THE PRESIDENCY: Mrs. Doud's Son-in-Law

Mrs. Elivera Doud's home at 750 Lafayette Street, Denver, is the kind of solidly comfortable, nondescript dwelling in which millions of middle-aged Americans spent their childhood. Built of the grey-brown brick favored by Denver architects 40 years ago, it sits right up against its neighbors and is separated from the street only by a short, steep terrace and a patch of fine green lawn. Its wide porch is equipped with a glider and wicker chairs; red geraniums grow in low flower boxes on the railings. Last week, in this unremarkable survival of the parlor era, 75-year-old Mrs. Doud was putting up her daughter and son-in-law, who had come all the way from Washington, D.C. to spend their summer vacation with her.

Mrs Doud's son-in-law was not in a position to forget his job completely but he rapidly settled into a routine which successfully combined work and relaxation. Up every morning at 6:30, Ike Eisenhower shaved himself with a safety razor and danced noisily under a shower, first hot, then cold. Once dressed he headed downstairs to the large, old-fashioned dining room, whistling a tune as he went. His current favorite: Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darlin', from the movie High Noon.

Armed Companions. After breakfast (half a grapefruit and coffee), Ike rode in a Secret Service-driven car to nearby Lowry Air Force Base, where operators on a special switchboard set up for the 18-man presidential staff were answering calls with a cheery "Denver White House. Here in a small, sparsely furnished room, whose only official trapping was the presidential flag, Ike pushed his way determinedly through the no bills he had brought with him from Washington, studying each bill carefully before he signed it.

Ike usually managed to get through his work in a couple of hours. Most afternoons he showed up at the Cherry Hills Club for a round of golf on its tough, 72-par course. As he played, he was trailed by four Secret Service men, all carrying golf bags from which protruded three or four ancient and ill-assorted.clubs. Two of the bags contained an additional item o: equipment which many a golfer has wished for in moments of stress—a carbine. The other two masked walkie-talkies for emergency communication. An Army Signal Corpsman, whose golf bag also contained a walkie-talkie set, sat beneath a white arbor near the clubhouse ready t« make contact with the Eisenhower party in case of trouble in Washington.

Both Ike's mood and golf improved at Cherry Hills. Before one round, he amiably tried some practice shots for the benefit of the photographers. Several cameramen plunked down in the grass a few feet in front of the President so that he would be shooting directly over their heads and one called out: "Will I bother you here, sir?" Ike eyed the green, then the photographer, and chuckled: "No, but you might get bothered yourself."