In the Interior Secretary's office last week, at a desk which visitors must ap proach over an expanse nearly as long as Mussolini's, sat a happy old grouch. Honest Harold Ickes, the New Deal's grumpy grandpa, had escaped the manpower job which President Roosevelt wanted him to take (see p. 28). He was still firmly ensconced in his beloved Interior Department. Working in the sleeves of a horribly blue-striped shirt, he pulled the lumpy knot of his tie a little more crooked, and nearly smiled.
After a full decade as a bogie-man, an...
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