"Dear Chief . . ."

To the one man in the world whom he calls "Chief" the President of the United States addressed a letter.

The letter was in answer to another that began: "Dear Franklin." Shrewd, spry old Diplomat Josephus Daniels, Secretary of the Navy during World War I when Franklin Roosevelt was his assistant, had just resigned as U.S. Ambassador to Mexico. He had held that pesky post for eight long years. Of his own accord, he had decided to give it up, retire to his native North Carolina.

It was not only his age (he is 79) that dictated the Ambassador's decision. But Mrs. Daniels, who suffers from chronic arthritis, and has long been confined to a wheel chair, had made up her mind to return to her home in Raleigh. Wrote Ambassador Daniels to the President: "No one knows better than you that I cannot carry on without her. ..."

Tar-Heel Editor. An oldfashioned, liberal statesman is Josephus Daniels. Born in the second year of the Civil War, he grew up in the age of trust-busting and reform, became a disciple of William Jennings Bryan. As owner and editor of the Raleigh News & Observer, he fought the railroads, fought the power companies, feuded with the tobacco barons who made North Carolina rich.

Through his friendship with Bryan, Editor Daniels met Woodrow Wilson, became his devoted follower. When Wilson moved into the White House, Josephus Daniels became Secretary of the Navy. An ardent Dry, he prohibited liquor on board Navy ships. He outraged officers by shaking hands with seamen. He tried to make sailors wear pajamas. In his black string tie and his flat-brimmed, North Carolina planter's hat, he was a walking affront to the ramrod dignity of the admirals.

One April day in 1914, while Daniels was Secretary, the Navy shelled the Mexican port of Veracruz, ousting the revolutionary Government of General Victoriano Huerta. By 1916 the U.S. was at war with Mexico. Daniels later denied that he had ordered the attack. But Mexicans did not forget that he was technically in command of the Fleet.

"Uncle Joe." When Franklin Roosevelt sent his old Chief to Mexico in 1933, there were riots in Mexico City. Mobs stormed the streets, plastered angry posters on walls. But Mexicans quickly calmed down when they saw Josephus Daniels, heard his speeches, realized that he was an oldtime apostle of free silver and agrarian reform.

They grew quite fond of this old-fashioned Ambassador who allowed no liquor in his Embassy, at formal dinners served mineral water from the hills of Mexico. He spoke no Spanish, said he was too old to learn. But he always listened affably to Mexican oratory, of which he understood not a word. Mexicans soon got used to seeing him smilingly applaud their thunderous speeches denouncing imperialismo yanqui.

In Mexico City this week Josephus Daniels wound up his affairs, made his last round of diplomatic calls. Next week he returns to the U.S. to work on the last two volumes of his memoirs, The Woodrow Wilson Era and The New Deal and the Good Neighbor Policy. (Already published: Tar Heel Editor and Editor in Politics.)

Mexicans were sorry to see him go. Sad too was his old assistant.

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