The Long Day

Mrs. Roosevelt, as guest of honor, arrived at the Sulgrave Club tea for the benefit of Washington's children's clinics "with a very light heart." She had heard from Warm Springs that the President had eaten a good breakfast and was feeling fine. The anxiety which she had borne so long was eased a little that afternoon.

She sat down next to Mrs. Woodrow Wilson. Soon afterwards, she was told that she was wanted on the telephone.

Mrs. Roosevelt rose and left the room. She returned after a few moments to apologize for leaving "in this way," and rode back to the White House. In her sitting room on the second floor, surrounded by hundreds of cherished photographs of her family and friends, she faced Stephen Early and Vice Admiral Ross T. Mclntire. "The President," said Early, "has slept away."

"I am more sorry for the people of the country and the world," Mrs. Roosevelt said after a moment, "than I am for us."

"As He Would Want You." The warm sun came through the windows of the house which had been her home for twelve years. Steve Early telephoned Mr. Truman.

Soon the Vice President came up to the sitting room. "The President has passed away," Mrs. Roosevelt told him. When Harry Truman choked, "What can I do?" she answered: "Tell us what we can do. Is there any way we can help you?"

There were other things to be attended to. Her five children must be notified. Anna Boettiger was near by at the Naval Hospital, where her son Johnny was recovering from flu. James, Franklin Jr. and John were in the Pacific. Elliott was in England. She composed a message: "He did his job to the end as he would want you to do. Bless you and all our love--Mother."

She changed to a black dress. By 7:15 in the evening she was ready. She kissed Anna goodbye and strode with her usual determined gait to the waiting limousine, accompanied by Mr. Early and Admiral Mclntire. They enplaned for Georgia. In the dark morning hours, Eleanor Roosevelt walked into the little white cottage on Pine Mountain. Silent and alone, she went in to her husband.

"Going Home." Miss Delano and Miss Suckley rode with her in the car which took them down to the railroad later that morning. The black dog the President called "Pup"--the Scottie Fala--lay atx her feet. Just ahead of their car rolled the hearse which carried the body of the man she had married 40 years ago. Ahead marched a band from Ft. Benning.

It was the President's invariable custom, whenever he left Warm Springs, to drive past the Foundation administration building and shout goodbye to the polio patients in wheelchairs.

Now, in the day's hot brightness, the procession rolled slowly into the driveway in front of Georgia Hall. Eleanor Roosevelt looked out at the tense faces of the cripples. The procession stopped and she saw Graham Jackson, a Negro accordionist who had performed for the President many times. He stepped up beside the hearse and began to play. It was "Going Home," one of the President's favorites.

A photographer aimed his camera at her. She lifted her hand and framed the word, "Please," and he lowered his camera. The procession crawled on.

The special train waiting to carry them north was at the little wooden station. Soldiers lifted the flag-draped casket into the last car, where other soldiers, sailors and marines would stand guard over it. The band played on & on; the drums echoed hollowly in the hot valley. Leaning on Steve Early's arm, with Fala trailing them, she went steadily aboard. The train moved slowly out of Warm Springs.

The Last Train. At Atlanta, steel-helmeted soldiers lined the station platform, crowds filled windows overlooking the smoky terminal. Atlanta's dapper Mayor William Hartsfield came into her car. "You know there are no words to express how we feel."

"I understand," she told him.

The train rumbled on, past fields where farmers tied their mules and stood at the fences with their hats off--into Greenville, S.C., where thousands packed the station area and someone passed aboard a wreath from Mrs. Kate Finley, whose son had been killed in the war--into Charlotte," N.C., where more thousands stood, bareheaded and staring, where she heard Negroes singing spirituals. The train rolled on through the dark hills of Virginia, into the nation's capital at last and toward the end of Eleanor Roosevelt's longest day.

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