Advise and Consent

by Allen Drury

“He invited me to his rooming house on several occasions after the seminar, which was held in the evenings,” the witness said. “We talked about government and politics mostly.”

  “What night of the week?” Seab asked.

  “Thursday,” Herbert Gelman said. Bob Leffingwell looked surprised and once again turned around to catch his wife’s eye, grinned, and waved. She waved back, and a little comfortable stir of friendliness flickered through the audience.

  “What happened then?” Seab asked.

  “On the third occasion he suggested that he knew an informal group that liked to get together and chew the fat on these things and he wanted to know if I would like to go with him. He said it met at ten o’clock on Thursday nights after the seminar. I said yes, so we went.”

  “What was the address of his rooming house?” Senator Cooley asked.

  “It was 2726 Madison Street,” the witness said promptly.

  “And where was the meeting held?”

  “At 2731 Carpenter,” Herbert Gelman said.

  “Jesus,” the Herald Tribune whispered. “This looks bad.” “It’s only the opening round,” the Post assured him calmly. “Wait awhile.”

  “What was the meeting?” Senator Cooley asked.

  “It was a campus Communist cell,” the witness said quietly.

  “You realize, Mr. Gelman,” Brigham Anderson remarked, “that you may be jeopardizing your government employment with these statements.”

  “They’re the truth,” the witness said stubbornly. “I’d be jeopardizing it if I committed perjury too, wouldn’t I?”

  “You would,” Senator Anderson said.

  “All right,” Herbert Gelman said.

  “And the nominee, Mr. Leffingwell, nominated for this great office of Secretary of State, attended these Communist cell meetings with you,” Seab resumed.

  “He did,” the witness said.

  “Was he an active participant?”

  “He was,” Herbert Gelman said.

  “What was his party name, so-called?” Senator Cooley asked.

  “Walker,” the witness said, and there was again a gasp from the audience.

  “Was there anyone else of particular prominence in the cell?” Seab asked. The witness paused thoughtfully.

  “I only saw him four or five times,” he said. “He was wearing a beard then, so I probably wouldn’t know him if I saw him now. His name was James Morton. I don’t know what became of him.”

  “What was your password at these meetings, Mr. Gelman?” Senator Cooley asked.

  “‘They’ll understand in Dubuque,’” Herbert Gelman said.

  “How did you arrive at that?”

  “That came about,” the witness explained, “because we had a saying sort of based on that old saying about The New Yorker magazine—you know, that it wasn’t for the old lady in Dubuque. Our saying was that when the revolution came it would be sufficiently drastic so they’d even understand it in Dubuque. In time this got shortened to just, ‘They’ll understand in Dubuque.’ I know it sounds kind of corny.”

  “Just corny enough,” Seab told him softly, “so that it just might be true, Mr. Gelman. And you actually said,” he added in a disbelieving tone, “when the revolution comes?”

  “I suppose that sounds silly now too,” the witness said with an apologetic smile, “but we did. We meant it too, in those days.”

  “And those days,” Seab said, “were after World War II when the Communist conspiracy against the free world was apparent to all thinking men.”

  “They were,” Herbert Gelman said.

  “Is there anything you wish to add, Mr. Gelman?” Seab asked.

  “No, sir,” Herbert Gelman said.

  “You are aware of your oath to tell the truth,” the Senator said.

  “I am,” the witness said.

  “And you have told the truth in every particular?”

  “In every particular,” the witness replied.

  “No further questions, Mr. Chairman,” Seab said. “I release the witness to the subcommittee if you care to question him.”

  “Yes, Mr. Chairman,” Arly Richardson said quickly. “I would like to interrogate a little.”

  “Go ahead, Senator,” the chairman said.

  “You sent me the telegram that I read into the record yesterday,” Arly said.

  “I did,” Herbert Gelman said.

  “Why didn’t you come to me in person?” Arly demanded.

  “He’s just jealous,” the Chicago Daily News whispered. “Wants to be in the act,” the Des Moines Register agreed.

  “Well, I—”

  “Why didn’t you come to me in person?” Senator Richardson repeated.

