by Allen Drury
His year in the governorship had been notable for its smoothness. “Everybody Likes Harley,” his campaign posters had proclaimed, and in Lansing, it seemed, they did. The state’s problems at that point were not too great, and he handled them with an easygoing efficiency. He was beginning to get heavy-jowled, portly, and gray; his face grew more kindly and likable as he aged. His popularity continued to rise, he could probably have stayed around for quite a while. But then came the famous convention at which Orrin Knox had made his second bid for the Presidency—against, ironically, another Governor of California—and out of its wild turmoil Harley M. Hudson had been flung to the top.
He could still remember that fantastic moment in which he had been trying to reach the podium to cast Michigan’s votes for the then Senator from Illinois, only to have Orrin intercept him with a blaze of anger and the charge that he was backing Orrin’s opponent. His own reaction had been instantaneous—it had to be, in that roaring sea of emotion—he had cast Michigan’s votes for the Governor, Orrin had lost, and not until almost eight years later, in the first hours of his own Presidency at the end of the Senate fight over Bob Leffingwell, had Harley revealed to Orrin what his original intention had been.
To this day he could not entirely understand Orrin’s motivations in so affronting him in that crucial moment. But it had made him Vice President—for Bob Munson and the Michigan delegation claimed their price from the winner—and in due time it had made him President. So he was not ungrateful for it. And it had also had much to do with the maturing of Orrin Knox, and that was a gain for the country.
The personality of his Secretary of State, like that of Governor Jason, is a matter of endless fascination to the President. He has watched that shrewd, calculating, volatile, impulsive, dynamic, skeptical, impatient, sometimes arrogant, often domineering, generous, and idealistic mind at work for a good many years now, and there are areas of it that still don’t add up, from his standpoint. But there has been a steady growth, a maturing and calming-down from more extravagant extremes, which he has watched with approval and relief. Although Orrin is taking a pounding from Walter’s world fully as savage and severe as the President’s, there is still an excellent chance that he may yet be President himself. And even if that should not develop, he will continue to have, in office or out, a major influence with a great many of his countrymen who, the President suspects, are loyal and unshaken despite the bitter criticisms to which the Secretary is being subjected.
These criticisms, and the events in Gorotoland and Panama which have brought them down upon Orrin and himself, are, the President has long since concluded, just part of the normal burden one has to bear if he wishes to remain true to certain principles in carrying out the office of Chief Executive. It would be nice to be loved, and in his first few months he certainly had been, so he knows how that feels; but sooner or later there comes a time when personal popularity has to be put in the balance against doing what judgment and the facts say is best for the country. There had been some Presidents in the twentieth century who, faced with this choice, had taken the easy way and sought to hold personal popularity to a maximum while doing the minimum necessary to meet the imperatives that challenged them. That has not been his concept of the Presidency.
What that concept is he had been forced to decide, of course, the moment he assumed office, for there had been waiting for him the Soviet demand that the United States meet in Geneva under the threat of the successful Russian manned landing on the moon. His predecessor had already accepted this challenge when he died, and Harley, though he could gracefully have used the excuse of his sudden new responsibilities to evade it, had accepted, too. There had followed that flat defiance of the Soviet threats which had won him such universal popularity. When he had walked out of the Geneva Conference and brought the American delegation home, leaving behind a sputtering Russian Premier, his personal stock had shot up to a fantastic peak, and the self-confidence and pride of his countrymen in their country had reached heights it had not known for many years and would not, perhaps, know again for many more.
“The only place I can go now is down,” he had told Lucille ironically when he saw the nation’s most influential opinion poll two weeks after his return from Geneva. (Now, of course, that poll, following as always the line of Walter and his world, is telling a different story. COUNTRY DISAPPROVES OF GOROTO-PANAMA POLICIES, its latest headline had said only yesterday. “One in five American voters is concerned about the President’s policies in Gorotoland and Panama,” its report began. Some fifteen hundred in a population pushing 250,000,000 had, indeed, been interviewed.)
He had known at Geneva, however, that he must decide then and there, without any chance for second guesses, what kind of President he intended to be. It was true that the Soviet demands, encouraged by the euphoria of beating the United States to the moon, had been presented in such a harshly exaggerated fashion that it would have been impossible for any President to accept them and stay in office. Yet there would have been some who would have made counter-offers, who would have stayed and “negotiated,” to use the favorite word of Walter’s world, who would somehow have submitted to some face-saving compromise that would have yielded a few more ells of advantage to the Communists while retaining some small inch of American face to bring home to the country.
He could not. Fortunately he had been surrounded by Orrin Knox and Bob Munson and some other strong-minded friends from the Senate, rather than with the sort of timid and tentative minds that had accompanied too many Presidents to too many conferences. So the delegation had been almost unanimous, and it had been relatively easy to be strong. But he knew he would have been, anyway.
