The Golden Age (25 page)

Deliberately, Hoover took a handkerchief; mopped his forehead; and continued. “I am told that men of great imagination can often foresee what wars are like and so will have nothing to do with them. The Colonel, of course, has no imagination at all, and as I am an engineer, I’m not supposed to have one either. But I do have something Roosevelt and Stimson will never have. Experience. Franklin goes on and on about how he hates war because he has seen war. As usual, he lies. He toured a battlefield or two after Germany had surrendered. And that was that. He saw no war. Does he hate what he has never experienced? Who knows? But I had to feed the victims of that war and I don’t want anything like that to happen ever again. But Stimson does. Roosevelt does. I find them unfathomable. You know, Roosevelt tells this tall tale about when he was in the Navy Department, and the Marines were occupying Haiti—Professor Wilson’s contribution to their welfare. Anyway, Franklin claims to have written the Haitian constitution. As if he’s ever read ours! People forget that when I was elected president, we were occupying most of Central America and the Caribbean. I pulled the Marines out of Haiti, out of Nicaragua, and then when our war-lovers insisted that we invade Cuba and Panama and Honduras, I said no. They invoked the Monroe Doctrine. I invited them to read it. We should never possess more military strength than is needed to make sure that no one will ever dare invade us. But then after the … uh, debacle of 1932”—Peter saw a look of real pain in that round innocent-eyed bejowled face—“Stimson, still in my cabinet, sneaks up to Hyde Park to sell himself to the President-elect. Obviously, the price was right. Those two are made for each other.”

“Mr. President, you must write all this for the
Tribune
.” Blaise was
excited, to Peter’s surprise. Peter had not expected his unimaginative father to get the point to Hoover’s originality so perfectly disguised for so long from his countrymen by his forbidding and consummately dull persona.

The butler was now at the top of the brick steps. “Mrs. Sanford is ready, sir.”

Hoover stood up. “Naturally, a fallen statesman is always willing to mount whatever pedestal he can find. I’ll make some analysis of our elderly secretary of war’s peculiar view of the world, and his alliance with that mysterious presence in the White House.” Flanked by Blaise and Peter, Hoover moved with firm tread up the steps, where rambling roses grew to left and right.

“I am anti-war as you may have guessed but not because, as some deep thinkers believe, I am a Quaker, born and bred. I’m perfectly willing for us to fight if we have to. But I see something worse than war on the horizon. I am certain that the next war will absolutely transform us. I see more power to the great corporations. More power to the government. Less power to the people. That’s what I fear. Because once this starts, it is irreversible. You see, I want to live in a community that governs itself. Well, you can’t extend the mastery of the government over the daily life of a people without making government the master of those people’s souls and thoughts, the way the fascists and the Bolsheviks have done. In his serpentine way, Franklin is going in the very same direction that they have gone in, and I think he knows exactly what he’s doing while Stimson is simply stupid, a common condition.”

“Why, sir, did you make him your secretary of state?” Peter was bold.

They were now at the lawn facing Laurel House. The lunch guests were gathering on the terrace. “Well, I could say that I, too, suffer at times from the common condition. I, too, can be stupid.”

Blaise scowled at Peter’s impertinence. But Hoover was matter-of-fact. “Perhaps I was, in Stimson’s case. I suppose I didn’t think I needed any help with foreign affairs. Most of my professional life was spent abroad, working with foreign governments. I suspect I just wanted to have Stimson around so that I could keep my eye on him, and all the other Wall Street boys.”

The guests on the terrace were now applauding Hoover. He gave them a mock-Rooseveltian wave.

“See how they admire you, Mr. President.”

Hoover was now examining the guests as they saluted him. “I think every last one of them gave money to Willkie.”

“They had no choice, sir …” Blaise began.

But Peter broke in on his father. “Sir, did you really say that line about the poem?”

Hoover actually laughed, something generally thought impossible. “Yes, I did. When the Depression was at its worst, everyone wanted to know what we should do. General Electric even offered to take over the government and run it for me like—well, General Electric, I suppose. Oh, I was given a great deal of advice. Finally, I was inspired to say, what this country really needs is a great poem. Something to lift people out of fear and selfishness.”

“Do you still think so?”

“Of course.”

“You should have written it, sir.”

“I am no poet. And there is still no poem by anyone—yet.”

Senator James Burden Day was standing in a leafy homemade pergola, pruning grape vines. Even in shirtsleeves the old man looked distinguished, thought Peter, who had known him all his life. “It is my theory,” said Burden Day, “that grapes pruned in August turn out to be the best. No one agrees with me, of course.”

