Tony's Thanksgiving

The photographers arrived early, giving their own thanks for the clear blue Thursday morning--and for Ike, light-footed and squire-like, who met them in a costume that shouted the autumn spectrum: green sport coat, yellow vest, polka-dot tie, tan Stetson. Photogenic as he was himself, the President came equipped with an even more picturable subject: his three frisky grandchildren, bundled joyfully in snowsuits and mittens, prepared to steal the scene as effectively as he hoped they would. With Ike and their father, Major John Eisenhower, the children played in front of the canary-yellow barn, watched by a full platoon of sharp-eyed cameramen and reporters. Lounging patiently at the barn door was Tony, a black-and-white Shetland pony, hitched up to a two-wheeled, wicker-basket cart.

At grandfather's directions, the wind-flushed children arranged themselves with poised proficiency. Into the cart went David, 7, his assurance unmarred by a missing front tooth. From Ike came a sudden stage direction: "Hey, stop chewing gum. You're getting your picture taken." David slowed his jaws momentarily, grasped Tony's reins and waited for his sisters to get in beside him. As the photographers fired at will, Barbara Anne, 6, assumed a dignified mien, staring thoughtfully out across the presidential fields. Susan, almost 4, watched skeptically and clutched her doll, whose name changes almost daily (current one: Drew Hushing Eisenhower).

A Tender Mouth. Reporters began firing questions. Ike said he thought Tony was a gift from Packard "Dan" Hendrickson, brother of New Jersey's former Senator Robert C. Hendrickson. But the cart's origin stumped him. Observed David, "I think it came from Texas." (It came from an anonymous friend of Ike's in New York.)

When the photographers asked for pictures of David driving Tony, the boy happily nicked the reins and yelled, "Gid-dyap." Tony refused to ripple a muscle. "Giddyap!" repeated David sharply. Tony stood still. Ike finally grasped Tony's bridle, tugged gently, and Tony began a slow, reluctant stroll. "That's good," said Ike after a few steps. "Now stop him."

David yanked hard on the reins, and Tony stopped short. Ike quickly reprimanded his grandson: "Easy, easy. Always remember that a horse has just as tender a mouth as you have." Explained David, looking as curbed as Tony: "But I have to be tough with him, so he'll know who's riding him." Indefatigably, the photographers next asked Ike to pat Tony. Sighing, Ike complied, addressing his feelings to Tony: "All right, Tony. They insist on getting a picture of you being patted." Off the Wagon. Susan got restless in the cart, delivering her only comment: "Hey, help me out." That matched Ike's sentiments. Ike told David he could drive on alone up to the farmhouse. Then the President, the girls and their father, not forgetting a black Scottie named Skunky, climbed aboard Ike's jeeplike Crosley.

Bidding the photographers a relieved goodbye, they followed David and Tony up a 200-yd. dirt road to the big white house, where the U.S. and presidential flags snapped in the chilly breeze.

There, finished with public ritual for the day, Ike passed a quiet afternoon alone with his family, contemplating a merciful dispensation from his cautious doctors. Just this once, said they, he could fall off the diet wagon (1,800 calories daily), filling up on as much of the Eisenhower's 4O-lb. turkey and trimmings as he thought he ought to. At dusk, Ike sat down to his groaning board and followed doctors' orders.

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