Toe to Toe

Like many a good U. S. newsman, Columnist Raymond Clapper (Scripps-Howard) is incorrigibly optimistic; he is also subject to fits of deepest gloom. Although Mr. Clapper, one of the ablest of U. S. political commentators, is rated a New Deal sympathizer, his particular passion is Republican progressivism. He wishes the G.O.P. would not only win elections but make sense. For seven years he has ploughed up & down the U. S. looking for progressive Republicans, eager to hail any green sprig as grass-roots growth. A pre-Hearst discoverer (1935) of Kansas' Alf M. Landon, a longtime drumwhacker for Massachusetts' Joe Martin and New York's Bruce Barton, Columnist Clapper has stood hopefully outside the Republican headquarters waiting for a change. What still makes Mr. Clapper depressed whenever he looks at them are the exterior decorations--the facade still looks to him like festoons of Herbert Hoovers, Oilman Joe Pews, the Du Fonts, et al.

Month ago Columnist Clapper heard sounds of hammers & saws inside, suspected a new interior was being designed. When the Glenn Frank committee report appeared (TIME, Feb. 26), he gladly hailed it as a blueprint of G.O.P. progressivism. But then came news that depressed him: 64-year-old Ernest Tener Weir, cherubic millionaire chairman of National Steel, had been chosen as G.O.P. finance chairman. Mr. Clapper groaned in spirit. It had been the voice of the turtle, all right, but the hand looked to Mr. Clapper like the hand of Joe Pew. Mr. Clapper lifted up his voice, and took on, intermittently, for a week.

To three men, Mr. Clapper's complaints made no sense: 1) Steelman Weir, 2) G.O.P. Publicity Chief Franklyn Waltman, 3) Scripps-Howard Columnist Hugh Johnson. All three took the same line: What about the New Deal's Astors, Biddies, Cromwells, Earles, Davieses, Roosevelts? They all agreed that Mr. Weir's labor relations were fine & dandy, and had been that way since long before the New Deal.

Mr. Weir could stand pat on his assertion: "I was born a commoner, have lived a commoner, and am still a commoner." Paunchy, red-faced Columnist Johnson* could show that Steelman Weir's labor record, far from being black, was practically white. And bellicose Frank Waltman, mindful of the expert (and unanswered) Hoover-smearing campaign of 1932, was on tiptoe for just such an assault. "Not one smear will get by," said Bulldog Waltman last week.

Taken aback by the assault, Mr. Clapper reverted to optimism, hoped Collector Weir really meant it, hoped he would spread the gospel of Glenn Frank as he went about passing the Republican hat.

*His own description.

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