The Irregulars (16 page)

All this time, Dahl had been biding his time at the embassy, doing as he was told like a good boy, when “a lucky stroke” came his way. It was an ordinary night in June, and he was dining at Marsh’s R Street mansion, as was his custom. When he arrived, Marsh tossed a sheaf of papers into his lap and said, “You’re a flying chap, what do you think of that?” Marsh asked him to take the papers to his study and peruse them carefully, and Dahl obliged. As soon as he cast his eyes down the first page, however, he realized it was “an immensely secret cabinet document.” From what he could tell, it was an outline of postwar plans for civil aviation, and while the Allies were busy fighting, it appeared that America was plotting to steal the march on everyone. “I thought, my goodness, I’ve got to do something about this,” Dahl recalled. “This would make them rock back at home.”

Marsh had given him a draft of a pamphlet written by his close friend Henry Wallace. Entitled “Our Job in the Pacific,” it summarized the vice president’s postwar goals, among them international control of the airways, economic assistance for the industrial development of Asia, and the demilitarization of Japan. Wallace was also in favor of “the emancipation of colonial subjects” in the British Empire, including India, Burma, and Malaya. Dahl could feel his “hair stand on end.” Dahl immediately realized the document’s importance, and knowing that his superiors would want to see it, he excused himself saying that he was going to finish reading it downstairs. He quickly phoned his BSC contact, explained the urgency of the situation, and convinced him to meet him on the corner as soon as possible. The agent knew something was up and materialized on the street in front of Marsh’s house in a matter of minutes.

Dahl sneaked out of the house and handed the document through his car window, warning his partner in crime to be back in half an hour or there would be hell to pay. “He flashed off,” recalled Dahl, “and I’m around downstairs, near the lavatory door, and if the chap upstairs had come down looking for me saying, ‘have you finished reading it?’ then I’d of been in the lavatory you see, saying ‘I’m sorry I’m caught short.’” As it turned out, the agent went straight to the BSC’s Washington offices to make copies and made it back within the allotted time. Dahl nipped back out, collected the paper, and no one was the wiser.

Dahl returned the as-yet-unpublished paper to Marsh “without comment,” but he knew even then that copies were on their way to Bill Stephenson, then to “C,” and finally to Churchill. He was later told that the document created “a bit of a stir” in New York and again when it reached London. Churchill reportedly “could hardly believe what he was reading.” Wallace’s proposal contained much of the same material Clare Boothe Luce had referred to in her controversial speech a few months earlier, and it spelled out the American government’s postwar plans for civil aviation and how “people like Adolf Berle were conspiring with Pan Am to take over the commercial aviation of the entire world after the war was over,” a suggestion that, coupled with the liquidation of the British Empire, inspired Churchill “to cataclysms of wrath.”

The incident only intensified British suspicion of Wallace, already high due to his performance during Churchill’s visit to America that May, his third since the start of the war. After a pleasant weekend at “Shangri-la,” FDR’s term for his presidential retreat in Maryland, Churchill’s mood quickly deteriorated as the British and American talks deadlocked on the issue of invading Italy. Churchill had crossed the Atlantic firm in his resolve to obtain Roosevelt’s commitment to take action against Italy and contain German forces. After several tense days of debate, a compromise was reached, but Churchill left in a dark mood. He had not been cheered by the vice president’s open criticism of his notion of “Anglo-Saxon superiority,” which Wallace had argued might be offensive to many nations of the world, not to mention many Americans.

As Wallace himself wrote in his diary on May 25, “Charley Marsh told me that it had just come to him [presumably via Dahl] during the last few days that the British had their fingers crossed so far as I was concerned.

Apparently my frank talking with Churchill at the Saturday and Monday luncheons has caused the British to reach the conclusion that I am not playing their game of arranging matters so that the Anglo-Saxons will rule the world. Frankly I am glad to know where they stand and that they know where I stand. I am sure that the 200 million Anglo-Saxons in the United States, England, Canada, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa are not enough to run the world and that if we try it in the spirit which seems to be animating Churchill, there will be serious trouble ahead. I am quite sure, in spite of all his protestations to the contrary, that Churchill is capable of working with Russia to double-cross the United States, and with the United States to double-cross Russia.

