Monday, May. 12, 1941

In Wilson's Town

Last week an opportunity came to President Roosevelt to speak of the faith that moves him personally. Dedicating a plain white brick house in Staunton, Va., where Thomas Woodrow Wilson was born, he turned a simple dedicating address into a statement of his credo.

It was an impressive ceremony. The old town of narrow streets and pleasant front yards, the noonday sun bright on the shiny cars, on the people, as dressed up to see the President as if they were going to church--all this made a background for the President's words, as fitting as the words themselves. From Charlottesville, where he had been resting in "Pa" Watson's three-roomed guest house, the President had motored along the ridges above the Shenandoah Valley, through miles of green pine and spruce, past miles of mountain laurel and white dogwood. At the dead-end of a one-way street, facing a hill that led to the main part of town, the President stood before the old Presbyterian manse. He looked pale and worn; his hands trembled. He began:

"We are meeting here today to dedicate a new shrine of freedom. By this action we are bearing true witness to the faith that is in us--simple faith in the freedom of democracy in the world.

"It is the kind of faith for which we have fought before, for the existence of which we are ever ready to fight again."

There was a cheer from the crowd. Behind the President sat the notables--Secretary Hull, Viscount Halifax, Jesse Jones, impassive as dignitaries must be. But testy old Carter Glass let the left side of his mouth curve ferociously, as it does when he is pleased.

"I can think of no more fitting place in all the land for Americans fo pledge anew their faith in the democratic way of life than at the birthplace of Woodrow Wilson. . . . This was a home of plain living and high thinking and wherever the family moved . . . they carried with them ideals which put faith in spiritual values above every material consideration.

"In the tragic conflict which the world witnesses today and which threatens everything we have most loved as a free people, we see more clearly than ever before the unyielding strength of things of the spirit."

He spoke of Wilson's "vision splendid," of the Wilson who, "when other men sought revenge and material gain, [tried to] substitute freedom for force in the government of the world." He ended: "It is good for America that this house in which Woodrow Wilson was born will be preserved for us and for many future generations. In this valley of Virginia it will remind America that his ideals of freedom were wide enough to support democracy in all the world. He taught that democracy could not survive in isolation. We applaud his judgment and his faith."

Except for the one sentence that brought the crowd's cheer, it was no fighting speech. It was no more powerful answer to Hitler's heroics (see p. 24), no companion piece to the thrilling rhetoric of Churchill. It said nothing directly about the questions that fill the U.S. with anxiety. But it moved the crowd as few recent Presidential speeches have. Even hardened Washington correspondents, tired of all speeches, tired of the same old faces, were moved by it, stood silently like the others, with heads bared, when the President had finished.

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