Standstill

The U. S. Government last week was practically at a standstill. The House wrangled triflingly over income tax publicity, voted a 1-c- per lb. processing tax on rice, passed the Department of Interior appropriation bill. With even less to do, the Senate sat only three afternoons. Week before, by tacking on an amendment to pay relief workers on public projects the same rate as private employes on similar jobs, tactical Republicans and principled Democrats had derailed the President's $4,880,000,000 relief bill (TIME, March 4). Dead set against putting the Government in direct competition with the private construction industry, the President had thereupon left Washington anticipating that the outraged voice of a loyal nation would soon howl the Senate to heel.

From the Harvard Fly Club dinner Franklin Roosevelt went to Hyde Park, with a great show of indifference as to what was going on in Washington. His secretariat, however, let newshawks in on what they glowingly described as the President's "deep satisfaction" at the "many thousands of letters and telegrams" which were inundating Washington--"so great that even the President was surprised." Washington newshawks, unable to find any confirmation of this postal flood, told a different story, openly suspected the White House staff of trying to outbluff the Senate.

Idaho's Borah growled that he had got just two letters, both commending his vote for the "prevailing wage" amendment. Father of the fracas, Nevada's portly Pat McCarran, told reporters that of the 200 communications he had received, all save one were favorable.

Sentiment from the folks back home chilled the feet of only one of the 21 Democrats who voted against the President. North Carolina's Robert Rice Reynolds felt the need to hedge his vote. He proposed an amendment to the relief bill, now buried in committee, which would pay prevailing wages only where they would not compete with private industry. "I hate a straddler," cried he. "I hate a man who stands so that people cannot tell where he stands. . . . We should stand on one side of the fence or the other, or else take the fence away and then the people cannot tell where we are standing."

Not even the President's closest associates could be exactly sure where he was standing either. Was it possible that the inventive, fertile mind of Franklin Roosevelt had run out of plans? With the wheels of Government bogged down, with the next move clearly up to him, the President arrived back in Washington's Union Station through whose classic colonnades the winds of rumor whistled shrilly. The President was about to address the nation by radio. He was not. The President was going to take advantage of a new "area of compromise." He was not. The President had lost his nerve for pouring out fruitless Government billions, was planning to cut relief needs to the minimum. He had not.

In such an atmosphere of confusion, only two things were sure: the dumb loyalty to the Administration of the House and the implacable hatred of Senator Huey Long and the American Federation of Labor, whose combined efforts had made the McCarran amendment's adoption the second major Presidential setback in the Senate in three weeks.* Emerging from an A. F. of L. executive committee meeting, Senator McCarran announced that he and his 43 Senate allies would pass no relief bill without the "prevailing wage" clause, for which the Federation had conceived a stubborn affinity.

Conservative Presidential advisers were in favor of a statesmanlike avoidance of mortal combat with two such foes at present. They recommended letting the issue cool, asking only for temporary relief funds for the nation's 10,142,000 unemployed/- until a comprehensive work relief program could be formulated.

That the President had lost his control on legislation for the moment, was fumbling for a fresh grip, was painfully plain, but that he would somehow take hold again and do his own driving few quidnuncs in Washington doubted as the week ended. Significant indication that fires were being kindled under certain balky Senators came when Relief Administrator Harry Hopkins, dipping into Harold Ickes' PWA funds again, passed up twelve states entirely, allotted the other 36 only enough cash to carry them through March 15.

*The other: World Court (TIME, Feb. 11). /-National Industrial Conference Board's January figure.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.