The Last 100 Days

by David B. Woolner

  But Eisenhower had long since concluded that Berlin, heavily damaged by Allied bombing, and devoid of many government ministries, “had lost much of its former military importance.” Moreover, with over a million Russian troops poised on the Oder River just to the east of the city, Eisenhower was plagued by a nagging fear that a simultaneous thrust by both the Allied and Soviet forces on Berlin might lead to deadly encounters between the wartime partners; accordingly, he much preferred to drive toward Leipzig in the southeast. Not only might this make it possible for the Allies to split Germany in two, by linking up with Soviet forces in a much more advantageous location than Berlin, it might also prevent the widely reported possibility that the Germans would try to establish an enclave in the south.16

  Churchill, who was thinking more in political than in military terms, did not agree. What is more, he and his Chiefs were upset that Eisenhower had taken the unprecedented step of communicating his intentions directly to Stalin. Indeed, when the subject of direct communication between Eisenhower’s headquarters and the Soviet High Command came up at Yalta, the British rejected the idea, insisting that the liaison should continue to be directed through the offices of the Combined Chiefs of Staff. Churchill also regarded Eisenhower’s “shift in axis to the southeast” as “a change in strategy” that was detrimental to General Bernard Montgomery’s forces. He felt strongly, as he wrote to FDR, that this move should be put to “our two Chiefs of Staff Committees before any final commitment involving the Russians is entered into.” Furthermore, Churchill could not help but wonder what it would mean if the Russians were to take both Berlin and Vienna, the latter of which they were soon to enter. Might that not create the impression that they “have been the overwhelming contributor to our common victory?”17

  Neither Roosevelt nor his Chiefs of Staff were swayed by these arguments. In a message sent to Churchill on Wednesday, April 4, most likely drafted by Marshall but approved by FDR, the president indicated (in an echo of a comment that Churchill had made previously) that he, too, deplored “any misunderstandings between us… particularly at a time of great victories by our Armies.” But “he failed to get the point” of the British objections. Leipzig was not that far removed from Berlin, and “is well within the center of the combined effort.” At the same time, the British army is pursuing “what seems to me to be very logical objectives on the northern flank.” FDR regretted that the wording Eisenhower had used to describe the Allied position on the ground—which seemed to imply a lack of drive among Montgomery’s forces—so upset the British prime minister. But he remained convinced that “under Eisenhower’s present plans the great German army will in the very near future be completely broken up into separate resistance groups,” rendering Allied forces in a position to destroy it.18

  However sharp the exchanges were between FDR and Churchill over Eisenhower’s decision not to take Berlin, they paled in comparison to the communication that passed between FDR and Stalin over the Bern affair. In his previous correspondence with Stalin regarding this incident, which involved the possible surrender of German forces in Italy, FDR had rejected any possible Russian participation in the preliminary stages of these talks out of the conviction that to involve the Russians was to court failure. Hence, in his initial communication with Stalin on this matter, FDR did his best to push off any possible Soviet involvement, which Stalin had demanded, by repeatedly insisting that the initial discussions between representatives of the Allies and the Germans that had occurred in Switzerland had been strictly exploratory—merely focused on establishing the proper contacts between the two sides. Thus there was no need as yet for Soviet participation, which would become necessary only if and when the conversations reached the level of actual negotiations for surrender. This had been the thrust of the message that FDR had sent to Stalin on March 24, 1945, and again in the one sent on March 29, shortly after his arrival in Warm Springs.19

  Stalin, however, thought otherwise, and in a series of escalating messages sent to FDR that ran between March 29 and April 7, 1945, he continued to maintain that surrender talks were in fact under way, and that these should involve Russian representatives. Stalin justified this argument by indicating that he was not against the idea of negations per se, but only if these talks “will not make the situation for the enemy easier.” Thanks to what was going on in Switzerland, the Germans, he claimed, had already felt free to transfer three divisions from Italy to the Eastern Front.20

