences.
The letters, of course, bring back to a member of the family like myself little incidents and old ties which have almost been forgotten. For instance, at the end of one letter, I found: "David Gray was down here this week and was as nice as possible. I always find something companionable in a man who cares both for the outside of a horse and the inside of a book." David Gray is married to my aunt, and is now our Minister to Ireland, where he still gets pleasure from "the outside of a horse and the inside of a book."
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Lastly, I spent a little while the other evening skimming through Vice-Admiral Ross T. McIntire's "White House Physician." To me, this is a very valuable book. It should bury forever some of the cruelly malicious rumors which were circulated about my husband's health during his lifetime. He knew these rumors were political, but nevertheless, it is good at last to see the truth printed.
Some of the things that Admiral McIntire tells are good to read now—for instance, the story of my husband's visit to a military hospital, when he was wheeled down along the row of beds where men stricken in the war had to make the same fight he had made. Such moments must have given him great satisfaction and in some way compensated for the suffering which he himself went through. To be able, by his mere presence, to give those men a lift must have been a joy.
Last night, I actually saw a play, the second I have seen this autumn. This time it was John Golden's production "Made in Heaven," a very light comedy. Even though he tells me the critics have been none too kind, we who were part of the audience can say with truth that we had an amusing evening. The lines are good, Donald Cook is excellent in the leading role, and the cast as a whole is good. What more could one ask for when in search of relaxation?