Wonder Boy

In 1939, when mountainous Edward Fretwell Prichard Jr. plumped himself down in Washington, even the New Dealers had never seen his like. He weighed 300 Ibs., stood six feet two; he was all of 24, he had been sent to Europe by Central Press as one of America's six brightest lads, had been graduated from Princeton with highest honors, from Harvard Law School cum laude. As a law clerk to his friend Justice Frankfurter, he squeezed himself into a chair, ran a fat hand through his dark wavy hair, and cocked an intelligent and cocky eye on the U.S. and its problems.

Soon a familiar and unmistakable figure among New Deal Turks young & old. "Prich" had even the most bumptious of them aghast at his energy and his good-natured brass. On any point in economics, politics, history, the law or cocktail-mixing, an opinion from "Prich" came down with the crashing finality of a round from a 16-inch naval gun. No doubts assailed him.

Soon he became special assistant to Attorney General Jackson, and then to Francis Biddle. Then he was an assistant general counsel in 0PM (later WPB), and finally assistant to Jimmy Byrnes and Fred Vinson in OES. By that time (1942), "Prich" had roly-polyed his way around Washington until he had a chubby finger in everybody's pie.

But by then, cool Jimmy Byrnes and cool Fred Vinson had cooled him off a little, had found his nimble, retentive mind valuable. Many a time Fred Vinson took a tough problem to his boy assistant, said merely: "Let's get this straightened out, Prich." He got results.

By last week, drawling, cigar-sucking Ed Prichard knew his job was done. Now slimmed down to a roseate 210 Ibs. (by dieting, not by wartime Washington) he tossed his law books into a bag, went back to his home in Paris, Ky. He will practice law in Lexington and Frankfort, turn his eager eagle eye on the politics of his home state. At Harvard "Prich" had been particularly famed for one boast: that he would some day be Governor of Kentucky. This he branded last week as a base canard; he just intends to "run for something." With a fair show of diffidence he confided: "My ears are to the ground, but I don't hear any popular clamor yet."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.