Tortist's Retort

For the last five years, a flashy plebe lawyer named Edward Fretwell Prichard Jr., 27, has gagged his way through Washington as the fat man's Tommy Corcoran.

This cocky, whip-smart, 260-lb. jumbo could: 1) eat a dozen eggs at a sitting, 2) bat out a brilliant legal opinion with his eyes closed, 3) keep cocktail parties in stitches with slapstick impersonations of Herbert Hoover and Eleanor Roosevelt.

Picturesque "Prich" Prichard arrived in Washington with a cum laude degree from Harvard Law School, and without the distinction of not being a protege of Justice Felix Frankfurter. He moved on to the Justice Department, to the new Office of Economic Stabilization. On dull days, when there was nothing else to decide, Washington quidnuncs often decided that he was the king-sized nucleus of a new Brain Trust.

Last week, before he had time to make these dope stories look good, Prich went off to the Army. His draft board reclassified him from 4F to lA; the Administration, sensitive to criticism of its under-38 bachelors, made no effort to defer him. Said Prich typically: "I guess they scraped the bottom of the manpower barrel and now they have to take the barrel."

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