.<br >I HAVE Tn~ distinction of having become a legend in my life-<br >time， but not a very nice one. In this year 196o， perhaps not<br >every schoolchild (for what do they know of America s past?)<br >but surely every college man who has taken even a casual course<br >in current history knows of Guy Prime. I am a symbol of finan-<br >cial iniquity， of betrayal of trust， of the rot in old Wall Street<br >before the cleansing hose of the New Deal. If I had not existed，<br >Franklin Roosevelt (who had a far more devious soul than<br >mine) would have had to create me. The Jews were not more<br >useful to Hitler than was my petty embezzlement to the Squire<br >of the Hudson. And the legend it has made of me has almost<br >destroyed my poor self. To my old friends and business ac-<br >quaintances， such as still survive， even to Angelica and our two<br >children， I long ago ceased to have any real existence.<br > Of course， there must be occasional unpleasant things that re-<br >call the man as well as the legend. "Oh， yes， he is still alive，" I<br > can hear them telling the persistent inquirer. "He lives down in<br > Panama， if you call that living. No， he s not so old. Seventy-<br > four， perhaps. Seventy-five? He was always strong as a horse.<br > We hear he has a nice little export business and a young Pana-<br > manian wife. He probably leads the life of Riley. Why not? He<br > always had the skin of a rhinoceros."<br > It is just as well that I should be remote， from mind as well as<br > eye. My grandchildren may have a better chance of being disas-<br > sociated with my deed. Evadne s children， of course， are Geers.<br ><br >