FDR also took the time on January 16, 1945, to send a note to Gifford Pinchot, the well-known conservationist and current governor of the state of Pennsylvania. The two men had been corresponding since August 1944 about an idea very close to FDR’s heart: convening a world conference on conservation at the end of the war under the auspices of the yet-to-be-established United Nations. Convinced that “conservation is the basis for a permanent peace,” FDR had asked the State Department to draw up a memorandum on the subject in the fall of 1944. Although incredibly pressed for time, FDR took a moment to forward the memorandum to Governor Pinchot upon his return to the White House, and shortly thereafter invited the governor to join him for a luncheon meeting to discuss it. It was during the latter encounter, which took place on Friday, January 19, that FDR informed a delighted Pinchot that he was going to take up the idea of the proposed conservation conference during his forthcoming meeting with Churchill and Stalin. The two men also agreed, through Anna, that Pinchot should draw up a preliminary statement on the proposal that the president could take with him to the Crimea.20
Hyde Park, New York
As the week progressed, press speculation about Henry Wallace’s status intensified. By this point, it had been widely reported that FDR offered Wallace the position of secretary of commerce. But at his press conference of January 19, the penultimate day of his third term, FDR refused to say anything about Wallace’s future, other than to insist that “I don’t think he’ll starve.”21
Just after this press conference FDR held what turned out to be his last private meeting with Wallace, telling his vice president what he would not confirm to the press: that he would indeed send Wallace’s nomination as secretary of commerce to the Senate within the next couple of days. FDR also said that he would inform the current commerce secretary, Jesse Jones, of this decision over the weekend. The president indicated that he supported Wallace’s request that the lending powers of the Department of Commerce, which fell under the authority of the Reconstruction Finance Corporation, not be stripped away as a consequence of his appointment—a move that Jones, and many conservative senators, had demanded as a condition for their support of Wallace’s nomination.22
As their conversation drew to a close, the subject of FDR’s health came up. Wallace told FDR about a talk he’d had with Senator Josiah Bailey, whose physical condition had deteriorated after he turned sixty-five. Following a long rest, Bailey was “taking things easy every day,” which did wonders for him. FDR assured Wallace that “he was observing quite an easy daily schedule now… staying in bed each morning.” He also added—untruthfully—that he rested for an hour after lunch each day. Moving on, FDR claimed to be “heartbroken” that Wallace had not been nominated for vice president at the 1944 Democratic Convention in Chicago. Unable to contain himself, the vice president countered that he would have won if FDR’s postmaster general, Frank Walker, had stayed out of it. When FDR said that Walker had acted “without his knowledge or consent,” Wallace muttered to himself, in uncharacteristically blunt language, “bullshit.” Yet when Wallace took his leave, and FDR reiterated how much happiness their relationship had brought him, “it was all so hearty,” Wallace later wrote, “it seemed like he meant it.”23
A few hours later, FDR hosted the last cabinet of his third term. He did not mention the location of his pending trip to meet with Churchill and Stalin, which remained a closely guarded secret, but indicated that he would be away for some time. He then surprised the members of his cabinet by raising the question of how they should carry on “while he was on his trip abroad—or in case he should become incapacitated like Wilson.” Recalling Secretary of State Robert Lansing’s decision to call a cabinet meeting while Woodrow Wilson was incapacitated, and Wilson’s furious reaction—which included his firing of Lansing—Roosevelt said he did not subscribe to the same thinking. He made clear that he wanted the ranking cabinet officer of his administration to convene the cabinet if necessary. Since Secretary of State Edward Stettinius was going to accompany him at the summit, that responsibility would fall to Treasury Secretary Henry Morgenthau.24
To Wallace, listening intently, this was welcome news. As he recorded in the unpublished version of his diary, he did not entirely trust FDR’s director of war mobilization, James Byrnes, who, in his unofficial role as “assistant president,” might feel he was entitled to step in and run things in the event that FDR could no longer perform the duties of the office. Of course, if FDR were to die in office, this would be moot, as the vice president would take over. But if Roosevelt’s failing health should render him unable to lead, the question of which cabinet officer had the authority to govern would be a somewhat open question, especially as the vice president has “no constitutional standing in the executive branch of the government.” By making it clear that the highest-ranking cabinet officer present should step in to take charge, Roosevelt indicated that Morgenthau, not the ambitious Byrnes, would shoulder this responsibility.25
The rank of each individual cabinet officer, which is determined by the historical date on which his or her office was created, also determines the order in which cabinet members can speak with the president after a meeting. As the office of secretary of labor was the most recent creation, Frances Perkins was always the last to see FDR after a cabinet meeting—a fact that she frequently turned to her advantage. On this occasion, just a few hours before FDR’s third term came to an end, Perkins was adamant about seeing the president. He had still not acted on his earlier promise to allow her to turn in her resignation at the time he took his fourth oath of office. Determined to do so, Perkins had already begun to empty her desk, and had sent FDR a note that morning to remind him of her wish that he announce her resignation to her colleagues during their last meeting. But FDR said nothing about it—much to the labor secretary’s frustration.26
During the cabinet meeting, Perkins found the president alert and more or less himself. But afterward, sitting next to him in the Oval Office, she was shocked at the change in his appearance. “He had the pallor, the deep gray color, of a man who had been long ill. He looked like an invalid who had been allowed to see guests for the first time.” Perkins hated to press him about her resignation but felt she had no choice.
