by Allen Drury
“With Governor Jason on the ticket, millions who were uneasy and alienated before must now be reassured. Democratic dissent and the right of protest have a champion in the innermost circles, after all.
“All is not lost, for America: with Edward M. Jason, the new day dawns.…”
“In actual practical fact, of course,” Frankly Unctuous said in his emphatic rhythm, “this could almost be called the Jason-Knox ticket rather than the Knox-Jason ticket.
“The Governor has repudiated those few elements whose violence has frightened some Americans; he has given new hope to those many millions who look to him to save American democracy from those who would narrow and restrict it. He brings a far greater personal following to the Vice Presidency than most occupants of that office. His voice inevitably will have much more weight.
“It seems fair to state that we can now look for a greater stress on peace, and at the same time a greater emphasis on the free and untrammeled expression of democratic dissent.
“It is not too much to say that in the minds of many at home and abroad, a new freedom is ahead for America and the world.…”
JASON SELECTION STRENGTHENS U.S. PEACE MOVEMENT, said the Daily Telegraph in London. U.S. ADVENTURISM YIELDS TO JASON PEACE STRENGTH, said Le Monde in Paris. WARMONGERS LOSE TO PEOPLES’ DEMOCRATIC FORCES, said Pravda in Moscow. U.S. DEMOCRACY STRENGTHENED BY JASON CHOICE, said the Times of India in New Delhi. GREAT ERA LOOMS FOR ALL U.S. TRIBES AS JASON IS STOOLED, said the Ashanti Observer in Ghana.
“Thank you for coming,” he said cordially. “Did you have any trouble getting through the outer defenses?”
“They’re pretty strong,” Bob Leffingwell said, returning his handshake with an answering friendliness. “But I managed.”
“Good,” Orrin said, leading the way into the study. “I think the tension’s eased somewhat since this afternoon. We all seemed to get away in fairly good shape from the Center. Even I got a little applause, now that I’ve put the people’s choice on the ticket.”
“It could mean an era of better feeling,” Bob Leffingwell agreed. “It’s an opportunity.”
“It is,” the Secretary said soberly. “I hope we can both live up to it. I’m going to do what I can, anyway. That’s one reason I asked you here: I want you to help me with my acceptance speech for tomorrow. I want to be conciliatory but firm. Or,” he said with a smile, “firm but conciliatory, as the case may be. Perhaps you can help me find that magic middle ground.”
“Gladly,” Bob Leffingwell said, settling into the armchair offered by his host. “But I don’t really think Orrin Knox needs all that much help with the speech he’s going to give on this occasion. I expect it’s pretty well in hand already, isn’t it?”
“Are you implying,” the Secretary inquired, “that I asked you here under false pretenses?” He chuckled. “Well, you know, I did.” He became serious, leaned forward, fixed his visitor with a shrewd if friendly eye. “I wanted to close the books on something, Bob. It may have been a matter of misunderstanding—it may have been a matter of timing—it may have been just one of those things that happen, now and again, in this town. I happen to think it was probably a matter of conviction, for both of us and as such, each of us did what his principles impelled him to do, and neither of us need be ashamed of that.…I won’t say,” he remarked thoughtfully, “that I regret opposing you for Secretary of State a year and a half ago, any more than you regret making the run for it. I just want to say that if any ghosts are still walking from that episode in your mind, I consider them buried in mine. Okay?”
Bob Leffingwell looked surprised and genuinely touched.
“I appreciate that,” he said after a moment. “I appreciate that very much.”
“Good,” Orrin said. “So: I’m not going to ask you to campaign for me, though I would value the support you can bring with you—”
“I’m going to,” Bob Leffingwell interrupted. “I want to.” He smiled. “Not all the wild horses of NAWAC could drag me from your campaign trail. I’ve made my decision—I can do it honestly. We aren’t very far apart, these days. I’ve buried a few of your ghosts, myself.”
It was the Secretary’s turn to be touched.
“I appreciate that,” he said. “Well, that’s fine. But what I was going to say was—assuming all goes well and I get elected—I would like to have you in my Administration. Would you be willing?”
