by Allen Drury
Again George Wattersill and Roger P. Croy bristled and stirred, but there was something about the way they did it which indicated that this physical restlessness for the record would be their first and final comment on that particular point.
“It is clear, Your Honor,” Bob Leffingwell continued, not even bothering to look at them, “that the convention faithfully reflected its own majority opinion as conventions do. There is no reason now, except political adventurism, to try to establish the thesis that the opinion of the majority of the delegates somehow was not their opinion, or that their opinion has substantially changed as a result of the tragic and unexplained death of President Hudson.
“Therefore, there is no reason or need to reconvene the convention. More fundamental than that, there is not only no reason to reconvene, there is no authority whatsoever, vested in this Court, the court below, any court or any body of any nature whatsoever, to direct, command or require the National Committee to do so.
“The National Committee, Your Honor, stands supreme under its own rules and regulations. If it wishes to reconvene the convention, it may do so. If it wishes to dispense with that procedure and reserve to itself the choice of new nominees, it may do so. Each method is democratic, each guarantees a free democratic vote, each provides exactly the same democratic choice.
“Now, Your Honor, if one method were dictatorial and the other democratic, there would be a genuine argument. But both are democratic. The sole difference lies in the number of votes to be cast, and even that is for all practical purposes a quibble, since in choosing nominees under these circumstances, the votes of members of the Committee are given a weight equal to the number of actual delegate votes cast by their states in the convention.
“So, Your Honor, the choice is equal, and it is a choice which the Committee has a perfect and unchallengeable right to make. The matter is entirely in its discretion. It is a private body, not subject to the jurisdiction of any authority as long as it abides by its rules, faithfully conducts the party business according to those rules, and does not engage in any financial malpractices in the use of party funds.
“No evidence has yet been presented here, nor, I suspect, can be presented, supporting any challenge to the Committee on any of these three points.
“What the opposing side seeks to do by engaging in this action, and what its argument, I venture to predict, will attempt to support, is to establish the entirely new thesis that the National Committee not only can be held accountable for misdeeds under its own rules—which is not in dispute—but can actually be forced to choose between two options which its own rules clearly and absolutely confer upon it with no restrictions whatsoever.
“True, Your Honor, the Committee under its rules is required to select new nominees in this situation. This it must do, and if, for instance, it were to gather again tomorrow and vote that it would adjourn and go home without selecting anyone, then, certainly, we would be here side by side with our friends across the table seeking an injunction. And an injunction could be fairly laid.
“But that is not the issue. The Committee is going to select new nominees. That is as certain as that we sit here. The sole issue is our friends’ contention that, being given two options by its own rules—rules freely adopted, freely established and sanctified by many years of unchallenged and successful operation—the Committee can arbitrarily be forced to choose one of them.
“This, we submit, is bad logic and disastrous doctrine. We do not say it is bad law, for no law has ever touched this point. Nor, we submit, can it touch it, as long as both options open to the Committee guarantee an equally democratic selection of nominees.”
(“It’s just that some democratic options are more democratic than other democratic options,” the Boston Herald whispered to the Newark News.)
“That in essence, Your Honor,” Bob Leffingwell said, sitting back and stretching his legs comfortably, “is our case. We will reserve the remainder of our time on argument, for the time being.”
“Mr. Wattersill?” Tommy said promptly.
“Yes, Your Honor,” George Harrison Wattersill replied, and once more he was on his feet, flexing his arms and shooting his cuffs like some dandified prize fighter. “We shall now show that opposing counsel’s arguments are unfounded, untenable, undemocratic, and hostile to the hopes and wishes of the nation and the world.”
“Mr. Chairman,” Prince Obi said in his clipped, British-African accent, looking like some gorgeous elongated beetle in his flowing robes against the somber business suits around the table, “distinguished delegates to the United Nations Security Council: you are all aware of the sad result of American aggression in my country. American imperialism, intervening in a situation which was none of America’s business, has temporarily halted the advance of the liberation of the free people of Gorotoland.
“American imperialists have won a battle.
“Only if your distinguished body concedes them an easy victory will they have won the war.
“I am here today, distinguished gentlemen, to appeal to the collective conscience of mankind against this vicious, inexcusable, horrible American imperialistic aggression. But more than that”—he stared straight at Cullee Hamilton, who returned the look with an impassive distaste—“I am here to appeal to the collective conscience of the American people at a moment when America is deciding whether she will choose a man of peace or a man of war to guide her destinies.
“Yes, in this fateful moment, I am here to say to America: give us your man of peace. Give us your statesman! Give us your great leader who wishes to save mankind from further war and trouble!”
“Do not give us—your warmonger! Do not give us—your imperialist! Do not give us—your world criminal, who has launched aggression and encourages aggression—and expands aggression—and separates America from all her friends around the world—because he loves aggression—because he loves war—because he loves hatred and bitterness—and horrible things—against innocent people!”
“Oh, Christ,” Lafe murmured with a tired disgust. “Everybody’s in the act, aren’t they?”
“Why not?” Lord Maudulayne inquired dryly at his side. “You’re in everybody else’s.”
