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Frances PerkinsFrances Perkins
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I said, “That can't be possible. It's just somebody crazy on the radio.”

“You'd better listen to it,” he said. “This is straight. This is official. The fellow who's talking has a funny name - Kalten-something or other.”

I said, “Hans Kaltenborn?”

“Yeah, something like that. He's talking from London. He says he's in London and that the Germans have invaded Poland. You better come and listen, ma'am. I don't know where Poland is, but they've invaded it.”

At any rate, we all rushed out and spent the next hour or so sitting on a stone wall near where the car was parked to listen to what was going on. After about an hour of this I saw what was going on and that the information came from trustworthy reporters, who just weren't making it up. There were communiques from the French and British governments, and so forth.

I went in and said to the chauffeur, “You better see that the car's in good shape and get it filled up with gas. We'll have to make a quick trip. I'll have to get that midnight train out of Boston. I'm not going to stay here another minute.” I went upstairs and packed a bag. The train goes from Boston at eleven o'clock. We drove it in just exactly four





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