Bob Leffingwell nodded gravely.
“Anywhere you can use me.”
The Secretary gave him a bland and slightly mischievous glance.
“How about Secretary of State?”
For a moment his visitor looked absolutely stunned; then, quite unabashedly, his eyes filled with tears.
“Why—” he said. “Why, Orrin, I—”
“Blow your nose,” the Secretary ordered brusquely. “This is one of the greater unrecorded scenes of American history.”
“It is,” Bob Leffingwell agreed somewhere between a laugh and a gulp, obediently pulling out his handkerchief and blowing away. “It really is. I tell you what,” he suggested, “let me write you a letter. I can’t really talk about it right now, except to say—”
But he found he really couldn’t talk about it, and stopped abruptly.
“All right,” Orrin said. “Write your letter and make it a doozie, and we’ll put it in the Archives for release in the year 3002. Meantime, edit my speech for me, okay?” He got up briskly and went to the desk, pulled out some sheets of typescript and handed them to his guest, who put away his handkerchief and began to study them with a thoughtful care.
“I have another little kicker up my sleeve,” the Secretary remarked, looking for a moment like a small and very engaging boy. “Listen to this.” He picked up the telephone and began to dial a number.
“I expect all the rest of the Presidency is going to be sheer hell,” he confessed happily, “but right at the moment I’m finding it thoroughly delightful … Hello, Tommy?… Well, thank you, old friend. I know how much you mean that … No, I’m kidding, I do know how much you mean that. Or do I?”
He laughed and winked at Bob Leffingwell.
“Say, Tommy, I have a little job for you … What?… Oh.” His expression changed, became momentarily somber. “Yes, I did, thank you very much. It was very good of you—very patriotic. I showed them to him at the White House last night. I think it was the deciding factor in bringing him around. If,” he remarked dryly, “he has come around … Oh, yes, you’re right, he’s made some major concessions and I really think he’s going all the way on it.
“He told me privately just before we left the Center that in his speech tomorrow he’s going to denounce them without any qualifications whatsoever—leave out that ‘if violent elements there be’ bit, which was sheer sophistry. But he apparently felt that as a matter of pride he couldn’t about-face too completely the first time out. Anyway, you’ll help me work on him, won’t you? He’ll still listen to you, I think. We’ll get him straightened out.” He laughed abruptly. “He no doubt thinks he’ll do the same to me, on foreign policy. And who knows? Maybe we’ll be good for each other. In fact,” he said, sober again, “we’ve got to be good for each other—we’ve got to find the middle ground.…
“I want this to be the start of an era of reconciliation,. Tommy. I want to try to bring the country back to some basis of reasonable unity on which we can all get along. I want another ‘Era of Good Feeling.’ I won’t get it, of course, completely, but I intend to try. You won’t find me so arbitrary when I speak tomorrow. Bob Leffingwell is here right now, smoothing out all the sharp edges in my prepared text. He’s going to be part of my new era, too, Tommy—you’ll be surprised … What?” He looked quite blank for a moment, then chuckled. “Now, how did you guess that? All right, you have guessed it, and I want your word of honor as a Justice of the Supreme Court that you will tell no one, absolutely no one, Tommy, okay?… All right, that’s your word, now … All right, I trust you.
�
��But you’ve got me off the point. The reason I called is that I want you to be part of my era of reconciliation, too. Will you do it?… What?” His tone became exaggeratedly heavy and pompous. “Mr. Justice, your President is asking you—very well, then. If we can get the party and the country together again, and if we can put some good feeling back into this poor old battered Republic, and if I can persuade enough unsuspecting citizens to elect me—would you do your bit for democracy by swearing me in at Inauguration?… Yes, I know the Chief Justice always does it … Yes, I know his wife will be furious with me for letting you do it … Yes, I know she won’t invite you to dinner any more if you accept. I also know that if all goes well I shall be President-elect and there isn’t anybody who can deny me the man I want—except the man I want. So, how about it? The C.J. and his wife may have their noses broken, but I don’t think he’ll pull your chair out from under you next time the Court convenes. I’ll clap him in Fort Knox if he does … All right, then, Tommy?… You what?” He looked surprised and pleased. “You aren’t supposed to make any political speeches … Oh, you mean just introduce me tomorrow, as a gesture of national unity? Why, if you—why, I’d be delighted, you know that, Tommy. I’d be absolutely delighted … Well, thank you so much. It’s very kind indeed … Okay, Tommy. Bless you. Goodbye.”
