After Roosevelt had briefed the cabinet on the attacks, a spirited debate arose over the message that Roosevelt planned to present to Congress the next day. The president read the brief draft that he had dictated to Tully earlier that afternoon. “The message was short,” Wickard noted, “and merely stated how Japan had attacked while still carrying on peace negotiations. It ended by stating that he was asking Congress to declare that a state of war had existed since Japan’s attack.”11
Since talking with Roosevelt about his war message that afternoon, Hull became even more convinced that FDR needed to give a longer address to Congress. He enlisted Henry Stimson for support. Hull said that “he thought the most important war in 500 years deserved more than a short statement.” Stimson jumped in, adding that “Germany had inspired and planned this whole affair and that the President should so state in his message.” Hull pressed Roosevelt for a detailed address that would establish the history of “Japan’s lawless conduct” and connect the attack on Pearl Harbor to the Nazis. Stimson agreed. “I pointed out,” he recorded in his diary, “that we knew from the interceptions and other evidence that Germany had pushed Japan into this and that Germany was the real actor, and I advocated the view that we should ask for a declaration of war against Germany also.”12
Stimson complained that the president’s message “was not one of broad statesmanship. It really represented only the justified indignation of the country at Japan’s treachery in this surprise attack and not the full measure of the grievances we have against her as a confirmed law breaker and aggressor. I was afraid that to base it wholly on indignation at the surprise attack would look weak.”13
Roosevelt had clearly made up his mind to keep his address brief and focus solely on the Japanese attack at Pearl Harbor. “Secretary Hull had seemed to think it should have been a longer statement,” Biddle noted, “but the President thought not as a matter of timing in journalism.” There were also important strategic considerations. He likely feared that giving a longer message would require providing more details about the destruction at Pearl Harbor. More important, he understood better than his seasoned foreign policy team that focusing too much attention on the Pacific would limit his ability to lead the nation to war in Europe. Finally, he rejected the pleas to include Germany and Italy in the declaration because he was acutely sensitive to public opinion, and polls continued to show a conflict with Japan was more popular than one with Germany. “I seem to be conscious of a still lingering distinction in some quarters of the public between war with Japan and war with Germany,” FDR told British ambassador Halifax the following day. FDR likely believed that Hitler would solve his problem for him soon enough by declaring war on the United States.14
Stimson remained unconvinced and “urged on him the importance of a declaration of war against Germany before the indignation of the people was over.” Roosevelt replied that he planned to keep his address to Congress brief and then present a full case to the American people in a radio address two days later. Stimson relented but noted in his diary that “the feeling among the cabinet was quite strong in support of Hull’s view that the message should be broader.”15
As the meeting came to an end, Wickard could not help but admire Roosevelt’s poise and strength. “Through it all the president was calm and deliberate. I could not help but admire his clear statements of the situation. He evidently realizes the seriousness of the situation and perhaps gets much comfort out of the fact that today’s action will unite the American people. I don’t know anybody in the United States who can come close to measuring up to his foresight and acumen in this critical hour.” Biddle made a similar observation: “The President is his usual calm self, but most of us were deeply shocked at the terrific loss.”16
While Roosevelt was meeting with his cabinet, the White House switchboard received a call from Marguerite “Missy” LeHand. It was a reminder that, even in a time of crisis, presidents have delicate private moments.
Eleanor had recruited the blue-eyed LeHand to work for her husband in 1921. Over the next few years, she made herself indispensable and became a fixture at his side. Between 1925 and 1928, FDR spent 116 of 208 weeks away from home, trying to regain use of his legs. Eleanor was with him for only 4 of those weeks. Missy was with him for 110—all but 6 weeks.
