by A. J. Baime
“If some indication can now be given the Japanese that they themselves . . . will be permitted to determine their own future political structure,” Grew argued, “they will be afforded a method of saving face, without which surrender will be highly unlikely.”
Grew was suggesting that the Japanese might surrender if they knew that their emperor could remain in power. The idea was incisive, yet problematic. Roosevelt and subsequently Truman had demanded unconditional surrender of the Japanese, as they had demanded and achieved with the Nazis. Allowing the emperor to remain in power would be considered a major condition.
Would FDR have approved of such an idea? Would Congress stand for it? And the American people? As Time magazine put it at the time: “The Emperor Hirohito was Japan . . . The war against Japan was inevitably a war against the Emperor.”
Truman understood the challenging nature of this proposition. He could not know, however, that this question would become a pivotal one in world history and would weigh heavily on his legacy.
In the Pentagon, the secretaries of war and navy, General Marshall, and other State Department and military officials argued these matters through the end of May and beyond. The only thing they could agree on was the incertitude of it all. “The Japanese campaign involves therefore two great uncertainties,” Stimson wrote in May 1945. “First, whether Russia will come in [to the war against Japan] though we think that will be all right; and second, when and how S-1 [the atomic bomb] will resolve itself.”
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ON MAY 28, Truman experienced for the first time the awestriking pageantry of a White House State Dinner. The regent of Iraq—Prince Abd al-Ilah—arrived in Washington with his entourage. The prince was his nation’s most powerful figure; he had “all the prerogatives of the King of Iraq,” according to a State Department memorandum to the president. White House chief of protocol George Thomas Summerlin sprang into action. Every detail down to the most minute had been planned out, as the prince’s visit was a performance in which everyone involved had a careful role to play. As host, Truman found himself confronting the affair with great anxiety.
A motorcade of officials left the White House to collect the regent and his party, who arrived by train at Union Station at 4:30 p.m. Strict instructions were given for the order of introductions. The Americans addressed the regent as “Your Royal Highness” and the prime minister of Iraq as “Mr. Minister.”
As instructed, Truman walked onto a White House portico at the exact moment the motorcade pulled up in front of it via the Northwest Gate. The president greeted the prince and his men, then both parties assumed a formation according to a diagram the protocol chief had produced. Photographers clicked away. Truman, in a black double-breasted suit, and the regent, in a light-tan officer’s uniform, stood three paces in front of their entourages, as the White House Marine Band performed military honors. Truman then led the prince into the White House to present Mrs. Truman. The prince—a thin, affable man with a delicate mustache and boyish features—spoke clear English. He presented the president with a gift: a silver coffee set. Truman found the gift rather odd but kept this notion to himself for the moment, thanking the prince profusely.
On the day of his death, Roosevelt had signed a letter inviting the prince to Washington. The Mideast was a knot of political and trade interests, the various strings leading back to capital cities all over the globe, notably London, Paris, Moscow, and Washington. Iraq was a nation that had grown out of the Fertile Crescent, the land of Baghdad and the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. The country was smaller than the state of Texas, and yet the United States had much to gain through Iraqi friendship. The State Department had instructed Truman to prevail upon the prince to allow U.S. airlines to make use of airfields in Iraq. “If such rights are given to us,” the State Department advised, “Iraq will become one of the crossroads of our post-war aviation system.” Confidential sources had revealed that the British were secretly trying to block the United States’ landing rights in Iraq, because of their own interests in the Mideast.
More important was the region’s black gold. “Iraq is extremely rich in oil,” the State Department advised. “Some geologists believe that the oil resources of Iraq are greater than those left in the whole United States.” American investment was extracting considerable profit from oil fields in the Mideast, and the British were doing well too.
“Our real interest in the Middle East and Iraq, however, is believed to be much greater than any profits which might be derived from trade,” the State Department advised Truman. “Our primary interest in this part of the world is one of world security.”
Two major challenges faced the Mideast. The first was Zionism, which was now becoming one of the world’s major issues, following the liberation of Jews from Nazi concentration camps. According to the State Department, “The Arabs, not only in Palestine but throughout the whole [Mideast], have made no secret of their hostility to Zionism and their Governments say that it would be impossible to restrain them from rallying with arms.” On the day of his death, FDR had communicated in his letter to the Iraqi prince that “no decision affecting the basic situation in Palestine should be reached without full consultation with both Arabs and Jews.” Surely the prince had come to Washington for one reason above all others: to implore the United States not to support Zionism. Truman assured his advisors that he would respect FDR’s promise, and make no commitments either way as of yet.
The second problem facing the Mideast was the economic ambitions of predatory nations, who saw resources in these weak countries that could be used to fortify their own security. France was refusing to remove troops from Syria and Lebanon; violent clashes between troops and local populations had embittered these citizens. The British, the Soviets, and the United States had troops in Iran, another nation rich with oil. If the United States could forge ties with Iraq, this strategic relationship could only help in creating peace and security in a part of the world where everyone stood to gain.
