Reaper's Return

At his home in Gloucester, Mass, early one morning last week, after long illness, died A. Piatt Andrew, onetime (1910-12) Assistant Secretary of the Treasury, since 1921 a U. S. Representative. He was the tenth Representative, the 14th member of the 74th Congress to die. When the House met at noon that day, it would have been customary to adjourn at once in tribute to the dead colleague. But Congress was straining for adjournment by week's end, and the conventional amenities were postponed for nearly three hours by routine business. Then Massachusetts' Treadway arose to present a resolution of adjournment. "Mr. Speaker," cried he to Speaker Joseph Wellington Byrns, "again the Grim Reaper has visited this House. . . ."

Speaker Byrns appointed a committee of four to attend the funeral, banged his gavel for adjournment, went home to his suite at the Mayflower Hotel. Nine hours later the Grim Reaper paid another call, and lanky, bushy-browed, 66-year-old Joe Byrns lay dead of a cerebral hemorrhage, first Speaker in history to die while Congress was in session.

Joe Byrns was not a great Speaker in the tradition of "Tsar" Reed, "Uncle Joe" Cannon and "Nick" Longworth. But the same big, warm heart which kept him from giving the unwieldy House the iron-fisted discipline it often needs made the onetime Tennessee farm boy one of the best-liked Speakers the House has ever had. Last week the nation's statesmen forgot his amiable, easy-going leadership, paid heartfelt tribute to his honest simplicity, blamed his death on the conscientious industry with which he strived to fulfill his duties. "He served his State and the nation," mourned President Roosevelt, "with fidelity, honor and great usefulness."

When the Democratic majority rewarded Joe Byrns's quarter-century of loyal Party service with the Speakership 17 months ago, the New Deal counted on quiet, able Floor Leader William Brockman ("Tallulah's Father") Bankhead of Alabama to help him keep that unwieldy majority marching in line. Leader Bankhead fell ill the day he was elected, did not take over his job until last January. Last week, in its unprecedented situation of being without a Speaker, the House was called to order by Clerk South Trimble less than twelve hours after Joe Byrns had breathed his last. By a plan which Democratic leaders had agreed on few minutes before, Rules Committee Chairman John J. O'Connor promptly rose, declared: "With no disrespect to our beloved Speaker who has left us, it becomes necessary, in order that the House may function and the machinery of government may not stop, that the House proceed to the election of a Speaker." On Chairman O'Connor's motion, a subdued chorus of "ayes" made Leader Bankhead 47th Speaker of the House.

Down the centre aisle through the hushed House, escorted by Representatives O'Connor, Taylor and Snell, marched the sturdy, grim-lipped, white-suited Alabamian. A tactless Congressman started to applaud, was quickly shushed. Speaker Bankhead took his oath with shaking hand, head bowed to hide his tears.

At 11 o'clock next morning the new Speaker called the House to order for Joe Byrns's state funeral, recessed for an hour to await distinguished guests. Many Representatives stayed in their seats, talked quietly as the galleries filled. At 11:30 a U. S. Navy band struck up a muted tune in the Speaker's lobby. The House rose as a flag-draped coffin was rolled in, placed among the flowers piled high against the rostrum, opened. For half an hour Representatives, clerks, pages shuffled by it. Then Speaker Bankhead's gavel rapped again and tall, grey Chaplain James Shera Montgomery, in flowing cutaway, began a prayer. When it was over the rear door swung open and in marched the U. S. Senate, escorted by the House's testy Doorkeeper Joseph J. Sinnott. As Speaker Bankhead cracked his gavel summoning the House to rise for each new detachment of guests, Doorkeeper Sinnott hurried up & down the aisle, waved in the Diplomatic Corps and the Cabinet. Next came President Roosevelt on the arm of his military aide and last of all Mrs. Byrns, the late Speaker's two brothers and his only son, Joe Jr., 32. Behind a long black veil, plump Mrs. Byrns wept softly. Across the aisle from her in his front-row seat, President Roosevelt kept his head bowed, his eyes fixed on the coffin. Not even at the funeral of Senator Tom Walsh in 1933, thought observers, had he looked so sad.

After another prayer Michigan's Representative Louis C. Rabaut, to whose small, sweet tenor voice Joe Byrns had liked to listen, sang Absent and Thy Will Be Done. Leaning heavily on the rostrum, Speaker Bankhead declared in his soft Alabama drawl: "There were so tempered in the heart and soul of Joe Byrns elements of tolerance, patience and sympathy that he had drawn to him the ungrudging regard and affection of all men who came within the radius of his genial influence." Stumbling through his speech, Minority Leader Snell observed: "No worthier nor more dauntless friend nor foe than Joe Byrns ever smiled across yonder dividing aisle." Late that afternoon a funeral train, with 60 Representatives and 14 Senators aboard, rolled out of Washington, bearing all that was mortal of Joe Byrns back to Tennessee for a second funeral service. Ten minutes behind it in a special train rode President Roosevelt, accompanied by Secretary Hull and Postmaster General Farley. In Nashville next day they and 45,000 of Joe Byrns's homefolk paid a last tribute to the only Tennessean to be Speaker of the House since James K. Polk in 1839, laid him to rest in a cemetery eight miles from the grave of another famed Tennessee Democrat, Andrew Jackson.

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