Irate "Boys"

When President Coolidge settled back in his old green wicker rocker just before leaving White Pine Camp, and droned along for an hour or more, opening his heart to a curly-headed man with angelic eyes (TIME, Oct. 4); and when the angelic one, Publicist Bruce Barton, discoverer of a Man and of a Book that Nobody Knows, went forth and told The People all the homely facts that the President had revealed about himself, it seemed that nothing but good could come of it to every one. The President was apparently one of the most contented mortals ever heard of. His every quality was as re-assuring as a mother's goodnight kiss, from the childhood readings in Scott, Burns and Whittier to the humble acceptance of membership in the First Congregational Church of Washington right after inauguration. It is, however, a good wind which blows no one any ill. When a certain group of gentlemen in Washington heard of the Barton-Coolidge heart-to-heart they threw into the air, not their hats, but grim imprecations. They held an indignation meeting last week and long before their ire had begun to evaporate, composed a three-page letter to Mr. Coolidge, telling him, and asking him, this and that in language of a type which Presidents seldom encounter first hand. The vexed gentlemen were newsgatherers who had met twice a week with Mr. Coolidge for four years. All that time they had guarded his confidential remarks with unwavering integrity, even masking the words which he did wish to reach the public by having them issue from the mouth of that journalistic ragdoll, "the White House Spokesman." Now, said they, in the name of all that was printable, why had Mr. Coolidge wrought this evil upon them-- given his best interview of all time, not to one of their number, but to an angelic interloper from another estate? An interloper who had then sold his treasure to their newspapers, via the Associated Press! Through ever-ready Secretary Everett Sanders, President Coolidge made answer as best he could to the "boys" (as Washington correspondents have delighted in being called since the blustery days of Roosevelt). He used up only half a sheet of letter-paper and signed his name. The wording of this missive remained unpublished, as did the "boys' " letter to him, but presumably Mr. Coolidge set his friends down gently with some of the following points: 1) It was the President's as well as every other citizen's privilege to give interviews when, where and as he chose.

2) Conceivably Publicist Barton had handled the thing better than any "boy" could have done, Mr. Barton being on old hand at what is called "human interest stuff."

3) When had any "boy" asked for a similar interview and been refused? What would the other "boys" have thought if one of their number had "scooped" the rest? And after all, was not the "boys' " prime function that of reporting the President's official, not his personal, history?

The whole matter died away, but it was not forgotten. The loud grumbling of Delaware's Democratic Senator (see p. 10) was as nothing compared to rumors that presidential confidence could never again be respected as of yore; that the quaint rag-doll called "Spokesman" might be pitched aside and the President left without defense from his own tongue.