He put down the receiver and turned back to Bob Leffingwell with a gratified expression.
“You know,” he said, “I think everybody is really going to try to make this reconciliation idea work. It’s marvelous.”
And so, with only a few exceptions as the evening moved on, they did.
LeGage Shelby, Fred Van Ackerman, Rufus Kleinfert and nineteen of their fellow members of the executive board of NAWAC issued a statement that congratulated Governor Jason, noted in passing the nomination of Secretary Knox, and expressed the confidence that the nation “now will enter upon a period of sane policy abroad and true democracy at home.” NAWAC’s multitudes, bivouacked along the river and under the trees awaiting tomorrow’s gathering at the Washington Monument, confined themselves for the most part to a series of informal speeches and sing-ins whose general burden seemed to be that the world was on the brink of salvation with Edward M. Jason. The name of Orrin Knox was rarely mentioned. When it was, the FBI was able to report, to the relief of those most interested, it was in a reasonably amicable, not too bitterly hostile fashion. For the time being, NAWAC seemed to be relatively reconciled, now that it had its own man on the ticket. WE CAN STAND KNOX FOR FOUR—WE’LL HAVE JASON FOR MORE, as one banner announced: it seemed to sum up the general reaction of the multitudes whose campfires flickered along the Potomac.
Around the world as the hours wore on, the reaction also settled into a pattern of reasonably calm and sensible appraisal. The world was aware of the status of a Vice President, but as many analysts and commentators pointed out in the dispatches and broadcasts monitored by the State Department, this Vice President was different: personally he was more popular, and politically he was almost as strong as the Presidential nominee. Therefore he could logically be expected to exert a major restraining influence upon policies that most of the world regarded with misgiving and alarm.
In Peking, where he had finally surfaced after several days of being lost to the news, Prince Obifumatta, speaking with a renewed hope, said that the nomination of Governor Jason “will mean a speedy reappraisal of the ill-advised and openly imperialistic U.S. attack against the People’s Republic of Gorotoland. In Molobangwe his cousin, Prince Terry, called in the American Ambassador to express worries which the earnest promises of that aging veteran of the Foreign Service did not entirely remove.
In Panama, Felix Labaiya also called in ambassadors—in his case, of the Soviet Union, Great Britain and France, and then announced that the nomination of Governor Jason “makes very likely the abandonment of the unilateral attempt by the United States to destroy freedom of the seas with its illegal blockade of the People’s Liberation Movement of Panama.
“The P.L.M.,” he went on, “with powerful allies at its side, is prepared for any eventuality. We will offer the United States the handclasp of peace or the dagger of war. We expect and we believe that the nomination of Edward M. Jason will play a major part in re-establishing a climate in which our two countries can once more live together as friends.”
In Washington, members of the National Committee, released from their difficult duty and their bivouac in Fort Myer, were once again available to the press. Newsprint and airwave were filled with the optimistic predictions of a new day. From both sides the sentiment was virtually unanimous:
“The opportunity for a new re-dedication to America on the part of all her citizens,” said Lathia Talbott Jennings of North Dakota, equanimity restored. “A marvelous opportunity for a new, more moderate, more modern approach,” said Ralph Jansen of Minnesota. “I’m absolutely thrilled at this chance to restore unity and work out a truly national policy,” said Janette Wilkins Vandervoort of New York. “Looks to me like we’ve got a winning combination,” remarked Elrod Jones of Kansas, ever practical. “Maybe now we’ll bury our differences instead of each other,” said Blair Hannah; “Lord knows it’s about time.” “A great chance for a great tomorrow,” averred Ewan MacDonald MacDonald.
