Another long July day was coming to an end when Grace Ellis looked out the window of her Maine farmhouse and saw an unfa- miliar car pulling onto her property. She leaned forward to get a better look. Her eyes widened. Sitting in her driveway was a brand new, light blue, top-down, convertible roadster holding two women with windswept hair and sunkissed faces. Grace was used to strangers arriving at her home but never in such fancy cars. She and her husband Norman recently turned their potato farm into a private tourist camp. For a dollar, travelers could rent a room for the night and for another fifty cents, eat a home-cooked breakfast, Grace’s specialty. The year was 1933. Grace welcomed her new guests and checked them in. Norman met the two visitors at the front door, and everyone introduced themself. For the rest of the evening, the three sat on the porch, watched the sunset, and chatted about the life of a potato farmer in Maine – everything from crops to prices. By the end of the evening, Norman had made two new friends. One of them he would talk about for the rest of his life. Her name was Eleanor Roosevelt.
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