Eleanor's Playmates

Most U.S. citizens would agree that Eleanor Roosevelt is a fine woman; but even a fine woman can go too far. And last week it began to look as if the First Lady had gone too far.

As OCDiva to Fiorello LaGuardia's OCDemon of the Office of Civilian Defense, she had contributed the lioness' share to the air of bustling nonsense which has characterized OCD. This week Mayor LaGuardia, by promising to resign as head man of OCD, somewhat cleared the air and quieted the room. But no sooner had he done so than Eleanor Roosevelt set the shouts and murmurs going again louder than ever. The suspicion that the OCDiva regarded OCD as her particular plaything was deepened by the appearance of her newly summoned playmates.

The playmate-protege who roused the first angry shouts was personable, politically ambitious Cinemactor Melvyn Douglas (real name: Melvyn Hesselberg). First it was announced that he was going to be in charge of information for OCD. Then OCD said Mr. Douglas was actually going to look after OCD's art division, at the rate of $8,000 a year (when he worked at it; he is still in the movies). Straightway Congress sounded off. He's a Red, cried California's Leland Ford. He isn't, either, cried California's Jerry Voorhis. This hue & cry flushed another playmate-protege from OCD's covert: one Mayris Chaney, a toothsome blonde dancer who in 1938 had made up a dance which she gratefully called the "Eleanor Glide." Miss Chaney was in charge of the children's section of OCD's physical fitness division. Salary: $4,600 a year.*

With Miss Chaney thus in view, the House really gave tongue. For four hours Congressman after Congressman lit into Miss Chaney, Friend Eleanor and OCD. Bayed Missouri's Philip Bennett: "If [she] is worth $4,600 a year, then Sally Rand, strip-tease artist from my own Congressional district, ought to be employed at once because she would, on this scale, be worth at least $25,000 a year to civilian defense." In full-throated chorus, the House voted to forbid the use of civilian defense funds for "instructions in physical fitness by dancers, fan dancing, street shows, theatrical performances or other public entertainment," amended a $100,000,000 appropriation bill to make sure that no dancer would get any of it.

Though Congress needed no encouraging yoicks, the press joined in with rousing view halloos. The usually mild-mannered Columnist Raymond Clapper set the pace. Said he: "Half the trouble around [OCD] could be got rid of if the President would haul [Mrs. Roosevelt] out of the place . . . There is hesitation in Congress about saying much because nobody wants to criticize the wife of the President. But this is public business and very important public business. ... It is incredible that President Roosevelt will allow this situation to continue much longer. It has become a public scandal. How can you have any kind of morale with a subordinate employe, who happens to be the wife of the President of the United States, flitting in and out between lecture engagements to toss a few more pets into nice jobs?"

The hunt flushed many another protege of Mrs. Roosevelt's from the thickets of OCD. One was Betty Lindley, wife of New Dealing Newshawk Ernest K. Lindley, who used to handle Mrs. Roosevelt's radio programs. Mrs. Lindley was "principal civilian participation adviser," at $5,600 a year. Another was Jonathan W. Daniels, novelist and editor-son of an editor-father. This man of letters was "director of program planning." For "operations director" the OCD named a New York social worker named Hugh Jackson, and as survey director, Mary Dublin, formerly with the Tolan Committee.

Few doubted Eleanor Roosevelt's good intentions. And many a citizen thought it likely that James McCauley Landis, OCD's executive director, might be able to straighten out OCD's compound confusion if he were given a free hand--which meant, if Mrs. Roosevelt would step out. All over the U.S. everyone prayed that Mrs. Roosevelt's admirable energy would find some less dangerous plaything.

*Miss Chaney protested last week that, although she had been working for OCD for two months, she had not yet had any pay, would stand by OCD, regardless. "They can't dig any skeletons out of my closet," said she. One thing dug out of Mayris' closet was a scheme for setting up a physical-fitness assembly line: children were to move down the line under their own power, to be serviced every twelve feet by an instructor in "breathing, marching and relaxing."

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