Missy provided FDR with the warmth and affection that Eleanor could not. She knew everything about him: his likes and dislikes, his mood swings, his favorite food and drinks. She knew when to press a point and when to back off. To everyone else, he was Mr. Roosevelt, the Boss, or, later, Mr. President. To Missy, he was simply “F. D.”—an endearing and informal name no one else would use. Raymond Moley noted, “Missy was as close to being a wife as he ever had—or could have.” They spent most weekends together and often dined together alone. She sat with him while he worked on his stamp collection. She laughed at his jokes and pretended to enjoy his stories, which he repeated many times, as if she was always hearing them for the first time.17
Oddly enough, Eleanor was never suspicious of Missy. When FDR was governor, Eleanor gave her the larger bedroom next to her husband’s, while she took a smaller room down the hall. She realized that Missy freed FDR from the routines of daily life so he could concentrate on the world of politics. Those were the tasks Eleanor was unwilling to perform.18
After FDR became president, LeHand carried the formal job title of secretary. Informally, she was his surrogate wife, living in an apartment on the third floor of the White House. She was forty-three years old and had spent half of her life at FDR’s side. The work and strain took their toll, however. “The president would work night after night, and she was always there working with him,” a friend recalled. “He could take it, but I think her strength just didn’t hold out.” She collapsed after dinner on June 4, 1941. Two weeks later, at the age of forty-three, she suffered a massive stroke that paralyzed her left side and rendered her unable to speak coherently.19
Missy was transferred from the White House to a hospital in Georgetown, where Eleanor and Franklin visited with her often. According to historian Dories Kearns Goodwin, the visits were painful for FDR. “All his life, he had steeled himself to ignore illness and unpleasantness of any kind.” For now, he could not ignore Missy’s suffering. FDR ordered that she be provided with round-the-clock care. He paid every expense, talked with doctors about her condition, and made provisions for her to be taken care of in the event of his death. Five months after Missy’s stroke, FDR rewrote his will, leaving half of his estate “for the account of my friend Marguerite LeHand” to cover all expenses for “medical care and treatment during her lifetime.” “I owed her that much,” Franklin told his son James. “She served me so well for so long and asked for so little in return.”20
A few months before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, FDR had Missy transferred to Warm Springs, where he hoped she would benefit from the therapeutic baths and careful supervision. She was showing signs of recovery in the weeks before Pearl Harbor. On November 14, her physician wrote Admiral McIntire that “she is steadily improving. She is up daily in a wheelchair and goes out into the sun. She seems to be enjoying it a great deal.” McIntire also noticed a “definite improvement” in her most recent electrocardiograph.21
Tully, who had in LeHand’s absence assumed the role of the president’s secretary, wrote a note to FDR, informing him of Missy’s call. “Missy telephoned and wanted to talk with you. She is thinking about you and much disturbed about the news. She would like you to call her tonight. I told her you would if the conference broke up at a reasonable hour—otherwise you would call her in the morning.”22
FDR did not return the phone call that evening, or the next day. Missy sat in her wheelchair in Warm Springs waiting for the call and was devastated when it never came. She had once complained that the man she loved and devoted her life to “was really incapable of a personal friendship with anyone.” His indifference now marked the end of her brief recovery and coincided with a
downward spiral in her spirits and physical condition. Two weeks later, over the Christmas holidays, Missy tried to commit suicide. She survived, and over the next few years she and FDR exchanged messages and arranged a few brief phone conversations. But they would never see each other again. Missy’s two-decade relationship with FDR was another casualty of Pearl Harbor.
14
“Where were our forces—asleep?”
TOM CONNALLY, the powerful chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, seemed cast for the role of southern statesman. A colleague once said that the two-hundred-pound white-haired senator was “the only man in the United States Senate who could wear a Roman Toga and not look like a fat man in a nightgown.” Although an early supporter of FDR’s New Deal, Connally broke with the president in 1937, following his aborted scheme to pack the Supreme Court. His outspoken opposition to FDR’s plan made him persona non grata at the White House for years afterward, even though he remained an internationalist who championed greater aid to the Allies. Connally’s banishment from the White House was about to end, but not in the way that he had hoped.1
The Texas senator was taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather on Sunday afternoon. After having lunch at the home of Interior Secretary Harold Ickes, Connally decided to go for a relaxing drive around Maryland. When he reached Rockville, he turned on the car radio and heard the ominous report: “Japanese bombers have attacked Pearl Harbor.... Heavy casualties are reported at Hickam Field and Pearl Harbor has been attacked by the Japanese without warning.” Connally rushed home, where he found a message from the White House, summoning him to an urgent meeting with the president at 9:00 p.m.2
He arrived at the White House a few minutes early and was ushered to the Red Room on the second floor. An odd collection of congressional leaders had already assembled there—a mix of Democrats and Republicans, liberals and conservatives, internationalists and isolationists whom FDR had handpicked for the meeting. Connally noticed Senate Majority Leader Alben Barkley of Kentucky, along with most of the ranking members of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, including California Republican senator and isolationist leader Hiram Johnson, Oregon Republican Charles McNary, and Republican Warren R. Austin of Vermont, ranking minority member of the Foreign Relations Committee. Fellow Texan and Speaker of the House Sam Rayburn led the House delegation, which included most key leaders. House Majority Leader John McCormack could not get to Washington in time, so Tennessee Democrat Jere Cooper took his place. The others from the House included House Minority Leader Joseph Martin of Massachusetts; Sol Bloom, a New York Democrat and chairman of the House Foreign Affairs Committee; and Majority Whip Lister Hill of Alabama.
