The Last 100 Days

by David B. Woolner

  THE APPROACH OF THE GULF STREAM BROUGHT WARMER WEATHER and renewed air cover, provided by an escort carrier that had positioned itself ahead of the task force as the convoy entered the waters to the southwest of the Azores. These remote far-flung vestiges of the once-powerful Portuguese Empire held special meaning for FDR, for it was to these largely forgotten outposts that he took his first official trip overseas as a young assistant secretary of the Navy in the closing days of World War I. FDR was astonished by the abundance of flora and fauna that blanketed this rugged volcanic archipelago. It seemed to him that “anything” would grow in the Azores. “One sees bamboo next to English Oak and even White Pine,” he noted in his diary—“a wonderful scene” of picturesque villages, volcanic craters, and “deep blue lakes and springs that threw off clouds of steam.” Not wanting to forget the thrill he felt as “his ship,” the USS Dyer, first made its way into the harbor of Ponta Delgada, the administrative capital of the Azores, FDR commissioned a painting of the scene that hung in his study for the rest of his life. In more recent times, he even entertained the thought that the Azores might serve as the headquarters for the Trusteeship Council of the United Nations.23

  In keeping with his ardent desire to get away from the day-to-day pressures of the Oval Office, FDR had left his key aides and staff with strict instructions not to bother him during the voyage unless it was a matter of extreme importance. It would not be long, however, before the tranquility FDR enjoyed at sea was disturbed by news from Washington—now becoming more accessible as the slate of escort vessels changed with greater frequency. Once again, the matter at hand concerned a domestic issue: on Monday, January 29, FDR received a long telegram from Samuel Rosenman informing him that Henry Wallace’s confirmation as secretary of commerce appeared “doomed.” Rosenman urged FDR to tell Congress that he would transfer the federal lending agencies out of Commerce, as Wallace’s critics had insisted. Otherwise, Rosenman insisted, there was no chance that Wallace would be confirmed. And even such a transfer might not be enough to save him. A missive from Eleanor received two days later more or less made the same case.24

  Keenly aware of the pressure that FDR was under due to the urgent demands of the war, Admiral Leahy was of the opinion that the president “is now faced with too many difficult and vital international problems to permit his getting into an acrimonious disagreement with the Congress, or even to warrant his being bothered by the personal troubles of any individual.” Indeed, given the “equally impractical… idealistic attitudes” of both Eleanor Roosevelt and Wallace, Leahy regarded the president’s decision to nominate Wallace as a mistake and had little sympathy for Wallace’s plight. Leahy’s view was that FDR should let matters take their course and “accept the decision of the Congress” whatever the outcome. But unwilling to abandon his former vice president, FDR sent word back to Samuel Rosenman indicating his support for the pending resolution.25

  On Tuesday, January 30, FDR celebrated his sixty-third birthday. To mark the occasion, the crew presented him with a special gift: a brass ashtray fashioned out of a five-inch shell casing fired during the Normandy invasion. Anna organized a small convocation that evening. Five cakes were baked for the occasion; the first four represented FDR’s four terms in office, and the fifth, procured at the last minute, was graced by a large question mark to represent the possibility of a fifth term, which brought hails of laughter from FDR. Unbeknownst to his assembled guests, FDR also enjoyed a more private celebration in his cabin that day, when Anna presented him with a series of little gifts and trinkets from Lucy Rutherfurd and his cousin Daisy.26

  Now more than a week at sea, the task force was nearing the North African Coast and the Strait of Gibraltar. Passing through the strait, which is a mere nine miles wide at its narrowest point, would be the most dangerous moment of the entire voyage. Adding to the captain’s concerns, on two occasions in the past forty-eight hours the escort destroyers believed they had detected a submarine in the vicinity, which raised the possibility of a security breach concerning the likely route of FDR’s vessel and the location of the conference.