  FDR immediately denied that any German troop movements had come about as a consequence of the talks in Switzerland, asserting that Stalin’s information about the timing of the German troop transfers was in error. In addition, he reiterated his previous claim that “no negotiations for surrender have been entered into” and expressed disappointment that “an atmosphere of regrettable apprehension and mistrust” had crept into the matter. The president also reminded Stalin that “this entire episode” had arisen through the initiative of a German SS officer reputedly close to Himmler. Accordingly, he and Stalin should recognize that “there is a strong possibility that General Wolff’s sole purpose is to create suspicion and distrust between the Allies.” FDR could see no reason “why we should permit him to succeed in that aim,” and he hoped that his “categorical statement” regarding both his intentions and the state of the talks in Switzerland would “allay the apprehensions” that Stalin had expressed in his previous communications.21

  FDR was wrong. Stalin’s stunning response, in what was undoubtedly the most belligerent message he ever sent to FDR, made it quite clear that the so-called Bern affair had reawakened his suspicions about the possibility that the Anglo-Americans would negotiate a separate peace with the Germans. Indeed, his inflamed reply, delivered to FDR on April 3, all but accused the president of lying. Stalin acknowledged that the episode had led to “an atmosphere of fear and mistrust” but insisted that it was the president who was misinformed—and not just about the movement of troops. According to the best information that Stalin’s military officers had acquired, there was “no doubt that negotiations have taken place.” Not only that, these same advisers had determined that the talks “have ended in an agreement with the Germans” whereby Field Marshal Albert Kesselring agreed to open the Western Front and permit Anglo-American troops to advance to the east in exchange for a promise “to ease for the Germans the peace terms.” How else could one explain the rapid advance of the British and American forces in the west while the Russians faced fanatical resistance in the east?

  Stalin also wondered why London had remained silent throughout the whole incident, and why it had allowed the president “to correspond with me on this unpleasant matter” when “it is known that the initiative in this whole affair… belongs to the British.” He closed by maintaining that “the Germans had ceased the war against England and the United States,” while continuing the war against Russia, a situation that, whatever momentary advantage, “in no way serves the cause… of the strengthening of trust between our countries.”22

  After reading this message with incredulity, an outraged Roosevelt authorized Leahy, assisted by Marshall and Bohlen, to craft an indignant reply. “I have received with astonishment your message of April 3,” the message began, with its “allegation” that arrangements were made between Field Marshals Alexander and Kesselring at Bern that would permit Anglo-American troops to advance east in exchange for an Anglo-American promise “to ease for the Germans peace terms.” FDR vehemently rejected this and reiterated the points he had insisted upon earlier: that “no negotiations had taken place,” that the preliminary meeting had “no political implications whatever,” that in any German capitulation there could be no violation of “the principle of unconditional surrender,” and that “Soviet officers would be welcome at any meeting” where an actual surrender might be discussed.

  FDR also stood by the credibility of his information. He was “certain that there were no negotiations in Bern at any time” and, for this reason, suspected that St
alin must have learned otherwise “from German sources” as part of their “persistent efforts to create dissension between us” and in an effort to escape responsibility for their war crimes. “If that was Wolff’s purpose in Bern,” FDR went on, then “your message proves that he has had some success.” FDR concluded by writing: “Frankly, I cannot avoid a feeling of bitter disappointment towards your informers, whoever they are, for such vile misrepresentations of my actions or those of my trusted subordinates.”23

  FDR’s insistence that no negotiations had taken place is perhaps best described as a half-truth, but Stalin, somewhat paradoxically, was reassured by the strenuousness of FDR’s reply, assuring him in response that “I never doubted your honesty and dependability, as well as the honesty and dependability of Mr. Churchill.” The conciliatory tone of this response and Stalin’s stated reasoning that the Anglo-Americans “think differently” than the Russians were enough to mollify Roosevelt, although Stalin continued to stand by the basic facts as he saw them.24

