MR. DOUGLAS OF ARIZONA-FRIEND OF COWBOYS AND KINGS

Lewis W. Douglas, famed Arizonan and American, at his bank offices in Tucson. His career in public life has earned esteem of world.

Two schoolboys on a westbound train, rolling along through southern Arizona toward its next stop at Douglas, walked forward through the hot, dusty cars. They tried not to touch the seat backs for that would have been "pulling leather," as cowboys say when riding a bronco. Their faces had that secretive look the young wear when they feel their activity might be laughed at by their elders. Occasionally they peered through the open windows at the great Chiracahua Mountains, lying serenely under the June sky. "I'm going to win this year," said Frank Brophy to his best friend, as they opened a heavy door to a car's platform. "No! I am," replied Lewis Douglas, his voice edged with firm resolve, but his eyes sparkling a good-natured challenge. They were holding their annual contest to see which would be the first to set foot again on Arizona soil after months away at school. In the years that followed, it became a contest with time rather than with a friend for Lewis Williams Douglas to see how frequently he could set foot again on the soil of his home state. Throughout his career as legislator, educator, administrator and diplomat, which took him far from Arizona, he never relinquished the state as his home. Although he played a leading role on the world's stage, he constantly returned to Arizona with the same love of it and the same identity with its variety of peoples and problems that he had as a youth who was obtaining his formal education for the great career that lay ahead.

What were the elements of birthright and upbringing, education and life experience that led a boy raised in the mining camps of this frontier to the halls of Congress, to positions of distinction, and to international conferences on world problems? What motivated him, after he resigned as ambassador to the Court of St. James's, to return swiftly to his southern Arizona ranch where he rose before dawn and rode the range with his cowboys?

Not far from that ranch in southeastern Arizona near the Mexican border are the Mule Mountains, brilliantly colored, cut by deep canyons, and rich in copper, gold and silver. Perched almost a mile high on the sides of Mule Pass Gulch and strewn along the canyon's narrow floor is the mining town of Bisbee. There, July 2, 1894, a son was born to "Rawhide Jimmy" Douglas and his wife, Josephine Leah Williams Douglas. They named him for her father, Lewis Williams.

Only fourteen years before he was born, his two grandfathers had begun to develop the Copper Queen mine, and the first railroad had crossed the Territory of Arizona. That railroad missed Bisbee, where stagecoaches and ore wagons, drawn by twenty and thirty mules, were used until Grandfather Douglas had the El Paso and Southwestern Railroad built.

Eight years before Lewis Douglas' birth, the last Apache chief, Geronimo, surrendered to the United States Army, thus ending the Indian War. Bisbee often had been threatened by Apache attacks, at which time two short and one long blasts from the mine's whistle sent everyone hurrying into the tunnels. Even after Geronimo's surrender, renegade bands of Apaches prowled through the country and Lewis Douglas recalls that he and his parents were "chased by Indians, who harbored no kindly or generous intentions in their breasts, their minds, or their rifles."

Other stories of those pioneering days were told to the boy as he grew up. He made lifelong friends of many early settlers, such as Sheriff John Slaughter, who fought Apaches and bad men of Tombstone. He learned of his family's development of mines, smelters, towns, and railroads in Arizona and Sonora, Mexico, but was particularly interested in the role his grandparents played in developing Bisbee from two or three shacks in 1880 to a town of 18,000 persons by the time he was thirteen years old.

Bisbee was a rough mining camp and Brewery Gulch was the scene of many a brawl, but it was peaceful compared with Tombstone or other western camps, such as those in Montana where miners sometimes threw dynamite sticks at each other to settle disputes. The refinement and culture of young Lewis' grandparents had so permeated Bisbee that an old, hard-rock miner said: "This place is more like a club than a mining camp."

The miner may have been thinking of the library, gymnasium, and public hall which Grandmother Williams had the company build for the miners, or the fact that wages were higher and working hours shorter than at any other Arizona camp, or of the hospital, schools and recreational facilities the management provided. All these knit the community together, and even today pioneers recall the spirit of the camp founded by "Don Luis" and "The Professor."

