Word: breakfasting
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...President now thrives on the hardest work of his life. His early-morning routine has changed little: awake at 7:30; a quick but thorough go at the Washington and New York papers (he reads Columnists Clapper and Lippmann regularly); breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and milk; then, propped in bed in his year-round lightweight, solid-color pajamas, with a blue cape around his shoulders, a chat with his secretaries on the day's schedule. Despite their best efforts and the President's recurring resolutions to cut down, his daily list of callers always seems...
Tougher Hide. But with further success, the joy in success abated. Today, at 39, Hart is no caviar-for-breakfast fellow, but a pretty sober citizen. His chief indulgence is his farm, now more arboreal than ever. Tall, dark and glittering, with Mephistophelean eyebrows and Biblical eyes, for six years he has been going to a psychoanalyst, quips: "I ought to get my F (for Freud) any day now." The visits have helped dispel the dark self-doubts from which the bright gadgets offered escape. They have given him, among other things, the courage to write alone. But he still...
...exactly 7:30 a.m. He has no alarm clock. Beside his bed, as poets have paper & pencil on which to catch a night thought, he has an adding machine on which he can punch out his own mathematical visions. At 8 o'clock he has his invariable breakfast of one egg, one piece of white toast, one cup of black coffee. Shortly before 9, he walks to his four-car garage, steps into his 1941 black Lincoln Zephyr, swings around a fishpond in his front yard and out through wrought-iron gates. In ten minutes, he drives...
...angry when he was neglected. He was piqued when Ike Eisenhower went off to Europe without taking leave of him. He glared and snapped: "I don't even know the man." Every day he rose at 8, draped a bathrobe over his pajamas and watched his breakfast roll in-grapefruit, cereal, soft-boiled egg, toast, coffee. There were few things an old man could enjoy, but he damn well did like and insist on grapefruit, and for lunch a chop and spinach. He liked spinach. No cigars. Gave up cigars 35 years ago on the advice of his doctor...
...After breakfast men drifted together in the corner of the wardroom. One of them softly began to sing. Shyly others cleared their throats and chimed in. As the singing finally died down, one officer smiled a funny smile and broke into Just Before the Battle, Mother...