 

It was “the Wallace affair” that finally brought Dahl to Stephenson’s direct attention. While it had resulted in a major embarrassment for the vice president, Dahl’s unseen bosses at the BSC regarded it as a feather in his cap. Stephenson had reportedly inquired as to how the purloined pamphlet had fallen into their hands, and when told by his henchmen that they had had it from “some chap in Washington,” he had asked, “Who?” Impressed by Dahl’s quick thinking, Stephenson began to formulate his own plans for the young pilot’s future.

For Dahl, the whole business had been unbelievably thrilling and not a little traumatic. He knew fallout from the controversial pamphlet would continue to make itself felt in British officialdom and had already strained relations in Washington. Having completely exaggerated the affair’s importance in his own mind, Dahl was convinced it could have serious long-term repercussions. He worried about how the British objections to the vice president would make themselves felt and what sort of pressure might be brought to bear by the BSC. He had begun to understand that Stephenson “could be very devious” and often acted indirectly through others—whether it was through Beaverbrook or someone else—to achieve a desired result.

Despite his misgivings, Dahl found himself in the awkward position of not being able to fully confide in Marsh. By now, he was used to heading straight to the R Street house to boast about his eavesdropping escapades and close shaves, but in this case he dared not disclose his underhanded activities. He may even have suffered a twinge of guilt about his shabby treatment of his mentor’s close friend. He genuinely liked and respected Wallace and would later observe that he was “a lovely man, but too innocent and idealistic for the world.” Marsh, oblivious to any double-dealing, treated Dahl’s apparent state of anxiety with humorous indulgence. Aware that his high-spirited young friend had fallen afoul of embassy officials and was endeavoring to make a fresh start with British intelligence, Marsh sent Dahl a long, fatherly letter in late June lecturing him on the difficult choices that lay ahead:

You have shown on several occasions that you truly wish the best for all in the medium of Air which you serve.

You have weight on your spirit. Your duty to your country as an advocate is one weight. The demands of superiors and colleagues which do not coincide with your judgment or your spirit is another….

To this date you have approached life with great sensitiveness. Not to hurt people is the first impulse of a generous and sensitive soul. But in the conscious being of not hurting—of not being cruel—comes the complexity of life. It is here that the spirit is bound by weights and conflicts.

 

Adopting the fervent tone he reserved for his philosophical discourses on the flourishing soul, Marsh advised Dahl to chart an independent course and cease “measuring and weighing his actions according to the demands of others,” a reference not only to his immediate superiors but also the conspiracy of women back in England—his mother and four sisters—who despite being separated by an ocean still had him on a very short leash. Marsh believed that only by heeding his own instincts could Dahl free himself to find his true calling:

You have had the wisdom already to refuse to tie yourself to a personal ambition such as becoming a member of Parliament. Another side of you tells you that you are twenty-seven [he was still twenty-six]; that the future is uncertain; that you have certain responsibilities of family and country. And I say the first thing is to get the weight off the soul. Look clearly…into the future. When you may do this serenely the first question that will come to you is “What do I most want to do in life.” You will be surprised that the answer will write itself…. The truth of what to do then comes. It is somewhere in this process that I may be of service to you.

 

Pledging his understanding and support, Marsh added portentously, “Any time—any place—where you wish me alone in friendship to hear, you will as a right of yours and as a pleasure of mine, make use of me.” In the months to come, Dahl would do just that.

