Time for Vacation

Franklin Roosevelt patted his perspiring forehead and glanced at his cluttered desk. There was the same old optimistic cast in his eye.

It was still possible to hope, in spite of all, that the U.S. would not have to get in a shooting war. The President was still hopeful; his exuberant optimism had not yet let him down. Some said that was one reason for the dismal state of confusion in Washington; that in spite of the grimming facts of life, 1941, he would not face the facts of the defense program delay. Well, he did not like to hurt any of his aides' feelings, or dislocate any citizen's business. As one aide put it: "He wants to kiss all the girls." Of course he had confidently taken on more work for himself than any one man could do, and that was causing some of the delay and confusion.

On his desk was the tax bill, finally sweated out by Congressman Robert ("Muley") Doughton and his Ways & Means Committee (see p. 14). Defense was costing a lot of money, a lot of taxpayers were going to have to cough up for it. The bill would surely start a row on Capitol Hill.

The heat was melting the tar on Massachusetts Avenue. Mr. Roosevelt patted his moist forehead, dictated a note to "My dear Bob" telling him he did not much care for the results of the committee's 14 weeks' work. Then he fled from the White House, fled from Washington. A week or ten days on the yacht Potomac, out on salt water, would be fine, and, so far as he could see, it was a good time to take a vacation.

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