  “I was reluctant, Senator,” the witness said. “I wasn’t really sure I wanted to do this, but I thought if you traced me through the university and found me, then I would have to.”

  “And this would have solved some moral problem in your own mind, Mr. Gelman,” Arly said.

  “I felt it would, yes, sir,” the witness replied.

  “What was that problem?” Senator Richardson asked.

  “I didn’t want to testify against a man who had been my friend,” Herbert Gelman said in a low voice.

  “Yet you called yourself deliberately to the attention of this subcommittee, so that you would sooner or later have to testify, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That strikes me as a rather peculiar procedure, Mr. Gelman,” Senator Richardson said.

  “It might be for a strong man,” Herbert Gelman said with his apologetic little smile, “but I’m afraid I’m not very strong, Senator.”

  “You appear to me to be quite strong enough to have done Mr. Leffingwell considerable damage here today,” Arly Richardson said dryly. “And when you learned the university said it had no record, you decided then to go to the Senator from South Carolina. You realize, of course, Mr. Gelman, that you are making extraordinarily serious charges against a man who has filled public office under this government for thirteen years with generally high regard and respect from the country, don’t you?”

  “I do, sir,” the witness replied.

  “And you know he has been appointed to an office involving the most profound trust and honor, in which he will have the fate of this country in his hands in many international dealings?”

  “That’s why I’m here, sir,” Herbert Gelman said quietly.

  “Why are you here, Mr. Gelman?” Arly asked.

  “For what I’ve done,” the witness replied.

  “And what was that?” Arly asked. “Did you start any riots? Did you touch off any bombs? Did you kill anybody for the cause?”

  “No, sir,” Herbert Gelman said.

  “How many of you were there in this so-called cell?” Senator Richardson asked.

  “Four,” the witness said, and there was a skeptical titter from somewhere in the audience. “Mr. Leffingwell, myself, one other who is dead, and James Morton.”

  “That’s not a very big group to overturn the government,” Arly suggested.

  “No, sir,” Herbert Gelman said.

  “And you didn’t plot anything?”

  “Not to my knowledge, no, sir,” the witness said.

  “In short, you just talked, didn’t you?” Senator Richardson said.

  “Yes, sir,” the witness said.

  “And that’s all you did. A few ineffectual meetings fourteen years ago. Is that all?”

  “I’ve felt badly about it, Senator,” the witness said with a certain stubborn quietness.

  “And you aren’t just out to get Mr. Leffingwell because he got you fired from the FPC?” Orrin Knox asked.

  “No, sir,” Herbert Gelman said.

  “You’ve forgiven him for that,” Orrin said dryly. The witness smiled his little half smile.

  “No, sir,” he said.

  “But revenge isn’t a sufficient motive in your mind to warrant such grave charges as these?” Senator Knox inquire
d.

  “No, sir.”

  “How do we know you’re not crazy?” Senator DeWilton demanded suddenly from his end of the table, and the witness smiled again.

  “Do I seem crazy?” he asked quietly.

  “You’re telling a crazy story,” Johnny DeWilton said.

  “Do I sound crazy?” Herbert Gelman asked.

  “I don’t know,” Johnny DeWilton confessed. “I can’t tell.”

  “I don’t think you’re telling us all you know, Mr. Gelman,” Senator Winthrop said, and again the witness smiled.

  “Maybe Mr. Leffingwell can bring it out when he questions me,” he suggested.

  “Are there any further questions by the subcommittee?” Senator Anderson asked. “If not, I think we will let Mr. Leffingwell cross-examine.”

  “Mr. Chairman,” the nominee said quietly, “perhaps Senator DeWilton is in doubt, but I am not. This man is obviously insane, and while I certainly do intend to cross-examine, I would like to ask that it go over until tomorrow, when I shall have been able to gather together certain material I wish to use as a basis for questioning.”

  “You realize, of course, Mr. Leffingwell,” Senator Anderson said, “that if you let his testimony stand overnight without challenge the press perforce will have to carry it without your rebuttal for nearly twenty-four hours before your side can be told.”

