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                   The next year, 1932, Mother and I again went to Philadelphia for
            the follow-up operation, which had been recommended. On the way we
            stopped in Washington, DC and visited. It was beautiful. It was March
            – the cherry trees were in blossom all around the Tidal Basin. I thought
            Washington was a marvelous place to visit and enjoyed seeing Mt. Ver-
            non as well. The high point of the visit as far as I was concerned was an
            invitation we received from Senator King. We were taken to his apart-
            ment on a Sunday to have lunch with his second wife and two children.
            Senator King allowed the children to speak only French at the table
            and to the maid who served us. Later, Senator King took us to the U.S.
            Capitol building and personally escorted us on a tour within it. He took
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            the front because it was the custom for Senators to move closer to the
            front as they increased in seniority in the Senate. The white-haired old
            Senator put his arm around my shoulder and said, “Your Father saved
            my political life.” I had no idea what he was referring to. I questioned
            Mother later. She told me the story about the 1924 Democratic State
            Convention. You can imagine the thrill it was to an 11-year-old boy to
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            where legislative giants had sat.
                   This time in Philadelphia we boarded with the Homers – he was
            a Bishop. They lived in a row-house in a middle-class area. (Laurine and
            Grant had gone to Berkeley after his graduation from medical school in
            the previous year, so they were not there).
                   The previous year’s operation had left the palm of my hand like
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            removed some of the scar tissue. Overall, however, they did disappoint-
            ingly little for a kid who had come 2,500 miles for their help. Again, in
            those days medical service was provided almost as if it were a favor to
            the recipient. Why they didn’t suggest additional operations, since I had
            come so far, I don’t know.
                   Some weeks later, when I was healed, Mother and I returned
            to Salt Lake. We rode in an old car driven by Dr. Ulrich Bryner, who


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