"A Long, Hard Job"

A fighting speech in Baltimore, a fighting speech in Newark, a fighting speech in Brooklyn--and then it was old home week-end in Manhattan for Governor Smith. It was the twenty-first time he had run for office. This was his greatest aspiration of all and a crucial factor was whether or not his own townsmen would give him enough votes to complete the foundation of his chance for the Presidency.

It misted, drizzled and poured, but the Brown Derby waved from the Battery to Central Park at cheering, milling millions. In the evening, Madison Square Garden was a tornado of noisy, militant affection. Unlike his opponent under similar circumstances, Governor Smith was at ease. He let his people exult, exulted with them. When he was ready, he hushed them. When he was through speaking he stayed among them, shaking his own hands to them all, hailing individuals, happy in tumult.

On Monday, as a surprise stroke, the Smith voice addressed the farmers of the U. S. one last time. He repeated: "I want you to judge the future by the past." The radio studio was crowded with office girls. He was still smiling, but he looked tired.

To the press he said: "Well, it has been a long, hard job. . . . I feel satisfied with the campaign I have made."

Surrounded by intimates in the chamber music room of Carnegie Hall, Governor Smith waited for the last (as he had thought) Hoover hour to pass. Then he spoke his final words to "my radio audience." It was perhaps the best speech of his whole campaign; a review of his own executive record, a call to civic duty, and thanks to all who had helped him in his "long, hard job." His final attack was: "The American people will never stand for a dictator any more than they are today satisfied with a policy of silence." His final appeal was: "At no time . . . did I ever trade a promise for a vote."