  “I realize, Mr. Chairman,” the nominee said quietly, “but I am going to throw myself on the mercy and the sense of fair play of my countrymen and trust that they will withhold judgment until I have had a chance to develop my defense.”

  “The subcommittee is perfectly willing to have you cross-examine now,” the chairman repeated, “or have you make any preliminary statement you care to make.”

  “I prefer to wait, Senator,” Bob Leffingwell said.

  “Very well,” Brig said, “the subcommittee stands in recess until ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  The room exploded into an excited babble of sound as the audience began to leave and Herbert Gelman, looking neither to right nor left, darted hastily out like some small secretive animal while the nominee watched him go with an expression of half amusement, half contempt in his eyes.

  “Well,” Brigham Anderson said as Dolly and her guests came forward to the table, “some show, eh, Robert?”

  “Yes,” the Majority Leader said thoughtfully. “I wonder why he didn’t want to cross-examine now.”

  “Think of the build-up in interest and tension in twenty-four hours,” Senator Anderson said. “He knows what he’s doing.”

  “My, it’s exciting!” Kitty Maudulayne said. “Do you really think this little man is right? Do you really think Mr. Leffingwell is a Communist? Wouldn’t that be exciting, you with a Communist for Secretary of State!”

  “The thought,” Brig said dryly, “makes me positively giddy. What do you think, Tom?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Senator August said in his gentle, worried way. “It certainly upsets things, doesn’t it?”

  “It certainly doesn’t smooth them down,” Bob Munson said. “But I never thought it would be easy.”

  “I can see I’d better get interested in this, now that Dubuque’s been brought into it,” Lafe Smith said with a grin.

  “You’re right on that,” Bob Munson remarked to Seab as he came slowly along to join them. “It is just corny enough so that it might be true.”

  Seab smiled sleepily and made no answer, but instead bowed elaborately to the ladies.

  “I hope you all weren’t disappointed,” he said.

  “You gave us our money’s worth, Senator,” Dolly said. “We'll be back for the sequel tomorrow.”

  “Good,” Senator Cooley said. “I just suspect—I just suspect it may be a leetle dramatic. Just a leetle.”

  “That’s a safe prediction,” Verne Cramer observed. “When egghead meets egghead it’s no yolk, right, Robert?”

  “You’re a real funny man,” the Majority Leader told him.

  “Or,” Senator Cramer said, “you can’t make an omelet without breaking eggheads. How’s that?”

  “I think you’re enjoying this,” Brigham Anderson said in mock reproach, and Verne Cramer grinned.

  “Something’s got to give,” he remarked. “I wonder who it’s going to be?”

  It was then, as they were standing in an amiably chatting group while the crowd shuffled out with many interested backward glances toward them, that Fred Van Ackerman came bursting in again in obvious excitement.

  “Reconvene the committee!” he said breathlessly. “Reconvene it, God damn it!”

  “What’s the matter with you?” Senator Anderson demanded bluntly. “We quit five minutes ago.”

  “But I have proof,” Senator Van Ackerman said, a sudden savage note coming into his voice. “Don’t any of you want the proof, Senator?”

  “Proof of what?” Lafe Smith asked shortly.

  “Don’t you want the proof when I have the proof?” Fred Van Ackerman demanded again with his strange, strangled, about-to-blow-up emphasis. “There isn’t any 2731 Carpenter Street, Chicago. I called the city hall and checked. There’s no building there. It’s a vacant lot. I want you to reconvene the subcommittee, so I can nail that lie right now.”

  “Bob Leffingwell has asked us to go over,” Brigham Anderson said calmly, “and we have. It’s his wish.”

  “You don’t want to help him,” Fred Van Ackerman said sharply, a peculiar light in his eyes. “You’re out to get him, aren’t you, Brig? You’re all out to get him, and you most of all. All right. All right. You just wait. You all just wait!”

  And he turned abruptly on his heel and hurried out through the last curious spectators while behind him Kitty Maudulayne said, “My goodness, he’s mad too!” and Verne Cramer said, “We dropped him on his head when he was two years old, but we’ve been hoping. Apparently we haven’t hoped strong enough, have we, Brigham?”