"Don Luis" was the Mexicans' affectionate name for Grandfather Lewis Williams. He and his brother, Ben, had come to the United States from Wales with their parents, had mined and prospected from New Hampshire to Nevada, and had settled in San Francisco in 1870, where their father opened a brokerage office. Ben was in Arizona a few years later and met two prospectors in Mule Pass, who had named their mining claim the Copper Queen. Analyses of its ore in San Francisco convinced Lewis Williams and his father that they should buy an interest in the claim. Lewis joined Ben in Bisbee and was the mine's manager until 1901 when he retired to Los Angeles to grow Cherokee roses until his death.

"The Professor" was what many called scholarly, kindly Dr. James Douglas. He met "Don Luis" at Bisbee after the conservative, eastern banking firm of Phelps Dodge Company had asked him to investigate Arizona copper claims. It was the Copper Queen and other Arizona claims that put that company in the copper business.

Life was not easy for Dr. Douglas either before or after he reached Bisbee. Born in Canada, a son of the first Dr. James Douglas, a Scotch physician, he had studied for the ministry at the University of Edinburgh, for medicine at Queen's University in Canada, and taught chemistry at Morrin College in Quebec. He and Dr. T. Sterry Hunt invented a new method for the extraction of copper ores and he moved to Phoenixville, Pennsylvania, where the turning point of his career came when he was fifty and the Phelps Dodge Company sent him to Arizona. Before that, the Scotch-Canadian had raised a large family, and promoted his invention with so little means that he once went into bankruptcy and, after success came, spent years repaying every debt.

Recognition and honors were given Dr. Douglas following the successful development of the Bisbee minesthe presidency of the American Institute of Mining Engineers; a gold medal from the London Institute of Mining and Metallurgy, and, in America, the John Fritz Medal for achievements in mining, education, and industrial welfare. His friends and family remember these tangible honors less well than the gentlemanly manners of the spare, bearded Scotsman, who was loved because of his kindness, consideration, scholarship, philanthropy, honor and integrity.

Dr. Douglas' older son, James Stuart, left the family when he was seventeen and went alone from Phoenixville to Manitoba, where he homesteaded and worked for wages until 1890 when he joined his father in Arizona. From a dry farm in the Sulphur Springs Valley, he moved to Bisbee to become an assayer at the mines and, in 1891, united the two pioneering families by marrying "Don Luis" Williams' daughter, "Josalie."

Independent, forthright and dynamic, "J.S." or "Rawhide Jimmy" Douglas earned his own way quite apart from his father, who was president of the Phelps Dodge Corporation, and his brother, Walter, who became general manager of the corporation, and, later, president of the Southern Pacific of Mexico. He was an assayer in Prescott, where his first-born son died at the age of five, and moved back to Bisbee about 1900 when the new smelter town of Douglas, named for his father, was being developed. In partnership with W. H. Brophy, he founded the Bank of Bisbee and the Bank of Douglas, and had an interest in utility companies at Douglas. The opening of the mines at Nacozari, Sonora, Mexico, took him there where he was business manager of the mines and superintendent of the Nacozari Railroad. A decade later he developed the United Verde Extension mine at Jerome.

These, then, were the dominant personalities and the scenes in the boyhood and young manhood of Lewis Williams Douglas. These were times of vigorous pioneering activities, of hardships, courage, and vision on the frontier of the West. It was a man's world, vibrant and energetic. Conversations overheard by young Lewis stimulated his imagination, fired him with zeal, and welded him to the region his family was helping to develop. His was no sheltered life; he saw the rough seams. And he knew life on the northern border of Mexico when there were riots, rebellions, bandits, and deeds of heroism. Particularly to be remembered was a Mexican engineer for the Nacozari Railroad. That engineer calmly drove his burning train, loaded with dynamite, well beyond the mining town, where it exploded and he was killed.

