Always, in consultation with my housekeeper and the head cook, I made out the daily menus.
“How many for luncheon, Madame?” was the cook’s invariable question.
“I haven’t any idea,” was my invariable reply.
If no guests had, to my knowledge, been invited I would give instructions to have luncheon prepared for the family only, emergency provision being a thing understood. My day’s plans would then be sent over to Mr. Young, the Executive Social Officer, who had his office in the Executive wing of the building, and I would go on about my accustomed duties and pleasures knowing that no surprise would find us quite surprised.
Along about eleven o’clock the house telephone would ring, or a note would be sent over, and announcement would be made that Mr. So-and-So would lunch with the President and Mrs. Taft. The table would be laid while the kitchen staff stood calmly by awaiting final orders. In another half hour might come the announcement of a second guest, or group of guests, whereupon the amiable butler would have to make a complete change in table arrangements. Only about a half hour before the stated luncheon hour did the cook ever consider it safe to begin final preparations, but too often for the maintenance of entire smoothness in domestic routine Mr. Taft would come across from the Executive offices anywhere from a half hour to an hour late, bringing with him an extra guest, or even a number of extra guests whose coming had not been announced at all.
This system, or this lack of system, obtained throughout my four years in the White House, but I and my capable and willing staff, all of whom were devoted to the President, eventually adjusted ourselves to it and I began to take great delight in the informal meeting of so many interesting and distinguished men at our open luncheon table.
I tried to insist that the dinner hour should always be properly respected, and it usually was. While we gave many informal, small dinners—nearly every night as a matter of fact—there were crowded into my first season from March until I became ill in May most of the big official functions which are a part of White House life always, as well as a number of entertainments which were a part of my own scheme of innovations.
Our first official entertainment was the Diplomatic Tea on the 12th of March, just eight days after the Inauguration, and before I had time to settle myself in the midst of my own belongings which were to fill the empty spaces left by the removal of Mrs. Roosevelt’s personal effects. At this tea we received the entire Diplomatic Corps, including all heads of Missions, and all Secretaries and Attachés, with their wives.
Nothing could be more statelily important. It was the first presentation of the Diplomatic Corps to the new President and though, having been for several years in Washington society, we knew many of them quite well, the method of procedure was as formal as the State Department could make it. Explicit directions as to the manner in which they were to present themselves were sent in printed form to every diplomatic representative in Washington, but while an almost oppressive dignity marked the proceedings, our wide acquaintance made it possible for us to depart somewhat from the rigid form decreed and to lend to the occasion an air of general friendliness it could not otherwise have had.
It might be interesting to those not familiar with Washington life to know just what the prescribed ceremonies are for such an event. I confess that at first they seemed to me to be rather formidable, accustomed as I was to the dignities of government.
The guests are not received by the President and his wife as they arrive. They are requested to “present themselves (in uniform) at the East entrance and to assemble in the East Room at a sufficient interval before five o’clock to enable them by that hour to place themselves in the order of precedence, each Chief of Mission being immediately followed by his staff and ladies of his Embassy or Legation.” They are met in the East Room by the Secretary of State and other State Department officials, and by some of the aides-de-camp on duty at the White House.
In the meantime the President and his wife take their positions in the Blue Room and exactly at five o’clock the doors are thrown open and announcement is made in the East Room that they are ready to receive.
The Dean of the Diplomatic Corps then steps forward, past the military aides stationed at the door leading into the Blue Room and is presented by the senior military aide to the President. He in turn presents each member of his suite, all of whom pass promptly on and are presented by another aide to the President’s wife, the head of the Mission being presented to her at the end of these ceremonies. Each Ambassador or Minister, in strict order of precedence, passes by with his staff, and they all proceed through the Red Room and into the state Dining Room where tea and other refreshments are served.
At the conclusion of the presentations the President and his wife usually retire and leave their guests to be entertained for a few formal moments by whomever has been invited to preside at the tea-table, but Mr. Taft and I followed them into the dining-room to have tea with them. I knew this was a departure from established custom, but it seemed a perfectly natural thing for us to do. I forgot to take into consideration the attitude of our guests, however. Our unaccustomed presence rather bewildered the diplomats for a moment. There were no rules to guide them in such an emergency and they