  “He isn’t normal,” Brigham Anderson said, shaking his head. “There’s something all wrong inside somewhere.”

  “Well, watch out for him,” Senator Munson advised soberly. “He plays rough.”

  “Let’s all go to lunch together and forget about it,” Verne Cramer suggested lightly. “Ladies?”

  “I’d love to,” Dolly said, slipping her arm through Senator Munson’s.

  “So would I!” Kitty exclaimed, and Celestine smiled.

  “A quick one,” Bob Munson said, “Because I think we’ve got to get to the floor pretty soon. I have an idea it’s going to be a rather blowy afternoon in the Cave of the Winds.”

  “Yes,” Brigham Anderson agreed; and on that understanding they all took the subway over to the Capitol and went along to the Senate restaurant for forty-five minutes of rather restless conviviality during which the ladies of the party found it difficult to hold the attention of their senatorial companions because the latter were all waiting uneasily for the commanding double ring of the quorum bell which they were quite sure would mean trouble.

  Surprisingly, however, it did not come, and their automatic assumption that Fred Van Ackerman would go roaring to the floor and raise hell proved to be mistaken. Instead the Senate adjourned shortly after they finished lunch without anybody even mentioning the name Leffingwell; a fact the Majority Leader did not entirely like, for it seemed to him about time for some steam to be let off on the subject by some of his more vocal colleagues, and their careful quiet seemed more ominous than reassuring.

  It soon became apparent as afternoon and evening wore on that this was not for lack of interest anywhere in the country, or, indeed, anywhere in the world. Raoul Barre called Lord Maudulayne to confess a certain misgiving; Krishna Khaleel, passing Hal Fry swiftly on the floor of the General Assembly at UN, pointed to the headline on the paper he was carrying, raised a quizzical eyebrow that might mean almost anything, and hurried on; on Sixteenth Street Vasily Tashikov in some puzzlement had one of his aides check some records in the vault in the bas
ement and the aide came back in greater puzzlement to confess that he had drawn a blank; both the president of General Motors and the president of the United Auto Workers called Bob Munson in some agitation, as did the chairman of the National Committee downtown, and the Majority Leader had to spend a valuable forty-five minutes calming the three of them down; Seab received, by phone, personal visit, and corridor conversation, assurances from another round dozen of his colleagues that they were on his side in the light of the day’s events; the Star, the News, and every other evening newspaper in the United States without exception bannered the Gelman testimony; the evening radio and television commentaries carried it completely if in rather gingerly fashion; loud voices in the Press Club bar argued violently with one another about it; it was noted in London, in Rome, in Paris, in Moscow, in Helsinki and Cape Town and Singapore and Sierra Leone and all the points between; and everywhere in the capital, everywhere in the country, and everywhere in the world that knowledgeable people gathered it was a major topic of conversation.

  Of all these discussions sprung from the hearing around the globe, perhaps the most significant was the one which occurred toward midnight when the senior Senator from South Carolina took up the receiver and asked the Sheraton-Park switchboard to give him the apartment of the senior Senator from Michigan a quarter of a mile away in the other wing.

  “Bob?” he said softly. “Is that you, Bob?”

  “That’s me, Seab,” the Majority Leader said. “What are you going to tell me, that you’re giving up your opposition to Leffingwell?”

  “Now, I swear you’re a marvel, Bob,” Senator Cooley said amicably. “Your whole cause has collapsed and you’re still able to make jokes. It makes you a great leader, Bob. Yes, sir, that’s what makes you a great leader.”

  “I’m on my way to bed, Seab,” Senator Munson said. “Is it anything that can keep until tomorrow?”

  “No, sir,” Seab said. “I just thought, Bob, that just maybe you might call the White House and tell him that it might just possibly be a good idea to withdraw this nomination, Bob. I think that’s what you might tell him, Bob.”

  “Well, sir, Seab,” Bob Munson said, “do you know something? I already called him, and do you know what he said?”

  “What did he say, Bob?” Senator Cooley asked.