At 8 p.m., Truman and the regent descended the White House grand staircase, with all the dinner guests gathered below. The crowd included cabinet members, Admiral Leahy and General Marshall, Chief Justice Harlan Stone, senators, congressmen, and various friends of Truman’s. “It was truly a magnificent sight,” Margaret Truman recalled. “The paneled walls and Corinthian pilasters, the marble mantel, the gilded wall sconces, the dining table set with gold flatware and gleaming crystal and china.” The State Dining Room was like an American history museum. There was George P. A. Healy’s portrait of Abraham Lincoln—Honest Abe peering out while holding his chin in his hand. The prayer that John Adams gave at formal dinners—a blessing on the White House—was inscribed on a mantel near the president’s seat at the table.
At one point during the evening Truman asked Admiral Leahy to sit between himself and the prince. Truman had no experience socializing with royalty, while Leahy had been an ambassador to France and a governor of Puerto Rico and was seasoned in such environments. After dinner and toasts, Truman rose to make his remarks. “I want to say to the Regent of Iraq that we are most happy to have him as the guest of the people and the Government of the United States,” he began.
It was the first time in Truman’s life he had presided over an affair with such pomp and circumstance. Roosevelt had excelled at such moments. His prestige was the defining character of events such as these, and Truman knew he could only pale in comparison.
The next day, however, he told his staffers in the morning meeting that hosting his first state dinner was not as uncomfortable as he thought it would be. “He told us in the morning that, in spite of himself, he had a good time,” recalled Eben Ayers. Truman was confused by one thing, however. The Iraqi prince had given him a silver coffee set as a gift, and the cups had no handles. The practical Missourian wondered: How can one pick up a hot cup of coffee in a metal cup with no handle? It was a conundrum.
Now six weeks into his presidency, Truman still struggled to confront his rea
lity. At his morning meeting on one of the last days of May, he confided in his staff that he still could not believe it was all true. “I’m one American who didn’t expect to be President,” he said.
Ever since April 12, momentum had been building behind Truman. He had become a symbol for ordinary Americans, who saw in him the hopes and dreams of their own lives and those of their children. By the end of May, America was in a full-blown love affair with the new president. Daily, bags full of letters were dumped onto the floor of the White House mailroom from citizens who saw a piece of themselves in the unlikely story of the “Man from Missouri.” “There are letters addressed to the president by every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the country,” Eben Ayers wrote in his diary on May 28. One citizen, identifying himself as “A Convalescent Taxpayer,” wrote to the president, “I cannot speak for the country but I can speak for myself and one hundred percent of the people I know. We are delighted with what you are doing. We feel the country has its feet on the ground again.”
The outlook of the whole nation had changed, according to a story in the Washington Post entitled “Whole Nation Reflects Era of Good Feeling Inspired by President”: “The mood of the United States is one of extraordinary friendliness. Americans appear to be more at ease with each other. They are more inclined to talk about national affairs, less inclined to argue. In short there is a cordiality in the air that this country hasn’t known in years.” The New Yorker summed up America’s passion for Truman: “There is one thing about President Truman—he is made in the image of the people. You go into a men’s shop to buy a pair of pajamas, President Truman waits on you. You go to have a tooth X-rayed, Truman takes the picture. You board a downtown bus, Truman is at the wheel. Probably it’s those glasses he wears, but whatever it is, we rather like having a President who always seems to be around. President Roosevelt was for the people, but Harry Truman is the people.”
Not yet two months into the Truman administration, the Washington Post published early polls on the 1948 presidential race, in a story by George Gallup. An overwhelming majority of Americans (63 percent) favored Truman as the Democratic nominee, even though less than a year earlier a majority of Americans had no idea who Truman was. In second was Henry Wallace, forty-three points behind. “Although President Truman stepped into the presidency at one of the most critical periods in world history and followed a man of overshadowing universal fame, he has so far received both the favor and support of an overwhelming majority of his fellow citizens,” Gallup wrote.
Universities had contacted the White House staff offering honorary degrees to the president, who of course had no college degree, and he turned these offers down politely because he did not believe he deserved them. Perhaps the people most surprised by Truman were those who reported directly to him. “He is capable and an extremely fine gentleman for whom everyone has the highest regard,” one White House staffer wrote in his diary at the end of May.
Meanwhile, the new administration was coming together—the new faces of power in Washington. At his final press conference in May, Truman announced more cabinet appointments. Secretary of state was the biggest of them all, but Truman still could not announce the Byrnes appointment until after the San Francisco conference. Others would come first.
“I have some Cabinet changes I want to tell you about,” he told a packed room. “Mr. [Francis] Biddle’s resignation has been accepted, and Tom Clark of Texas will be appointed in his place as Attorney General.” Truman also named Clinton P. Anderson of New Mexico as secretary of agriculture, in place of Claude Wickard. Roosevelt had generally relied on the East Coast establishment for his appointments—the Harvard and Yale crowd. Truman’s appointees thus far came mostly from west of the Mississippi.
