DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.68288#0198
152 MEMORIES OF A SCULPTOR’S WIFE
the quiet of a mid-western city into the limelight of the
‘First Lady of the Land.’
We were seated upon the lawn of our house upon Capitol
Hill, the same ugly square house with the bay window
where my mother, to go back to an earlier'chapter, had for
so many years been occupied in ‘raising her own rats and
cockroaches,’ when, about eleven o’clock in the evening, we
saw Mr. John Philip Sousa coming down the street. He
was in his showy dress uniform, as the leader of the Marine
Band, and we were expecting him to come in and tell us
about the wedding, for he was a neighbor and a school
friend of my brothers’.
When he arrived abreast of us upon the street, he
stopped and, scorning the long walk to the gate at the
corner, threw one leg over the low iron fence, and, white
trousers, gold braid, and all, vaulted over upon the grass,
and hurried across the lawn to where we awaited him.
‘ She's all right,’ he said, and, as some one threw a coat on
the ground, he sat down and proceeded to tell us about the
wedding; though it is rather a jumble, I must admit, what
he told us that night, and what other people told us after-
ward.
Of course I heard, as all the world heard, all kinds of
stories as to her charm and the things that she did those
years at the White House. She was so young and pretty
and gracious and spontaneous that, except with a few of
the very crabbed, she escaped all criticism. I remember
once, when she had a school friend visiting her, the
story was that they found a lot of old bonnets and dresses
in the attic, and these two girls dressed up in them and pa-
raded around for the President and his friend — a human
touch.
the quiet of a mid-western city into the limelight of the
‘First Lady of the Land.’
We were seated upon the lawn of our house upon Capitol
Hill, the same ugly square house with the bay window
where my mother, to go back to an earlier'chapter, had for
so many years been occupied in ‘raising her own rats and
cockroaches,’ when, about eleven o’clock in the evening, we
saw Mr. John Philip Sousa coming down the street. He
was in his showy dress uniform, as the leader of the Marine
Band, and we were expecting him to come in and tell us
about the wedding, for he was a neighbor and a school
friend of my brothers’.
When he arrived abreast of us upon the street, he
stopped and, scorning the long walk to the gate at the
corner, threw one leg over the low iron fence, and, white
trousers, gold braid, and all, vaulted over upon the grass,
and hurried across the lawn to where we awaited him.
‘ She's all right,’ he said, and, as some one threw a coat on
the ground, he sat down and proceeded to tell us about the
wedding; though it is rather a jumble, I must admit, what
he told us that night, and what other people told us after-
ward.
Of course I heard, as all the world heard, all kinds of
stories as to her charm and the things that she did those
years at the White House. She was so young and pretty
and gracious and spontaneous that, except with a few of
the very crabbed, she escaped all criticism. I remember
once, when she had a school friend visiting her, the
story was that they found a lot of old bonnets and dresses
in the attic, and these two girls dressed up in them and pa-
raded around for the President and his friend — a human
touch.