The DeValera Deception

by Michael McMenamin

  “Only the politics, Winston. The Democrats never objected to IRA fund-raising when Wilson was in power because Irish Catholics in the big cities were an important part of their power base. They weren’t about to interfere with a key constituency. The Republicans have been in power for the last eight years, and they don’t care for the opposite reason. Their strength is not in the big cities. It’s in big business. The manufacturers who make the arms. So they’re not going to lift a finger to stop this commerce, especially when they think all you Brits want to do is renege on your war loans. Let’s face it. If we didn’t care when Ireland was part of the United Kingdom, why should we care now when it’s only a dominion like Canada or Australia?”

  “That’s not fair,” Churchill protested. “Great Britain has done its best to be a good friend to the United States. I can’t begin to tell you how much valuable time I wasted as Chancellor on that subject. And unlike the French or the other Allies, we British have made all of our interest payments to you on time. Every single one. No one else has done that. No one. And if your government had listened to your father‘s wise advice in 1917, the loans would have been treated as gifts and reparations wouldn‘t be the obstacle to genuine reconciliation they are today.”

  “That may be...,” Cockran said.

  “Wait, there’s more,” said Churchill, interrupting. “You Americans foolishly have it in your mind that disarmament is the way to achieve peace. Your father knew better. And yet your country‘s latest idea of disarmament is to decommission more British ships of the line in exchange for you Americans building fewer new ships. Our Admiralty resisted and, privately, I thought them right. But at the Exchequer, I was responsible for our budget and I had to cut expenses wherever I could. You Americans made it easy for me. But mark my words, you’ll pay a terrible price some day. You have lived well and prospered in this country because of the strength of the British Navy, not your own.”

  “Actually, I don’t necessarily disagree with you” Cockran replied, “but I don’t see what that has to do...”

  “Don’t interrupt me,” Churchill said, “and you’ll soon understand. Our Prime Minister is visiting the President in October specifically on the subject of more naval disarmament. You Americans have sunk more British battleships than the Germans, and now you want to go after our cruisers. We’re not going to be as easy as before but we will make a few concessions. I don’t know how far Ramsay will go. But, with me as Ramsay‘s representative, your President can hardly turn down this small favor, not when he needs our good will in October.”

  “Why not have the Prime Minister make the request himself?” Cockran asked.

  Churchill looked up at Cockran with an expression on his face conveying utter disbelief. “I thought you taught international law. Don’t you understand that if the Prime Minister makes the request personally, a quid pro quo is certain to follow? We could well have to give up two cruisers in exchange for the President’s help. That just wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all. Besides,” Churchill continued, “your economy is the marvel of the world and your President Hoover talks seriously of ending poverty as we know it. He treasures his role as a man of peace. Why would he not want to keep Ireland at peace?”

  “His power is not that great in this area,” Cockran replied. “He can’t even stop Chicago gangsters from buying Mr. Thompson’s submachine guns. So, if the IRA is out to buy weapons in the U.S., there’s not much the federal authorities can do to stop them. American arms makers have a long history of selling their products to South American countries and revolutionaries alike. All it takes is cold, hard cash. Don’t forget what Coolidge said, ‘the business of America is business.’ Even Democrats don‘t disagree with that, and I can guarantee that President Hoover doesn’t disagree. He’s more in bed with business than Coolidge ever was.”

  Their main course arrived, tournedos of rare beef for Churchill, rack of lamb, medium rare, for Cockran. Churchill switched from champagne and ordered a bottle of claret while Cockran continued to press his position with Churchill. “You know more of politics than me, including international politics. But if the IRA are buying guns and ammunition in America, they’re not doing it with money they raised here. I know that for a fact.”

  “Why is that, pray tell?”

  “John Devoy,” Cockran replied.

  “I’ve heard that name.” Churchill said.

  “You have. He’s the old Fenian who was the secret head of Clan na Gael throughout the Anglo-Irish War.” Cockran said. “You would think he would be the first to be behind something like this. And not for the first time about the Irish would you be wrong.”