“Now, Mr. Temporary Speaker, sir, or whatever you are,” Jawbone Swarthman cried, while the crowded House and crowded galleries chuckled, “what is the main feature of this in-ex-cu-sable bill, this monstrous ol’ measure that comes in here bearing the endorsement of the White House, though I suspect, Mr. Presider, yes, I do suspect, that somebody else had a hand in it. I do suspect that there might be what-we-used-to-have-an-expression-for in the woodpile; yes, sir, I do suspect that. And I suspect his initials are O.K., Mr. Temporary, sir, but I tell you he is not okay. He is not okay at all, particularly when he uses our sweet old innocent unsuspecting President—”
But this was too much for the House, and a roar of genuine laughter interrupted him.
“You may laugh,” he cried undaunted, rushing on, “you may laugh now, yes, distinguished members here may give ol’ Jawbone the ol’ haw-haw, but the fact is, the fact most certainly is, that you: beloved former Speaker who now by tragic fate sits in the White House could not possibly have sent us such an evil bill, such a monstrous measure, if he hadn’t had Mr. O.K. hisself doing the dirty work, there, puttin’ in these little bitty words and clauses that just twist and turn it and make it something this free democracy just can’t stand.
“Why, I ask distinguished and honorable members, what is distinguished and honorable about this bill? Just take two clauses, here, Mr. Temporary, sir, just two: this one that says a National Riot Control Board got to be set up to approve use of any facilities within one mile of any Federal building or installation for gatherings of three or more people, for instance; and this other one that says any gathering of three or more people is illegal ‘if there is obvious intent to create civil disturbance and/or riot.’
“Now, Mr. Presider, what kind of antidemocratic, anti-Constitution
al stuff is that! Where’s our right of peaceable assembly gone to, there, Mr. Presider, sir! Who’s to decide ‘intent to create civil disturbance and/or riot?’ We all been writing legislation here for years, now, some of us for many years, and we know ‘intent’ is the hardest thing in the world to prove. We know ‘intent’ is the bugaboo of legislation. We know that, now!”
“I suspect, Mr. Temporary Speaker, I suspect this is just a little ol’ scare tactic, that’s what it is, this whole bill, and particularly these two clauses. I don’t think our sweet old President wants to do something like that to this great free country, any more than he wants to fly to Mars, now. But I suspect there’s some as does, Mr. Temporary Speaker. I suspect there’s one in particular does, and he’s not OK, Mr. Temporary, he—is—not—OK. He wants to do things to this grand old Republic that we just can’t stand, Mr. Temporary, we just surely cannot stand. We all been watching on the television screens out there in the Members’ Reading Room just how things going over there across the Plaza in the Court, and we just hopin’, Mr. Presider, we’re just hopin’ they’re not goin’ to go in the direction of dictatorship and disaster to our democracy, like this bill which comes here initialed ‘O.K.’ but is not OK, my dear friends, it is not OK.”
SWARTHMAN CHARGES KNOX AUTHORED GAG BILL AS PART OF DICTATORSHIP DRIVE, the headlines said. “Good God,” the Secretary of State said with an absolute weary disgust when they were brought him in his office a few minutes later.
“Your Honor,” George Harrison Wattersill said in a tone of patient forbearance, “this Court and the world have been treated here this afternoon to a rather extraordinary legal—or should I say, quasi-legal—or parti-legal—or rusti-legal”—Bob Leffingwell grinned amicably and gave him an ironic little bow—“tergiversation on the issues involved with, and pertinent to, this appeal.
“Now, my friend across seems to have the idea that the circumstance in which we meet can be completely ignored. He talks much of context, but the most important context of all—the context of peace or war, democracy or dictatorship, he ignores completely.
“We submit, Your Honor, that quasi-legal niceties must not be allowed to confuse the basic and overriding issue—and that is the issue of the kind of country we are, and want to be. It is all very well to talk of National Committee rules and regulations, and practices hallowed by centuries, and necessities without precedents, and all the rest of it. But the essential thing to talk about is the choices the Committee confronts.
“And contrary to my distinguished and able, if somewhat rusty, friend, the choices are not between methods of procedure, but between men.”
(“How’s that?” the UPI whispered. “Don’t interrupt the flow,” the AP whispered back. “It always gets better. It’s guaranteed.”)
“If it were simply a matter of method, Your Honor,” George Wattersill said, “we on our side might very well find ourselves in agreement, or at least willing to waive any contention. It is clear enough that in one way or another the Committee must, and will, select a candidate to take the place of the late, tragically fallen, President of the United States. This is so apparent that I am a trifle surprised”—and he paused and looked down with a quizzical, slightly pitying air at Bob Leffingwell and Bob Munson, the latter chin-on-hand with an aspect of absolutely rapt attention belied by the elaborate wink he now gave George Wattersill—“that counsel,” George Wattersill continued with dignity, “should consider it so important that he must waste the time of the Court with a labored explanation of the obvious. In this—but in this only,” he said graciously, “does he reveal that he has, indeed, been some time away from the law.
