My father took me to his summer White House when I was about nine years old, and we stood on the wide porch and peeked through the windows. The place was closed at the time. "Can you see him in there?" my father joked. I looked as hard as a nine-year-old could, but couldn't see him. You can feel him in the place, though, especailly after reading this book, and the one that comes before it, "The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt," also by Mr. Morris. Read them in that order, and then follow those with David McCullough's "Mornings on Horseback," and Candice Millard's "River of Doubt." What a life this man lived! I went one day to his grave, which is not far from Sagamore Hill, and I stood in a gentle rain for about a half-hour. It was late summer, and I was there alone - just me and my thoughts.