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Franklin Roosevelt, less jaunty than usual, full of the precedent-breaking importance of the conference, his style a little cramped by appearing as one of a duet, introduced his guest. There were shouts from the rear by newsmen who couldn't see. Churchill stood up, grinned, climbed on his chair, waved his hand. The applause and cheers rattled the windows.
He had won his first U.S. audience. This stubborn little man, wholly British and half American, cocky, droll, grumpy, charming, cherubic, tough, with his head thrust close to his shoulders like a young bull undecided whether to be ferocious or playful, was a man Americans liked at first sight and at second.
Churchill the Speaker. On Christmas Eve Winston Churchill stood bareheaded while Franklin Roosevelt, on the south portico of the White House, went through the annual ceremony of turning on the outdoor Christmas tree's lights before, some 2,000 spectators inside the grounds, more thousands outside. Then he joined the President in broadcasting Christmas greetings to the nation.
Said the Prime Minister: "I spend this anniversary and festival far from my country, far from my family, and yet I cannot truthfully say that I feel far from home. ... In God's mercy, a happy Christmas to you all."
The real Churchill eloquence came later, at a joint session of Congress which Senate Majority Leader Alben W. Barkley, who arranged it, will always consider one of his proudest accomplishments.
Never before had any foreign dignitary addressed Congress in such a crucial time. Congressmen who had gone home for the Christmas holiday scurried back to Washington. A thousand men & women, after a day-long struggle for tickets, crowded into the small galleries; another 5,000 stood in the damp weather outside the Capitol, just to be near.
There were tears in Winnie Churchill's eyes at the ovation which greeted him, from isolationist and interventionist Congressmen alike. He shoved his thick, hornrimmed glasses over his nose, blinked, balanced himself like an old sailor. With a sly grin, he made his joke, established himself as one of the boys.
Then he let go: eloquence, blunt, polished and effective as an old knobkerrie, the growling, galling scorn for his enemies, the passages of noble purple for his friends. Between bursts of applause in which Supreme Court Justices and diplomats joined as lustily as doormen, the galleries wondered whether ever before had such a moving and eloquent speech been made on the Senate floor. Actually it was not so much the speech as the personality that put it over.
When he had finished, white-haired, sedate Chaplain Ze Barney Phillips leaned over and whispered: "Mr. Prime Minister, you are the most perfect master of the English language in all the world." The Prime Minister grinned, replied: "After hearing your sermon yesterday [at Christmas services in Foundry Methodist Church] I know you should be a good judge."