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Show BROADWAY AHD MAIN STREET So Wilson Heid Up the War For Fast Shorthand Lesson I Bv BILLY ROSE i During the closing days of World War I, I took the President of the United States out of play for 15 minutes. I did it with my little shorthand pencil. At the time, I was working for the War Industries Board in Washington Wash-ington as a stenographer, end running out to get chocolate sodas for Mr. Baruch, its chairman. A few days before the Armistice, a Board executive handed me a letter let-ter and told me to deliver it to the proper party. The proper party was Woodrow Wilson. The White House that day was a jumble of senators, Cabinet members, mem-bers, ambassadors and important brass. News of the Armistice was expected any hour, and the tension was like the last few seconds of the Dempsey-Firpo fight. I handed the letter to one of Mr. Wilson's secretaries, and was asked to wait In case of a reply. A few minutes later the secretary re- to,, f .re. Billy Boss turned, looking puzzled. "The President would like to see you," he said. I got trembly inside. in-side. I was pushing 18 at the time-fresh time-fresh out of the East Side, and also plain fresh. But my dealings with Pres idents had been limited to the one I had seen on dollar bills. Mr. Wilson smiled when he saw me. "I understand you're quite a shorthand writer," was his greeting. greet-ing. MY TREMBLES vanished. I knew the President was a shorthand writer of sorts the tachygraphy magazines were always bragging about it. "I hear you're pretty good yourself, Mr. President," I blurted out. Mr. Wilson blushed prettily. "I don't get much chance to practice these days," he said, like s fisherman apologizing for a six-inch trout. "Mr. Baruch tells me you can write 200 words a minute. I wonder if you'd give me a little demonstration." He handed me a pad and a pencil, pen-cil, and picked up a New York newspaper on his desk. Then, in his clipped, precise speech, he read one of the editorials at about 150 words a minute. When he had finished, the President said, "Now let's hear you read it back." Well, as every stenographer knows, it's the reading, back that counts. I shot the editorial back at him a good deal faster than he had dictated it. And then I started at the bottom of the page and read the editorial backwards. Wilson chuckled. He asked me questions about Gregg shorthand he was a Pitman writer. By this time, I was patronizing him a little lit-tle the caddie who shoots a 61 isn't self-conscious when he discusses dis-cusses mashie shots with a Rockefeller. Rocke-feller. ' I PICKED IIP the New York paper pa-per and handed the pad and pencil to IVfr. Wilson. "I wonder if you'd mind writing for me, Mr. President," Presi-dent," I said. Wilson rubbed his glasses on his sleeve. "Don't go too fast," he warned. read the editorial at about one hundred words a minute, and then asked him to read it hack. When I told him he had made no mistakes, the President sighed like a kid who has just finished playing 'The Elves' Waltz' for Paderewski. I picked up his notes. "If you don't mind, sir," I said, "I'd like to keep them." Woodrow Wilson reached for my shorthand notes. "We'll exchange," he said. I walked out of the White House and floated back to my office via the rooftops. I had no soother gotten to my desk than the phone rang. "Mr. Baruch wants to see you," said his secretary. "Pretty good for Delancey strest" I said to myself as I walked down the hall. "Woodrow Wilson and Bernie Baruch in one hour." The girl in Mr. Baruch's oifice looked up as I bounced in. "The boss wants you to get him a chocolate soda." she said. |