A
NOTHER “RATHER LUCKY THING”
happened to Dahl that spring. As his
Gremlins
fame increased, his name caught the eye of Eleanor Roosevelt, who had just finished reading the little illustrated Disney book to her grandchildren. She had been enchanted by the tale and on learning that Dahl was in Washington saw to it that he was invited to dinner with her and the president at the White House. Dahl found the First Lady to be surprisingly charming and kind and completely devoid of the condescension one might expect from someone of her station. With his elegant manners and winning sense of humor, he quickly set about ingratiating himself with the president’s wife, sending her a signed copy of his book and on another occasion a toy widget, one of the gremlin figurines created by the Disney marketing division, which had recently enjoyed great success with its new line of Mickey Mouse dolls. As it happened, his roommate, Richard Miles, was also on friendly terms with Mrs. Roosevelt, and Dahl accompanied him to White House functions hoping to see her again. At the end of May, Eleanor Roosevelt wrote Dahl gratefully acknowledging the book he had sent, which she considered “delightful,” and expressing her hope that he and his friend Lieutenant Miles would “come in soon” for another visit. As Dahl later boasted, Mrs. Roosevelt “took a liking to the young RAF fighter pilot who had been shot down and rather badly burned.” He was soon rewarded with a second invitation to the White House. “So I went to dinner there,” he recalled, “and I went to dinner again, and again, and FDR was always there and a bunch of other people.”

In the weeks that followed, Dahl kept up a warm correspondence with Eleanor Roosevelt. He further endeared himself to the First Lady when he managed, working through embassy channels, to track down a photograph of her second oldest son, Elliott, who was a colonel in the army air forces stationed in Malta. Elliott had originally been assigned as an air intelligence officer but had been determined to fly combat missions and had signed waivers allowing him to do so despite less-than-perfect eyesight. He had flown photographic reconnaissance missions in unarmed planes over Europe, repeatedly taking heavy fire and, according to press reports, had demonstrated great bravery. By then all four of the Roosevelt boys were in the service, and the First Lady told Dahl she missed them and worried about their safety. Franklin and John were in the navy, and James was in the marines. A house once filled with loud boys seemed very quiet and empty in their absence. Shortly after writing to thank Dahl for “the excellent photograph,” Eleanor extended an invitation to the young pilot and his friend to spend the July Fourth weekend with her and her husband at the Roosevelt family retreat, Hyde Park.

Dahl, with roommate Miles in tow, made the long train trip to Poughkeepsie, with the Hudson River on their left the whole way, their palms sweaty at the prospect of a weekend spent in the company of the president and the First Lady. They were met at the station by Schaeffer, Mrs. Roosevelt’s chauffeur of some twenty-four years, and taken to Val-Kill Cottage, a large, beautiful fieldstone building that FDR, at Eleanor’s request, had built as a private refuge for her and her friends. It was where she and her personal secretary, Malvina “Tommy” Thompson, now resided and where Dahl and Miles would also be staying. Tommy Thompson had long ago ceased to function merely as Eleanor’s assistant and had become her close friend and constant companion. A divorced former teacher, she had joined the Roosevelts’ staff back when FDR was governor of New York and proceeded to make herself indispensable. She handled all the First Lady’s correspondence, and it was to her that Dahl had written his tentative advances, asking her to pass his note on to the First Lady.

During the drive, Schaeffer also informed them that the president was up at the Big House with Crown Princess Martha of Norway, along with her lady in waiting and three children. Dahl knew the princess and her family had been in exile since the Nazi invasion in the spring of 1940 and had accepted Roosevelt’s offer of asylum. They were riding out the war in Washington and had taken up residence at Pook’s Hill, a large estate near Bethesda, Maryland. He also knew that her husband, Prince Olav, along with his father, King Haakon VII, had remained behind in England to oversee the Norwegian war effort and that her extended visits to Hyde Park and the White House had led to speculation about a romantic relationship between the very attractive, charming princess and the president. It all promised to make for a diverting weekend.

When Dahl and Miles arrived at the cottage, Mrs. Roosevelt was standing at the door to greet them. After showing them to their rooms so they could freshen up, she told them to come out to “Tommy’s porch” for a drink when they were ready. By the time they joined the rest of the company, she and Tommy were dishing out martinis to Eleanor’s aunt, Mrs. Maude Gray, a thin, gray-haired old woman who was the wife of the American minister in Dublin, and her niece. Dahl remembered the young lady, and her shapely figure, from a previous meeting in Washington. They all sat down to a pleasant supper, and later in the evening Mrs. Roosevelt read aloud selections from Stephen Vincent Benet’s “John Brown’s Body,” during which he dozed off.

