Lady from Arkansas

Inheritance of office, common in the House, was unknown in the Senate until last week. To fill the vacancy left by the death of Senator Thaddeus Horatius Caraway of Arkansas, Governor Harvey Parnell announced simply: "I have appointed Mrs. Caraway . . . because I feel she is entitled to the office held by her distinguished husband, who was my friend. . . . Mrs. Caraway is a most estimable woman, thoroughly capable and her service in the Senate will be an honor to the State."

This might have been taken as pure chivalry, like the gesture that put 87-year-old Rebecca Latimer Felton, "Grand Old Lady of Georgia" into a Senate seat for 24 hours in November 1922. But Governor Parnell went further. Decreeing a special election Jan. 12 to fill Senator Caraway's place permanently, he recommended Widow Caraway for the Democratic nomination, promised to vote for her.

If Widow Caraway behaves as her husband did in the Senate, she will seldom sit down in her seat. Instead she will clasp her hands behind her back and pace, shoulders hunched, up & down the aisles, back & forth in front of the lounges along the Chamber's rear wall. She will purse her lips, frown as though deep in thought, halt now & then to fix some speaking Senator with a sharp, doubtful glance. From time to time she will address the Chair to interject some comment, acid-humorous in intent--for her husband was the Senate's conscientious sarcastigator. Then she will resume her soft pacing through the aisles, around the back, shoulders hunched, pondering profoundly, a little bitterly. . . .

Being a sensible woman, however, estimable-capable Widow Caraway will doubtless sit quietly where she belongs and listen politely--when she enters the Chamber at all. For who better than she should know the alarm with which women are viewed by the members of the Greatest Club in the World? She better than most people could feel last week the polite frigidity which permeated the Senate's stag atmosphere at news of her appointment. Her presence will restrain the free-&-easy language of the Democratic cloakroom. It may necessitate the construction of a private lavatory. Some Senators may feel shy about spitting their tobacco juice in a lady's presence. The Greatest Club will be changed. . . .

Last week the new Lady from Arkansas sat quietly in her small Jonesboro home, surrounded by her three sons and flowers left over from the funeral. Short, maternal, with brown wavy hair and blue eyes, she has, after 29 years of married life, grown to resemble her husband, especially about the small tucked-in mouth, the narrow eyes. She and Thaddeus Caraway met at Dixon College, Tenn. They both taught school in rural Arkansas. For a honeymoon they went to New Orleans. While her Washington friends were last week proclaiming her witty and wise, she with tears in her eyes was disclaiming all political pretensions. Said she:

"I'm 53. The Senator said a woman who will tell her age will tell anything. ... I will try and follow the program of the Senator. . . . Everyone has been so lovely. . . . This is only the second time I've ever been interviewed and I've never made a political speech in my life. When the Senator came home at night, we didn't talk politics. He came home to rest. He wasn't one of those husbands who called their wives when they made a speech and told them to get their friends to come and listen in the gallery. I had one warning that he was going to speak. That was when he made his Drought speech [Feb. 2, 1931] and then I didn't go and all my friends were angry with me. . . . "Oh, yes -- I made a hole in par once."

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