One afternoon last week Clark Howell sashayed proudly into the White House offices, with a friend in tow, to see the President. Newshawks gaped as they saw the rotund little Georgian's friend, a scraggle-haired bespectacled man in a white suit, with crimson suspenders visible under his open coat. Into the President's air-cooled office marched the politically-minded publisher of the Atlanta Constitution and his friend. Franklin Roosevelt swung in his chair and, smiling just as he smiles on pauper and potentate, stuck out his hand.
"Hello, Gene!" he beamed, greeting the one man...
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