Looking Backward

The voices quavered a little, but the singers still showed the old git-up-and-go spirit as they sang: "How d'ye do, Dr. Townsend, How d'ye do."

Dr. Francis E. Townsend, now 84 but determined as ever, nodded his white head in time to the tune and beamed at 2,000 faithful followers gathered in Detroit's big Masonic Temple auditorium. They were celebrating the 17th anniversary of The Plan--$200 a month for every man & woman over 60, who needs it.

Times had changed from those exhilarating days when The Plan was going to cure the depression and Dr. Townsend strode into Washington with 25 million signatures in his pocket to tell Congress that if it didn't like his plan there would be a different Congress, and if the President didn't like it, there would be a different President. Money had gotten a little short to support the big lobby which Townsend still doggedly maintains in Washington. But the doctor had found a cure. Said he: "I had to find something we could sell to the public for a profit. I decided on vitamins, because our people need vitamins. We sell about $2,000 worth a week."

For four days, the oldsters streamed through the lobbies of Detroit's hotels, singing hymns and loyally downing vitamin pills. But despite the undaunted doctor, the delegates could not help feeling a little querulous. Detroit's Mayor Albert E. Cobo had pleaded that he was too busy to welcome them. By solemn resolution, the delegates found the excuse flimsy and the mayor's conduct "an outrageous insult." Politicians didn't do that sort of thing in the old days.

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