Readers Remember

In 1940 when I was 10 years old, my parents and I went to see our hero, Franklin D. Roosevelt, sweep by on a campaign tour. Suddenly there he was in an open car, the familiar fedora on his head, close enough to touch, with Eleanor at his side. The car pulled into the train station, the Secret Service men got out and, to our shock, picked up the president and hoisted him into the train.

Like most of the American public, we hadn’t known the extent of his disability.

Ah, for the days when a president could ride in an open car and the status of his health was not discussed in excruciating detail on the evening news.

MARGIE MONROY

Carlsbad

In 1933, people huddled near their massive Philco radios to hear the inauguration of Franklin Roosevelt. Hopes were high that he would set our topsy-turvy lives in order.

For us, order was restored. Dad found a job with the streetcar company. We were even able to get a bigger house. Mom spent months picking out wallpaper; in the front entry, it was swirls of green ivy that made the area look like a garden.

One morning in 1945, Mom picked up the newspaper in that room. She muttered, “Oh, no.” Tears fell. The headline read: “F.D.R. DEAD.” The lifeless ivy surrounded us and the world momentarily stood still.

MARILYN JASKULKE

San Clemente

In 200 words or less, send us your memories, comments or eyewitness accounts. Write to Century, Los Angeles Times, Times Mirror Square, Los Angeles, CA 90053, or e-mail century@latimes.com. We regret we cannot acknowledge individual submissions. Letters may be edited for space.