“That should not stop you, Senator.”

“It never seems to, does it? Diana’s in the house. Billy is not.” The Senator’s dislike of his son-in-law was simply taken for granted by everyone, and never remarked upon.

Peter entered the house through a door just back of the pergola. The stone house was cool even on the hottest of days. In the shadowy
living room, Kitty Day was bandaging what looked to be a large brown rat; on closer inspection, it was a wounded squirrel. “I found him in a hydrangea bush. Shot. He’s all right now. The bleeding’s stopped. Filthy bastards.” It was Kitty’s peculiarity to say exactly what she was thinking while remaining blissfully unaware that she was often surprisingly, certainly bluntly, informative.

Diana appeared in the doorway. “Mother, are you sure that thing isn’t rabid?”

“Of course I’m not sure. But then you went and married
him
of all people.” Kitty bore the wounded squirrel away.

“Mother.” Diana was aware that Peter knew the family’s secret.

“Why
did
you marry him, of all people?”

“The American Idea.”
She stammered slightly on the “m” in “American.” “He now thinks Irene Bloch will come up with the money if she gets an invitation to dinner at Laurel House.” Irene was married to the owner of Washington’s largest department store. Since she lusted for social dominance, Billy had made Peter an associate editor of the review with the understanding that he would work on Irene. “Invite her to lunch at Laurel House. Impress her.” Peter had done as asked, Irene proved to be quick-witted, and Frederika now tolerated her. When Peter explained the plot to his father, Blaise was perversely amused. “We’ll ask Sam next time.” Samuel I. Bloch of Bloch’s Department Store was a major
Tribune
advertiser. “Then
you
can sell him some more space.”

“Oh, Billy’s clever.” Diana sounded almost disapproving. “But then he has to be.”

“He really is if he’s hooked Irene. She’ll never interfere with the magazine.” Peter sat on a comfortably frayed sofa. “I think I’ll write a defense of Herbert Hoover. If Billy would print it.”

Diana was absently straightening cushions. “Why not? You’re one of the editors.” She stopped. “Did you say Herbert Hoover?”

Peter described his encounter with the former president. Diana agreed that the bit about the poem was nice.

Burden came into the room just as a car moved up to the house.

“Shall we go?” Diana was on her feet.

“Stay. Senator Gore’s bringing over a cousin.”

“I think I’d better go,” said Peter. “I told Irene I’d take her to Cissy Patterson’s.”

“This might be more interesting. The cousin is Admiral Richardson.” There had been a good deal of conjecture in Washington’s whispering gallery about the summary dismissal by the President of the commander in chief of the United States Fleet. Burden Day’s Subcommittee on Naval Affairs had wanted to investigate but party unity had suddenly been invoked. Now Peter wondered what the cousins were up to. Senator Gore had lost his seat in the Senate after a falling-out with Roosevelt. Now Admiral Richardson had been abruptly retired. Although Burden Day was usually an ally of the President, he had very much wanted to be the Democratic candidate for president in 1940 until Roosevelt had chosen to succeed himself. Even though Burden was looking ahead to the 1944 elections he was quite aware of the ticking of that clock which would, more soon than late, erase any hope of the presidency. But a clash with the President might revive a fading career. “It is like some incurable disease,” Diana had suddenly said one day over ice cream at Huyler’s. “This passion to be president has ruined Father’s life.”

“Well,” Peter was mild, “it has done wonders for Roosevelt. Saved
his
life you might say.”

Blind Senator Gore arrived on the arm of the Admiral, who wore civilian clothes; each stood very straight, otherwise there was no family resemblance. As always, the blind Senator said to Peter, “Nice to see you again.”

Diana went for iced tea. The visitors did not appear to mind the presence of the young.

“Mr. Day.” Senator Gore was always formal, even with friends. “We felt in need of your wisdom this afternoon.”

“What there is isn’t much, Mr. Gore, but I’m always ready to lend an ear.”

“Admiral Richardson, as you know, left his command of our fleet last February …”

The Admiral chuckled. “I was fired by the President himself. Quite an honor.”

“This means that you dared to disagree with him.” Burden was to the point.

Senator Gore turned to the Admiral as if he could see him. “Didn’t I tell you? Mr. Day is the wisest man in the Senate, now that I’m gone.”

“Because you also disagreed with him,” said Richardson.

