History will remember my husband for his years in the White House, for his much publicized split with Teddy Roosevelt, for the incredible story concocted by H.L. Menken that my husband became stuck in his own bath tub–as if such a thing were possible.
But few outside of our family will ever know of the pleasure he took from flying kites he had made from scratch in the small hours of the night. Kites were his passion, his guarded secret, which he of course passed on to our son, who to this day, makes his own kites in the manner William taught him.
The only place my husband felt safe enough to fly his homemade kites was on the shore of the Eastern Seaboard. I won’t say where. That would be speaking too much. But please know that his kites flew higher and with more grace than any President’s before or since.
