Over Washington, gloomy under late winter skies, spread the deeper, greyer, more paralyzing gloom made by men. Grumpily, unhappily, but perforce, men faced the fact that the Administration's war agencies are still full of sand and emery dust, their borrowed time is fast running out, ahead lies another screaming crisis when all the wheels will grind to a stop and only a major repair job can get them started again.
The War Production Board, product of half a dozen earlier crises, went through another upheaval last week. Its Boss Donald Nelson, torn between his natural urge to compromise and his belated...
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