Surprisingly, Harley M. Hudson, the easygoing, amiable, outwardly timid and uncertain soul who had been thrown off his psychological underpinnings by his predecessor’s equivocal and wounding treatment of him as Vice President, had emerged—as one of Washington’s livelier humorous columnists had put it—as Harley M. Hudson the Fearless Peerless. And for nearly a year—until Gorotoland and Panama came along—he had remained so in the eyes of the great majority of his countrymen. Even Walter and his friends had been forced to concede his courage and integrity. Their only mistake had lain in hoping it was just the one time, and that he would not again subject them to the nervous shock he had when he went counter to their cherished beliefs and actually defied right out loud, in an absolutely irretrievable manner, the demands of imperial Communism.
For him to have done so in the first instance had been gauche, it had been chauvinistic, it had been stupid, it had been one of those things that absolutely wasn’t done in the best of circles—and it had worked. But to have him try it again, on two more occasions—to have him go to the heart of the matter, brush aside the pious hypocrisies about “wars of liberation,” “genuine democratic freedom-loving revolutions,” and the rest, and actually meet the challenge again, head-on—well. Who does he think he is, anyway? Does he think he has been given a warrant to be Fearless Peerless forever?
Yes, as a matter of fact, he tells himself now as he opens the door and steps out of the lovely spring day into the pleasant green hush of his office, he does. He has come to terms with the Presidency and with himself, and he has made up his mind that he will not look back and will not hesitate. He will do whatever needs to be done and do it firmly, and as swiftly as he can persuade the ponderous machinery of government to move. He would have liked to have sat down and consulted with the United Nations and Walter and everybody else about Gorotoland, but there it was: he had to act at once or see everything get out of control. He would have liked to have spent weeks of gracious chatting with the O.A.S. about Felix Labaiya’s coup in Panama, but there it was: he had to act at once or see everything get out of control. And whose control? His and the United States’. And does anybody object? Well, let ’em bellow.
And so they are. Of course neither situation has gone too well, it is almost inevitable nowadays that in difficult terrain, unless
the United States wishes to use its major weapons, decimate the earth, and destroy its peoples, it has to move slowly and be prepared to take temporary reverses. American troops have recaptured Molobangwe in Gorotoland and driven the rebels out of most of the lowlands; Terry’s control is now restored almost everywhere except for an area roughly the size of Rhode Island in the rich highlands, where Obifumatta holds out. But Obi is holding out very well, and in the lowlands constant rebel bombings, stabbings, spearings, and ritual massacres are keeping the populace agitated and uneasy. In Panama, although the Americans and a small, extremely reluctant O.A.S. detachment have recaptured most of Panama City and a good part of the Canal, things are at a virtual stalemate at the moment. Felix is doing very well with his appeals to the UN and friendly nations to help his “Panamanian People’s Liberation Movement” so that he may stabilize the country and reopen the Canal to commerce. This appeal from a native leader seems to have won more support around the world than a similar appeal from the United States, though no one has dared test the President’s calm announcement that he will again employ the veto if necessary to halt UN obstruction of his policies.
So there is a good deal to bellow about, at the moment. And again he thinks grimly: Let ’em!
He smiles at himself as he sits down and presses the assorted buzzers that will summon his staff. Old Fearless Peerless is really eating fire this morning. Slow down, Harley, he tells himself, slow down. It will be a busy day, and this is no mood in which to begin it. He takes a deep breath, finds that it calms him considerably, and looks up with his usual unruffled smile as his secretary comes through the door.
“I have quite a few people I want to talk to today,” he says, “so you might as well get started on putting through the calls.”
While the first call is being arranged he thinks again, as he has so often in these past weeks, of the discussion that preceded Ted Jason’s rather wistful, genuinely envious comment upon his capacity to make decisions calmly. The hour previous had been a good testing ground, a crucible in which the bitter challenge of desperate events had shown most of his colleagues for what they were. Himself, Orrin, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Secretary of Defense, most of the Cabinet—the response had been almost automatic. It had not been quite so automatic with the Majority Leader, the Speaker, and the chairmen of the major Congressional committees.
“We’re getting the heat from home,” Bob Munson had said. The Speaker had nodded agreement.
“Seems like this scare talk from Walter and his pals is getting through to some of ’em. You saw what we did on the Gorotoland resolution. It reflected the way the mail’s been running. It was a leeettle close.”
“Hasn’t there been a turn?” the President asked. The Speaker shrugged.
“Oh, yes, some. But not enough yet to make the Hill feel really happy. We have a lot of skedaddlers up there, you know. Doesn’t take much to make some of ’em run for cover.”
“Some of them never get out from under it,” Senator Munson said tartly. “Panama on top of Gorotoland will really make them quiver.” He turned on the chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee with a suddenness that made the senior Senator from Minnesota jump. “Isn’t that so, Tom?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure,” Tom August said in his customary timid, don’t-look-too-hard-at-me-I-don’t-know-anything manner. “I—I think there may be some question.”
“On Panama?” the President demanded. “Now, Tom, surely that’s an obvious enough case of national security being involved.”
“But Panama has a right to run her own affairs,” Senator August said with a surprising stubbornness. “And she has some good arguments on the Canal. I just don’t know whether we should barge in and—” His voice had trailed away, but he had looked, for Tom, surprisingly defiant.
