David McCullough’s pullet-surprise book Truman told me a lot about the man that I never knew: That he farmed six hundred acres as a young man, riding a cultivator behind a pair of horses, risked his life in World War I commanding a field artillery battery, and failed as a haberdasher before the Pendergast political machine of Missouri asked him to run for county judge. It’s a lively and touching book, told mainly via Truman’s many letters and diary entries, and those of others who knew him well.
I originally bought the almost thousand page volume in paper, but it fell apart, so I bought a hardback. That way, Mr. B. can read it when he’s older–and benefit from knowing probably the last president without a college degree.
It’s a good thing for McCullough that his book was published before the Web came along, or it might have been jarred, as it is somewhat for me, by the story of Truman’s eldest grandson. McCullough hardly mentions him, except as a child Truman doted on. I got curious and did a Web search on him. Addicted to drink and drugs, his confused life is a sad footnote to his famous grandfather’s achievements. If McCullough knew the grandson’s tale, he should have included something about it. Even if it would be quite a counterpoint.















