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Frances PerkinsFrances Perkins
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He said, “As we turned away, the ceremonies were over, the grave was covered, the flag had been given to Mrs. Roosevelt, the family had turned away and were walking out, and we were following them—the Cabinet followed them out next—you crossed yourself, and you said, ‘God rest his soul.’ I can never forget that.”

I said, “Well, Henry, what do you say when you bury your dead?”

I said, “I don't remember that, but I'm sure I did, because I said that at my father's grave, at my mother's grave, at the grave of any intimate friend, at Cousin Johnny's grave. I wouldn't say it at the graveside of people I scarcely knew, but I always have at any intimate funeral. I don't know who I say do it. Probably my father did it. I don't know.”

He had never seen anybody do it before. It is not an uncommon action. Hundreds of people would do it, I think— “God rest his soul.” What else do you say? You've buried your friend. It may very well be that I said the thing that Henry was thinking. There are no eulogies that you can say about a friend that's buried. You have stood by and committed him to the earth. It always seems appropriate to me.





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