IN OUR HOUSE ON CHAIN BRIDGE ROAD IN Washington, all was gay and happy on December 6, 1941. My eighteen-year-old daughter, Janet, was spending the week-end at home for a change. She had had a very happy girlhood. The constant stream of attractive young men who beaued her every place filled our house with gaiety and youth.
Our guests for this particular week-end were two young seniors from Yale University--fledgling newspapermen. On Saturday night the young people who gathered for cocktails lounged about our house, the boys in fine-tailored, casual suits, and the girls in nifty little numbers which testified to the well-padded pockets of their fathers.
I had a tense argument with one of the boys about the possible entry of the United States into the war. Like so many college boys of the period, he felt that the United States could remain isolationist. It was not that he was afraid, or that he didn't want his young life interrupted by service for his country. It was simply his firm conviction that the United States would be as well off if Germany won the war