“Don’t you think,” she asked, “I had better get [Stephen] Early to announce my resignation right now? I’ll go in and write out the announcement.”
“No,” FDR pleaded. “Frances you can’t go now. You mustn’t put this on me now. I can’t think of anybody else, and I can’t get used to anybody else.… Do stay there and don’t say anything.” And with a hint of moisture welling up in his eyes he grabbed her hand and said, “You are all right.”
Moved by FDR’s appeal, Perkins decided, against her wishes, to stay on. She rang for Mr. Simmons, the White House Guard, who entered the cabinet room to push the president of the United States back to his Oval Study in the family quarters on the second floor of the White House. She implored Mr. Simmons in a whisper “to see that the President lies down. He is tired.” She said the same thing to Grace Tully and, when she got back to her office, informed her long-standing administrative assistant in strictest confidence that the president looked terrible and that she was afraid he was ill.27
FDR did take a break that day, in the form of a drive with Daisy, who had accompanied him back to Washington for the inauguration. By this point, all of his grandchildren had arrived and the White House, according to his cousin, now resembled a kindergarten. Happily, the arrival of his brood seemed to revive FDR, who thoroughly enjoyed “the general excitement” and “orderly confusion” that evening. He even had the energy to read children’s stories aloud after dinner, before getting back to work to put the final touches on the inaugural address he would deliver to the nation the next day.28
JUST AS FDR HAD WISHED, HIS FOURTH SWEARING IN WAS A BRIEF, straightforward affair. There was no Inauguration Day parade, and at the president’s insistence the ceremony took place on the South Por
tico of the White House as opposed to the traditional site on the steps of the capitol. It was a cold day, with a fresh dusting of snow glistening on the leaves of the nearby magnolia trees. On the steps leading up to the portico, looking up in admiration and wonder as a brief patch of blue momentarily broke through the monotony of the gray sky, stood all thirteen of the president’s grandchildren and, below them, the hundreds of official guests who filled a special section marked by a canvas spread on the ground to cover the snow. As FDR had intimated to Daisy earlier, the first thing he had done that morning was to test the steel leg braces that would make it possible for him to “walk” the short distance from the rear of the Blue Room to the edge of the South Portico. The president had also insisted—in a fitting reminder that the nation was still at war—that, amid the crowd of diplomats, governors, members of Congress, and other representatives of Washington officialdom, a space be reserved for fifty wounded servicemen, many of whom, like their commander-in-chief, were confined to wheelchairs.29
Beyond the canvas and the watchful eye of a phalanx of military police, a further crowd of lesser officials and everyday citizens—including Lucy Rutherfurd—stood in the snow, while a marine band played the national anthem. The first to take the oath of office was Vice President Truman. Then it was FDR’s turn. Placing his right hand on the Bible that had been in his family’s possession since 1686, and discreetly gripping the reading podium with his left hand with his braces locked in place, he turned to face Chief Justice Harlan Stone. He then swore to faithfully execute the office of president of the United States and to preserve, protect, and defend the nation’s Constitution, “so help me God.” As he repeated the oath for the fourth and final time, the crowd stood in utter silence, a stillness broken only by the soft whir of the newsreel cameras there to capture the moment. FDR then turned to address the crowd that had gathered.30
FDR delivering his fourth inaugural address, moments after taking the oath of office, with his son James looking on. (Getty Images)
With the sight of the Jefferson Memorial glimmering in the distance, the president began by reminding his audience that the Constitution of 1787 “was not a perfect instrument.” Indeed, “it is not perfect yet. But it provided a firm base upon which all manner of men, of all races and colors and creeds, could build our solid structure of democracy.” Having learned through the experience of war that we “cannot live alone at peace,” and that we must be “citizens of the world community,” he urged his fellow countrymen to recognize that a lasting peace could not be founded on suspicion or mistrust or fear. Instead, what was needed was the confidence and the courage that flow from conviction, “the conviction that the only way to have a friend is to be one.”31
By all accounts, FDR delivered the inaugural address, the shortest of the four he gave, in a clear and forceful voice. But Henry Wallace, standing near him, observed that FDR’s whole body seemed to shake as he spoke, especially his right arm, which grasped the rail of the reading stand. The former vice president was also shocked at FDR’s loss of weight, which was much more apparent in his standing position. “He was a gallant figure,” Wallace recalled, “but also pitiable—as he summoned his precious strength.” Seeing the president like this, Wallace doubted that FDR would ever again give a speech standing. He was right.32
Following the ceremony, FDR retired to the Gren Room, where he more or less excused himself from the normal postinaugural routine of greeting the hundreds of guests who were invited to attend a luncheon. This task fell to Eleanor, Anna, and other members of the family. After welcoming a few intimate friends and close associates—including the famous opera singer Marjorie Lawrence, who had contracted polio just as her career was reaching its peak but had somehow managed to return to the stage, singing from a sitting position—FDR asked that he and his eldest son James be left alone for a time.33
James had assisted his father in his first three inaugurals; though he was serving as a Marine combat officer in the Philippines in January 1945, FDR insisted that he be present at his fourth, and had issued a special order for his return to Washington. The president’s ostensible reason was his desire to keep up this tradition. But in their private conversation that day, FDR intimated that there was a second, equally important reason he wanted to see James, and that was to discuss his will.
