Afternoon on Pine Mountain

Bad weather had held up the plane which brought the President's daily mail from Washington, so it was late that morning before Mr. Roosevelt got down to work. His secretary suggested that he might want to have lunch first, but the President said no; he had a busy afternoon ahead, he would start right in.

He sat beside the fireplace in the cozy, cluttered living room of the cottage at Warm Springs—the Little White House—while his secretary, stooped, lanky William Hassett, helped him sort through the mail. At one end of the room his cousins Laura Delano and Margaret Suckley sat chatting. The warm Georgia sun climbed over Pine Mountain. It was April 12.

There were a lot of things to sign—several State Department nominations, some postmasters' appointments, some citations for the Legion of Merit, the bill to extend the life of the Commodity Credit Corp. When he got to the bill, Franklin Roosevelt grinned at Bill Hassett, spoke the words that always made his secretary smile back: ".Here's where I make a law."

Mrs. Elizabeth Shoumatoff, a portrait painter, came in. She had once done a portrait of Franklin Roosevelt and now was anxious to do another. She had driven down from her Long Island home several days before and had been making sketches. Hassett gingerly collected the papers, letting the President's signatures dry.

"Don't mind me," Hassett remarked. "I'm waiting for my laundry to dry."

The President laughed. Mrs. Shoumatoff remembered afterwards: "He was so gay."

Mr. Hassett left, leaving a stack of state papers within easy reach of the President's chair. The artist sketched while Miss Suckley crocheted. The President unconcernedly shuffled his papers.

Good Brunswick Stew. He felt better. Utter weariness had kept him close to the cottage ever since he had arrived in Warm Springs, a little less than two weeks ago. He had seen few people. A week before, he had received President Sergio Osmena of the Philippines, and had told Osmena that he hoped the Commonwealth might soon achieve its independence. He had looked drawn beneath his tan then.

But this afternoon he was going to a barbecue. He had told his friend Jess Long, Georgia peach grower, to "make some of that good Brunswick stew of yours." In the evening, the polio patients at his beloved Warm Springs Foundation were going to give a minstrel show for him. He was looking forward to both affairs.

Miss Suckley glanced his way. He had suddenly slumped sideways in his chair and, alarmed, she ran across the room to him. She heard him mutter: "I have a terrific headache." The women stood aghast at what they saw. The President fainted.

They called his Negro valet. Big Arthur Prettyman, veteran of 20 years in the Navy, was accustomed to helping the crippled President around. With the help of "Joe," a Filipino mess boy, he lifted the unconscious man in his arms and carried him into the bedroom.