“That’s the way it seems like to me, too, Mr. President,” Jawbone Swarthman blurted out. “Now this here may be a little old bitty crisis, possibly, it may upset us a little, but I know Felix, now, Mr. President. Why! Felix just wants what’s best for his country down there. He isn’t mad at us, Mr. President. He’ll sign up with us the minute you give him his rights down there. What we doin’ in his back yard anyhow, that’s the way it seems like to me!”
“You see what we mean, Mr. President,” Senator Munson remarked. “It’s complicating.…However, that doesn’t answer your question on the consensus here tonight. Yes, I’m for going in, I don’t think Felix leaves us any choice, do you, Bill?”
“Nope,” the Speaker said. “Let him have it.”
“And you, Tom and Jawbone?” the President inquired in a tone that brooked no evasion. Senator August blinked and looked about, rather like a worried rabbit. Representative Swarthman puffed and pouted and looked indignant; but finally they both nodded.
“I guess so,” Tom August said. “But it isn’t going to be any picnic!”
“Nobody said it was,” the President said shortly. “Orrin?” And even though no one in the room expected any surprises from the Secretary of State, there came an extra tension as they realized that of all who were being tested tonight, he and their visitor from California had the most to lose or gain.
“What would you expect me to say?” Orrin Knox inquired impatiently. “Of course we should go in. Of course we should meet the challenge. I just don’t see how anyone can hesitate. Again we face a situation, not nice theories about it. Certainly: act.” An ironic glint came into his eyes for a moment. “Nobody’s going to hang us any higher than we are now.”
“Governor?” the President said thoughtfully, and the attention of some forty men swung upon Ted Jason with an intensity he might have found frightening were he not already becoming used to it from voters who examined him as though their eyes would turn him inside out, if need be, to find his true essence.
“I invited you here,” the President said, “rather irregularly, probably, because of a fact none of us need blink, which is that you are potentially, and perhaps soon to be actively, a contender for this office.” He smiled without much humor. “I thought this would be an admirable chance for you to find out how it’s done. And also,” he added, quite seriously, “we need all the help we can get, and quite likely you can help.”
For a moment Governor Jason returned his gaze impassively. Then he smiled and spoke in a measured and careful voice.
“And also,” he said, “I can be committed to the Administration’s policy—which is another aspect none of us need blink.”
The President looked at him without expression for a moment. Then he gave him a little mock bow and a cheerful laugh.
“How astute people are. How astute! I am afraid I shall never be able to hide my crafty ways.…But,” he added with a calm insistence, “tell us what to do.”
“I’m in a somewhat difficult position, you know,” Ted Jason said with an engaging grin, “since it is my brother-in-law, as a matter of fact—a matter of present fact—who happens to be leading this revolution down there. I do not know,” he said with a tight little smile, “how long he will remain my brother-in-law. You aren’t interested in family secrets, I know”—the smile broadened—“but for some time things have not been too frightfully cordial in that household. So we shall see. Presently, it is the fact.
“It will not, of course, influence me in any way in doing what seems best for the United States. Were he my dearest friend, Felix is still an enemy of my country, and for that, I think he should be brought to book and I think his effort should be overthrown.…I do wonder a little, though,” he said slowly, “whether the course proposed here is exactly what we want to do at this particular moment. Have we exhausted all the good offices of the UN, for instance? Has the O.A.S. been given time to consider it? Have we made use of neutrals who might be able to help? Obviously, no. The event has only just happened, as I understand it—”
“Two hours ago,” the President said.
“—and yet here we are—here you are, the Administration—preparing the mo
st forceful and most direct reply, apparently without consultations with anyone. I wonder,” he remarked thoughtfully, “if this is really warranted, and what effect it will have upon America’s reputation abroad, particularly since it comes on top of similar direct action in Gorotoland.”
“Ted,” the President said, “you bespeak a certain point of view, and you bespeak it very well. I admire you for having the courage to do it in these circumstances—”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of you,” Governor Jason said pleasantly, and again the President gave him a little bow, and smiled.
“I should hope not. But, have you tried to get the good offices of the UN applied to a situation at once, right now, this minute, before it deteriorates to the point where the Communists take over? Have you ever asked the O.A.S. to stop squabbling with itself and move, move fast, on an issue where something must be done at once or disaster will occur? Have you ever approached a professional neutral like India, for instance, and asked for help immediately and without equivocation in negotiating a difficult problem? Holy Toledo, man!” he demanded as their laughter rose to accompany his words, “have you ever tried to get Krishna Khaleel to tell you the time of day in one sentence? It can’t be done!”
“I know, I know,” Ted Jason agreed. “I don’t minimize the difficulties at all. I just wonder if it wouldn’t look better if we waited, say, forty-eight hours, tried all these things openly on the record, and then, having failed, moved in. Surely Felix can’t do a great deal of harm in that time.”
“He can be recognized as the official government of Panama by a great many non-friends of ours,” the President said. “We can get ourselves bogged down very neatly in appeals and counter-appeals to the UN. We can find ourselves in the middle of next month still arguing with the O.A.S. We can let ourselves be drawn into a sea of molasses with K.K. and Company. Meanwhile Walter and his friends can start a great hamstringing clamor around the world against our doing anything. And Panama and the Canal can be lost to us and the free world.”