The Waterbury Democrat., 1938-01-14

upSeCC1ng the Ad1nln1Strat1t did not want to be a hero. The gentleman in question is 3 big StA Bernard dog of a Con- gresSman named Louey Ludlow, loved by everyone in Washington, and so anxious to reciprocate that he let himself in for a constitu- tional amendment which he did not agree with but which rever- berated around the world.
 Louey came to Washington 37 years ago as the correspondent for a group of Indiana newspapers, later wrote for The Columbus Dis patch, trudged weary miles through government departments, picked up handouts, buttonholed congressman, and became almost as much fixture as the Wash ington monument.
 Then in 1927, following the re- tirement of Alfred Kirchhofer, Louey stepped into his shoes as President of the National Press club, introduced Lindbergh to the club after his first historic flight, and immediately became fa- nous. Shortly after that Louey went back to Indiana, capitalized on his fame and became the first newspapermen to jump from the Press Gallery to the House of Representatives.
 Forgotten Resolution
 Tn the nine years which have followed, Louey has been just as good congressman as he was a newspapernan. Among other things, he aims to oblige, and last spring tossed into the legislative hopper resolution which he scarcely remembered.
 But several months later, with war flaming in the Far East and threatening in Europe, his reso- lution providing that this coun- try could not declare war with out referendum of the people, suddenly hit the front pages. Simultaneously the peace or ganizations (real authors of his bilD put the heat on him and his colleagues both, forcing them to sign a discharge peti- tion to take the resolution out of the Judiciary Committee, where the Administration had it scarcely pigeOnhOled.
 Finally, much to the surprise of the Administration, and to the complete anazement of Louey Ludlow, he found the petition completed with the necessary 218 names.
 Nervous LOuey
 It was at this point that Louey began to get nervous. Louey, it must be remembered, is a good Democrat and strong for the President. So he was doubly en- barraSsed when called to the lower end of Pennsylvania ave- nue and given a closeup of the Administrations point of view.
 Sensing that Louey was getting cold feet, Dorothy Detzer of the Women's International League, ablest of the peace leaders, went to see him, told him how he was making history, how his name was in the newspapers of Greece and Bulgaria, Japan and Aus tralia, how she was proud that she also was from Indiana.
 Louey murmured politely but looked as if he wished he were back in the Press Gallery.
 Later, still looking little pale, Louey called caucus of the sign CTS and proposed that a showdown vote be delayed awhile. He had decided to spar for time. "This will give us a chance" he coun- seled, 'tO get our bearings and lineup support"
 The suggestion was greeted with howl of protests. "Oh no yOI dOn't" yelled Milwaukee's little Tom O'Malley, you can't put over anything like that. If you haven't got the nerve to ask for vote right away, then I'll do it."
 Under this pummeling, Louey promised to move for a vote. When the House trounced the resolu- ton, he turned to OMalley and with glint of satisfaction in his eye, remarked:
 
 "WelI, I told you so. But you knew it all and wouldn't listen." Barefoot Boys
 Senator Wheeler of Montana, once the flaming crusader against big business, was cross examining Martin w. Clement, president of the Pennsylvania railroad, during the Senate railway investigation. In the course of his testimony Clement remarked that he had risen to his high post from a poor farm boy. Wheeler chimed in to remark that he too had start ed as a farm boy.
 Next day, as Clement was leav- ing the stand, Wheeler handed ATST% VtEIT< rNENnnn