  FDR sent copies of this exchange to Churchill, who replied almost immediately to say that he was astounded that Stalin had sent a message “so insulting” to the honor of the United States and that of Great Britain as well. Churchill accounted for Stalin’s letter by presuming that Russian leadership was “surprised and disconcerted” by the rapid advance of the Allied armies in the west. And he seized on the contretemps as another opportunity to remind FDR of his stated desire to “join hands with the Russian armies as far to the east as possible, and if circumstances allow, enter Berlin.”25

  Churchill also sent his own message to Stalin, detailing the history of the whole episode from the British perspective. He made it clear that he did not take kindly to Stalin’s allegations, writing that “with regard to the charges which you have made in your message to the President of April 3rd, which also asperse His Majesty’s Government, I associate myself and my colleagues with the last sentence of the President’s reply.”26

  Stalin replied to Churchill two days later, enclosing a copy of his semi-conciliatory message to FDR insisting that the Russian point of view on the Bern question was correct, and informing Churchill that it was his practice to speak his mind clearly and frankly. “This is the advantage of confidential communication,” he said, but “if,” he went on, “you are going to regard every frank statement of mine as offensive, it will make this kind of communication very difficult. I can assure you that I have no intention of offending anyone.”27

  As was their practice, Churchill forwarded this message to FDR, saying “I have a feeling that this is about the best we are going to get out of them [the Russians], and certainly as near as they can get to an apology.” Churchill also indicated that he planned to respond, but would wait until he had heard how FDR wanted to handle the matter, “so that we may keep in line together.”28

  Like so much of what occurred in the last 100 days of FDR’s life, this flare-up was rich with irony. Stalin was undoubtedly correct, for example, when he claimed that negotiations had taken place between German officers and representatives of the Allies. FDR may have conveniently regarded these negotiations as “exploratory,” but given that he failed to mention the much more substantive second round of talks that took place in Zurich on March 19, it seems clear that—as he mentioned to Mackenzie King—he regarded the Bern talks as strictly an Anglo-American matter. It was this conviction that stood at the heart of FDR’s unwillingness “to answer Stalin’s main question—why were the Soviets excluded from the Bern talks?”29

  If the facts were not totally on FDR’s side in this respect, they certainly were in another, more serious way. As we now know, what Office of Strategic Services (OSS) chief Allen Dulles had dubbed “Operation Sunrise” was indeed part of a larger German plot to split the Allies—known as “Operation Wool.” Conceived in Verona, Italy, in November 1944 by a group of German SS and security officials, and tentatively approved by SS Intelligence Headquarters in Berlin shortly thereafter, the project was given final approval by Hitler himself in a meeting General Wolff held with Himmler and the Fuhrer on February 4, 1945—the first day of the Yalta conference.30 FDR had been correct all along.

  We do not know, however, how seriously Hitler took Operation Wool, and given the mixture of personal and strategic motives involved—many of the SS officials associated with the project, including General Wolff, were just as interested in securing lenient treatment for themselves from the Allies once the war was over as they were in carrying out the actual plot—it hardly seems surprising that the whole endeavor began to fall apart shortly after Wolff’s March 19 meeting with General Alexander’s representatives.31

  But the tensions that the episode aroused were real, and in many respects helped inaugurate the growing sense of mutual mistrust that would later find full expression in the Cold War. As Admiral Leahy recounted at the time, the disturbing communications from Stalin laid out in the open “the long-festering suspicion and fear of the Russians that the United States and Great Britain might make a separate peace with Germany.” These messages showed clearly the Soviet distrust of Allied motives and promises, and represented “another ill-omen for any successful cooperative agreement at the approaching United Nations political conference at San Francisco for which the President entertained such high hopes.”32