Saturday morning was jump-started by a phone call from Henry Morgenthau, the secretary of the treasury, asking to speak to Mrs. Roosevelt, his loud, querulous voice bellowing through the receiver. Dahl had to hastily pull on his pants and go in search of the First Lady, whom he located in the kitchen making toast. She later told Dahl that Morgenthau had been somewhat taken aback at being told by a sleepy Englishman that “she was not in his bedroom.” After breakfast, they went for a swim in the pool, which Mrs. Roosevelt had installed next to the cottage for her children. She was not a great swimmer but executed some competent dives off the springboard.

Dahl was surprised to find that the Roosevelt compound had a much more rustic, informal atmosphere than he had imagined. At lunch, Mrs. Roosevelt entertained them with a picnic in the garden, and the crown princess was there with her young children, Prince Harald and his two sisters, Princesses Astrid and Ragnhild, who were frolicking on the grass. Dahl and Miles roughhoused with the young royals, and when Dahl noticed that a piece of glass was chipped from the rim of the Coca-Cola bottle that Prince Harald was holding, he told him with a perfectly straight face that the president had eaten it. The future king of Norway was not at all sure he believed it and promptly went to check with the president. Roosevelt said of course he ate glass every evening, it made him “sharp.” Dahl entered into a competition with the crown princess to see who was better at tying a blade of grass into a knot with their tongue. She was indeed attractive, with dark hair, bright eyes, and a good figure. She also proved surprisingly adept at the game, quickly coaxing the sliver of green to do her bidding. Eventually Morgenthau showed up, and after some polite chitchat Dahl attempted to steer their conversation around to the subject of postwar civil aviation, which was a hot topic at the moment. Morgenthau did not seem to be well informed and expressed surprise when Dahl told him that Berle was in charge of the negotiations.

At three o’clock, the picnic broke up. Dahl, transfixed, watched as the president was hoisted out of his wheelchair and into the driver’s seat of his car by the burly men in his Secret Service detail. Roosevelt had a magnificent old Ford that had been specially fitted with hand controls in place of pedals because of his paralyzed legs, so the throttle and clutch were operated by squeezing various levers. With the crown princess beside him, Roosevelt took off, driving furiously, the old Ford bouncing over the grass, and all the bodyguards, who had stationed themselves throughout the woods during lunch, leaped into their cars and took off after him.

In the late afternoon, they drove to the Roosevelt Library, which included a museum filled with official mementos and gifts, including a large gold crown from the sultan of Morocco that Roosevelt confided he had valued and was worth only about five hundred dollars. They attended a concert for the troops who were guarding the estate, and Dahl sat next to the president in the front row. As soon as it was over, Roosevelt announced it was the “children’s hour,” his quaint term for cocktails, and they all went up to the Big House and congregated in his study, where he began expertly mixing martinis from an impressive array of bar equipment. The Roosevelts’ oldest son, Jimmy, who had contracted a severe case of malaria in the Pacific and had been sent back to the United States to recuperate, joined them, along with his wife and several other members of the large, extended Roosevelt family. At one point, Richard Miles turned to the president and asked what Dahl considered a shockingly inappropriate question: “You must be pretty tired?” The president replied in the affirmative. “I have had four dispatches from Winston today,” he told them. “One only a few minutes ago, and I have replied to each one of them. That is the equivalent to writing four full pages of newspaper articles.”

Dahl found that he got along well with the president, who spoke to his guests in a disarmingly warm manner, appreciated a good joke, and seemed to be thoroughly admirable and decent, if not exactly awe-inspiring. “He did not ‘glamor’ me as I expected he would,” Dahl told Marsh later. “His great genius seems to me to be his colossal memory and egotistical drive.” In part, this may have been because the white-haired, sixty-one-year-old Roosevelt struck him as being “the most tired man” he had ever seen, though he seemed perfectly at ease among his guests and appeared to be enjoying himself.