But there also was the influence of his mother, a gentle, serene woman whose ready smile gave young Lewis encouragement, and who, as an accomplished pianist, provided a soft obbligato to the strident life of mining camps. Also, there was his younger brother, James, born when Lewis was nine years old, with whom he had a happy, protective companionship.

In Nacozari, Lewis attended the public school, and industriously found small jobs to earn spending money. His first job, lasting two weeks, was pulling every nail out of a sheet iron roof on an abandoned schoolhouse. He had a horse and rode with the cowboys on the Moctezuma Cattle Company's ranch, or hunted jack rabbits with young friends, with whom he also rode to a canyon where a small dam impounded water for the mines and made a fine swimming hole.

Then one day he was given a railroad ticket, a few dollars, put on a train in Nacozari, and told to keep going until he was met in New York City by Grandfather Douglas, who would enroll him in a school. Spartan training for a boy of ten, but Lewis that very summer had organized a baseball team made up of the sons of Mexican miners at Nacozari.

He re-assembled the baseball team each summer after he and Frank Brophy held their train contests as a prelude to being home. Lewis arranged for the Nacozari boys to exchange games with a team of Bisbee and Douglas youths. These were, so far as is known, the first baseball games ever played across the international border. And this was the Nacozari team manager's first experience in leadership and diplomacy.

One summer Los Muchachos of Nacozari played The Kids in Douglas. Poncho Lugo appeared on the field without shoes and a titter ran through the fans and the

Below, Williams home, in which Lewis Douglas was born, was dressed gaily for Fourth of July fete in year 1894. Home on right was Brophy residence.

Main Street in Mule Gulch, Bisbee, 1884, ten years before the birth of Lewis Douglas. He was born in the home above terrace.

American team. Young Lewis' spine stiffened. Later, the game was tied when Poncho again padded up to bat in his bare feet to be greeted by jeers and hoots, which made him so angry he knocked a home run, leaving the Douglas Kids defeated and deflated.

Leadership distinguished Lewis Douglas while a student at Hackley's School at Tarrytown, New York, and at the Montclair Military Academy in New Jersey. He was known as a peace-maker and tactful diplomat not only among his schoolmates, but by his family, whom he rejoined each summer at Nacozari, Bisbee, or Douglas.

Additional facets of his character were developed after he entered Amherst in 1912, the very year Arizona became the nation's 48th state. Eighteen, he looked fifteen with tousled hair, frank, merry eyes, and a smile the British were later to describe as "disarmingly engaging." He lived in the stately Alpha Delta Phi house where, in 1914, his good friend, the late Ralph E. Ellinwood of Bisbee, joined him.

"He was the outstanding man at Amherst in our time," Mr. Ellinwood used to say. "When there was an issue being debated, Lew would get up and give his views, quietly, clearly, concisely, and the problem was resolved."

That ability to handle complicated subjects, to clarify, organize, and simplify them in a persuasive presentation became one of Lewis Douglas' greatest assets when hiscareer took him on to the world's stage. His intellectual powers were happily united with a personality that was, and still is, simple, natural, unaffected. These permitted the persuasion of others without arousing antagonism.

Those four years at Amherst contained the usual amount of youthful mischief, but also hard academic work and participation in many group activities. He was graduated in 1916 Cum Laude and received the Faculty Award for outstanding scholarship and leadership. The Amherst year book contains a youthful summation of his four years, which included his being "keeper of the sacred shekels," and "a man of mystery, who makes the enigmas of the Sphinx and Brother Cobb's calculus look like a parade of the Swiss Navy." One serious line appears in the sketch: "Douglas is one member of the class who is always sincere."

Undetermined on a career while at Amherst, he enrolled in the Massachusetts Institute of Technology for basic science courses. The period was one of tension due to World War I and, when the United States entered the conflict in 1917, he left the classrooms and volunteered at once.

