As to the President’s history of alcohol addiction, that would be put forth in irrefutable affidavits collected throughout the Midwest, and in Washington, D.C., and its environs.
Now, his voice having become ragged, Zeke Miller paused and swallowed a few times. He laid aside his notes, and then standing wide-legged, hands on his hips, he surveyed the crowded Senate Chamber.
“At last,” he said, “we have come to Article IV, the gravest crime we can charge against the President, the one beside which all others seem petty misdemeanors in their meaning and portent. For, in commission of this single misdeed, the Chief Executive has, like an insane Samson, attempted to crumple the pillars of our institutions and bring our proud temple of democracy down into rubble and ruin. It was mainly for this high crime that Andrew Johnson was haled before the bar of justice, and it is for this same act of arrogant lawlessness, if for no other, that we are met here this afternoon.
“Once more, permit me to quote Ben Butler’s remarks, on a similar issue, in the first impeachment trial. ‘Has the President, under the Constitution, the more than kingly prerogative at will to remove from office, and suspend from office indefinitely, all executive officers of the United States, either civil, military or naval, at any time and all times, and fill the vacancies with creatures of his own appointment, for his own purposes, without any restraint whatever, or possibility of restraint by the Senate, or by Congress through laws duly enacted? The House of Representatives, on behalf of the people, join this issue by affirming that the exercise of such powers is a high misdemeanor in office.’ ”
Miller halted, pulled himself to his full bantam height, and scanned the rows of senators directly before him.
“Honorable gentlemen, need more be said today? Has there been, in this century, in these United States, a Presidential act more overtly and nakedly tyrannical? No, never, never, in any century. The offense may be read on your desks. The crime admits of no discussion. What remains is only punishment for the crime.
“Honorable gentlemen, we of the House do here and now charge the President of the United States with contemptuously breaking a major law of the land, a law almost unanimously passed by Congress, a law not vetoed by his pen. We, of the House, do here and now charge the President of the United States with summarily removing from office the Secretary of State of the United States without the legal consent of the Senate, and of so doing not because his first Cabinet member had been disabled or was incompetent, but because his first Cabinet member advocated policies that were and are desired by the majority of the American people. For this adherence to democracy, our Secretary of State was beloved by the American people as he was beloved by our late President. And because our Secretary of State earned this popularity, because he was the next in line to succession of the Presidency, because his popularity posed a threat to the uneasy holder of that primary office, he was fired illegally by a horn-mad, jealous, spiteful President. For this vicious act, honorable gentlemen, we of the House do here and now charge the President of the United States with violation of the Constitution of the United States.”
Zeke Miller paused, sucked in his breath, drew back his shoulders, lifted his arms high above his head in an evangelistic posture of beseeching both the Lord above and the Senate below.
“Fellow Americans!” he shouted. “I close our argument with the prayer that the historic warning be emblazoned from this memorable day of justice undertaken, to the day of reckoning and final judgment in this Chamber. Fellow Americans, kill the beast before the beast kills you!”
The galleries broke out into an unrestrained burst of applause, and here and there senators, and the majority of the House members behind them, came to their feet, clapping their hands. Zeke Miller gave a short nodding bow, turned on his heel, and went swiftly to his table, where his colleagues waited, all standing, faces wreathed in smiles of congratulations and triumph.
From above, Chief Justice Johnstone’s gavel fell steadily, its pounding drowned out by the tumult and clamor.
Nat Abrahams, arms still crossed over his chest, sat grimly, observing the spectacle, the animated congressmen and spectators, the swiveling television cameras. He knew that Miller had scored, hit low, scored high.
Engaged in a trial, Abrahams always divested himself of self-delusion, not hope but self-delusion. The opposition, he calculated, was far ahead at this point. They would have to be caught. It would not be an easy matter overtaking them. Miller’s hour and twenty minutes of oratory had worn down the senators, undoubtedly exhausted the attentiveness of millions of television viewers. How could reason hold them now? When you were sated with a rich feast and heady wine, what taste would there be for health foods and the milk of kindness?
Behind Abrahams, the Chief Justice’s gavel monotonously pounded, and gradually the din of mob celebration began to subside.
Aware of activity to his left, Nat Abrahams looked down the table. Felix Hart had passed an open note to Priest, who read it, nodded, gave it to Tuttle, who glanced at it noncommittally, and then handed it to Abrahams.
Abrahams stared at the note. “Nat,” it read, “that was rough. We’ve lost them, unless you can bring them back sharply. Need an immediate attention grabber, what writers call a narrative hook. Suggest you discard agreed-upon opening, and alternate as well, and go all out with third possibility we discussed. What do you say?” The note was signed “Felix.”
Abrahams’ mind had already been made up. Taking up a pencil, he scrawled across Hart’s note, “I say YES!”
He passed it back, observing each of his associates read his reply. He waited for their decision. Felix Hart was the first to answer, vigorously nodding his approval. Then Joel Priest ducked his head twice in affirmation. Abrahams waited upon Tuttle, who sat with his jaw on his fist, thinking. Tuttle’s head turned. “Hate to fight their roughneck style,” he said gruffly, “but when you’re set upon in a dark alley by ruffians, guess you got to knee as well as punch. No choice, Nat. Yup, better bring that audience back, right quick, or nobody’ll know we have a case or a President.”
Abrahams was relieved, and now edgy but eager for the counterattack. He glanced behind him and upward.
The sputtering Chief Justice had hit his gavel down one last time. The Chamber had finally lapsed into silence. Abrahams’ gaze returned to the senators at their desks. While respectful and half attentive, most of them were slouching and slumping in attitudes of relaxation, as if they had heard it all, as if there was no more to be said, as if the show was over and only the necessary and boring closing formalities of the first day remained.
