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James Aloysius Farley. Big Jim, 51, 6 ft. 2 in., 215 Ib. of partisan good will, "the man who has done most for Grassy Point, New York" (where he was born), is also the man who has done most for Franklin Roosevelt. Last week Big Jim, still living down his unearned reputation as an out-&-out politician and therefore a low fellow, traveled through Midwest, Border and Southern towns, trying to do for himself in a quiet way what he did so clamorously for his boss. On Mule Day in Columbia, Tenn., Big Jim played Titania to a mule, Prince Hal with the voters, thousands of whom felt the U. S. would be safe in the big hands of Big Jim Farley.
Cordell Hull. Last week the prospects of Secretary of State Hull faded—ironically enough, in the moment of his biggest victory (see p. 18). Not one of the Western Democratic Senators who voted against the reciprocal trade agreements was picayune, stubborn, or merely stupid. They reflected the Western electorate's firm belief that the program hurts cattlemen, farmers, miners. No Democratic boss in the West believed last week that the party could win with Mr. Hull, news almost certainly received gratefully by unambitious Mr. Hull, 68. No one in the U. S. saw anything unPresidential about Mr. Hull except perhaps his age (oldest President: William Henry Harrison, 68, who died one month after inauguration). Mr. Hull represents probably the last chance for U. S. citizens who want to vote for a man born in a log cabin.
Arthur Horace James. Freckly, redhaired, 100% reactionary, Pennsylvania's G. O. P. Governor James, 56, is the ideal President to many Americans. A coal-mine breaker's boy, a small-town lawyer, a Methodist and 33rd degree Mason, he respects hard work, thrift, the Bible and Oilman Joe Pew; likes Welsh singing, duck-shooting, boiled dinners; wears high-top shoes with hooked laces; loathes progressivism in any form but the abstract. Yet there have been U. S. Presidents of less force than Mr. James.
Bruce Barton. Tall, impressively flat-waisted in the House's wallow of paunches, his auburn hair attractively wavy, an honest apple-cheeked smile, Mr. Barton, 53, seems the epitome of the wholesome U. S. businessman. If the 1928 cry for a businessman in the White House (Herbert Hoover) should be revived, Mr. Barton's candidacy would be even more obvious.
Owen Josephus Roberts. The so-called "Swing Man" of the Supreme Court would, as a Republican candidate, be relatively impervious alike to New Dealers or conservatives. Fearless, relentless, 64, of greater physical and mental stamina than most U. S. leaders, he is also a practical farmer, has vast erudition, a natural oratorical voice trained to express sense rather than emotion, impressive presence, and no great desire to be President.