Among the thousands who poured into the Holland Tunnel on Saturday, anxious to pass under the Hudson River for the first time, none was so stirred at the romance of the accomplished feat as would have been another man who was not there. It was decreed that the body of Clifford Holland, who planned and supervised all of the work, should have arrived in New York City from a Michigan rest cure camp on the day that the last of the river bottom barrier separating east and west tunnels was blown apart. Thus was ended the career that began with his graduation from Harvard in 1906, whose greatest distinction was a posthumous one.

The realization of what seemed to be a fool's dream has more than purely commercial significance. It is illustrative of the changed way in which men are projecting themselves down the years. The Pyramids insured the endurance of the dead pharaoh's name; the skyscrapers, tunnels and bridges of today are dedicated to the service of the people. But there are few more revealing ironies than that it is still the name of the man who pays that is perpetuated; only martyrdom to the work can make eligible the name of its creator.