Harry

"Well, I wouldn't say that I was in the great class, but I had a great time while I was trying to be great."

"The President is always abused. If he isn't, he isn't doing anything."

"I remember when I first came to Washington. For the first six months you wonder how the hell you ever got here. For the next six months you wonder how the hell the rest of them ever got here." 

"I never did give anybody hell.  I just told the truth and they thought it was hell." 

Harry S. Truman, 

U.S. President No. 33, 

who joined the ranks of the dear 
departed 40 years ago today.

          Wasn't Harry a pistol?  I was sitting at my folks' dining room table when we heard the news that he'd died. For years, Harry Truman lived just a few blocks from us. In fact, years later, I'd write Mr. Truman into Just For You to Know, my historical novel, set here in Independence. 
        And now Harry was gone, at age 88. The age that Geo. H.W. Bush is now, in intensive care, in a Houston, TX hospital. One foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel, poor soul.  A good and decent public servant all in all and when he goes, as will we all, it'll be the end of a rich chapter in the history of our country. As it surely was when Harry died, that genuine, true-blue husband and citizen. Farmer. Piano-player. Valiant soldier. Overcomer. Politician. Dapper dresser. Lover of history. By golly, those of you  who chance to come across this, do give yourself the pleasure of reading David McCullough's HST bio,  a swift-going, juicy doorstop of a book.  

         And too, poor old heartsick, wonderful/horrible Lyndon B. Johnson, died just a few weeks later, on the 22nd of January. There's another story and a long one, too. More about LBJ later - and baybee - do check out Robt. Caro's books about that ol' powermonger. 
          For now, look back over your shoulder four decades and give a thought to the life of sturdy, thoughtful Harry Truman. 

"When the bell tolls three times, it will announce that I have been killed. If I am killed by common men, you & your children will rule Russia for centuries to come; if I am killed by one of your stock, you & your family will be killed by the Russian people! Pray, Tsar of Russia. Pray."

'The Mad Monk," Grigori Rasputin, b. 22 January, 1869

To you few, you precious few, who may check in on this blog, let me tell you that my rough dwgs for a picture book-to-be are well underway. I love being indoors on a cold, grey day, ruling out rectangles w/ pencil on tracing paper, arranging the text, planning, staring at the blank paper - then it gets to feeling like work, in a good way.

It's a story, written by Stacie Hutton, about a coal miner's daughter, & it's scheduled to be published later this year by what looks to be a happening little publishing operation called Headline Books, out of West Virginia. So what this means is I need to quit this here typing and get back to the drawing board! And totally by the way, it was on this day in history, 1901, to be exact, that Queen Victoria died and her big fat lothario of a son got to take on the big fat, long-awaited job he was born to. It's Lyndon B. Johnson's deathday, too. 1973 - I remember - it was just a couple of weeks after old Harry Truman kicked the bucket. jeepers - 39 years ago! So, is LBJ deader than Queen Vicky? Is he higher up, farther on? Anyway, they had a lot quieter and a good deal more dignified passing than the Mad Monk. I mean, click here for more evidence, should you need it that history is not for the faint of heart.