“The family resemblance,” intoned Senator Gore, “grows closer and closer.”

“I assume, Admiral,” Burden’s pale blue eyes were concentrated now on Richardson, “that your disagreement wasn’t over the gold standard.”

“Nothing so mysterious, sir. We disagreed about life and death.”

Diana returned with iced tea. Kitty waved at them through the window; a scarlet bird, perching on her shoulder, pecked at her hair. Diana served tea; and left them.

“Last October, just before the election, I was asked for lunch at the White House. The President was his usual happy self. We discussed the recent maneuvers of the Pacific Fleet.”

“Was Harry Hopkins at lunch?” Burden stirred ice with his forefinger.

“No, sir. Just the two of us. Upstairs. It soon became apparent to me that the President has a plan, even some sort of timetable. ‘Sooner or later,’ he said, ‘the Japanese will commit an overt act against the United States and the nation will then be willing to enter the war.’ ”

Burden put down his glass hard. “He said that? In those words?”

“Yes, sir. He also said he was convinced that sooner or later they would make a mistake—he used that word, too—and then we would be in the war because Germany and Italy would have to honor their military treaty with Japan.”

“He’s like a magician,” said Gore. “He keeps us occupied with England and the Atlantic and Lend-lease and then while he’s doing tricks with his European hand, the other is provoking Japan into attacking us so he can live up to his campaign promise that, if elected, no sons of yours will ever fight in a foreign war—unless, of course, we are attacked.”

Peter was alarmed and excited. Were these three men just ordinary Roosevelt-haters who tended to say anything? Or was the Admiral’s story true? And if it was true, and if Japan were to make a “mistake,” couldn’t Roosevelt be impeached and removed from office?

“Specifically, Admiral …” Burden began.

“Specifically,” Richardson answered, “the President wanted to put one of our cruisers in Japanese waters, to just ‘pop up,’ as he put it, to intimidate them. He was willing, he said, to lose one or two cruisers but not five or six.”

“Dear God!” Burden shook his head.

“And then
you
said …” Gore prompted Richardson.

“I was angry enough to tell him the truth. I said, ‘I should warn you, Mr. President, that the senior officers of the Navy do not have the trust and confidence in the civilian leadership of this country that is essential for the successful prosecution of a war in the Pacific.’ ” Richardson laughed. “Yes. I memorized what I said in case, one day, I am invited to repeat it for the record.”

“That could be soon.” Burden looked grim.

“Let’s hope not,” said Richardson. “For now, I’m officially silent. But, privately, I’ve told a number of my fellow officers, and now I’ve let you gentlemen in on this dangerous game that Mr. Roosevelt is playing.”

Peter did his best to appear invisible. Plainly he was not one of the gentlemen that the Admiral intended to warn.

“It’s a very clever game.” Gore’s one glass eye had strayed northward while the blind eye was half shut. “Eighty percent of our people don’t want us to go back to Europe for a second world war and nothing will ever persuade them, no matter how many of our ships the Germans sink. So we at least learned that lesson from last time. But to get the Japanese to strike first is true genius—wicked genius.”

“Certainly, it’s the way Hitler works. Accuse your victim of aggression. Then,” Burden struck the arm of his chair, “attack him.”

“Secretary of the Navy Knox tells me that the President’s been considering a naval blockade of Japan. He wants two lines of light ships. One from Hawaii to the Philippines. The other from Samoa to Singapore. The President collects stamps, you know, and he loves looking at maps, and daydreaming. I said it would never work even if our fleet was in first-class condition, which it isn’t. Mr. Knox told me, very sadly, that my bluntness had hurt the President’s feelings. So now you know how I earned my gold watch, and Admiral Stark got promoted.”

They discussed the politics of the matter. The secretaries of war and treasury, Stimson and Morgenthau, were eager for a showdown with Japan. Two weeks earlier, Morgenthau had responded to the Japanese move into Indochina by freezing Japan’s assets in the United States as well as cutting back on oil sales even though the Navy, perhaps due to the influence of Admiral Richardson, had warned him that with the United States engaged in the Altantic supplying Britain with arms and in the Pacific with preparations for war, the newly inaugurated two-fleet Navy needed time to make itself battleworthy. Certainly, the day the Japanese could not buy oil from the United States, they would go to war with the Dutch and seize the oil fields at Java. “Then,” said Richardson, “according to some sort of agreement Roosevelt made with Churchill on one of their yachting trips in the North Atlantic, the British, the Dutch, and the United States will go to war with Japan.”