When President Franklin Roosevelt was reined in by . . .
By The Jefferson Allegiance and his best friend and aide. A document brokered by Jefferson and Hamilton against the future threat of a president run amok. That’s the core idea of the book. Most of it is a thriller set present day to track down the Allegiance, but there are flashbacks to when just the threat of it stopped presidents. Here is the fourth:
18 February 1945
President Roosevelt sat at his friend’s deathbed, aware that soon
someone would be sitting by his. He felt
the slightest movement through the wheels of his chair. The USS Quincy, named after the birthplace of two
Presidents, was one of the new Baltimore Class cruisers churned out by the
United States since the start of World War II.
The sea off the coast of Algiers had minimal effect against its heavy
metal sides.
The man in the bed, Major
General Watson, had been by Roosevelt’s side through the entire war. To lose him now, with the end in sight,
deeply saddened Roosevelt, sapping the satisfaction from the accomplishments of
the past three weeks. Via the Quincy he’d met Churchill in
Malta on the 2nd of February, Stalin and Churchill at Yalta after
that, then King Farouk, Emperor Haile Selassie and Saudi Arabian King Ibn Saud
on the Great Bitter Lake a few days ago.
Watson had collapsed after
they passed through the Suez Canal and not regained consciousness, nor was he
likely to according to Roosevelt’s personal doctor. Roosevelt’s hope was that his friend would
last until they got back to the States so that he could accompany him back to
his home, adjacent to Monticello in Virginia.
Roosevelt had stayed at Watson’s Retreat at Kenwood numerous times
during his presidency, often making the quarter mile journey next door to
Jefferson’s house in the company of Ed Watson and his wife.
The hatch to the cabin
swung open and General Marshall came inside, securing the heavy metal door
behind him.
“George,” Roosevelt
acknowledged.
“Mister President.” Marshall came over and looked down at
Watson. “No change?”
“I am afraid not.”
“The Ambassadors will be on
board shortly,” Marshall said. “Your
briefing for them is prepared.”
The last thing Roosevelt
felt like was another meeting. But
briefing his ambassadors to the United Kingdom, France and Italy, on the
agreement at Yalta was imperative. “I’ll
be ready.” His hands were gripping the
arms of his wheelchair. “I’ve known Ed a
long time.”
Marshall took a chair from
the tiny desk in the cabin and settled his bulk into it. “He was in Washington on and off for
decades. Wasn’t he an aide to President
Wilson?”
Roosevelt felt
uncomfortable discussing Ed as if he were not here. “He’s been with me since thirty-three,”
Roosevelt murmured. “Longer than anyone
else except Eleanor.”
“I was talking with General
Watson last week about something interesting,” Marshall said.
Something in the General of
the Army’s tone roused Roosevelt out of his melancholy. “And that was?”
Marshall leaned back in the
metal chair and waited as ship’s orders were broadcast throughout the cruiser,
and then relative silence fell once more.
“In ancient Rome when a general or emperor won a great victory, there
would be a Triumph in Rome when they returned.
A great procession into the city to celebrate the victory.”
Marshall paused, then
continued. “General Watson reminded me
of something. He said that the
victorious leader, riding in a chariot, had a slave standing behind him. The slave held a wreath over his head and
whispered in his ear: ‘Respice post
te! Hominen te esse memento.’”
“My Latin is rusty,”
Roosevelt said dryly.
“It means: ‘Look behind you! Remember that you are but a man.’”
“A warning,” Roosevelt
said, arching an eyebrow.
“A reminder,” Marshall said
mildly. “Your cousin, Teddy, made a
promise in nineteen-oh-four, not to run again in oh-eight. He kept that promise.
But he did run in nineteen twelve under his own Bull Moose
platform. He won all but two of the
Republican Primaries, but still lost the nomination at the convention. Have you ever wondered why he lost that
nomination?”
“My cousin and I were never
on such an intimate level of discourse.”
Marshall nodded toward the
figure in the bed. “You know General
Watson is one of the Philosophers, of course?”
Roosevelt put a hand on the
left wheel of his chair and pulled back, turning to face the head of the Armed
Forces. “Yes.”
“He told me that your
cousin lost the nomination because the Philosophical Society opposed him.”
“But Teddy still ran on his
own ticket,” Roosevelt pointed out.
“Damn near won it all because he was supported by the Cincinnatians. Most votes anyone outside of the two parties
has ever received. Beat out the
Republican candidate who’d been nominated.”
