"My arms are too long," the President said.
"That's good for your golf swing," I said.
He laughed and said, "That's right—good for the swing."
The press photographers were creating lightning with their flashbulbs. I never saw guys work so hard and so fast. The President had been introduced to old Sam Brungot, the forest fire patrolman. Sam had on a new red hat and a new red tie, bright against his forest green shirt. The President and Sam were laughing and talking. I couldn't hear what they said. Ike reached out, got hold of Sam's red tie and started to straighten it. A press photographer, with his picture dead-center in his finder, got accidentally bumped in the elbow. He looked sick.
I stood back on the edge of the group, and suddenly it was as if half the faces I'd seen in magazine and newspaper photos had come to life. The faces had bodies attached to them, and arms and legs and voices. Sherman Adams, Styles Bridges, James Hagerty, Robert Cutler, Sinclair Weeks, General Snyder, Norris Cotton. And the President of the United States.
The President moved about quickly. You got the impression of vitality, and you remembered dozens of swift scenes: his meeting Sanders of the River and the student crew, his gracious-ness. A serious moment with President Dickey and President Emeritus Hopkins. They must have been talking about education. I don't know.
The President came over to the fire, where Sid Hayward was broiling the trout. He cast an expert eye over the scene.
"Let me cook one," he said. "I know how to cook trout. Have you got a good-sized one? And some aluminum foil?"
Sam Brungot and his big trout appeared like a miracle. The President looked with approval on both. But nobody could find any aluminum foil till someone pointed to the trash can.
"We had sliced onions wrapped in this—but it's clean," someone said.