  “I didn‘t even know he was still alive,” Churchill said, “Tell me more.”

  “It all goes back to de Valera’s fund raising in America in 1920. Devoy and Judge Cohalan had united all the Irish American groups.” Cockran paused, sipped his wine, and continued. “You British and your Black and Tans had brought us together in a way we had never done. Devoy and the Judge had it lined up so that both major U.S. parties were going to pass planks at their conventions that summer for Irish self-determination. Both the conventions were wired. Even though Wilson had betrayed us, the Democrats had to go along because they couldn’t publicly denounce self-determination. Republicans were in the same boat.”

  Churchill nodded thoughtfully. “I wasn’t aware of this. That would have been decidedly untimely. Please go on.”

  “Exactly. Until de Valera stepped in. He couldn’t stand to share the credit with anyone else, even an old Fenian like John Devoy. Anyway, de Valera quibbled over the language drafted by Devoy and Cohalan. It was carefully written to pass muster with both parties. They couldn’t change a word without jeopardizing support. Once one party passed it, the other would have had no choice. But de Valera insisted upon submitting his own resolution to both conventions in competition with Devoy and Cohalan. Same purpose. Different words. Dev‘s words. So the Irish lost unity once again and neither convention passed a resolution on Irish self-determination.”

  “Well, you have had the floor for some time, my young friend.” Churchill said gently. “Pray explain what all of this has to do with the problem at hand.”

  “It’s easy. When the Irish delegation to the peace negotiations had produced no more than the Free State, a member of the British Commonwealth taking an oath to the King, no one here expected Devoy to support it. Without a Republic, everyone thought the old man would condemn the Treaty. They were wrong and nothing pleased Mick more than when Devoy endorsed it. He had the same vision as Mick. The treaty was a stepping stone to freedom. He condemned Cathal Brugha, Connie Markowitz and Dev in his weekly newspaper for placing their egos above the cause of Irish freedom.”

  Cockran brushed a thick lock of hair from his forehead and then continued. “John Devoy is very much alive, and there is no way that the IRA could begin to attempt to raise money in America without Devoy finding out. John Devoy is fearless. Once he found out IRA fund raising was going on, nothing could stop him from broadcasting it all over the Irish American community through his newspaper and condemning the IRA for the lunatics they are. But John Devoy has written nothing. If your sources are right about arms buying in America, and I don’t think they are, the money wasn’t and isn’t being raised here.”

  “I had no idea you and Devoy were so close,” Churchill replied. “You know him well?”

  “I do. He and my father were good friends despite their differences. I’ve probably seen more of him since Dad died. He’s a grand old man and I enjoy his company.”

  Churchill pursed his lips and then locked his eyes on Cockran. “I promised I would not bring the subject up again without your leave. But you have given me information of which I was previously unaware and, had I known it, I would have made a different request than I did earlier. May I make a new request now?”

  Cockran nodded his assent and Churchill continued. “Our intelligence sources are of the highest quality. I have made my own inquiri
es and am satisfied of that. But your point on John Devoy is well taken. Would you be so kind as to lodge an inquiry with him? Nothing more. He may have heard things but discarded them because of their improbability. But if there are rumors circulating out there which have not been enough for him to go public in his paper, perhaps confirmation from British intelligence will crystallize these rumors. And if he has heard nothing, I agree with your conclusion that money is not being raised in America. Will you at least do that? Talk with John Devoy?”

  Cockran shook his head. Winston was clever. He had deliberately not disclosed his meeting yesterday with Devoy and now Churchill was asking him only to do what he had already set in motion. How could he say no? After all, he was meeting Devoy anyway.

  “Well, I’m having a dinner with him Sunday. I’m sure I’ll be able to find a way to bring it up in the course of an evening.”

  “Splendid, Bourke, splendid! Thanks ever so much. Send a wire or telephone me in Toronto. We’ll be at the Royal York.”

  12.

