FDR

Tuesday was also the anniversary of FDR's death in 1945. I remember where I was, although I was only seven.

I was sitting in a cave my brothers and I had dug in a vacant lot across the street from our house. It was actually just a hole we had enlarged with seats dug out in the corners. I was eating a salmon croquette mayonnaise sandwich when the "fire whistle" started blaring. In our small town, the fire whistle called the volunteers to the station to fight a fire. But this siren went on so long, we all knew something extraordinary was happening. I ran home and found my mother listening to the radio announcer telling the sad news.

I wish I didn't know about FDR's affair with Lucy Mercer and about his ego which wouldn't allow pictures of him in a wheelchair. I guess I prefer my heroes mythologized rather than the warts and all buffet carried in today's tabloids. We needed heroes in the dark days of WWII, and we need them today.