The first man interviewed when the work began in the summer of 1919 was Congressman Andrew Volstead, then Chairman of the House Judiciary Committee, to which Committee the bill would be referred, when introduced. He was instantly alarmed, said the bill could never be introduced; that if it were, the Committee would never report it out; that if they did, no one would ever vote for it on the floor, and so forth. He added however that he would arrange to give the bill a hearing if it should be introduced. He was sure that the only way to accomplish what we wanted was to revise the penal code and “quietly omit it” (the prohibition of contraceptive knowledge). Later several of the Senators made similar suggestions that a bill be introduced without a specific title, merely a bill to amend certain sections of the Criminal Code, and simply omit the offending parts, without explaining what was being done. Their idea was to let the bill appear to be new legislation to suppress indecency, which would sound commendable, and not say anything about the control of conception, nor bring it up at all for discussion. As put by one of the Senators who was not going to stand for re-election, “Most Congressmen are too lazy to investigate reasons. If the words presented look plausible, they will vote aye,—and let it go without bothering.” The members who advised in this vein said that what the men would object to was not so much doing the act of repealing this prohibition as having to discuss it or having any one know they did it. The subject was “disagreeable.” A related phase of fear, and one met with repeatedly, was that they would be made conspicuous in the newspapers if they got “mixed up” with any of this “birth control talk.” They had a horror of the possibility of flaming headlines that would somehow drag them into “sensationalism.” They had a stiff aversion to “the whole business.” Some of them had no other knowledge of the birth control movement than that a woman named Sanger had “made a rumpus” and gotten jailed, and that when they went up to New York for week ends, they saw the sight-seeing automobile man point out “the birth control woman on Broadway,” meaning Kitty Marion, who has become a familiar figure selling the Birth Control Review on the New York streets. Some of them confessed to a sneaking desire to get one of those magazines to see what was in it, but they didn’t dare. They assumed that it contained contraceptive information,—so little did they know about what the laws really permit.