Receiving his commission as a second lieutenant of field artillery at the O.T.C. at the Presidio, San Francisco, he was assigned to the 91st Division and was soon overseas. Meantime, his father was in France as director of the warehouse division of the American Red Cross. "Rawhide Jimmy" became a Francophile, a companion of French military and political leaders, and an enthusiastic collector of objects of art.

Young Lieutenant Douglas was attached to the headquarters staff of General William Johnston in France. That was no sinecure for the divisional post was in German dug-outs on the Argonne front lines, where Lieutenant Douglas was injured and gassed. Even when he was moved to Flanders, the going was rough and he well earned his citation from General John J. Pershing and the Belgian Croix de Guerre.

He was discharged from the army at the end of the war and returned to Amherst to teach history and, at the same time, to study law at Harvard; later he taught chemistry at Hackley School. On June 19, 1921, he married Peggy Zinsser, whom he had met at a Smith-Amherst dance years before, and with whose distinguished family he had spent many happy holidays in their home at Hastings-on-Hudson.

J. S. Douglas had developed the rich United Verde Extension mine at Jerome during his son's college and army years. He persuaded Lewis to return to Arizona, not as an executive in the mines, but as a day laborer, a mucker on the 1700-foot level. "J. S." had achieved success only through hard work; he had no intention of making the way easy for his son, whom he felt should literally work his way up in the mine. An accident injured Lewis' eyes one day deep in the mine, so his father assigned him the tasks of collecting miners' rents and settling their claims for damages. Sympathetic by nature with those who toil, he endeared himself to the miners.

In two such strong characters, there were bound to be conflicts between father and son despite their great devotion to each other. As Frank Brophy has said: "J. S. had a hard side that could be tougher than a boot. And he was so magnetic and forceful that he dominated any room he entered and all the people in it. Having had a hard life himself, he felt Lewis and I were pip-squeaks who might have some sense-if we lived to be sixty."

It was not easy for the son to break away from the career of mining which his father had set for him. During this period, two visitors from Jerome appeared one day, a few hours apart, in the Phoenix law office of the late E. E. Ellinwood, the father of Lewis' friend, Ralph. The first of the callers was "J. S."

"Judge," he said to Mr. Ellinwood, "I can't do a thing with that boy of mine. I think he should be a miner. He insists on going into politics. He wants to run for the legislature. What am I going to do with him?"

A few hours later, twenty-eight-year-old Lewis Douglas entered the attorney's private office.

"Mr. Ellinwood, I don't know what I am going to do about my father. I greatly fear for my independence. He wants me to be a miner and do as he wishes; I want to live my own life," he said. Independent father! Independent son! He did live his own life and eventually won his father's approbation. He was elected to the Sixth Arizona Legislature in 1922, then moved from Jerome to Phoenix to join his boyhood friend, Frank Brophy, whom he calls "Animal Crackers," in a citrus farm. He also developed an improvement in the differential flotation process for recovering lead, gold and silver, and organized the Grand Central Mining Company, which profitably worked over an old tailings dump near Tombstone even though many said: "It can't be done."

my own life," he said. Independent father! Independent son! He did live his own life and eventually won his father's approbation. He was elected to the Sixth Arizona Legislature in 1922, then moved from Jerome to Phoenix to join his boyhood friend, Frank Brophy, whom he calls "Animal Crackers," in a citrus farm. He also developed an improvement in the differential flotation process for recovering lead, gold and silver, and organized the Grand Central Mining Company, which profitably worked over an old tailings dump near Tombstone even though many said: "It can't be done."

After one term in the Arizona Legislature, he was elected as Arizona's sole representative to the House of Congress in 1926, where, re-elected three times, he served until President Roosevelt appointed him Director of the Budget on March 4, 1933.

His wife, Peggy, accompanied him in an old Ford as they campaigned throughout Arizona during that decade. He, in a rumpled suit and a battered old hat, talked to the men, and she made friends among the women who knew that the Douglas' three children, James Stuart, Lewis W. Jr., and Sharman, were born during those early political years.

