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UPWARD of sixty patients and guests from the Foundation climbed aboard the Warm Springs Special and were off for the Inauguration Ceremonies in Washington, there to help celebrate the induction into office as President of these United States of America, our esteemed friend and noble mentor, Franklin Delano Roosevelt. The feelings that crept over our five or six senses cannot be described. In fondest anticipation of what was to happen, the eyes spoke best. Occasionally someone would draw a deep breath clean down to his knees, and look about with that supremely satisfied air, such as Sancho Panza must have expressed when shown the fantastic island of Barataria. Through the country sped the train, and before we reached Atlanta, there was not one of us but knew that our Pullman conductor, Mr. J. D. Waddell, was in a class by himself, and we forthwith elected him Ambassador to all Dixie, with or without portfolio, as he chose.

In the Atlanta Terminal, many friends boarded the train, and found their way to our compartment cars. Each one had a special greeting and wished us a happy time straight from the heart. Somewhere a band was playing; cheers and laughter and singing filled the station. Soon we were on our way, the second section of eight or ten fire-eating behemoths rumbling, grumbling, puffing, and snorting their way toward Washington.

And long before luncheon, the party was hungry. Conductor Waddell told us that we had, as our chef, an individual who had mastered all the secrets of the French cuisine so perfectly that he had been decorated, not once, but many times. We told him the proof of the pudding was the eating of it, and to "sop up the sauce" betimes, since we were quite hungry. Shortly an aroma floated in the air, into the drawing rooms and compartments, and there was heard the crunch and bump of brace and crutch as to the luncheon we sped. Was it good? Yea, verily! The Diner had been especially placed for our convenience, and but one injunction left with us -- that we refrain from eating on both sides of our face at the same time.

Friday morning, we opened our eyes and from the car windows beheld a veritable "Jacob's Ladder" with its foot in the Washington Terminal yards, and its head joining the bridge at Pennsylvania Avenue and 17th Street. Something had gone wrong. The Patients' cars were supposed to be shunted into an area devoid of ladders and steps. We immediately got in touch with those fine gentlemen of the Southern, who had so nicely arranged and looked after the details of transportation, the Messrs. Barry, Price, Hill, and Grafton. These officials had the cars moved to more convenient grounds and the process of disembarking took place. The taking of the City of Washington followed soon after.

Each patient now became the master of his fate. On various missions bent, they disappeared into the beautiful and expectant city. Expectant! For tomorrow it would take a new lease on life. All left but Mr. Ralph Sherrill. To him was assigned the paternal role of fixer and prophet, father and mother, shepherd and savior of the little family that had now evaporated into the city. But he would not remain behind long. Some of the patients had invitations to the Inaugural Ceremony itself, and he had to learn the time, the place, and the best way to get there. Likewise, must he arrange for details covering invitations to the Governors' Reception in the Pan-American Union; to the reviewing stands on Pennsylvania Avenue; to the Inaugural Ball; and best of all, to the Tea at the White House, where our own Mr. Roosevelt, the President of these United States, and Mrs. Roosevelt, the First Lady of the Land, would personally bid us welcome. So Ralph pulled on his seven-league-boots and was soon pounding the city's streets. Well, all was arranged, and then came the day -- March 4th, 1933.

The writer's pen is now stricken with St. Vitus' Dance because the writer himself has entered into a state of happy delirium, and is now cavorting with the Nine Gods on Mt. Olympus. . . .

The city is packed. Tens of thousands on all sides. Flags flutter! A hundred army planes in formation overhead. The huge silver Akron shuttling back and forth. And now the loud speakers speak out. Mr. Roosevelt approaches the stand; Chief Justice Hughes raises his hand; and we hear Mr. Roosevelt take the Oath of Office. President Roosevelt now delivers his Inaugural Address, and toward the close, he says: "For the trust reposed in me, I will return the courage and the devotion that befit the time. I can do no less." To our waiting ears, this was sufficient. We knew that our "Polio Crusader Number One" would never fail. What heights now could we not aspire to! It was to us the opening of all portals through which we might pass, provided we wear ever the badge of noble striving and earnest endeavor.

Then came the pomp and glory of the Parade. It lasted three and one-half hours. Words fail to describe the splendor of it all. The Army, Navy, Marines, and high representatives of the social and industrial worlds donned "the purple velvet and the blowing plume" and marched to the tune of a hundred bands.