A t the end of the work day, the Tru-
mans had cocktails in the West
Hall, which is the family sitting
room. One drink each, before dinner. But
it took a while to learn their tastes. Shortly
after the)* moved in, the First Lady rang for
the butler. Fields came up, tray in hand.
“We'd like two old-fashioneds, please,"
she requested.
Fields, who often moonlighted at Wash-
ington’s most elegant parties, prided him-
self on being an excellent bartender.
“Yes, Ma’am, he answered.
In no time flat, he was back with the or-
der, in chilled glasses, with appetizing
fruit slices and a dash of bitters. Mrs. Truman tasted the drink, thanked him, but
made no other comment
The next evening she rang for Fields.
"Can you make the old-fashioned a little
drier?" she said "We don't like them so
sweet. "
Fields tried a new recipe, and again she
said nothing.
But the next morning she told me,
"They make the worst old-fashioneds here
I've ever tasted! They’re like fruit punch. ”
The next evening. Fields, his pride
hurt, dumped two big splashes of bourbon
over the iceand served it to Mrs. Truman.
She tasted the drink. Then she beamed.
"Now that’s the way we like our old-
fashioneds!"