Hidden Power: Presidential Marriages That Shaped Our Recent History. (Political booknotes: old wives' tales).

HIDDEN POWER:
Presidential Marriages That
Shaped Our Recent History
by Kati Marton
Pantheon Books, $25.00

IN Hidden Power: Presidential Marriages That Shaped Our Recent History, Kati Marton provides a rehash of the intimate lives of a dozen occupants of the White House, from Edith and Woodrow Wilson to George and Laura Bush. In a series of gossipy vignettes, Marton explores these high-profile alliances, emphasizing the priapic instincts of John F. Kennedy, Lyndon Johnson and Bill Clinton; the amorous nature of Woodrow Wilson; Franklin D. Roosevelt's romance with Lucy Mercer Rutherfurd; and George H. W. Bush's alleged affair with his longtime secretary, Jennifer Fitzgerald. She recounts the egoism and narcissism of the men revolved and the humiliation some of their wives stoically endured.

With special access to the White House through her husband, Richard Holbrooke, the former U.S. ambassador to the United Nations, her depiction of the tortured Clinton marriage seems especially astute. She also manages to capture the bitterness and tartness of Barbara Bush and the freewheeling, fun-loving spirit of Betty Ford. By scrutinizing these well-publicized partnerships, Marton aims to assess the impact of presidential spouses and the behind-the scenes authority they wielded through pillow talk and subterfuge.

"Whether as soulmates, helpmates or those who are essential to their husbands' political survival, all first ladies have played a part in history," writes Marton. "The quality of her relationship with her husband has been the key factor in determining the extent of her influence." Unfortunately, despite a long list of celebrity acknowledgments and interviews, copious footnotes, and a fair amount of original reporting, there is little new in this ambitious interpretation. Marton arbitrarily omits the Hardings, Coolidges, and Hoovers because "their stories simply do not resonate today." And the Eisenhowers are summarily dismissed because the author finds them wanting. She maintains they left no historic imprint as a couple and calls them anachronistic--"a nostalgic throwback to America's age of conformity."

"Insignificant" is how she describes the colorful Mamie Eisenhower, writing that she played no part in Ike's administration. "Her role was a simple extension of her many years as a dutiful Army wife."

If Marton asserts full-fledged collaboration like the Roosevelts, Johnsons, and Carters as basic criterion for hidden power, though, it is hard to comprehend why she chose to devote a chapter to Pat Nixon, probably the nation's most rejected and long-suffering spouse. From the moment they moved into the White House, the Nixons lived almost totally separate lives, communicating largely through members of their staffs and studiously avoiding each other's company. Henry Kissinger said he never heard Nixon directly address his wife.

During campaigns, "Plastic Pat," as she was called, stood next to her husband silent and perfect. She rarely expressed an opinion, her standard line being, "I don't give my husband advice because he doesn't need it." During Watergate, when Pat learned that her husband had been taping conversations, her immediate reaction was, "Destroy those tapes." It was advice that might have saved his presidency, but Nixon never consulted or reached out to her. It was his close friend Bebe Rebozo who broke the news about the impending resignation. Marton even points out that Nixon deliberately turned his back on his wife. So why was she included in this book?

In contrast, the irascible Bess Wallace Truman, who loathed both public life and living in the White House, wielded inestimable clout. Harry Truman adored her, pined for her during her long absences from the executive mansion, haunted the mail room for her letters, and always referred to her as "the Boss." Bess viewed her husband as a man, not a position, keeping him grounded and completely in touch with reality. When he was delayed by a snowstorm and arrived late for Christmas at home in Independence, Missouri, an angry Bess greeted him, "I guess you couldn't think of any more reasons to stay away. As far as I'm concerned you might as well have stayed in Washington."

Harry was so devoted that he spent his entire life trying to impress and please his wife. From the Potsdam Conference with Stalin and Churchill, he wrote, "Your letter came last night while I was at Joe's dinner. Was I glad it to get it! I can't get Chanel No. 5 ... Not even on the black market. But I managed to get some other kind for six dollars an ounce at an American PX. They said it was equal to no 5." He consulted Bess about his most difficult decisions, convinced she was a far better judge of people and character than he was. "Bess," he said, "was a full partner in all my transactions--politically and otherwise."

Marton shows at length the many ways in which other first ladies have exercised their own unique forms of persuasion. But by far the most compelling chapter of Marton's book is the first one. It deals with Edith Bolling Gait Wilson, the second wife of Woodrow Wilson, and the only woman who truly affected the life of the nation, wielding unbridled power while masterminding a cover-up. Even before their marriage, the seemingly stern, moralistic Woodrow Wilson was so passionate about his ladylove that he installed a direct line between her home and the White House in order to circumvent the switchboard. He instructed her in the use of top-secret national and international codes, and together they would send and decipher incoming and outgoing messages.

Edith sat in on many political meetings. State papers, with notes in the margin on which ones he expected her to read and comment on, usually accompanied Wilson's daily love letters. "Much as I enjoy your delicious love letters," she told him, "I enjoy even more the ones in which you tell me ... of what you are working on ... then I feel I am sharing your work and being taken into partnership as it were."

After their marriage and throughout World War I, Edith was in all respects his "little partner." When Wilson suffered a paralyzing stroke, she literally shut down the White House, turned it into an infirmary, controlled all access to her husband, and acted as de facto president, reading cables and secret messages and putting off things she considered unimportant. As rumors grew about the president, she refused to publicize his condition or allow him to resign. She hid his condition from a suspicious congressional delegation by propping her husband up on pillows, his limp side well covered, his good right arm exposed. The ruse was so effective that the delegation was reassured, and Wilson dropped any thought of a successor.

For the last 18 months of his presidency, a woman with two years of formal education and who opposed female suffrage, assumed the powerful role of commander-in-chief and controlled the flow of information to the entire country.

As for the rest of the first ladies, one wonders whether proximity to power denotes true power at all: Are the stories and rumors merely smoke and mirrors or evidence of actual influence and authority? Marton's book brings us no closer to an answer.

SANDRA MCELWAINE is a Washington-based writer.