"In the ordinary acceptance of the term, he is not a politician and there is no promise that he ever will be. He is too frank, straightforward and outspoken for that," said one Arizona editorial of that period. Some editors said he was trying "to commit political suicide by his honesty," but others said the voters were tired of "taffy, buncombe, and blatherskite.

He refused to bow to political expediency by changing his views, no matter how unpopular they might be. He was for the repeal of the Volstead Act, but “dry” Arizona re-elected him. Arizona had a large population of World War I veterans, but he dared to tell them that the depression necessitated economies in veterans’ compensationsand was re-elected after a dramatic struggle.

In Washington his proposal for Veterans’ Bureau economies brought House members to their feet, cheering, but one June night of 1932 in Library Park at Phoenix, a crowd booed, hissed, and shouted when he tried to speak. The angry crowd of 7,000 persons included some 2,000 Pacific Coast veterans, who were on their way to join the “Bonus Army” marching on Washington, D.C.

“You fellows can keep this up as long as you want,” Lewis Douglas shouted during one lull in the catcalls, “but I will exercise my right to speak if I have to stay here all night.” His colleagues in Washington also knew of his uncompromising adherence to a point of view, once it was achieved after careful analysis of all the relevant facts. John Nance Garner once tried to hold him up to ridicule for voting on a bill with the Republicans, but Mr. Douglas’ reply was applauded by the House and has echoed down through the years. It epitomizes his philosophy and (rephrased by him in 1952) it is as follows: “Every American has, among others, three loyalties. The first is to his country, the second is to his state, and the third is to his party. Whenever these three conflict, one with the other, his sense of responsibility compels him to resolve the conflict in favor of the higher loyalty. This, I believe, is the essence of being a good Democrat, and this, I believe, is the essence of being a good American.” President Roosevelt learned just how adamant Mr. Douglas could be after he appointed him Director of the Budget. For eighteen months Mr. Douglas labored to balance the budget and resisted the New Deal's policy of deliberate, excessive spending, which he said would produce a recovery “as empty as a blown-out eggshell.” Finally, he resigned in protest and, later, attacked the New Deal in his book The Liberal Tradition.

There is a key to Mr. Douglas’ character in the introduction to that book. He wrote: “I speak because I cannot say what I do not believe, and because I cannot leave unsaid fundamental political principles in which I do believe. Neither hope of approval nor fear of disapproval should deter its presentation.” Those political years etched his name in the minds of many, and lines in his youthful face. That period was followed by administrative and educational positions until the nation again needed his services. He was vice-president of American Cyanamid Company until 1937, when he became the first United States citizen ever named principal of McGill University in Canada. Lewis Douglas became president of the Mutual Life Insurance Company and returned to New York City in 1940.

Some persons credit Harry Hopkins with having persuaded President Roosevelt to accept Mr. Douglas' offer to assist the nation during World War II. In any event, he became deputy expediter for Lend-Lease in 1941 and accompanied W. Averell Harriman to London. Then came his appointment to the War Shipping Administration.

Sir Arthur Salter, head of the British War Shipping Mission, once exclaimed: "Thank God for Lewis Douglas." He said Mr. Douglas took over an almost chaotic situation in the allocation of new American ships to carry war supplies overseas, and, in a month or two, "with industry and demoniac energy" had "a mastery of the factors involved which equalled that of anyone in either London or Washington." The working out of the allocation policy, according to Sir Arthur, "was due more to Lewis Douglas than to anyone else in the public service of America."

Mr. Douglas drove himself relentlessly for nearly two years, but ill health compelled him to resign the war-time post in 1944. Yet, after Germany surrendered, he was special economic advisor to General Lucius Clay, Deputy Military Governor of Germany, and helped establish the policies for occupied Germany. He returned, in a few months, to his duties with the insurance company, but that year of 1945 was marked by the realization of a boyhood dream.

Throughout all those busy years, Mr. Douglas returned to Arizona as frequently as possible. A new perspective on world problems seemed to come from the sweeping, sunlit vistas of the state, and there was peace in being with old friends, including Los Muchachos of Nacozari, miners and pioneers he had known for years.