After dinner, Dahl and Miles returned to the cottage with Mrs. Roosevelt in her open Buick. As they drove back to Val-Kill, Dahl took note of the elaborate security precautions at the presidential retreat. There were Secret Service agents at every gate, and at every corner there was a telephone box. As soon as they left the Big House, a guard called down to the nearest box along the line that “Mrs. R. was on the way,” and the message was relayed from box to box all along the route until they reached their final destination. They stayed up talking for quite a while, and Dahl again attempted to explore the subject of postwar civil aviation. Mrs. Roosevelt remembered hearing the president hold forth on the subject after Major General Harold George had raised the same issue. She said the president had replied “with a wave of the hand” that the whole matter seemed “quite simple” and went on to explain that there should be free use of aerodromes in all countries, by all countries, but that foreign nations should not be allowed to operate as internal carriers between ports in other countries—by which she meant the right of cabotage. Dahl was duly impressed.

Sunday morning was spent reading the papers, swimming in the pool, and playing badminton with Miles. Mrs. Roosevelt did some paperwork and made a number of calls. Dahl noticed that when she phoned up to the Big House, she asked to speak to the president, adding somewhat tentatively, “but only if he is not busy, I do not want to bother him.” The president took the call.

At Sunday lunch, Roosevelt looked rested and was in much better form than the day before and presided over a large table of fifteen, including Princess Martha, regaling them with morbid tales about headless bodies in the Roosevelt family vault. He laughed uproariously at his own stories—including one about a dead man’s stinking body pickled in a barrel of rum—and ignored the look of distaste with which the women viewed their fish chowder. When the meal was over, FDR suggested they go to his retreat, Hilltop Cottage, farther up in the woods, and Dahl watched as he was again wheeled to his car and lifted into the driver’s seat. The minute he was behind the wheel, he impatiently waved everyone away and tore off down the road, his phalanx of bodyguards in hot pursuit, with his son, Dahl, and Miles trailing behind in a third vehicle. Jimmy Roosevelt later confided that his father always drove too fast and “took delight in trying to leave his bodyguards behind,” though he never succeeded in losing them altogether. The president took his car out every day when he was at Hyde Park and would go whizzing around the narrow country lanes with the guards giving chase. It was one of his favorite games and apparently gave him an enormous amount of pleasure.

As the rest of their party had opted to walk, Dahl and the president were among the first to arrive and had a chance for a long chat on the veranda, during which FDR asked a lot of pointed questions about German pilots. Dahl knew not to bring up politics because he had heard Roosevelt say earlier in the day that the thing he liked best about his country weekends was that he did not have to spend his time continually answering questions about affairs of state. Just as an experiment, he dropped Marsh’s name. The president replied amiably that he knew the newspaper publisher and agreed with Dahl that he was “a very nice man.”

After a pleasant interval, it was decided they should visit Miss Sara Delano, an aged cousin who, they were forewarned, was quite a character. The whole party piled back into their cars and, with the president and Princess Martha leading the way, drove a goodly distance on the main road to her home in a neighboring village. Miss Delano turned out to be an attractive woman of sixty who looked closer to forty, had purple hair, wore trousers, and owned thirty red setters. She made them all very stiff drinks and handed the president a Tom Collins with three hefty measures of gin.

Miles, his tongue loosened by all the alcohol, managed to be totally inappropriate again and asked the president what he thought of Churchill as a postwar premier. The president gave him only two good years after the war had finished. The conversation drifted to Roosevelt’s own political problems, and he conceded that Americans were growing restless and had seen too much of him over the last ten years and “would do anything for a change.” If they got the change they wanted, he bet the next fellow would barely be getting started before voters would be shouting and yelling to go back to what they had before. They moved on to a discussion of the Republican candidates. Roosevelt had a grudging admiration for Willkie and made it clear he was the only one of the lot he could envision in the office. By the time they decided to head home, it was raining, and the president opted to make the return journey in one of the closed cars. This left Jimmy to operate FDR’s peculiar contraption with no pedals, with Dahl and Miles for passengers, so that the trip back was a memorable one. They said good night to the president at the Big House and returned to the cottage for supper with Mrs. Roosevelt and other members of the family.