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Hopkins is equally at home now in a relief office or at Newport, at a faculty dinner or in a rich friend's box at the races, with high-minded old ladies or with glamor girls. Many a wealthy New Deal-hater has been doubly horrified, after a week's grind in the factory, making money for Hopkins to boondoggle with, to find him in the house for the weekend. When he has not been busy in Washington, or getting a going over in a hospital, he has blazed a merry trail through Manhattan's El Morocco and "21."
Hopkins was divorced by his first wife in 1930; his second wife died in 1937. Since then he has been one of Washington's most eligible bachelors, a serious New Dealer who could also be the life of a party, a hot-eyed social reformer with an eye for a pretty face.
The Day. For weeks Washington had buzzed with rumors that Harry Hopkins was about to be married again. Most people guessed, wrongly, that the bride-to-be was Cinemactress Paulette Goddard, whom he had squired occasionally. Finally Gossip Columnist Igor Cassini of the Washington Times-Herald nosed out the truth.
Their secret out, Harry Hopkins and Mrs. Macy held a press conference devoted exclusively to romance. Eleanor Roosevelt was there, in a summery white dress, helping along the announcement with a firm and experienced hand. Mrs. Macy, smiling and bright-cheeked, wore an egg-sized diamond engagement ring designed by cafe society's Verdura. Hopkins grinned and twisted like any embarrassed bridegroom.
They announced that they wrould be married on July 30 at the White House, the first marriage there since 1914,* would take a honeymoon trip whose route was a "military secret," would then live in the White House for a while. Said Harry Hopkins, unable to think of a more memorable line for the occasion: "I like the whole business. It suits me. That's an unqualified endorsement." Louise Macy flashed a brilliant smile.
*When Eleanor Wilson was married to William G. McAdoo in the Blue Room.