Preserve and Protect (62 page)

“Mr. President!” Governor Jason shouted from the door in a voice that brought immediate attention as they swung about to stare at him.

“Mr. President,” he said more quietly, coming down the aisle to the stage, “I thank my friends, but I am quite prepared to speak. Indeed,” he said, as Orrin stepped back to take a seat beside the President at the table to the right of the stage, “I welcome the chance.”

He moved forward, bowed to the President and the Secretary with an expression in his eyes that only they could see; stepped to the lectern, placed upon it several typewritten pages; gripped it with both hands; raised his handsome graying head in a challenging, straightforward gesture.

“Mr. President”—he smiled a smile that he managed to make quite cordial and friendly, and they applauded him for it—“Mr. President-to-be—my friends of the National Committee.

“We do, indeed, as the Secretary says, meet in strange times after strange decades. We do indeed confront violence as the central fact of our times, as unity and law and order are the overriding and essential needs.

He folded the typewritten pages and put them back in his pocket. Roger Croy and George Wattersill, who had worked on them until six a.m., squirmed in silent dismay.

“No one,” he said quietly, “can deny these things, for they are obvious to all men of good will who wish to serve, and save, America.

“I, ladies and gentlemen of the Committee, so wish. There are some who believe that I have been one who, either deliberately or inadvertently, has encouraged violence and lawlessness in this country.”

There was a stirring of protest, a distant denial, but he went firmly on.

“If there is the slightest question in anyone’s mind”—he hesitated, and this time it was Orrin’s turn to feel concern: was he going to turn the tables and withdraw? But he found he need not worry—“let me make my position clear right now.

“I am absolutely and unequivocally opposed to the use of violence to express dissent, or to settle political or social problems in this country.

“Let me too, as did the Secretary, make my position absolutely clear.

“I have always upheld, and shall always uphold, the right of any American citizen to express his disagreement with the policies of his government. I believe, and shall always believe, that the great majority of those Americans who have been involved in protests which in recent years—and months—and days—may have become violent and lawless are sincere and decent people whose basic motivation is within the democratic framework of this Republic.

“I shall always defend their right to organize, to dissent, to protest—”

A happy cheer came on the wind, matched by much vigorous applause in the Playhouse.

“—but I do agree with the nominee of this party”—the cheer and the applause suddenly hesitated—“that the dissent must be within the law, and the protest must be within the bounds both of the law and of common decency.

“Therefore, if, in the organization known as NAWAC”—the sound outside diminished, became uncertain, puzzled, intently listening—“or in any of its member organizations such as COMFORT, DEFY, KEEP, or any of the others—there be any whose purposes are not within the law—who do not wish to keep their dissent within the law and within common decency—then I repudiate them here and now and declare that I wish their support of me to cease forthwith.”

From outside there came the beginning of a boo long-drawn yet still hesitant and uncertain.

“Is half a loaf better than none?” the President murmured to Orrin without turning his head or changing his impassive expression. “It’s got to be,” Orrin replied in the same fashion; “it’s a big half-loaf. We’ll get him the rest of the way.” “Good luck,” the President said.

“There is a place for decent and honorable protest and dissent,” Ted Jason said firmly. “I shall defend it always. But to those others,” he said sternly, “—if others there be—I give notice and fair warning.

“Mr. President”—and he turned to look directly at him and at the Secretary, who returned the look without expression—“I agree again with the nominee: his running mate must be a man who repudiates violence, who works for unity, for law and for order.

“On that basis you should make your choice.

“I await it with the firm conviction that it will be the right one.

“I shall support it loyally with all my heart.”

(“What does that mean?” The
Greatest Publication
whispered; “Is he or isn’t he?” “Only his doctor knows for sure,” the
Chicago Tribune
whispered back; “Damned equivocator. Jesus!” “He’s repudiated them,” CBS commented angrily; “What more do you want?” “Just-just—Christ, I don’t know!” the
Trib
replied with a frustrated disgust.)