  The responsibility of maintaining the safety and security of the Yalta party fell to Vice Admiral Brown. Fit, trim, and born the same year as the president, Brown first met Roosevelt in 1912, shortly after the latter had been appointed assistant secretary of the Navy. Brown went on to a distinguished naval career and for a brief time served in the White House as a naval aide to President Calvin Coolidge. In 1934 he returned to the White House to take up the same position for FDR; however, in accordance with the normal rotation between sea and shore duty, he was offered the command of the Atlantic Fleet in the summer of 1936—a move that FDR enthusiastically endorsed, telling Brown: “You are the luckiest man on earth. I would give anything in the world to change places with you.”27

  The bond that FDR and Brown shared became even stronger when the latter returned to the White House yet again to resume his duties as naval aide in February 1943. By this point, active duty experience had imprinted on Brown the value of secrecy for a vessel plying the Atlantic. Brown repeatedly stressed the importance of maintaining an absolute lockdown on any information regarding the president’s voyage aboard the Quincy. Adding to his anxiety was the somewhat “lukewarm” attitude that FDR seemed to hold about the dangers involved. Brown was upset, for instance, when FDR sent the members of a Secret Service detail ahead as an advance team because they were always in pictures taken of the president and might be recognized abroad, providing a clue as to where and when the president might be meeting with the other members of the “Big Three.”28

  Brown was equally alarmed when he overheard Harry Hopkins explain that he would be traveling ahead of the party to London, Paris, and Rome for meetings with Churchill and de Gaulle before joining the president at Malta. This, too, might alert the enemy. More problematic still, Hopkins wanted to use the president’s plane. Unable to contain his worry, Brown confronted Hopkins with the demand that he use the president’s aircraft only as far as Gibraltar and then switch to a regular army transport to finish what Brown called a “most unfortunate venture.”29

  In the interests of security, Hopkins had received strict instructions to keep his mission to London secret and to say nothing to the press while he was in Paris or Rome. But as the task force steamed ever closer to the strait, report after report arrived about Hopkins’s activities in Europe, including numerous press pieces and radio broadcasts describing his itinerary. These notices included rampant speculation that his presence in London, Paris, and Rome was part of the administration’s effort to send key advisers aboard in advance of another meeting of the “Big Three.” Hopkins also made himself freely available to reporters and even staged a press conference in Rome on the evening of January 29, during which he all but admitted that a meeting of Churchill, Roosevelt, and Stalin was imminent.30

  On board the Quincy, news of Hopkins’s parley with the press infuriated FDR’s press secretary Stephen Early, upset the president, and seriously alarmed Brown, who felt that Hopkins’s interviews seemed “to give warning that something was going on in the Mediterranean.” To make matters worse, US naval intelligence had determined that German U-boats had indeed taken up positions in and around the strait. Whether this was a coincidence wasn’t known, but there can be no doubt that tensions ran high on the bridge in the wee hours of Wednesday, January 31, when Captain Senn spotted the historic Cape Spartel Light on the north coast of Morocco that marked the entrance to the strait.31

  To reduce the chances of even a “lucky hit” by a U-boat, the chief of US naval forces in the Mediterranean had increased the Quincy’s stable of escorts to six destroyers and a light cruiser. He also ordered a pair of the famous “Black Cat” Catalina Flying Boats to provide nighttime air cover. In addition, a K-Class Navy Blimp equipped with sonar flew above the strait ahead of the force. In the meantime, Captain Senn increased the speed of the task force, still zigzagging, to an extraordinary 30 knots.32

&n
bsp; Just after 4:00 a.m., underneath a bright but waning moon, the task force finally entered the narrow waters that separate Europe and Africa. Having never sailed through the famous passage before, Anna decided that despite the hour she wanted to witness the occasion. From the flag bridge, as her father slept soundly below, she was able to make out the Rock of Gibraltar in the moonlight, the twinkling lights of the British naval base, and even the outline of a hospital ship. On the opposite shore was the stunning sight of Tangier, where it seemed that “every light in the town were lit.” As dawn broke, the snow-covered mountains of the Spanish coast came into view, followed by the outline of the rugged North African shore near the Spanish enclave of Ceuta.33