“But he has not been, Your Honor, away from the mainstream of American life and American politics; the whole world knows how intimately he has been involved with them. Therefore it is somewhat puzzling to find him concentrating on issues which can only be considered ancillary, instead of discussing what all know to be at the heart of this dispute, namely which method of choice of candidate will result in choice of the best candidate.
“There, I think, can be found legitimate ground on which to stand and contend. If we were to accept the position of counsel for the opposing side, we should presuppose a method by which this choice is left, not to the great, open, free, democratic considerations of a convention numbering well over 1,000 souls, but to a very small, very select, very—shall I say?—impressionable—”
(“Better not,” the President remarked with a smile to the Secretary of Defense as they watched in the Oval Room. “They won’t like it.”)
“—group of only 106 men and women. Now, Your Honor: if we were to accept the theory, obviously held by my distinguished opponent, that democracy improves as it is restricted, and that the fewer you extend the franchise to, the purer and finer and more effective the franchise becomes, then that would be one thing. But that is not the concept of democracy upon which the United States of America has grown great. That is the Athenian concept of democracy restricted to the few who know best for the many; and here I would say, if Your Honor would indulge me, beware of Greeks.”
(“Better not,” the President said again. “Anotis Spirotis of Pennsylvania won’t like it.”)
George Harrison Wattersill looked straight into the television camera and a stern disapproval appeared upon his handsome face.
“That concept, if I may use the strong language it deserves, Your Honor, is repugnant, unworthy and downright evil. It would place an almost unthinkable, an almost omnipotent power in the hands of 106 men and women—highly intelligent men and women, yes—highly qualified men and women, yes—highly trustworthy men and women, yes—but still only 106 men and women. And that, I submit, Your Honor, is not enough for a decision so grave, upon which the fate of great states and nations, yea the great globe itself, may well depend.”
(“Yea!” the Boston Herald whispered with a cheerful grin at the Arkansas Gazette. “Swing it, baby!”)
“I venture to state, Your Honor,” George Harrison Wattersill said solemnly, “that if we could bring them before us here today, place them before this camera and the world, put them under oath in this Court, a majority of these fateful 106 would cry out, ‘Nay! Torture us not! Let this dreadful cup pass from our lips! We are worthy of your trust but we wish it not! We wish to share it with our brothers and sisters of the convention! Let us recall them to aid us in this dread task!’”
“You really think they would say that,” Justice Davis observed gently, and for a moment George Harrison Wattersill’s mouth literally hung open. But only for a moment. Then it closed firmly, regrouped itself, and reopened for more of the same. But it was obvious that he was shaken by the Justice’s intervention, nor was he the only one. In many clever minds Tommy’s quiet little comment was interpreted as a warning signal. George Wattersill took a deep breath and swiftly rearranged his strategy.
“They would, Your Honor. They would! Because they would know, as we know”—and he went into another of his famous soaring cadenzas—“as the nation knows—as the world knows—that by so doing they would be opening the door not only for a truly democratic procedure, but they would also be increasing the possibility that the man the majority of them clearly want—the man the nation clearly wants—the man the world clearly wants—could win the nomination free from the pressures which presently surround the proceedings of the 106.
“Why, Your Honor!” George Harrison Wattersill cried, and a fine, fervent indignation suffused his words. “Who anywhere on this globe who had access yesterday to television screen or radio set does not recall the tragic—the frightening—the un-American spectacle, if you please, that occurred at the Committee’s opening session?
“Military troops with bayonets drawn and ammunition ready against their fellow citizens! The Kennedy Center, that lovely memorial filled with grace and culture, turned into an armed camp! The Commander-in-Chief of the armed forces, deploying his janizaries with all the shrewd skill and ruthless power of a Caesar about to co
nquer Rome!”
(“Oh, my, Georgie,” the President said. “Oh, my, oh, my!”)
“There was your Committee, counsel!” he cried, turning suddenly upon Bob Leffingwell and flinging out an accusing finger within an inch of his nose, which of course made him visibly flinch. “There was your method of selecting a nominee! There was the fine, democratic atmosphere that surrounded that fine, democratic group—cowed into submission by the show of military force!
“Your Honor,” he said, abruptly solemn, “I think that never in my lifetime have I felt that America was so close to military dictatorship as I felt yesterday when the world was shown this sad spectacle—and as I shall feel tomorrow—and the day after—and the day after—and the day after, until the sorry tale is done—unless Your Honor’s ruling frees the Committee from its bondage—shows it that, yes, it has a friend, the most powerful friend that liberty has, this great Supreme Court—shows it that it need not be afraid to do what a majority of its members want—reconvene the convention so that there may be nominated the man of peace and hope whom America and the world desire!”
“Is there anything,” Tommy inquired in the same quiet voice, “which prevents the Committee from making that decision of its own uninstructed will? Does it not now have that authority? Why are the injunction and the suit pending below necessary? Could this not be regarded as an attempt, as Mr. Leffingwell says, to narrow its options, foreclose its choices, restrict its freedom rather than expand it? Could you respond to that point?”