Already, as the enormous flood of congratulatory wires, special-delivery letters, telephone calls, began to pile up at the houses in Spring Valley and Dumbarton Oaks, the practical effects of the new political alignment were apparent. At the permanent National Committee offices on Connecticut Avenue, Roger Croy and Pete Boissevain, appointed with a certain irony by their respective principles to work as co-chairmen of the Joint Strategy Committee, were meeting with twenty of their fellow Committeemen and the Committee staff to plan for the campaign and the prospective new Administration. They were not the only people in Washington who were planning for the campaign and the new Administration, but they at least were working together with a grudging but increasingly friendly cooperation that seemed to promise much for Orrin’s “Era of Reconciliation.”
At the White House the President, after talking to both Orrin and Ted on the telephone—“I don’t mind being a ‘Caretaker President,’” he told Orrin with a chuckle that would have put his critics in their place could they have heard it, “as long as I’m taking care for the right man”—issued a statement hailing “the prospects for a new unity and a new approach.” Thus he neatly combined the informal slogans of the two candidates in a prediction that reconciliation and an end to domestic political strife would now ensue.
Increasingly, as the clock turned toward midnight, it appeared likely that he might be right. The mood of the country seemed to be swinging rapidly away from bitterness toward renewed courage and renewed hope. However men on each side of the bitter issues that had divided them chose to interpret it, the pairing of Orrin Knox and Edward Jason on their party’s ticket was working a certain inescapable magic on their countrymen.
A new day, a new dawn, a new happiness, seemed to be flooding America, so volatile and so basically hopeful were her people still.
“I didn’t think,” he said, in the quiet, at last, of their bedroom in Dumbarton Oaks, “that I was ever going to get a chance to see you alone again.”
“I’m glad you have,” she said, smiling.
He looked at her with a humility that was rare for him or any Jason, a hesitant difference that she could see was quite genuine.
“I hope,” he said uncertainly, “that you think I’ve done the right thing. I hope I’ve made you proud of me. I hope you don’t still think that I’m—that I’m such a bad man.”
“My dear,” she said softly, “I’ve never thought you were a bad man.” She smiled with a certain wistful tenderness. “A little confused, maybe, but not a bad man.”
“Ceil,” he said forlornly, “I’ve missed you so much.”
“Well,” she said, “I’m here now.”
“Don’t ever leave me like that again,” he said with a sudde
n consuming anguish. “I don’t think I could stand it if you did.”
She held out her arms.
“I always find,” she said shakily, a while later, “that there’s just no point in being arbitrary about you. I try to be, sometimes, but I can’t. You’re you, and that seems to be all that matters, for me.”
“I’m glad,” he whispered, like some lost child come home. “I am glad.”
“Well!” he said triumphantly, coming out of the kitchen with a glass of milk and a piece of chocolate cake. “Guess who just came in the study and told me that all is forgiven and he thinks I’ve done the right thing—probably.”
“I can’t guess,” Beth said, closing the book she had been patiently reading in the living room until things quieted down and he was ready to go to bed.
“Everything’s all right,” he said, again going into an impromptu little music-hall shuffle that threatened to spill the milk. “Everything’s all right, all right, all RIGHT! We’re going to run a great campaign, and we’re going to have national unity, and we’re going to have a great Administration and we’re going to do such great things for America, and the world. We are, we are, we ARE! I’m going to win, hey, hey, and it’s going to be GREAT, and everything’s going to be all right! Do you hear me?” he demanded striking a dramatic pose. “All right, I said, woman! All right!”
She laughed.
“You’re really bubbling, aren’t you? Why don’t you put down that glass and come along upstairs and we can bubble together?”
He obeyed with alacrity.
“Hank,” he said with a cheerful grin, “that’s the best offer I’ve had all evening.”
“I’m sitting at my desk in the Senate,” Lafe wrote, shortly after midnight, “and you’ve probably heard on the news who’s filibustering. So I won’t go into that. Aside from him, though, there seems to be a really great spirit here, and all over town, about what’s happened. In fact, it’s probably no exaggeration to say it’s all over the country. I’ve been getting all sorts of calls from my people in Iowa, and probably you’ve been getting the same out there from your friends.