His dream was of owning a cattle ranch in southeastern Arizona. In 1945 he purchased his 15,000-acre ranch at Sonoita and formed the Douglas Livestock Company. Since then, the ranch has been a magnet, pulling him back from far places and world problems.

Mr. Douglas declined the presidency of the World Bank in 1946, the position being filled by his brother-inlaw, John J. McCloy, who later became Ú. S. High Commissioner for Germany. At that time Walter Lippmann called Mr. Douglas "the youngest of the elder statesmen" of the United States.

February 27, 1947, the Arizona Legislature interrupted its session to cheer lustily the announcement that President Harry S. Truman had appointed Lewis Douglas as Ambassador to the Court of St. James's, the first far-westerner to be designated for so important a post. Several days before, Secretary of State George C. Marshall had telephoned Mr. Douglas, reaching him in the editorial office of William R. Mathews of the Arizona Daily Star in Tucson, and suggested he accept the London position. Retreating to his cattle ranch, Mr. Douglas thought over the proposal.

"After consideration, I felt it was, of course, a very great honor, but, in addition, a duty," he said.

That was the beginning of three years and eight months of brilliant and exhausting service. The demands upon Ambassador Douglas were prodigious for those years were marked by mounting crises in the world and by the necessity for helping Europe to knit together the tattered social and economic strands of its prewar fabric. They were the years of the inception and execution of the Marshall Plan; the establishment of the Federal Republic of Western Germany; the relief of blockaded Berlin; the organization of the North Atlantic Treaty's community of nations, and collective re-armament against the Communist menace.

Before Mr. Douglas went to London, he humbly said: "I've never been an ambassador, so I shall have to learn about it." He learned so well that Lord Halifax remarked: "As Ambassador, Mr. Douglas has never put a foot wrong." The English press, which had called him an "unknown" American when he was appointed in 1947, eulogized him on his departure in November of 1950. Sir Arthur Salter summarized the British feeling when he wrote: "Few Ambassadors have left this country amid such general and sincere expressions of regret and admiration as Mr. Lewis Douglas, and no Ambassador's wife and daughter have acquired such popularity and affection." Anthony Eden said Mr. Douglas "will hold a special place in history as the man whose skill as the interpreter between two great nations has nourished understanding at a critical hour."

Ambassador Douglas had the ability to make decisions on difficult and dangerous problems. The independence that characterized his years in Arizona politics continued in England, where, as he has said: "I was made to feel so at home that I felt-perhaps mistakenly-as free to be critical of His Majesty's Government as I was to differ from decisions of our own."

The British responded to his intellectual penetration, scholarly approach to debatable topics, to his charm, courtesy, candor, energy, humility, and his belief in Anglo-American co-operation. He still feels that "in between the two major seats of power-the Soviet in the East and the United States in the West-Britain represents the last reliable bastion of strength between the fron Curtain and our own shores."

The Ambassador's family lived simply at 14 Prince's Gate, South Kensington, for the Douglases dislike "false show." Theirs was a typical American home, echoing with the laughter and voices of Sharman's young friends who joined her after her day's studies at the Kensington Secretarial College. Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret often were there, as were their parents. The then Queen Elizabeth dropped in one evening to learn to play canasta, which Ambassador Douglas taught her with his glasses perched on his brow, like a school teacher.

As her husband, Mrs. Douglas had to learn about being an Ambassador's wife, which, initially, overwhelmed her. At her first dinner party at Buckingham Palace, darkeyed, intense Mrs. Douglas sat silently beside King George VI. "What is the matter, Mrs. Douglas?" he asked. "It's just that I never sat beside a king before," she replied.

She quickly overcame her timidity, however. She organized her household and life so that, despite the demands for official entertainments at 14 Prince's Gate, she had time for an amazing amount of welfare work. Her greatest single achievement was in interpreting life in the United States to the women of England. This she did by organizing a speakers' bureau of Embassy wives, American residents and students who, as she, spoke to Women's Institutes throughout England, Scotland, and Wales. She has been equally industrious in interpreting the British to Arizona women.

