It was like burying a part of my own body... I felt the earth strike my hands, my arms, my face, my mouth.
Cabinet members attended, military men, friends, White House staff. Tad held Jip in his arms. It rained some.
I’m a tired man. Sometimes I’m the tiredest man on earth.
August ’64
Mary has passed days in her darkened bedroom, wracked by headaches, scarcely able to communicate, hardly able to eat. Her faithful Mrs. Keckley looks after her. There is little or no response when I attempt to comfort her. God, she claims, has deserted her.
I return to my office.
Now the war is my distraction. There is a hellish healing power in the roll of drums, the rumble of caissons, the tramp of a regiment. Washington’s armed camp is always on the move.
Willie...