  Thursday, February 1—the last full day at sea before the landing at Malta—brought more warm weather. In an effort to conserve his strength before arriving at the ancient port of Valletta, FDR spent most of the afternoon on deck lounging in the Mediterranean sun. At home in Rhinebeck, meanwhile, his cousin Daisy waited anxiously for any word from “F” while she tended to his beloved Scottie, Fala. Due to the various communication restrictions placed on the presidential party, it would be some time before Daisy received a note from FDR. It came in the form of a brief diary that FDR had penned for her, sketching out his day-to-day routine and some of the high points of the voyage. Knowing that Daisy would be concerned about his health, FDR dutifully reported that he had made a point of getting plenty of rest. But the brevity of his descriptions and the overall lack of detail seemed uncharacteristic of him. His note showed none of his usual vitality, perhaps reflecting some of the dread he felt about the responsibilities he would soon confront as the relative quiet of his time at sea came to an end. “An awful day ahead,” he wrote as the Quincy finally reached Malta on the morning of February 2, 1945, before “tonight at 10, we are off by air for the final destination.”34

  Chapter 3

  Interlude at Malta

  THE HISTORIC WALLED CITY OF VALLETTA, OR IL-BELT AS THE LOCALS call it, boasts one of the finest natural harbors in the Mediterranean. Protected on one side by the massive Fort St. Elmo and on the other by the ancient Castrum Maris, rebuilt and renamed Fort St. Angelo by the Knights of St. John in the first half of sixteenth century, the deep waters of the Grand Harbor that lies just to the east of the peninsula upon which Valletta rests have sheltered vessels for centuries. The city itself was established in the wake of the famous first siege of Malta that took place in the summer of 1565, when Turkish forces under the command of Suleiman the Magnificent invaded the island in an unsuccessful attempt to wrest control of the central Mediterranean from the sultan’s archrival, King Philip II of Spain.

  The gallantry of the knights, Maltese soldiers, and civilians who managed to hold out against far superior forces—an estimated forty thousand Turks against a force of fewer than ten thousand led by Grand Master Jean de la Valette and his six hundred knights—soon became the stuff of legend in Christian Europe. Although not apparent at the time, Malta’s survival marked a turning point in the sixty-year struggle between the Ottoman Turks and the Hapsburgs of Spain for control of this vital sea and the shape of the Muslim and Christian worlds to follow.1

  Malta’s strategic location proved equally important two centuries later, when Napoleon Bonaparte conquered the island before attempting to seize control of Egypt in an effort to undermine British access to India. The British naval victory in the Battle of the Nile soon rendered Napoleon’s position in Egypt untenable, and as a consequence of this defeat and the unpopularity of Napoleonic rule, Britain took possession of Malta in 1800, remaining in power there for the next 150 years.

  Malta’s value as a link between the British naval facilities at Gibraltar in the west and Alexandria, Egypt, in the east was immediately apparent, and became even more pronounced with the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869. This fact was not lost on Mussolini and Hitler in their efforts to drive the British out of the Mediterranean after the fall of France in June 1940. Located astride the main Axis supply route between Italy and North Africa, tiny Malta—with its airfields, submarine base, and surface ship facilities—proved an ideal launching pad for attacks against German and Italian shipping as the war in Libya and the Western Desert intensified. Churchill determined that Malta must be held at all costs, while Mussolini, and then Hitler, believed that the island must be either neutralized or brought under Axis control.

  Given Malta’s size—roughly seventeen miles long and nine miles wide—and its proximity to Sicily, a mere sixty miles distant, not to mention the more than one-thousand-mile sea expanse between the island and the nearest British supply base, it seemed inevitable that the Axis powers would bomb the island into submission. But like the Turkish forces arrayed against the protectors of Malta nearly four centuries before, the Italian and German air crews who blasted the island in what became known as the Second Siege of Malta learned a hard lesson about the tenacity of the Maltese people and the determination of the anti-aircraft gunners and RAF pilots defending the island. In January 1942 alone, for example, the Luftwaffe conducted 262 bombing raids on the island; in February, 236; and in March and April of that year the total tonnage of destruction that rained down from the sky measured twice the weight of the bombs dropped during the famous London Blitz. The ability of the Maltese to take such punishment served as an inspiration for people the world over, and on April 15, 1942, King George VI took the unprecedented step of granting to the entire population the George’s Cross—the highest civilian honor for gallantry offered in the British Empire.2

