The rest of the story.
It had been a lovely evening. It had been a wonderful evening.
The first class lounge on the SS Manhattan had been alive with laughter and song.
Tomorrow the opulent ocean liner would dock at Bremmer Hop in the festivities would continue.
Spirits were high. It was in this effervescent mood and courage by an ever-so-slite excessive champagne
that young Eleanor Jarrett returned to her state room that night.
She was just reaching out for the doorknob. In fact, when she encountered Mrs. Ada Sackett and acquaintance on the voyage,
Mrs. Sackett was a guest. She told Eleanor why you looked terrible.
The younger woman replied that in order life she'd never felt better. Just the same began Mrs. Sackett.
Well, she didn't finish the sentence. Instead she put one arm around Eleanor's waist.
Let her into the state room. The assistance was unwelcome. Eleanor protested accordingly.
But she deposited herself on the bed after which Mrs. Sackett admonished.
Now stay there. I'm calling for a nurse in the ship's doctor and smiling Eleanor drifted off to sleep on the soft pillow.
She had no intention of going anywhere and moments later she was blissfully unconscious.
Only upon awakening in an aching fog the following morning did Eleanor learn the rest of the story.
You see Eleanor home became Eleanor home Jarrett. Upon marrying popular singer Art Jarrett in 1933,
she was only 19 and yet already she'd let an exciting and glamorous life at 16.
She was invited to become a Zigg Field Follies girl. Shortly thereafter she was awarded a $500 a week motion picture contract with Warner Brothers.
She studied drama with Tark Gables' first wife, partied with the Hollywood elite, her beauty and her charm and her talent
opened doors that few young women could even budge a jar, but then at the height of her own popularity age 22.
She took an ocean cruise. The adventure she anticipated on the other side of the Atlantic got to have been the greatest and most successful of her life, but then
after socializing with other passengers the night before docking in Bremmerhoven,
she was discovered in a state of pleasant inebriation and at once her fondest dream was dead.
Before you see the principal talent of the beautiful and talented Eleanor home Jarrett was swimming.
For four years the world records in the 100 meter and the 200 meter backstroke belonged to her.
And now in 1936 she was favored to retain her status at the Olympic Games.
In Berlin many considered a mission back then for the Americans to vanquish Hitler's super racers,
but instead it was a girl from the Netherlands who won the gold in Eleanor's strongest event because Eleanor was not even permitted to compete.
I said Eleanor was not even permitted to compete.
It will be difficult for us to imagine today six decades later.
Now when the specter of drugs and even violence cast long shadows over international athletic competitions and yet competitors are allowed to compete anyway,
but once upon an Olympic America's hopes for a gold medal in swimming were dashed, when the competitor favored to win Eleanor home Jarrett was banished from the Olympic team for sipping champagne.
And now you know the rest of the story.
the rest of the story. He sat alone. In the front room of his home, he sat alone, anxiously
ringing his hands. And it was a curious state of simultaneous agitation and depression which
plagued him as though he were grieving the loss of something, and at times he could almost stand
apart from his confusion and wonder at it dispassionately. Americans meet John, 62-year-old executive
John. At the beginning of his career, he had a most positive mental attitude. His optimism was
once described as virtually childlike, but no more. Colleagues had been aware of the gradual change
in his behavior over the years, the increasing irritability, the more frequent flashes of temper,
the mounting tendency to speak candidly when he should not have. Is it any wonder then that
eventually many of these same colleagues sought to betray him? Oh, John had been warned often
and out yet at times he seemed oddly resigned to the fact that he'd brought it all upon himself,
that he had almost cheerfully rendered himself ineffectual in his work. So there he sat,
ringing his hands in the front room of his summer home. Each year he returned to that house,
would stay for three months or more, never went into work. Friends would ask if he were not concerned
about his professional responsibilities, and he would answer that he'd keep an eye on business
from his summer home, but not this one summer. This one summer he sat and threaded,
pretending that business would somehow keep an eye on itself, practically oblivious to the outside world.
Actually, there was much to contribute to John's dismal mood, a number of family problems to begin with.
His son Charles had been wiped out financially. His wife Abby was ill terribly ill.
At one point John thought that he had lost her, and then there was John's
aggravating personal health problems, among them a chronic periodontal disease,
from which he derived nothing but constant discomfort.
And this all the while realizing that competitors were plotting against him.
And so it's understandable that panic set in. He had long hours, he would brewed a loan,
visitors would find him morose, suspicious, even openly abusive.
He wanted desperately to resign his position. He even begged other people to take over his job,
and yet deep down John had to know that that could not be. Anyway, history would never have forgiven him.
I said history would never have forgiven him.
It was bad enough that during the long summer of 1798, when our nation faced a multitude of crises,
among them war, one man largely unaware of the tribulation at hand, one man was playing
hooky from the biggest, most important job in the land. For John was John Adams.
And John Adams was the second president of the United States.
Now you know the rest of the story.