Old Wounds

On the clipped green lawn a pavilion was staked up. In the tent shade a liveried staff arranged little tea sandwiches, plates of cookies, piles of paper napkins; twisted up scoops of ice cream (strawberry, chocolate); dipped tiny mugs of sweet, nonalcoholic punch. In redlined blue capes moved Red Cross nurses; the Red Cross ladies fussed with plates and spoons. Near, but tactfully hidden, waited a khaki colored Army ambulance. Men with 22-year-old wounds must not be overexcited, must not overdo-Trailed by uniformed aides strode Eleanor Roosevelt, summery in a long, pale blue dress, a white hat, to meet her guests.

This year, of the 1,400 guests, only 100 were disabled veterans. When Mrs. Woodrow Wilson gave the first Veterans Garden Party at the White House, Aug. 23, 1919, disabled men came in crowds. But gradually over the years fewer World War I veterans have been able to attend; in 22 years most of them have been readjusted in society; others are dead.

Through the crowd walked Mrs. Roosevelt, shaking hands, not smiling too much. Then the President came down the line in an open car, past the marquee. He shook hands for a long while. Everyone tried not to think of the faceless men, the cripples, the crazed, the dead of 1918; but somehow near in the fresh, fair afternoon were the crash of guns on the Meuse, the flat pound, pound, pound of bombs in Brussels.

Slowly the President's car drove along the little line of men wearing badges: "White House, May 15." He looked back and waved. The car turned the corner, and Franklin Roosevelt put aside the grim vision of 1918, faced the grim vision of 1940. The first responsibility of grim 1940 was preparedness against another war. For the leader of the richest nation on earth the easiest part of preparedness was money for that he went to Congress. Not so easy was the job of turning money into war material. That last week was his gravest unsolved problem for that he needed men who, like the War Industries Board of 1917-18, could get results. Most of all he needed a man like Bernard Baruch. All week advisers and an occasional tycoon (see p. 18) passed through the White House. Franklin Roosevelt, who has neither liked nor trusted businessmen, needed the ablest of businessmen and needed him quickly, needed him badly. It was the irony of war.

Last week the President: Counseled U. S. citizens-through the State Department-to get out of Europe, come home at once. From Yugoslavia came U. S. diplomats' families, indicating the fear of war spreading into the Balkans. At week's end the warning was broadened:

U. S. citizens in Egypt, Lebanon, Syria, Jerusalem were asked to return.

AND Asked Congress to appropriate $1,182,000,000 to speed national defense (see p. 1 8). Over the radio the President's voice was firm, imperturbable; but reporters noted visible signs of emotion: his grave face, the whiteness of his knuckles gripping the Speaker's dais, the trembling of his hand as he twice tried unsuccessfully to put on his glasses. Before Mr. Roosevelt's arrival at the Capitol, House attendants worried about a leak in the sky light just over the dais. Rainwater dripped steadily through the pane containing the State Seal of Oklahoma. Towels were placed to catch the drip. But the Roosevelt luck held: just as the President's car reached the Capitol, the rain stopped. -- Joined the U. S. with the 20 other American republics in a protest against the German invasions as "unjustifiable and cruel."

AND Strove once more, in a secret message, to hold Italy at peace. Constantly the President, now working far into every night, counseled with elegant William Phillips, U. S. Ambassador in Rome, urging on II Duce the benefits of keeping U. S. good will. There was no sign that his efforts were having any real effect: foreign experts believed Premier Mussolini only awaited the perfect moment to strike. And up & down the Capitol II Duce was referred to as "The Jackal."

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