  Chapter 18

  Off the Record

  AS HAD BEEN THE CASE DURING THEIR VISIT TO THE LITTLE WHITE House in December 1944, Daisy slept in Eleanor’s bedroom, which was adjacent to FDR’s. Because the walls of the cottage were thin, Daisy had a pretty good idea about how FDR was getting on at night. She noticed a few days after their arrival in Georgia that he had a strong coughing spell at about 5:00 a.m., which concerned her. But Dr. Bruenn assured Daisy this was nothing to worry about, just the clearing of accumulated mucus that often occurs in the early hours.1

  To help FDR gain weight, Daisy and Polly had taken it upon themselves to bring him “a cup of gruel” most evenings, after Arthur Prettyman had undressed the president and gotten him safely into bed. On more than one occasion, in fact, Daisy would spoon-feed FDR, while she sat devotedly on one side of his bed, and Polly sat on the other. FDR seemed to love this arrangement, as it allowed him “to be able to turn away from his world problems and behave like a complete nut for a few moments, with an appreciative audience laughing with him & at him, both!”2

  That Daisy loved him there can be no doubt, but Daisy’s love was not much different from that of a devoted spouse or nurse who had taken it upon themselves to care for an invalid husband or relative. The propriety the two of them observed was almost surely never broken.

  Yet because Daisy was unmarried, there was always the chance that their relationship would be misunderstood. As she admitted, she had on occasion “argued” with herself and “with members of the family as to whether whatever gossip about us there may be, is justified.” But she had long ago made up her mind that “only those who wish to find evil in our friendship will do so.”3

  What made Daisy unique was her ability, as John Boettiger once observed, to allow FDR to relax and “think of completely different things.” Nor was Boettiger the only member of FDR’s inner circle who noticed as much. Eleanor, too, was aware of her talents, and in fact was pleased when she learned that Daisy and Polly would accompany her husband to Warm Springs. She knew “they would not bother him as I should by discussing questions of state; he would get a real rest and yet would have companionship—and that is what I felt he most needed.”4

  As Anna and others, including Eleanor, had also observed, FDR’s patience seemed to have worn thin in the last months of his life. He was less and less interested in discussing issues or policy when he and Eleanor were together, the kinds of conversations that in the past served as the greatest bond between them. Now and then, FDR hinted at a latent desire to draw closer to Eleanor—as he expressed to Elliott over the Christmas holidays, or as he implied when he spoke fondly of making the trip to England with her—but it
was more often the case that what he wanted and needed most from her at this point was perhaps the one thing that she herself admitted she was incapable of providing: simple companionship.

  FDR’s first cousin, Laura “Polly” Delano, another member of the entourage that accompanied him to Warm Springs, was the daughter of Warren and Jennie Walters Delano—FDR’s aunt and uncle who, like Daisy, lived up the Hudson River in Rhinebeck. Six years FDR’s junior, Polly was not unlike Daisy in that she was unmarried and represented “good company.” In virtually all other respects, however, Polly was the polar opposite of Daisy. She was flamboyant, high-spirited, and unpredictable. She also delighted in gossip, though sometimes to the point of recklessness. As one member of the Delano family once put it, Polly “was a law unto herself.” For all of these reasons, Eleanor was less comfortable with Polly than she was with the demure and discreet Daisy, and although FDR certainly found Polly entertaining, he was much less apt to confide in her than he was with Daisy.5

  The one other person in FDR’s inner circle, of course, was Lucy Rutherfurd. Like Daisy, Lucy was a person with whom the president could relax, but there was a second dimension to their relationship, a hint of past passion that, although largely left unspoken, was there all the same. Ironically, Daisy was the one person Lucy seems to have confided all of this to. As Lucy noted in a cryptic letter she sent to Daisy shortly after FDR had left for the Crimea, she found it hard to write, as “there seems to be so much to be decided—What is right and what is wrong for so many people & I feel myself incapable of judging anything. Yes—it is difficult when we must speak in riddles but we have spoken to one another very frankly—and it must rest there—One cannot discuss something that is sacred—and even simple relationships of friendship and affection are sacred & personal.”6