“But he didn’t win. Wilson did.”
Roosevelt glanced at the
man in the bed, then back at the man in the chair. “True.”
“You’ve been elected four
times,” Marshall said. “Twice as much as
any other President. You got us through
the Depression and through the war. The
end is in sight.”
“It is,” Roosevelt agreed,
waiting for the bottom line, knowing that Marshall was maneuvering the way a
politician would, not a general.
Roosevelt also knew that the five star general was telling him what
Watson would have, if he could. Those
trips to Monticello had not been without their lessons.
Marshall continued. “In thirty-nine, despite the country’s
neutrality, you declared a state of limited national emergency. There is no such term in the Constitution or
even in subsequent laws passed by Congress.
In March of nineteen forty-one, you got Congress to pass the Lend-Lease
program.”
Roosevelt pulled out his
cigarette holder and loaded it. “Are you
telling me my accomplishments or my crimes?”
“Both.”
Roosevelt chuckled. “Do you know how I got Lend-Lease through
Congress?” He didn’t wait for an
answer. “I had my people push it through
while sixty-five House Democrats were at a luncheon.”
Marshall didn’t seem to
appreciate the humor. He continued. “In May of forty-one, when we still weren’t at war, you dropped
the ‘limited’ from the state of emergency and declared a state of unlimited
national emergency. Under this, you
could, and did, organize and control the means of production, seized
commodities, deployed military forces abroad, imposed martial law, seized
property, controlled all transportation and communication, regulated the operation
of private enterprise, and restricted travel.”
Roosevelt spread his hands
as an innocent man would. “Would you
have preferred I had not done those things?”
Marshall pulled a lighter
out and lit the President’s cigarette as he brought it to his lips. “No, sir.
They were necessary to win the war.”
“And I told Ed that I’d
restore all our liberties as soon as the war is over.”
“Yes, sir,” Marshall
agreed. “And that is why the
Philosophers have not taken action despite the unconstitutionality of many of
your actions. The Jefferson Allegiance
remains in check.”
“So what is the problem?”
Roosevelt asked, more sharply than he intended.
Marshall went over and
swung open one of the small portholes to let fresh air in. “The recent conferences, sir.”
“I thought they went quite
well.”
Marshall blinked. “Sir.
Stalin is a thug. A despot. You and Churchill handed him Eastern Europe
on a platter.”
“He promised to hold
elections,” Roosevelt said. “More
importantly, even you agreed that we need the Russians for the final invasion
of Japan.”
“I do agree with you on
that,” Marshall allowed. “But it went
too far. You gave up Poland. You agreed that citizens of Poland and Russia
would be repatriated whether they wanted to or not. You gave Stalin practically everything he
wanted.”
“Stalin agreed to join the
United Nations once we form it,” Roosevelt countered.
Marshall appeared not to
hear. “And the meeting with King Ibn
Saud. Sir, there are great strategic
implications in the Middle East for the future.
Both in terms of the displaced Jews, but more importantly, the oil. Japan went to war with us when we embargoed
their oil. The Germans went into Russia
for the oilfields. Oil is the key. I fear we’re setting up problems that are
going to take generations to untangle.”
“You say ‘we,’” Roosevelt
noted, “but you mean me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Roosevelt nodded
ruefully. “Do you think I don’t know
that?” He nodded toward the comatose
General in the bed. “I hope I go
quickly.”
“Sir, Stalin took too much
away from Yalta. And Ibn Saud too much
from the Great Bitter Lake conference.”
“We need the Russians for
Japan—“ Roosevelt began, but Marshall leaned forward and whispered.
“Sir. We have the Manhattan Project.”
“If it works,” Roosevelt
replied. “That’s a mighty big ‘if’ to
roll the dice on the lives of millions of American servicemen. Frankly, I’d rather it be Russian blood
spilled in Japan than American.”
“Sir, we must look beyond
the end of the war and—“
“Please,” Roosevelt said in
a low voice. He pulled the remnants of
his cigarette out of the holder and slid another in, then extended it to
Marshall who dutifully lit it. “I can’t
see beyond the end of war, George. It’s
been thirteen years. I’m tired. I’m sick.
My friend is lying here dying.
I’ll be gone soon enough. Enact
your Allegiance if you want, but by the time you do, I doubt there will be a
need.”
Roosevelt leaned his head
back against the rear of his wheelchair. “I am looking behind me. And I am but a man.”
