Half Hour in the Living Room

At one minute before 9:30, CBS Producer Bill Wood took a last look at the tableau about to be flashed, through the facilities of the four major networks, to TV screens across the nation. The glare of twelve big lights, ranging from 750-watt "spots" to 1,000-watt "broads," beat brightly down on President Eisenhower, sitting behind a small desk, with his face and bald head aglow with pancake makeup. His big "cue cards," which had been brought in only after news photographers had been shooed out of the room, were ready before him. On his right sat Attorney General Herbert Brownell, on his left, Agriculture Secretary Ezra Benson, Treasury Secretary George Humphrey and Welfare Secretary Oveta Gulp Hobby. All but Humphrey, who wore a white shirt, were arrayed in shades of "television blue."

Producer Wood took a step forward on the cable-cluttered floor. "Now look," he said reassuringly, "you people have a definite amount of charm. Let it come out.' The President leaned back in his chair, chuckled and clapped his hands together. Then the presidential image was plucked away for distribution to millions of living rooms. Said he: "Good evening, everybody" (departing from the script's "Good evening, my fellow Americans"), and the show was on.

Painful Preparation. The program had been in the making for a long time. Actual preparations had begun in May, when the President agreed with his advisers that television, effectively and informally used, might be the best way of reaching the people. To get professional advice on the intricate problems of staging, the White House called in the New York advertising firm of Batten, Barton, Durstine & Osborn, which blocked out a 44-page script. It was twice revised to suit the President.

All participants except the President, who ad-libbed from his cards, had to memorize their lines. All five reported twice for full-length rehearsals, which were carefully timed and shown for critical view on TV monitoring sets. On the final production, the four Cabinet members (whom Ike addressed variously as "Herb," "George," "Mr. Benson" and "Miz Hobby") commented conversationally on their hopes for congressional action. The President spoke briefly and reassuringly on the U.S. course in world affairs: "There is going to be no new Munich, and ... there is going to be no risk of a general war."

Perfect Projection. The show came to its conclusion exactly on time. As a television performance, it had come off remarkably well; it was smooth, well paced and almost completely free of the little distractions which often mar nonprofessional appearances. But its real significance lay deeper: Ike, articulate and perfectly at ease, had engineered a successful new method of political communication from the White House to the U.S. The show provided a perfect projection of his friendliness, warmth and underlying firmness. Within the hour politicos were predicting, with partisan delight or partisan foreboding, that he could make TV a formidable political weapon in the future.

As the red lights on the cameras went out, the President leaned back in his chair again, threw both arms up and back, and emitted a pleased and relieved "Whew!"

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