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<text>
<title>
(Roosevelt) Afternoon On Pine Mountain
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--FDR Portrait
</history>
<link 00101><article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
April 23, 1945
Afternoon on Pine Mountain
</hdr>
<body>
<p> Bad weather had held up the plane which brought the
President's daily mail from Washington, so it was late that
morning before Mr. Roosevelt got down to work. His secretary
suggested that he might want to have lunch first, but the
President said no; he had a busy afternoon ahead, he would start
right in.
</p>
<p> He sat beside the fireplace in the cozy, cluttered living
room of the cottage at Warm Springs--the Little White House--while
his secretary, stooped, lanky William Hassett, helped him
sort through the mail. At one end of the room his cousins Laura
Delano and Margaret Suckley sat chatting. The warm Georgia sun
climbed over Pine Mountain. It was April 12.
</p>
<p> There were a lot of things to sign--several State
Department nominations, some postmasters' appointments, some
citations for the Legion of Merit, the bill to extend the life of
the Commodity Credit Corp. When he got to the bill, Franklin
Roosevelt grinned at Bill Hassett, spoke the words that always
made his secretary smile back: "Here's where I make a law."
</p>
<p> Mrs. Elizabeth Shoumatoff, a portrait painter, came in. She
had once done a portrait of Franklin Roosevelt and now was
anxious to do another. She had driven down from her Long Island
home several days before and had been making sketches. Hassett
gingerly collected the papers, letting the President's signatures
dry. "Don't mind me," Hassett remarked. "I'm waiting for my
laundry to dry."
</p>
<p> The President laughed. Mrs. Shoumatoff remembered
afterwards: "He was so gay."
</p>
<p> Mr. Hassett left, leaving a stack of state papers within
easy reach of the President's chair. The artist sketched while
Miss Suckley crocheted. The President unconcernedly shuffled his
papers.
</p>
<p> Good Brunswick Stew. He felt better. Utter weariness had
kept him close to the cottage ever since he had arrived in Warm
Springs, a little less than two weeks ago. He had seen few
people. A week before, he had received President Sergio Osmena of
the Philippines, and had told Osmena that he hoped the
commonwealth might soon achieve its independence. He had looked
drawn beneath his tan then.
</p>
<p> But this afternoon he was going to a barbecue. He had told
his friend Jess Long, Georgia peach grower, to "make some of that
good Brunswick stew of yours." In the evening, the polio patients
at his beloved Warm Springs Foundation were going to give a
minstrel show for him. He was looking forward to both affairs.
</p>
<p> Miss Suckley glanced his way. He had suddenly slumped
sideways in his chair and, alarmed, she ran across the room to
him. She heard him mutter: "I have a terrific headache." The
women stood aghast at what they saw. The President fainted.
</p>
<p> They called his Negro valet. Big Arthur Prettyman, veteran
of 20 years in the Navy, was accustomed to helping the crippled
President around. With the help of "Joe," a Filipino mess boy, he
lifted the unconscious man in his arms and carried him into the
bedroom.
</p>
<p> The Fiddlers Wait. There, in the small, plain room with its
paneled walls and scatter rugs and the picture of a ship and a
ticking brass chronometer, doctors found the stricken President.
They untied his tie, took off his grey suit and put pajamas on
him. They were Commander Howard Bruenn, a heart specialist of the
Navy Surgeon General's staff, who had been detailed to the
President 15 months ago, Lieut. Commander George Fox, White House
medical aide, Dr. James Paullin of Atlanta, who had been called
in. But there was little they or anyone else could do. He had
suffered a massive cerebral hemorrhage. They could only wait and
pray. It would not be long.
</p>
<p> Up at the hilltop home of Mayor Fred Allcorn, half a hundred
other people also waited--for the President to come to the
barbecue. Jess Long had made the Brunswick stew. Fiddlers from
the neighborhood tuned their violins.
</p>
<p> At the foot of Pine Mountain, in the Foundations' playhouse,
children in wheelchairs were busily rehearsing the show which
they were going to put on that evening for their devoted "Rosy."
Excitement was high. Rosy himself had suggested "The Polio
Minstrel Show."
</p>
<p> The shadows of the pines grew longer. In the bedroom of the
Little White House one of the physicians looked at the time. It
was 3:35 (C.W.T.). Death, at that moment, had come to Franklin
Delano Roosevelt.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>