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Frances PerkinsFrances Perkins
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them all and shook their hands. The door where they entered was at one end of the room and the windows were at the other. Green was at the far end from the door. I greeted them when they came in, shook hands with them, and said, “Won't you sit down? Mr. Taylor, do you know Mr. Green? Mr. Irwin, do you know Mr. Green?” I was so thankful afterwards that Irwin was there, because he walked right up and said, “Hello Green, how are you? Glad to see you.” Green greeted him. They had known each other in one way or another many, many years earlier. There seemed to be no animosity there.

However, Mr. Taylor didn't advance any further when he heard the name of Green. He went back toward the door. I said, “Mr. Grace, I want you to meet Mr. Green.” Grace went back near the door. I saw at once that I had a situation on my hands. Eugene Grace, Myron Taylor, Tom Girdler, this lawyer, and two or three others whose names now escape me, even the fellows from Inland Steel, who were pretty good on the whole and comparatively socially minded, went into a huddle up in a corner. The room was a longish, narrow room. These men wouldn't come down to the end of the room where Green was and where the chairs were to sit down. I finally went up and broke into the huddle, saying, “Please come and sit down, gentlemen. We want to get this matter





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