Willkie, Owen, Otis & Bailly

There is a dignified, medium-sized law office in downtown Manhattan, with walnut-paneled walls, shaded lights and a quiet air of wellbeing. The receptionist has worked there for 30 years. Half a dozen of the 70 employes have been with the firm for more than 20 years. When the telephone girls answered "Miller, Owen, Otis & Bailly," it was with the knowledge that they were naming one of Manhattan's most distinguished firms. With New York's ex-Governor Miller as senior partner, with celebrated advocates spotted all through its long history, with a reputation for being big-minded and simple, the firm was at the opposite pole from Manhattan's huge, high-powered law factories.

Last week the old firm got a new senior partner--Wendell Willkie. From the 200-odd jobs offered him since his defeat, Mr. Willkie had chosen the law, his original profession. He planned to concentrate on trial work, would pick his own cases. Before starting work, Wendell Willkie set out to visit his Indiana farms. But law firms, like brides, change their names as soon as the partnership is made, and at Mr. Willkie's future place of business the telephone operators were already saying, "Willkie, Owen, Otis & Bailly."

The extraordinary chapter in U.S. political history that began with his capture of the Republican nomination had come to an end. But even in the unlikely event that Willkie should virtually disappear as a public figure, it was clear that he had left one outstanding mark on U.S. affairs. He had prevented the 1940 campaign from being turned into a partisan fight on foreign policy, had prevented the kind of bitter post-election fight that might have kept the U.S. from following any coherent foreign policy. Whether Franklin Roosevelt's choice of policy was wise or unwise, Loser Willkie had deprived the Administration of any excuse for vacillation or inaction.

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