ITALIAN AMERICANS

tailored, dark-haired man with eyes like black velvet,
who sat at a flat desk bare of papers, lighting an
Egyptian cigarette with a gold lighter, offering me one,
smiling as if he had all the time in the world, saying in
a pleasant voice without a trace of accent, "Won't you
sit down? " I told him what I was doing, and he said
he thought it was a fine idea. I was in one of the
quietest and most impressive private offices I have ever
been in. The whole set-up would have been in good
taste for a king or a prime minister, so Fm not saying it
wasn't in good taste for a former water-boy. He was
certainly at home in it, suave, and tranquil.

I said, " Why were you so hard to see? "

He said, " I didn't know anything about it until a
minute ago. The secretaries have to protect me, or I'd
never get any work done."

I said, "Why did you buy // Progresso and II
Corners? "

He said, "Well, because the thing I'm most in-
terested in is my own people here in America, and in
making good American citizens out of them. It's the
same reason why I'm president of I don't know how
many civic and fraternal organizations, which I help
all I can."

I said, "How much do you work . . . how many
hours * .. those civic and fraternal activities, your busi-
nesses . . . everything? "

He said, " Fm often in the office here until nearly
midnight."

" How much sleep do you get? "

" About five hours—not more on the average/'

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