  You Were Warned

  Montreal

  Saturday, 10 August 1929

  3:50 p.m.

  A taxi took Cockran to the rail station where he boarded the Montreal Limited Number 10 and made his way to the club car and settled into a comfortable leather chair. Given the abundance of available brands arrayed behind the polished mahogany bar, he ordered a Bushmill’s with water and began to make notes on Winston‘s stories about Michael Collins.

  Cockran glanced at his watch. It was 3:55 p.m. and the train had left Montreal at 2:50 p.m. Within ten minutes they would cross the border and switch engines at Rouses Point, New York. He finished his Bushmill’s, ordered a refill and returned to his Pullman compartment.

  Cockran opened the door to his compartment and saw the contents of his suitcase strewn on his bed and a large man bent over the bed. “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The man turned and Cockran caught a glimpse of a weapon in the intruder’s hand as he quickly closed the gap between them and pressed the weapon’s barrel firmly into Cockran’s side.

  “You were warned but you . . .”

  The sentence went uncompleted as the train lurched and Cockran felt the barrel move off the mark. He brought his right foot down hard on the man’s ankle, knocking him off balance. Turning, Cockran grasped the wrist of the man’s hand which still held a Walther P38 with a long six-inch silencer attached to the barrel. As the train lurched again sending them both into the side of the compartment, he pressed his thumbs into pressure points on the man‘s wrist and slammed the gun into the wall. The man tried to lift his knee to force Cockran back but his weight kept the man in place as he slammed the gun against the wall for a third time. The pistol dropped to the floor and bounced through the still open compartment door. The intruder bolted after his weapon but only managed to kick it with his foot down the corridor. Before he could retrieve it, Cockran leaped on his back but the man slipped from his grasp. Cockran jumped to his feet and found himself standing in the passageway between the man and his weapon.

  Cockran had a good look at the man now, his narrow face twisted in anger. He was several inches taller than Cockran and easily outweighed him by thirty pounds. The top half of the rail car door was open and Cockran could feel the cool air on his back as the man lowered his head and rushed at Cockran just as the train entered a long dark tunnel. The impact of the collision drove Cockran back several feet and pain lanced through his tender ribs. The man’s hands reached out and Cockran felt them close around his throat. As the man’s grip tightened, Cockran jabbed two of his fingers stiffly into the man’s right eye, the man howled in pain and slapped a hand over his eye. Cockran reversed their positions and threw the man against the half-open door. Before he could recover, Cockran grabbed him by the knees, lifted up until the top half of the man’s body was leaning precariously over the door. Then, with one last heave, Cockran pushed him over the top with arms flailing. Cockran heard a dull thud in the dark as the man hit the ground below. He picked up the gun and threw it out just as the train left the tunnel and emerged into sunlight.

  The time elapsed was less than two minutes. Cockran was astonished their struggle had not attracted the attention of the porter or his fellow passengers. Thirty seconds later, Cockran was back in his own compartment. He poured himself two fingers of scotch and pulled out a fountain pen to see if it was possible to make more corrections to his manuscript. It wasn‘t. His adrenaline level was too high, his suspicions even higher.

  13.

  You Arrested Herbert Hoover!

  Q1 Montreal

  Saturday, 10 August 1929

  6:00 p.m.

  Mattie McGary was not happy. The reason why blared out at her in bold headlines from an air mail copy of Hearst’s New York American sitting there on the coffee table of the Churchill brothers‘ suite at the Mount Royale.

  GRAF OFF ON WORLD TOUR AIR GIANT HEADS TO SEA FOR EPOCHAL SKY VOYAGE

  EXCLUSIVE BY LADY HAY-DRUMMOND

  FAMOUS CORRESPONDENT WHO IS TAKING THE HEARST-ZEPPELIN ROUND-WORLD FLIGHT

  Famous correspondent, my ass, Mattie thought. That trip should have been hers, not “Lady Grace”, that social-climbing columnist with the double-barreled name acquired by marrying a man nearly fifty years older who conveniently passed away soon after. And it would have been hers had she not let Winston talk her into joining his adventure instead.

