NATIONAL AFFAIRS

"We Must Act"

"O Lord, our Heavenly Father, the high and mighty ruler of the Universe, Who dost from Thy throne behold all the dwellers upon earth; most heartily we beseech Thee, with Thy favor to behold and bless Thy servant, Franklin, chosen to be the President of the United States. . . ."

His face cupped in his hands Franklin Delano Roosevelt began the biggest day of his life with that prayer ringing in his ears at Washington's St. John's Episcopal Church across Lafayette Park from the White House. For the 20-minute service in the plain white chapel he had gathered about him his family, his Cabinet, a few close friends. At the altar in cassock & surplice stood his old schoolmaster, Groton's Dr. Endicott ("Peabo") Peabody who had married him to Anna Eleanor Roosevelt. From his heart, from the hearts of his little band of worshippers, from the heart of a stricken nation rose a wordless appeal for divine strength to right great ills. . . . The President-elect stood up in his pew, squared back his shoulders. As he walked out of St. John's, a brief streak of sunlight shot down upon him through grey wintry clouds.

Before the White House portico Mr. Roosevelt kept his seat in the car, waited a few minutes for President Hoover to join him for the ride up Capitol Hill. A lift of silk hats, a quick handshake, a few formal words and their greeting was over. With the country's most precious cargo behind, Richard Jervis, silvery-haired chief of the White House Secret Service, slipped into the front seat of the car, kept its door cracked and one hand on his pocketed pistol.

Meanwhile ten times ten thousand men, women & children had gathered before the inaugural platform on the East Front of the Capitol. They blackened 40 acres of park and pavement. They sat on benches. They filled bare trees. They perched on roof tops. But for all the flags and music and ceremony, they were not a happy, carefree crowd. Their bank accounts were frozen by what amounted to a national moratorium. Many of them wondered how they could raise the cash to get home. Their mass spirits were as sombre as the grey sky above. Yet they remained doggedly hopeful that this new President with his New Deal would somehow solve their worries and send them away in brighter mood.

Ta-ta-Ta-ta-aa sounded a bugle.

Through the great bronze doors that tell the story of Columbus, appeared the President-elect leaning on the arm of his son James. From the door to the platform had been built a special ramp, carpeted in maroon. Down this he shuffled slowly while the crowd cheered and the Marine Band played "Hail to the Chief."

President Roosevelt, without hat or overcoat in the chill wind, swung around to the crowd before him, launched vigorously into his inaugural address. His easy smile was gone. His large chin was thrust out defiantly as if at some invisible, insidious foe. A challenge rang in his clear strong voice. For 20 vibrant minutes he held his audience, seen and unseen, under a strong spell.

"My Friends!" he began. "This is a day of national consecration. . . . The only thing we have to fear is fear itself--nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance.

"This nation asks for action, and action now. Our greatest primary task is to put ; people to work. It can be accomplished in part by direct recruiting by the Government itself, treating the task as we would treat the emergency of a war."

THE CONGRESS

Bank Bill

Called into special session on four days notice, the 73rd Congress, young and Democratic, sat momentously in the Capitol last week. President Roosevelt had summoned it to meet the banking crisis--Emergency Item No. 1 of the New Deal. Not since War days had the Congressional temper been so grave, so unanimously bent on speedy action. The State of the Union was so serious that the most opinionated Senators and Representatives submerged their convictions in worried silence and took orders from the White House. Other Congresses had gabbled away opportunities to rescue the country but the 73rd, with a record to make, gave a legislative performance which for dispatch, efficiency and good behavior during the first week's session, placed it high in public esteem.

After Speaker Rainey had sworn in the membership with one thunderous oath and the President's message had been read, the House plunged headlong into H. R. 1491, "an act to provide relief in the existing national emergency in banking." So hastily had the bill been drawn up that no printed copies of it were yet available for members. Their only knowledge of what they were being asked to approve came from a clerk's sing-song reading of the lone text which still bore last-minute corrections scribbled in pencil. Chairman Steagall of the yet unorganized Banking & Currency Committee arose to explain to his bewildered colleagues how H. R. 1491 gave dictatorial banking power to the President, authorized impounding of all gold, and provided for a new currency issue. Members were told that only by voting this measure could the nation's banks open on the morrow.

Precisely 38 minutes after it had taken up H. R. 1491 the House passed it with a unanimous roar. Trusting their new President to do right, members voted it blind, without a single word's change. Under the Roosevelt spell the House's deliberative session became a ratification meeting. This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.