To the Committee and the audience, his words were evidently sufficient. As he bowed once more to the President and Orrin, bowed to the room and prepared to step down, a deep and earnest applause commended him: so desperately did they want him to mean what he seemed to mean. Outside, the questioning, uncertain, puzzled murmur of NAWAC’s thousands began to take on a deeper, more positive note: clearly they were concluding that he did not mean what he seemed to mean. A ragged cheer began, solidified, grew. A chant took form, the chant of the galleries in San Francisco:

“WE WANT JASON! WE WANT JASON! WE WANT JASON!”

“If there is no further preliminary business,” the President said quietly—paused for a moment, nodded in a businesslike fashion—“the Committee will now proceed to the selection of a nominee for Vice President of the United States. Mrs. Bigelow—for the last time, dear faithful patient Anna—”

There was a relaxing, friendly, communal amusement, and very little tension, as Anna came forward; because there could be, there had to be, only one result.

“Alabama!” Anna said.

“Mr. President,” said Helen M. Rupert with a pleased smile, “Alabama agrees! It yields to the great state of Illinois.”

“Mr. President,” said Blair Hannah, peering about, his drawl if possible even slower than usual, his words chary but sufficient, “Illinois nominates for the office of Vice President the Governor of the great state of California, Edward M. Jason.”

Inside applause and ovation, as first one, then another, then all were on their feet. Outside a great roar of excitement and approval, and the chant changing triumphantly to:

“WE’VE GOT JASON! WE’VE GOT JASON! WE’VE GOT JASON!”

“If there are no further nominations—” the President said.

“NO!” roared the Committee.

“The Secretary will call the roll—”

“ACCLAMATION!” cried the Committee.

“All those in favor of the nomination of Edward M. Jason to be—”

“AYE!” roared the Committee.

The world exploded in hysterical, happy sound.

“Mr. President!” Pete Boissevain shouted after a while. “Mr. President!”

“For what purpose—?”

“To make the motion to adjourn, Mr. President, but first to say just a couple of things—”

“Adjourn! Adjourn!” cried Roger P. Croy. “Second! Second!” screamed Esmé Stryke.
“Regular order,
damn it!” shouted Ewan MacDonald MacDonald.

But Pete Boissevain shook his stubborn Vermont head and plunged right on.

“Now, Mr. President, I have the floor, and in just a minute I’m going to make the motion. But first I’m going to say a couple of things, because I think we’d better keep ’em in mind as we go away from here.

“We’ve had a tough time of it, and that’s a fact. We’ve met under very tense circumstances, and we’ve almost literally been killed. We’ve had a chance to see the terrible divisions there are in this country.

“And the country,” he said, and his pugnacious jaw came up and his dark eyes snapped, “has had a chance to see, I hope, that there are some Americans left who aren’t afraid to do what they think is right, in spite of everything.”

Applause from within, a long, scornful “Booooooo!” from without.

Pete shook his head with an expression of distaste.

“I’m one of those,” he said, “who was very much opposed to Governor Jason, so maybe it’s fitting for me to express something of what we on our side feel about him now. We hope, Mr. President, and we believe”—he looked straight at Ted, sitting beside Orrin at the table on the stage—“that he means what he says about repudiating violence, and means it all the way. That is the assumption on which we have voted for him, and for America’s sake we hope it’s the right one. We believe it is, and we commend him for it.”

Ted nodded gravely.

“Good,” Pete said. “We’re mighty glad of it, because things can’t go on much longer as they’ve been going, and have anything left of us. We’ve got to get back to law and order, Mr. President. We’ve got to get back to traditional values”—there was an amused stirring at the press tables, and he swung around sharply—“yes, I know all you clever boys think that’s very funny. But by God, it won’t be funny when you’re the ones who suffer for it. When you find your house is the one that’s burned down—when you find it’s your family that’s threatened and maybe killed—when you find that even you aren’t allowed to write what you please—then you’ll find out. You’ve all been at one remove from all this, too long, sitting in your ivory towers telling us poor peasants what to do! If this lawlessness keeps up, it’s going to get to even you. And then you’ll squeal like my pigs at sausage time, and it will be just too damned bad. You’ll know then what all of us old fogies who believe in law and order and decency and fair dealing and good will have been talking about, all this time. But it will just be too late.…

“Well, Mr. President,” he said, turning back with an impatient disgust, “I didn’t set out to fight with the press, and a lot of the press, of course, agree with me anyway. I just wanted to say that if we don’t get back to these values I’m talking about, if we don’t have a fair, stable, law-abiding society instead of a one-sided, violent, vicious, lawless one, then America’s doomed—and I mean doomed right down to my house and your house, and my family and your family. We’re right on the edge of nothing being safe, Mr. President. We’d damned well better pull back and think a little.

