Quentin Roosevelt's White House Gang: The Greatest Place to Play

By DeeGee Lester

For thousands of children tramping through the White House on school trips and family vacations, the imposing presidential mansion will never be viewed the same again.

In Quentin Roosevelt’s White House Gang, the delightful antics of President Theodore Roosevelt’s youngest son and his friends are revived for a new generation. Each nook and cranny is vibrant with life as the boys lead readers on a joyful romp throughout the mansion and across the city.

Extensive research culled the best of the gang’s adventures during the last year together from their multiyear reminiscences gathered a decade after Quentin’s death in World War I for Earle Looker’s 1929 classic book, The White House Gang.

Historic events and characters weave in and out of the boys’ lives as they grow and learn together, all the while under the watchful eye of their real leader, who just happens to be the president of the United States. From the attic headquarters to the streets of Washington DC, from Potomac pirates to attackers on the State, War, & Navy building and vows to the sacred Buzzard Stone, readers now join the frolicking and inspiring adventures of the White House Gang.



“At the turn of the twentieth century, Americans were captivated by the adventures of Theodore Roosevelt’s youngest child, Quentin. Through the practiced pen of DeeGee Lester, Quentin’s irresistible energy, intelligence, mischievousness, and sense of adventure return to life. For those who would immerse themselves in that bygone era, the book includes a guide to retracing the local landmarks of the White House Gang. In a word: Bully!!”  -- James Strock, author, Theodore Roosevelt on Leadership



"The happy romps of Quentin Roosevelt and his pals through the White House and around Washington, DC - long forgotten - have been vividly revived. Young readers will delight in childhood adventures from boiler room to attic; from pirate perils to an attack on State, War & Navy and they will experience the strong bonds of friendship and mutual respect between the boys and the equally boyish heart of the White House Gang, President Theodore Roosevelt.” – Jonathan Roosevelt

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781640969575

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Greatest Place to Play

Quentin’s laughing fit was pure torture. He bent double and held his aching sides in a spell of hysterical, but silent, laughter; his lungs unable to breathe either in or out. Someone on the floor above wanted the elevator. For the past five minutes, nine-year-old Quentin had been locked in battle for its possession; each push of the button canceling the machine’s previous order.

The fellow overhead pushed the button and the elevator again started to close. Leaning helplessly against the dark wood paneling of the elevator, Quentin managed a grateful gulp of air. His finger hit the button. The elevator rattled to a halt and reopened, setting off a new round of giggles as three of Quentin’s friends scurried, pushing and shoving, to join him inside.

quentin roosevelt! a voice roared from the floor above, biting off each word with a snap of the famous teeth. This is the president of the United States! I order you to release that button immediately!

Sounds of boyish laughter froze in midair as Quentin and his pals looked upward in shock.

Golly, it’s father, Quentin gasped.

Releasing the button, Quentin and his friends ducked from the elevator. They watched quietly as the cage door rattled shut. Then, with the clank and whirring of machinery, the elevator rose to meet Quentin’s father, President Theodore Roosevelt. As the elevator rumbled out of sight, the boys backed around the corner into the wide hallway of the White House basement.

Aw, he’s not mad, a voice behind them drawled. The boys jumped and spun around.

Gee whiz, Eddie, Quentin said, leaning against the wall. You gave me a heart attack.

Eddie Norris, a squat, grimy man who maintained the White House boiler room stood grinning.

Quentin let out a big breath. Are you sure, Eddie? he asked as the boys crowded around the workman.

Sure, I’m sure. He wouldn’t’ve played along with you for so long if he was mad. I reckon he thought the big battle for the elevator had gone on long enough and time it was ending. He’s a busy man, y’know.

The boys glanced back nervously toward the elevator.

Besides, Eddie said. "If he was really mad, he’d’ve just charged down the stairs beside the elevator and had you boys scattering like jackrabbits."

Quentin chuckled nervously. You know a lot about people, don’t you, Eddie?

"I know that one," Eddie replied, jerking a dirty thumb upward in the direction of the presidential voice.

You don’t think we’re in trouble? one of the boys asked.

Quentin glanced at his skinny, pop-eyed friend whose fear of presidential anger made his eyes appear bigger than usual.

Naw, Eddie’s right, Quentin said with a reassuring slap on the back. Father was just playing with us.