  FDR certainly understood the importance of Malta. In April 1942, at the very moment when the island was perhaps the most vulnerable, he responded to an urgent plea from Churchill for US help in ferrying British fighter aircraft to Malta by dispatching the US aircraft carrier WASP into the Mediterranean laden with Spitfires. FDR’s decision elicited a major protest from the chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Ernest King, who objected that this was all part of a British ploy to draw the United States into the Mediterranean Theater of Operations. But FDR persisted, and even authorized a second sailing of the WASP when the ever-present Luftwaffe destroyed the first delivery of aircraft on the ground within minutes of the planes’ arrival.3

  Equally moved by the uncommon valor of the population, FDR decided to present the citizens of Malta with a Presidential Citation as he made his way back from the Tehran conference in December 1943. During a brief stopover on the 8th of that month, FDR told the “good people of Malta” about the comments he had made to Churchill roughly a year earlier at the Casablanca conference, that “someday we would control once more the whole of the Mediterranean” and that when this day came, he “would go to Malta.”4 Now that the day in question had happily arrived, he was determined “to pay some little tribute to this island and to all of its people—civil and military—who during these years have contributed so much to democracy, not just here but all over the civilized world.” In recognition of their courage, he had brought “a little token—a scroll—a citation—from the President of the United States, speaking in behalf of the people of the United States.”5

  In their name he continued:

  I salute the Island of Malta, its people and defenders, who, in the cause of freedom and justice and decency throughout the world, have rendered valorous service far above and beyond the call of duty.

  Under repeated fire from the skies, Malta stood alone, but unafraid in the center of the sea, one tiny bright flame in the darkness—a beacon of hope for the clearer days which have come.6

  The president dated the citation December 7, 1943, because he felt that the second anniversary of the American entry into the war better symbolized the American people’s determination “to proceed until that war is won” and “to stand shoulder to shoulder with the British Empire and our other allies in making it a victory worthwhile.”

  Anti-aircraft emplacements at the entrance to the Grand Harbor in Valletta, Malta. (Imperial War Museum)

  BY ALL ACC
OUNTS, THE SCENE THAT GREETED THE MALTESE PEOPLE as FDR returned to the island on the morning of February 2, 1945, was magnificent. Moored along the quay in the Grand Harbor was the HMS Orion, the 550-foot light cruiser that had served as Prime Minister Churchill’s headquarters and residence as he tried to recover from a fever in the two days he spent on Malta in advance of FDR’s arrival. On the opposite side of the harbor stood the equally impressive HMS Sirius, another light cruiser, and next to it the Eastern Prince, a passenger liner–cum–troop ship brought in to help quarter the many hundreds of British and American officers and officials who made up the Yalta delegation.7 Further down the quay stood the USS Memphis, the cruiser that had served as FDR’s flagship during the Casablanca conference and nearly two decades before that had earned fame as the ship that transported Charles Lindbergh and his famous Spirit of St. Louis back to Washington after his historic flight across the Atlantic.8

  It was 9:30 a.m., beneath an absolutely cloudless blue sky, when the massive Quincy first came into view at the narrow entrance to the harbor. High above the azure sea, a squadron of Spitfires, so critical to the defense of the island, flew triumphantly overhead. On board the Sirius, a company of Royal Marines stood at attention to greet the president and his party, and as the Quincy carefully sailed by, aided by a pilot tug, a Marine band on board struck up “The Star-Spangled Banner.”9

  Along the docks and from countless blown-out windows and shattered verandas, thousands of Maltese citizens waved flags and cheered as the Quincy made its way further into the harbor. On board the Orion, a second Marine band took up the American national anthem as the Quincy slowly approached while Prime Minister Churchill, dressed in a naval peacoat and cap, stood at attention and saluted President Roosevelt—the only seated figure among the hundreds of men, and one woman, who lined the rail as the heavy cruiser finally reached its berth, his wheelchair carefully hidden from view behind a canvas screen.10