Also missing from the assembled leaders was the ranking member of the House Foreign Affairs Committee, Hamilton Fish, an outspoken isolationist Republican who had angrily condemned FDR’s Lend-Lease proposal. Roosevelt detested the man, and, according to Hopkins, “the President will not have him in the White House.” Although he was a logical choice for the meeting, Hopkins and Roosevelt had drawn up a list that managed to exclude Fish. In his place, they invited the next most senior member of the committee, Charles Eaton of New Jersey. 3
The cabinet meeting was not yet over, so the congressmen waited outside the doors and held what one reporter called “an indignation meeting.” They discussed the many rumors floating around Washington: parachute troops landing in Hawaii, battleships sunk, the Japanese “capture” of Wake and Midway islands. The “Japs” would pay for the attack, Connally proclaimed between puffs on a thick cigar. After a few minutes, a buzzer sounded signaling the end of the cabinet meeting, the door opened, and Grace Tully emerged, announcing that the congressmen could enter. As some of the cabinet members left the room, Connally noted their “shocked expressions.” The congressional leaders filled the cabinet’s freshly vacated chairs, still arranged in a semicircle around FDR. Seated near the president were Hopkins, Knox, Stimson, and Vice President Wallace.4
The president was deadly serious, his tone grave. Numerous dispatches had formed a small pile on his desk. According to one report, Roosevelt passed out fine Cuban cigars. Roosevelt provided the leaders with background on the negotiations with Japan that continued until a few hours before the attack. He expressed outrage over the Japanese ambassador’s decision to deliver the final part of their answer after the attack on Pearl Harbor had commenced. Indignantly, Roosevelt called it “an act which is almost without parallel in relationships between nations.”5
Roosevelt created the impression that he was bringing the congressional leaders into his confidence by sharing secret information. In reality, he was being deceptive. FDR knew that anything he said to the assembled lawmakers would quickly make it into the press. He insisted on maintaining tight control of the information coming from Hawaii, and, at this point, he did not want members of Congress shocking the nation with details of the destruction at Pearl.
FDR overstated the navy’s preparedness and slightly understated the damage, but overall he painted a fair picture of the devastation. He told the congressional leaders that the navy had been on alert when the Japanese bombers attacked. Admiral Bloch had given him a detailed, though incomplete, breakdown of the damage reports a few hours earlier. Roosevelt, however, did not want to get into specifics with the congressional leaders. “It looks as if out of eight battleships, three have been sunk, and possibly a fourth,” he said. “Two destroyers were blown up while they were in drydock. Two of the battleships are badly damaged. Several other smaller vessels have been sunk or destroyed.” He honestly confessed to have “no word” on the navy casualties, but warned they “will undoubtedly be very heavy.” He also estimated that the army suffered three hundred casualties. He asked that the congressional leaders not discuss the details with the press. “Now I think that is all there is in the way of information, but it has been suggested that the Army and Navy losses, and the . . . rather definite statements that I have made about these ships, could not be spoken outside, because we must remember that detailed military information is of value to an enemy. I think that is a matter of discretion, which all of you will accept.”6
After outlining the damage in Hawaii, Roosevelt told his audience that the Japanese navy was still on the move. Guam was being bombed and had probably fallen to the Japanese. Wake Island had been attacked, and there were reports that ports in the Philippines were being bombed. But he seemed skeptical about the information coming from the Philippines. “Those are merely reports,” he said, making clear they had not been confirmed. The Japanese had likely taken possession of the Chinese city of Shanghai, where two hundred marines were stationed. Japan had demanded that the marines surrender, but Roosevelt was still unclear about their status. “We are not certain yet whether they have been gotten out or not. Probably not,” FDR remarked.7
Even though Roosevelt placed the best possible spin on the day’s tragic events, the congressmen were still stunned. “The effect on the Congressmen was tremendous,” noted Stimson. “They sat in dead silence and even after the recital was over they had very few words.”8
According to Connally, when Roosevelt finished discussing the day’s tragic events, he looked down toward the floor, crushed his cigarette in the ashtray on his desk, and said, “I guess that’s all.” But Connally, stunned and angry, wanted some answers to obvious questions: How could it have happened? What damage did we inflict on the Japanese? “The President indicated he didn’t know but went on to say we had no information to indicate that we had severely damaged the japs,” Connally recalled FDR saying. “We think we got some of their submarines, but we don’t know” was all the president could offer.9
Connally persisted, asking if the United States shot down any of their planes. “We did get, we think, a number of their Japanese planes,” FDR said. Roosevelt, however, had been receiving conflicting and often contradictory reports all day, and he was unwilling to get into specifics until he had some hard evidence. Perhaps he also did not want the c
ongressmen to know just how feeble the American response had been. “We know some Japanese planes were shot down, but there again—I have seen so much of this in the other war. One fellow says he has got fifteen of their planes, and you pick up the telephone and somebody else says five. So I don’t know what the report on that is, except that somewhere Japanese planes have been knocked down on the Island.” By pointing out the rumors that two of the planes used in the raid had swastikas on them, Roosevelt apparently tried to deflect anger away from the military’s failure to anticipate and respond to the attacks. “There is a rumor that two of the planes—Japanese planes have a rising sun painted on them—but two of the planes were seen with swastikas on them,” he said. At this point, Connally exploded: “Where were our forces—asleep? Where were our patrols?”10
At that moment, a new dispatch arrived on Roosevelt’s desk, sent from General MacArthur twenty minutes earlier. In it, he announced that Japan had attacked the Philippines. “All possible action being taken here to speed defense,” MacArthur assured the president in the minutes before his bomber force was about to be wiped out.
Roosevelt received an update on the two hundred American marines in China. The news was not good. Vastly outnumbered and outgunned, the marines had been forced to surrender. Roosevelt did not dwell on the report. Instead, he moved to end the discussion. “That takes care of that,” FDR said. “You have got the rest of it.”11
Pearl Harbor Page 17