The boys quietly followed Eddie into the huge boiler room beneath the north entrance hall of the White House. In the center of the room stood the steam boiler, surrounded by the enormous hot water boiler that heated the mansion. Off to the left was a small circular high pressure steam boiler. From these machines ran a cluster of pipes that led to the mansion’s network of heating ducts. The hissing and clanking and heat in this area of the White House made Mrs. Roosevelt nervous (it sounds as if it’s going to blow any moment), and she refused to enter this part of the mansion.

Now, the boys accompanied Eddie as he checked the gauges of the huge machinery. Quentin looked up at the mass of pipes and shivered. He was excited by the feeling of energy in the room, but he was, like his mother, a little anxious around the monstrous boilers. He quickly shrugged off his worries as he watched Eddie’s calm demeanor.

This reminds me of a ship’s boiler room, Quentin said as Eddie squinted at the gauge and stepped back, nodding in approval.

I suppose so, Eddie muttered.

"It is like a ship, you know, Quentin exclaimed. The Ship of State! And father is the captain and we’re the crew, and you’re in charge of the boiler room."

If the ship’s boiler room blows, the whole ship is doomed, a freckled boy said dramatically.

"That makes you the second most important man on the Ship of State, Quentin informed Eddie. Doesn’t that make you feel awfully powerful?"

Eddie Norris chuckled and wiped his hands on a filthy rag. Yeah, I reckon I’m a pretty powerful man when you put it that way.

Just then, three more boys skidded noisily through the doorway. Sorry we’re late, Quent, the largest boy said.

Three additional crewmen reporting for duty, sir, Quentin shouted, snapping to attention as his six friends fell into a military line beside him.

Eddie faced his rigid, saluting troops and returned an amused, half-hearted salute of his own. Pretending to inspect his crewmen, he ordered, Your names, men!

Quentin Roosevelt, sir, the sand-haired boy shouted, taking a giant step out and back into line. Eddie ran his hand over his mouth to stifle a smile as he looked at the boy. Like his father, Theodore, the youngest of the Roosevelt children was prone to pose on occasion—standing erect, chest out, chin out, eyes focused steadfastly on the future. He could also mimic his father’s movements—treading hard and fast across the floor, smacking the back of his right hand into his open left, or clutching the air in a fist, just to emphasize a point. Little TR, Eddie thought and snapped back to the viewing of the troops. And what shall I call you, seaman Roosevelt? Eddie asked politely, playing along with the game.

Quent, sir!

A tall, dark, handsome boy stepped forward. Charles Taft, sir. You may call me Taffy.

In contrast to his father, secretary of war, William Howard Taft, whose five-feet-eleven-inch frame supported over three hundred pounds, Charlie was slim and active, and Eddie always thought of Taffy as older than his companions.

And you? the workman said, moving down the line.

Earle Looker, sir. The boy’s big eyes gave him, as always, a serious, fearful appearance as if his participation in each game or prank was with reluctance. They call me Look.

A tow-headed boy stepped forward. Bromley Sealey, sir. Call me Brom.

Eddie moved closer and searched the boy’s face as Brom burst into loud laughter that echoed around the room. You’re trying to find my eyebrows, aren’t you? Don’t worry. I’ve got some. See? He moved his head around in the light and pointed to the nearly invisible blond hairs above his eyes.

Eddie shook his head and moved on. And you? You’ve got a world of freckles!

Richard Chew, sir. the boy said, grinning. They call me Sailor.

Two small, skinny boys brought up the end of the line.

Walker White, sir, volunteered the smallest boy in the group. He had a perfectly round head and hair cut as close as possible to the scalp. Even while standing at rigid attention, he seemed active and energetic. They call me Walker.

And Edward Stead, sir, said a small, wiry boy. The guys call me Slats! That’s because my last name reminds them of a bedstead.

Brom broke again into loud giggles that bounced around the basement walls and metal pipes. His laughter halted abruptly as Eddie shouted, Atten-tion!

The boys snapped into smart, soldierly order; faces firmly set and unblinking eyes staring straight ahead.

"Perfect dis-ci-pline," Quentin whispered, savoring each syllable of a favorite word.

Very good, men, Eddie said. "As reward, there’s a box of old tools beneath that table beside the door. I’m giving these tools to you men to take up to the ship’s ‘bridge’ for any repair work you need up there. You can keep these tools in your, uh, headquarters."

Discipline was forgotten amid whoops and the line fell into disarray as the boys gathered around Eddie.

Golly! Thanks, Eddie!

"We sure can