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Frances PerkinsFrances Perkins
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“The A.F. of L. isn't in it?”

“No,” I said. “They wouldn't go. They were invited, all right, but they would have nothing to do with it, and they passed resolutions.”

“Guess I can handle that. Guess I can handle that.” Always had a cigar in the corner of his mouth, you know. He was having quite a popularity in London at the time, you remember. What did they call him, “Mr. America”, on the sidewalks? He looked just like the cartoons of Senators, you know--wore a frock coat and a string tie, and his white hair was long and curly. It grew--well, not quite to the shoulders, but very near. He was very large and flamboyant looking and wore a big hat--not quite a ten gallon hat, but it looked like a ten gallon hat to the English. A cigar in the side of his mouth. He looked very like the newspaper picture idea of a Senator.

I said, “Shall I get you a memorandum?”

“Well, if you want to. I guess I can handle it without.”

But I rustled a memorandum over to him. Then, to my surprise, when the thing came up on the floor of this foreign ministers' meeting two days later, Tom Connally handled it in the most original way, in what seemed to me a perfectly ridiculous way, but it worked. He got up and made a rip-rousing speech. He'd have nothing to do with it because the A.F. of L. is against it. This, in a





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