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were and how badly he was being treated, how terribly the nions were treating him. Alfred Sloan can take on like nobody I ever heard in my life. He just is full of self pity. And, oh, in those days he pitied himself terrifically.

At any rate, Cyrus Sulzberger called me once during the strike in the middle of the night. It was about two a. m. He was a reporter around Washington and didn't fool me into thinking he was Arthur Sulzberger. He woke me out of a sound sleep. The maids had gone to bed and were sound asleep. The telephone probably rang some time and they didn't hear it. I heard it ringing on my floor. In the room right off my bedroom, a little dressing room, the telephone was kept. I popped out of bed, waked out of a sound sleep, and answered the telephone, thinking something terrible had happened, some disaster. He said that this was Cyrus Sulzberger and he wanted to know about this, that or the other thing. My voice was very rough because I had been sound asleep. He printed the next day that I was in tears. Well, I had said that it was very terrible, that I was grieved that we weren't able to do anything about it yet, and so forth.

I gave him Hail Columbia later on, because he was