In a show of remarkable constancy–considering how often presidents distance themselves from a subordinate in trouble–Truman instead strengthened his embrace of Acheson. Nearly three years into Acheson’s term as secretary of state, well after Senator Joseph McCarthy had targeted him and after the troubles of the Korean War, journalist James Reston described Acheson as “closer than ever” to Truman and “likely to have more authority over foreign affairs than ever before.”

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Reston’s colleague at The New York Times, Cabell Phillips, echoed that assessment. “The personal bond between [Acheson] and the President has grown stronger with each passing month,” he wrote. “Mr. Acheson has carefully avoided the mistake of some of his predecessors of by-passing the White House on foreign policy matters. The President has reciprocated this deference by giving him as much latitude as any Secretary of State has ever enjoyed. They are rarely at odds on any important international question. But above everything else, Mr. Truman, a deeply loyal man himself, is grateful for the unflinching loyalty of Mr. Acheson, who has stood his ground in the face of the massive personal abuse to which he has been subjected in the last two years.”

The few disagreements that arose between the two men were usually about the politics of foreign policy. When they differed, the secretary of state would argue his case, thinking of it not as Acheson arguing with Truman, but as the secretary of state doing his duty toward the presidency.

Never one to take his close connection with the president for granted, Acheson worked at it, staying in constant touch. Twice a week, he and Truman held scheduled meetings, getting together more often when necessary. In addition, they talked on the telephone almost daily; Acheson felt free to call direct on Truman’s line whenever he wanted.

When abroad, Acheson used an exacting system to maintain almost constant communication with Truman. In order to be able to report on what was transpiring, members of the secretary’s entourage attended meetings or were immediately briefed by Acheson on private ones. “A detailed cable went off every day to the Department with a shorter summary for the President’s use if his time was short or to show senators and others,” the secretary remembered. “He also received personal–’for his eyes only’–estimates of the situation, dictated by me, containing appraisals of people, of obstacles ahead and methods of avoiding them, and of opportunities for initiatives, as well as requests for suggestions if any occurred to him. He often said that these made him feel present at the scene and participating.”

Acheson had great respect for the presidency in the abstract, but he was devoted to Harry S. Truman personally. “A great chief,” he would sigh after talking to him on the phone, a president who made decisions that were “as straight as fence posts.” He profoundly admired Truman’s capacity “to understand complex questions and to decide,” one of the “rarest qualities possessed by man.” Truman did not “care a hoot what Congress, [Arthur M.] Schlesinger [Jr.] or any other historian would say. The question he would ask was: ‘Is this the right thing to do?’ Convinced that it was, he made the decision, however unpopular it may have seemed.” When Admiral Dennison asked him in the sixties why he had not written a book on Truman, Acheson answered: “Well, I have such a high regard for him, and I am so fond of him, that I feel I could not possibly be objective.”

He was never reluctant to express that high regard directly to his president. One of his most affecting letters went to Truman on April 12, 1951, the six-year anniversary of President Roosevelt’s death and, consequently, Truman’s assumption of the presidency. Less than 48 hours earlier, Truman had fired General of the Army Douglas MacArthur, provoking nationwide calls for his impeachment. Beginning with “Dear Mr. President,” as Acheson did all his letters to Truman (often “Dear Boss” after January 1953), he continued, “Six years ago today the world descended on your shoulders. Six years ago tomorrow I went to work for you in a meeting in the Cabinet room. You were facing the first of more trials than any President has ever faced—except possibly Lincoln. Others have faced war with its terrible choices. But you have faced, and met, these without the unity that war brings–in fact, with almost the reverse, the apathy which the end of war brings. To me that meeting began the affection for a man and devotion to a chief which has been, and is, my life. The times ahead will be rough. You are sailing the ship and I am signed on. We have always spoken the truth to one another and always shall. As this seventh year begins I send you my loyalty and profound respect.” *

Robert L. Beisner, Ph.D., a native of Nebraska, is Professor of History at American University in Washington, D.C. A prize-winning historian, he is currently writing a book on Dean Acheson and the Cold War.

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