  Mattie wondered when Winston’s monologue would end. Churchill, dressed in a navy, pin-striped vested suit, wearing his ever-present blue polka dot bow tie, paced back and forth, pausing only occasionally to interrupt his flow of words by taking a sip of champagne, the chilled bottle sitting on the butler’s table in the corner of the room.

  “I’ve known Bourke since he was a small boy. His father was one of the wisest and most principled men I’ve ever known. That’s why I don’t understand Bourke’s reaction. Look how helpful he was back in ‘21. I mean, we knew he worked for Collins. What young Irish American wouldn’t? Even I would have worked for Collins had I been in Bourke’s position. So I don’t understand his reluctance to help the Free State in its time of need. Nay, his lack of enthusiasm.” Churchill said as if, Mattie thought, that were a mortal sin in Churchill’s eyes.

  “What do you mean?” Mattie asked.

  “Bourke is not as sound as his father. I can’t quite put my finger on it but there’s something there I don’t completely trust. It probably started with his articles.”

  His articles?” Mattie asked. “What is it about his articles?”

  “They betray a certain mind set common among Americans today of holding themselves aloof from the problems of Europe. Of calling for ‘a free hand’ in foreign policy. No allies. But it’s no better for a country to cut itself off from the world than it is for a man.”

  Churchill paused and lit a cigar. “It’s the articles about the Great War which give me the most pause. Let me show you. This one, from American Mercury, argues that United States sovereignty was infringed by the Royal Navy’s blockade every bit as much as it was by German submarines. Imagine! Equating us with those wolf packs that killed innocent civilians.

  “Or this one from The Atlantic Monthly which argues that America’s and England’s vital interests were not at stake in the war and that we both should have sat the war out. Without English or American intervention, he claims there would have been a negotiated peace in Europe. No Bolshevik revolution. No German revolution. No monarchies forced into democracy only to descend into dictatorships a few years later.

  “I know the primary focus of his attack is on President Wilson’s policies,” Churchill continued, “but it tells me that we had best keep a close eye on young Cockran even if his help proves beneficial, however reluctantly it is offered. He lost his wife in that unnecessary civil war. A tragedy, but we simply can’t know how committed he still is to the Free State.”

  Churchill paused and picked up his champagne flute. Mattie seized
the opportunity, knowing that Churchill‘s monologue would otherwise continue unabated. “Winston, I only met Mr. Cockran at your request for a few hours the other night. He seemed to be a sensible, level-headed fellow with a good sense of humor. I don’t find it at all surprising that he is reluctant to become involved in what you obviously perceive as an adventure. It’s a considered, rational response. He has an eight-year-old son, for goodness’ sake!

  “But we’re off the subject.” She continued, “I think your Mr. Cockran is right.”

  “Pray tell me why,” said Churchill as he resumed pacing.

  “Apart from Cockran’s excellent point that no American laws are being broken is the issue of Hoover himself.” Mattie replied.

  Churchill’s face took on a quizzical look. “What issue is there with the President?”

  Mattie laughed out loud and threw her napkin down on the table. “Don‘t you remember? I was only fifteen, but I remember it clearly. Like my first day of school as a child. It was all great fun because I knew the man who was First Lord of the Admiralty.”

  Mattie saw that Churchill’s quizzical expression had vanished but the light of recognition had not blinked on in his eyes. “You don’t remember, do you, Winston? You really don’t.”

  “Well...,” Churchill began, but Mattie interrupted.

  “You arrested him! You arrested Herbert Hoover! You had bloody Naval intelligence arrest the future President of the United States in 1915 on corruption and espionage charges!”

  An embarrassed look crept over Churchill. “My dear, I had nothing to do with that. Some over-enthusiastic intelligence agents As soon as the matter reached my desk, I put things right. We were in the middle of the Dardanelles operation. I had far more important matters on my plate than some do-good American trying to bring food to the starving citizens of Belgium.”