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only knowing that I must keep going on. That was all the instruction that “Honey Fitz” gave me. So I started in with my usual approach. As I say, I was aware that there was more noise than usual and they weren't listening to me the way they had been to “Honey Fitz.” I tried to accept that humbly - “After all, I'm only a girl. After all, ‘Honey Fitz' is the mayor. He's had a lot of popularity. They all owe him something.”

I went on and on and on. My talk was being just mechanical pretty soon. Then it penetrated my head that it didn't really matter at all what you said. I had realized that he wasn't saying anything. It was all a matter of your inflection. You could go back and say the same thing over again. They didn't know the difference. So I began making purely repetitive remarks, referring often to security, and always talking about the poor. In that area of Boston if you care about the poor that goes big. “He's a man whose heart is with the poor.” The more you can get of that the better. I must have said it twenty times. I remember realizing that I was very repetitive. “Honey Fitz” was in the front, winking at me, saying “Go on, go on.” Finally, I thought I couldn't go on another minute, though I was getting warmed up to the idea. I finally gave the signal that I had to be relieved.