“Governor Jason says he agrees. I’m glad he does. I don’t think he, or any of us, had better forget the lesson of these sessions and these recent events. We’ve got to save America, that’s the simple fact of it. We’ve got to save her
now.”

And he sat down, to generally agreeing applause from the room and again a long, sardonic hoot from outside. His little homily rated no more than a line in the late editions, no mention at all in the evening news roundups. But in due time it would find its way into the history books, a minute footnote to the Committee’s fateful proceedings. It would be regarded in much the same way as the Great Riot: as a watershed and symbol of something that probably would not happen much again, since soon its purpose would be pointless, and there would be no use for it in America any more.

“If there are no further valedictories—” the President suggested. “Governor Croy?”

“No, thank you, Mr. President,” said Roger P. Croy in his most gracious manner. “I think we have had enough. I rise only to second the adjournment motion of my earnest friend from Vermont. We have a campaign to fight and an election to win. I think we had best be about it.”

“All those in favor—” the President said.

“AYE!” shouted Committee, audience, media, NAWAC, nation and attentive world, with a great relief.

“This emergency meeting of the National Committee stands adjourned
sine die,”
the President said.

“Now, Mr. Presider, Mr. Temporary, sir!” Jawbone cried in dismay in the packed and silent House. “Why do we-all want to go ahead and pass this vicious little old gag bill
now?
We’ve got our two candidates down there now, we know what they both said, everything’s going to be all right, Mr. Temporary, we just don’t
need
this vicious old bill—”

“On this vote,” the Acting Speaker announced a few minutes later, “the Yeas are 341, the Nays are 186, and
A Bill to Further Curb Acts Against the Public Order and Welfare
is approved.”

“Now, Mr. President,” Fred Van Ackerman said, standing in an easy, relaxed posture beside his desk, which was piled high with law books, encyclopedias, bound volumes of the Congressional Record, the
Washington Post
and the
New York Times
, “I think possibly the Senate might just as well settle back and make itself comfortable, because I intend to talk for quite a long time about this vicious, inexcusable, dictatorial gag bill brought in here by this Administration to choke off honest protest and democratic dissent.

“You can always stampede the House, Mr. President, but I’m here to say you can’t stampede the Senate. I expect I’ll have some assistance in these next few hours and days and weeks, too, Mr. President. Old Freddie isn’t alone on this one.…”

“I really think the Jason nomination is a most hopeful event,” Lord Maudulayne said as he and Raoul Barre met Krishna Khaleel and Vasily Tashikov in the middle of the Delegates’ Lounge. “It could mean a whole new approach for American policy.”

Raoul nodded.

“This may be the beginning of the return to sanity.”

Tashikov shook his head with an air of impatient annoyance.

“It is about time!” he observed sarcastically.

Krishna Khaleel clasped his hands in fervent agreement.

“Gracious, I should say so!” he exclaimed. “Gracious, yes!”

“And so,” Walter Dobius wrote at “Salubria,” “the long agony of the National Committee and the nation’s capital comes to its dramatic end.

“The Battle of Washington, one might say, is over.

“The Battle of America is about to begin.

“By selecting Governor Jason for his running mate. Secretary Knox has bowed not only to the politically inevitable but the nationally imperative. And the Governor, in his brief remarks to the Committee—which will no doubt be amplified tomorrow when he and Mr. Knox deliver their formal acceptance speeches at the Washington Monument—has made quite clear that he sacrifices none of his integrity and none of his beliefs in accepting his rightful and necessary place on the ticket.