My Day by Eleanor Roosevelt

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NEW YORK, Tuesday—Since my return from my three-and-a-half weeks' jaunt throughout the country, I have been very busy catching up with the things which you can't do when you are away from home. In the first place, there were the threads to be picked up in the work of the U. N. Commission on Human Rights.

I had told the commission that I could not present our report to the Economic and Social Council, as the chairman would ordinarily do, because I had arranged for my lecture tour on the Pacific Coast long before I knew I was going to be appointed to the Human Rights Commission. Dr. Charles Malik, rapporteur of the commission, had been voted to be our representative, but he told me on my return, that unfortunately the grippe had laid him low just as our report came up before the Economic and Social Council.

The council session is now drawing to an end, so we will soon know how much of our report was accepted and how our future work will be changed by their decisions. One great change that the Secretariat may make is in the date and place of our next meeting.

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Today I go to Syracuse University to spend a few hours discussing with the students the work of the United Nations.

I hope I shall have time to see my young friend Leo Casey in nearby Chittenango. You may remember that, in a magazine article, he told the very gallant story of how he managed his life in spite of the paralysis which came from an accident when he was one of New York State's motorcycle policemen. He hoped that this story would help some of the men coming back from the war who had to face a similar situation, and I am quite sure that those who read his story felt a real sense of gratitude to him.

The American Red Cross can tell us innumerable stories of the courage of young men who apparently were hopelessly handicapped, but frequently, through the aid of Red Cross workers, regained former skills. Mrs. Arthur Clift, Red Cross arts and skills instructor in the Brooklyn Naval Hospital, tells the story of a young sailor, Wilfred Grose, whose home is in Cleveland. At 23, in an accident aboard a cruiser, he lost three fingers on his right hand and thought that his ability as an artist was gone entirely and that he would never paint another picture. He went home last week, not only able to paint and draw with his right hand, but also having learned to use his left hand.

This is only one of many stories, but it is one worth remembering, since this work for wounded servicemen must go on if we hope for final rehabilitation. In addition, the Red Cross must have money to do many other peacetime jobs. Just because the war is over, this must not be one of our forgotten activities.

E.R.
TMs, AERP, FDRL