Phil took over The Washington Post Company from Katharine’s father, Eugene Meyer, in 1948. He set about to transform a respected but financially shaky paper and played a vital role in politics and civic affairs in Washington. Top officials turned to him for his advice and friendship. In the excerpt below, Ben Bradlee, then a young reporter at the Post, is upset over the paper’s failure to adequately cover black protests against the city’s all-white swimming pools in the summer of 1949. Phil’s response was unorthodox by modern journalistic standards–but effective:
In the process of blowing his stack, as only he could do, Ben felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to find Phil, tuxedo-bedecked, who said, ““Okay, buster, come with me,’’ and led the way to his office. Around the table in Phil’s office sat Secretary of the Interior Julius (Cap) Krug, Undersecretary Oscar Chapman, President Truman’s special adviser Clark Clifford, and two or three others. ““Tell them what you just told me,’’ Phil ordered Ben, after which he asked Ben to leave. Phil then cut a deal. The story would run on the front page of the Post unless the people with the power to do something about it integrated the pools. They agreed, shutting down the pools in the middle of that hot summer, but promising to reopen the following summer on an integrated basis, which they did.
Phil’s suffering from manic depression, an almost untreatable illness at the time, grew gradually worse. Katharine had to struggle not to be overwhelmed by his moods. Even so, there were joyful times at a farm Phil had bought in the Virginia countryside:
Phil’s energy spilled over to all of us. At dinner, he would play games with the children, asking them history questions, teaching them about the Civil War, instilling a love of the land. He organized frog-gigging expeditions, taking the children to the lake with flashlights–often just when I had announced that dinner was ready. He told stories and made us laugh. One night at dinner, when he thought the houseguests were too stuffy, he started a stand-on-your-hands contest with Stevie in which everyone had to participate, with the college girls there to help out with the children trying to be decorous and keep their skirts between their legs.
Phil was the fizz in our lives. He was the fun at the dinner table and in our country life. He had the ideas, the jokes, the games. He operated on the theory that it was important to do with the children only those things he himself enjoyed–no dull board games, but hunting, fishing, walking. His ideas dominated our lives. Everything rotated around him, and I willingly participated in keeping him at the center of things. In fact, I agreed with almost all his ideas.
I remember once I was complaining about having injured my knee by stepping on a ball on the tennis court. Feeling rather sorry for myself, in a plaster cast in the hot summer in Washington, I whined about ““Why couldn’t I have stepped an inch to the right or an inch to the left of that ball?’’ I will always remember Phil looking at me, smiling, and saying, ““Think of the ones you’ve missed’’–not what I wanted to hear at that moment, but a truth that stayed with me for life. He always managed to get right through to the heart of the matter.
I learned such a lot from him, from the way he lived. His energy was infectious. He didn’t suffer fools gladly, as evidenced in his failure to mince words. I recall one night at the start of the Eisenhower administration when the new secretary of the Treasury, George Humphrey, and his wife came to dinner at our house. I overheard Mrs. Humphrey telling Phil what a great sacrifice George had made to come to Washington. To my horror, I heard Phil respond, ““Would you mind if I told you something frankly, Mrs. Humphrey?’’ ““Not at all,’’ was her reply–quite rashly, if she had known Phil better. ““Well, Mrs. Humphrey,’’ Phil said, ““making that remark in Washington is like belching at dinner in Shaker Heights. We think it’s quite a privilege to be secretary of the Treasury.’’ Needless to say, our relationship with the Humphreys never progressed much further.