“Mr. President, were any of the resignations requested by you?” one reporter asked.
“They were not. I have the resignation of every member of the Government who can resign since I have been President! [Laughter in the room.] I can accept them or not as I choose.” (Attorney General Francis Biddle was said to be “sore” as a result of his sacking, to which Truman responded, “I don’t give a damn what he says.”)
From the point of view of everyday citizens, Truman’s presidency was unfolding far better than any could have predicted. Certainly Truman himself felt the same. Two things occurred at the end of May, however, that darkened the mood in the Oval Office considerably. The first involved Lend-Lease. From Moscow, Harry Hopkins was keeping Truman up to date on his discussions with Joseph Stalin. During Hopkins’s second meeting with Stalin in the Kremlin, on May 27, the Soviet generalissimo confronted Hopkins over Truman’s new Lend-Lease policy. Truman had cut off supplies to the Soviets, and Stalin was furious. According to the minutes of this Stalin-Hopkins meeting, “[Stalin] said that if the United States was unable to supply the Soviet Union further under Lend Lease that was one thing but that the manner in which it had been done had been unfortunate and even brutal.”
Stalin believed Truman was using Lend-Lease as leverage to extract concessions from the Soviets, and that such behavior was not the attitude of a friend. “If the refusal to continue Lend-Lease was designed as pressure on the Russians in order to soften them up then it was a fundamental mistake,” Stalin said, adding that “if the Russians were approached frankly on a friendly basis much could be done but that reprisals in any form would bring about the exact opposite effect.”
By this time, Truman was hearing from Churchill too. “I am distressed to have to bother you . . . ,” Churchill cabled, “but the machine has come to a standstill on the subject [of Lend-Lease].” Churchill had made agreements with Roosevelt, the prime minister told Truman, to the effect that Lend-Lease would continue. The British were broke. “I now hear that your War Department has told our people in Washington that they are expecting so large a cut . . . [and] that supplies to us must be drastically curtailed.”
The Lend-Lease cuts damaged Truman’s standing gravely in the eyes of Churchill and Stalin, at a critical moment in international relations. Millions of Soviet citizens were starving, while the British too were suffering shortages of every resource. As White House correspondent Robert Nixon explained, “This cut the pipeline. This was taking the bread and butter out of the mouths of starving people . . . It shocked Churchill and Stalin to the bottoms of their feet.” The Truman administration would be able to kickstart Lend-Lease again, but the damage had been done.
Just as the Lend-Lease debacle began to play out, Congress and colleges broke for recess, and Bess left the White House for Independence, taking Margaret and Mrs. Wallace with her. They were off to spend the summer at home in Missouri, leaving Truman alone in the White House. Truman accompanied his family on the train as far as Silver Spring, Maryland, in a private car. He hated to be alone, and in saying good-bye, he struggled to hold back tears. “Daughter was in a very unsatisfactory humor,” he recorded of this moment. “I hope—sincerely hope, that this situation (my being President) is not going to affect her adversely.”
As for Bess, Truman knew that his job had forced her into a life she had never wanted, and perhaps in all their twenty-six-year marriage, he had never felt her so distant.
He learned a hard lesson in these first few days with his wife and daughter gone: how lonesome and isolated the presidency could be. As Woodrow Wilson had once said, “It is the extraordinary isolation imposed upon the president by our system that makes the character and the opportunity of his office so extraordinary.” So many unsolvable problems gnawed at Truman’s nerves. The United Nations Conference was dragging on. He had to confirm plans to fly to San Francisco to address the closing session—if in fact the delegations could agree on anything and get the conference completed. The Tito standoff in Venezia Giulia could result in a breakout of violence at any second, at the cost of more American lives. The president’s military budget had to be completed in time for the scheduled budget message to Congress, on June 11. He was working to reorganize the cabinet, and the largest federal
agencies too. He wanted chains of command in the agencies, with the top figures trustworthy and loyal, and he knew he would have to step on a lot of toes to get this done. Over all this hung the dark cloud of impending economic chaos, sure to follow the war’s end, and an upcoming tripartite meeting that would place Truman at the negotiating table opposite Winston Churchill and Joseph Stalin.
“The White House becomes especially lonely at night,” Margaret Truman wrote of her father. “The pressures of the impossible job do not go away . . . Throw in a few personal problems and between midnight and dawn you have a very lonely man . . . When you go down the long, high-ceilinged second-floor hall and hear the wind sighing in the trees, you can easily imagine you are the last person left on earth, and any moment you, too, may disappear into the shadows.”
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On May 29 the Big Three leaders decided on a time and a place for their upcoming tripartite conference, which now promised to be a political brawl of historic proportions.
“I shall be very glad to meet you and President Truman in what is left of Berlin in the very near future,” Stalin cabled Churchill, who forwarded the note to the president. “I hope this might take place about the middle of June.” Truman responded that he would not be able to leave the United States until July, and Stalin replied directly to Truman: “I have no objections against the proposed by you date—July 15th.”