You might have read today’s paper and tens of millions must be disgusted, because undoubtedly it was all over the country. It’s not only in the L. A. Times; I presume every paper in the country told the story lifted from the present magazine “Women’s…” I think it’s Home Journal and the cover story of a former first lady. Everyone so adored her. She was this glamour girl. And then you see the greed behind that picture as written by her secretary… that she sold even the gift of her father-in-law at her wedding to what was our present president. Sold it and sold gems from gifts from foreign countries to buy what she considered a more beautiful diamond. I wonder how Joe Kennedy feels tonight when he sees it in print…not that he didn’t know it before. And this whole greed…and you wonder why this union took place between that greed and a half-billion dollars? And then you wonder what is it all about? It’s all trinkets. When you reach the limit of your ambition, called the moon, so you reach the moon, it’s all made of clay. It’ all dead…the moon is dead. I saw it as clearly as I’m seeing this here and touching it like this. The whole thing is just as dead and not one thing grows upon it. It’s all dead, but we colonized it and selling trinkets as we do here on earth. We fill our paper with ads to make you buy what you don’t need and what you don’t want, and take from you shadows, called money. You don’t need it any more than you need a hole in your head beyond what you now have. But you will go out and reach for the moon to get it, as he did, to sell the little things that the father-in-law gave her as a wedding present to his son that he loves. And those foreign countries sent their swords with jewels on them. From one she took the big emerald, because that plus what the father-in-law gave her plus something else could be sold and then she could buy, what?—another little trinket. All tonight who saw and worshipped that creature, if they read it, and they will eventually, and then down into the mire where it should go. It all belongs there.577 ¶11