During the golden Indian summer of 1948, I was an eleven-year-old aspiring journalist in Shell Lake, Wisconsin. My parents owned the local weekly newspaper, the Washburn County Register . I was the sports editor, printer’s devil, and errand runner. We had received an unending barrage of press releases from the local Democratic party proclaiming that President Truman would be in Spooner, whistle-stopping on his campaign across the Midwest. Mv father, a staunch Republican, refused to print such rubbish, claiming that he would not allow his paper to provide political propaganda for a discredited administration. Somehow my mother and I persuaded him that the President’s visit in a town only six miles away was a genuine news event. He insisted on rewriting the press releases, but in the end he ran the story on the front page under big headlines. Then, to our surprise, Dad announced that we would cover the President’s speech. He had been convinced by our argument that history should prevail over partisan politics.

As we drove north to Spooner in our ancient Model A Ford (the weekly newspaper business was not exactly lucrative), my father regaled us with his familiar repertoire of Truman insults, from “To err is Truman” to “bankrupt haberdasher.” In those more casual times press credentials were nonexistent, but fortunately the station agent recognized us and directed us to a choice spot right along the railroad tracks. The train of course was late. To an impatient rookie reporter the delay seemed like hours, but it may have been only forty-five minutes. As we waited, the crowd grew steadily larger. The party faithful later estimated it at ten thousand people; my father saw fewer than twenty-five hundred.

At last the great moment arrived, the high school band played “Hail to the Chief,” and the President appeared at the back of the train, looking remarkably similar to his image in the Movie Tone newsreels. I couldn’t see over the heads of the adults who pushed forward, so to my mother’s consternation I climbed up a nearby coal pile for a better view. The speech was short and incisive: Truman blasted the do-nothing Republican Congress and the selfish Wall Street capitalists and urged us to turn these rascals out. His constituents applauded loudly and exhorted him to “Give ‘em hell, Harry.” After one final swipe at those rich robber barons and their Republican cohorts, the President introduced his daughter, Margaret, and the “Boss,” his wife, Bess. The train was ready to head north for Superior when Truman pulled a note out of his pocket, glanced at it, and then raised his hand to quiet the crowd. In his Missouri twang he thanked everyone for coming and said he was astonished that so many people had turned out. “I would particularly like to thank the Sheas, who featured my stop here in the Shell Lake Register . Would they please step