No small part of England's admiration of Ambassador Douglas was because of the courageous way in which he carried on his work after the accident to his eye while fishing in the River Trent in April of 1949. He was in constant pain, yet maintained a schedule that would have exhausted a robust man.

That eye injury, which popularized black patches in American advertising, was the chief reason for his resigna-tion as Ambassador in 1950. His doctors had ordered rest and he wanted “to return to the sunlight of Arizona to try to dispel the constant pain in this eye.” The other reasons were: he had stayed a year longer than he had promised when appointed, and the $55,700 salary and allowances had necessitated heavy use of his own savings. Despite the legend, Mr. Douglas is not a man of great wealth.

tion as Ambassador in 1950. His doctors had ordered rest and he wanted “to return to the sunlight of Arizona to try to dispel the constant pain in this eye.” The other reasons were: he had stayed a year longer than he had promised when appointed, and the $55,700 salary and allowances had necessitated heavy use of his own savings. Despite the legend, Mr. Douglas is not a man of great wealth.

There were other magnets drawing him to Arizona, in addition to the sunshine. He had bought a substantial interest in the Southern Arizona Bank & Trust Company of Tucson in 1949; his son, James, and his wife and their children lived in Tucson; and he had fostered the organization of the Southeast Arizona Weather Research Corporation for cloud seeding in the hope of greater rainfall.

So, once again he happily set foot on Arizona soil. He began commuting the sixty miles between his Sonoita ranch and his Tucson office, which is filled with family mementos. He hoped for time for his hobbies of hunting, fishing, horseback riding and reading, but there was little time for these. He has a great capacity for enjoying life, the happiness of the moment, and he gathered friends around him. But with all his drive and energy returning, he soon was caught up in Tucson activities, such as YMCA fund drives. Soon, too, he was commuting to New York and Europe. President Eisenhower of Columbia University had stimulated the formation of the American Assembly for the Exploration of the World's Crucial Problems and Mr. Douglas became its chairman in 1951. That year, also, the National Institute of Social Sciences awarded him a gold medal for “services to humanity,” and he spent two months in Europe.

Mr. Douglas needs his capacity for keeping many problems in mind simultaneously. He is on the board of several corporations, and, in academic circles, is a trustee of the Rockefeller Foundation General Education Board, the Institute for Advanced Study, the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation, and the Academy of Political Science. He is on the boards of the Memorial Hospital in New York and the Memorial Cancer Center Fund.

The tall dynamo of energy, with his ready smile and genial warmth, somehow finds time for his family, to which he is devoted. As often as possible he sees his daughter, Sharman, who is in the television production department of CBS Hollywood, and his son, Lewis Junior, who is with the Christiana Petroleum Oil Company in Denver. His son, James, is assistant to the president of the Southern Arizona Bank.

There was little time in 1952 to devote to his cattle ranch or the race horses he raises there for he was speaking in endorsement of the candidacy of President Eisenhower; keeping many irons hot, as cowboys say, in organizations to which he belongs, and was again in England. And this year of 1953 has been marked by his meeting, at the President's request, with British leaders in Washington to work out a long-range foreign for economic policy, and by his accepting President Eisenhower's appointment of him as deputy economic advisor to Secretary of State John Foster Dulles. In that last capacity, he will make an intensive examination of economic proposals for amelioration of world trade conditions. Once again he gives unselfishly of himself in the hope of assisting his nation and the world toward peace and freedom.

Probably no more suitable summation of Mr. Douglas can be found than in the lines which were recited when five hundred Englishmen stood cheering him at a farewell dinner in London in 1950. The lines are from Pilgrim Chaucer's definition of a great man: “He loved chivalrye, Trouthe and honour, fredom and courteisye . . . He was a verray parfit gentil knight.”