FDR informed James that he had selected him as one of three trustees and executors, and that he was the only family member among them. James said he would be honored to serve in such a capacity, but hoped it would “be a long time yet.” FDR smiled at this, and went on to tell James about a letter addressed to him, in FDR’s safe, that had instructions regarding his funeral. He also detailed the provisions in the will for FDR’s longtime secretary, Missy LeHand, which no longer applied since Missy had died, but which FDR suspected would be misunderstood.34
FDR was right to suspect that later generations would misinterpret his act of generosity. Without a husband and children of her own, Missy had devoted much of her life to FDR and in essence became part of the family. She dined with them, acted as hostess in Eleanor’s absence (a role Eleanor was often happy to relinquish), and even joined Anna and the family nurse in tucking Curtis and his sister into bed at night—a privilege that none of FDR’s other secretaries, including Grace Tully, ever enjoyed.35
Franklin and Eleanor and all thirteen of their grandchildren on the day of FDR’s fourth inauguration, January 20, 1945. (Courtesy of the Franklin D. Roosevelt Presidential Library)
Missy had suffered a debilitating stroke in 1941. FDR subsequently changed his will to indicate that if he predeceased Missy, up to 50 percent of the income from his estate would go to cover her medical and living expenses. FDR acknowledged to James that some might try to make a story out of this, but as Missy had served him so well for so long and could no longer look after herself at the time, he felt it was the least he could do. Finally, they discussed various heirlooms that FDR had earmarked for members of the family. At the end of their conversation, FDR looked at his son and said, “I want you to have the family ring I wear. I hope you will wear it.”36
At the time, James did not suspect, despite the content of their discussion, that his father was thinking about the possibility he might die soon. But looking back, he understood why FDR insisted that his mother go through the trouble of bringing all thirteen grandchildren to the inauguration, a reunion immortalized in the wonderful family photo that FDR arranged to have taken in the Oval Study that morning. More and more, it seemed, FDR was thinking about posterity.37
FDR RETURNED TO WORK THAT AFTERNOON, ONCE AGAIN IN THE company of Daisy, followed by a White House tea, given for roughly 250 members of the Electoral College and their spouses. Then he was off to the “doctor’s office,” which on most days also meant a visit to the top-secret Map Room, where a series of naval aides tracked the progress of the war, followed by dinner with Eleanor and sixteen guests.
Even though the day following the inauguration was a Sunday, FDR met with his secretary of commerce, the curmudgeonly Jessie Jones, who was about to be displaced by Henry Wallace. To soften the blow, FDR offered Jones a number of other potential positions, including ambassador to France or membership on the Federal Reserve Board. Jones rejected both. He also made clear his adamant opposition to Wallace’s insistence that the lending agencies Jones had supervised under the aegis of the Reconstruction Finance Corporation (RFC) be retained within the department.38 FDR’s initial rejection of Jones’s view prompted a public furor after Jones published both Roosevelt’s letter asking for his resignation and his own bitter reply; the latter included his assertion that for the president to turn over all of the assets of the RFC “to a man inexperienced in business and finance will, I believe, be hard for the business and financial world to understand.” This controversy would turn Wallace’s nomination process into something of a nightmare. Wallace would not see his position confirmed by the Senate until March 1, one day after the president signed the George Act, separating the
Federal Loan Agency from the Department of Commerce in yet another blow to his “old friend.”39
FDR’s next responsibility was to attend an official luncheon at the White House. Unable to face the task, he asked Daisy, who had returned to spend the morning in the president’s study, “Do you want to save my life?” She replied that she “would always be glad to save the President’s life.”
“Well then, stay with me and have lunch on a tray. The so-in-sos and so and sos are coming—they’ll be a crowd, and I just don’t want to see them!”
As always, Daisy was happy to comply.40
The final event of the inaugural weekend involved a presidential birthday party and dinner, which the family decided to celebrate in advance as FDR would be at sea on his actual birthday, January 30. Attending were Eleanor, Anna, John Boettiger, FDR’s son James and James’s wife, the remaining grandchildren, the crown prince and princess of Norway, the Morgenthaus, Daisy, and the last vestiges of the old “cuff links gang,” the group of close friends and confidants who had supported every one of his political campaigns since he first ran for vice president in 1920. The party delighted in FDR’s enjoyment in opening the many gifts he received for the occasion, including a large print of a Hudson River scene presented by Princess Martha and her husband. Though fatigued, FDR invited a more intimate group to the Oval Study for a late-night game of cards, but not before the president and his son James took a moment to say their good-byes, as James was scheduled to depart from Washington’s Union Station just after midnight—never to see his father again.
The Last 100 Days Page 4