The Chief Justice had rolled his chair forward and leaned across the side of the rostrum.
“Mr. Managers for the President,” he called down, “are you prepared to proceed with your opening statement?”
Adjusting the knot of his tie, Nat Abrahams came swiftly to his feet, hearing the crack of his knee joints and feeling the strained pull on his back and calf muscles.
Facing the Chief Justice, he replied, “Yes, Mr. Chief Justice. I am instructed by my associates to say that we are ready to proceed with our evidence against the Articles of Impeachment exhibited by the House of Representatives against the President of the United States. I am Nathan Abrahams, Your Honor, and I have been assigned to present the opening testimony for the defense.”
“Very well, Mr. Manager Abrahams, proceed with the evidence.”
Abrahams lifted a document from the table. “Mr. Chief Justice, before undertaking the defense, I should like to offer first, on behalf of the managers, a certified copy of the oath of the President of the United States, which I will now read.” He read aloud from the document: “ ‘I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of the President of the United States, and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.’ Signed, ‘Douglass Dilman.’ ”
Handing it up to the Chief Justice, Abrahams announced in a voice penetrating enough
to be heard not only by the presiding officer but by the legislative jurors, “That is our prime exhibit, and the cornerstone of our case—evidence, first, that Douglass Dilman is the legal President of the United States, and evidence, second, that he was and is fully cognizant of his oath of office, which we contend he has entirely lived up to and is continuing to live up to, and which contention we shall support through select witnesses and further certified evidence. Now, Your Honor, I shall enter upon my opening argument.”
Walking slowly to the spot on the carpet between the rostrum and the jammed Senate benches, his face rigidly set and unsmiling, Nat Abrahams was prepared to begin. He had left his multitudinous notes on the table. He had committed to memory every fact and shred of evidence. All the stored knowledge he possessed of the case, provoked by his opponent, had been electrified, and now pulsated with life inside his brain, waiting for his summons. He required no written reference. He was alert, anger controlled, ready as he would ever be to even the score. If it was possible, he would do it. He would try.
“Mr. Chief Justice, gentlemen of the United States Senate, fellow citizens,” he heard himself say, surprised at how firm and even was the pitch of his address. “As the document I have turned over to the Chief Justice of the United States confirms, we have for President of the United States a man, a man who has sworn, before the presiding officer now seated on the bench above, that he will preserve, protect, and defend our Constitution and our nation under God. We have, I repeat, a man for our President of the United States.
“Perhaps, from the outset, since the managers of the House have raised the point, some clarification is necessary. What is a man? Is he, indeed, Emerson’s ‘golden impossibility’? Or is he, in the definition of Noah Webster, simply ‘a male human being’? Is he, to give the anthropological view of him, ‘an individual (genus Homo) of the highest type of animal existing or known to have existed, differing from other high types of animals, especially in his extraordinary mental development’? Is he Pindar’s ‘a shadow and a dream’? Or is he more? Is he, in the words of Genesis, that one whom God created in his own image, that special and holy being whom God formed from the dust of the ground, and into whose nostrils God breathed ‘the breath of life’ so that he became ‘a living soul’? Or is he, as the poetic Psalms would have it, a creature ‘fearfully and wonderfully made’ and made only ‘a little lower than the angels’?
“You see, then, man is defined as many things, but of one fact I am positive, and all higher authority is positive, one thing he is not. Man is not a beast.
“A beast, again quoting Noah Webster, is plainly, precisely, ‘any four-footed animal,’ and an animal, as apart from a plant, is most often ‘a brute or beast, as distinguished from man.’ There are many beasts on the earth, quadrupeds all. A lion is a beast, a panther is a beast, a rhinoceros, a dog, a jackal, a wolf, a hyena, each is an authentic beast. But only among the unknowing and the ignorant, or the malicious and unbalanced, is a man ever confused with a beast. Sometimes, in the North of our nation, I have heard pathetic and psychopathic perverts called beasts, even though they were men. Sometimes, in the South of the United States, not the South of Africa, in the South of the United States and occasionally in the North, I have heard our citizens of black skin called beasts. But I have always attributed that confusion of identity to ignorance or malice, and believed the only corrective measure to be education.
“Forgive me the biological discourse, honorable senators, but since my able opponent mistook the nature of the subject on trial today, I thought it but proper, indeed necessary, to correct him. Let there be no confusion among you from this moment on. In 1868, the President of the United States was a man, a man made in the image of God, Thaddeus Stevens notwithstanding. Today, the President of the United States is another man, a man created in the image of God, Zeke Miller notwithstanding. The President is not a four-legged brute, but a man, as you are men, no more, no less, as even the managers of the House are men.
“I am determined to keep the definitions in this trial precise. You are here to sit in judgment on the future of a human being who is the President of the United States. The managers of the House are here to prosecute a human being and try to remove him from his rightfully held office. My colleagues and I are here to defend a human being and retain him in the highest position in the land. If that is understood and agreed upon, I am prepared to enter into our argument against the Articles of Impeachment voted upon by the House of Representatives.”
It was time for a breather. Nat Abrahams halted. With unfaltering gaze, he surveyed the faces and the profiles of the senators arrayed before him. He had gained and held their attention, he guessed, shamed some, annoyed others, but he had opened the path for what must now, of necessity, follow. Along this path there was danger, but there was no other way.
Bending his head to organize his thoughts, he took several paces to his right. When he raised his head, his eyes met those of Zeke Miller, and it pleased him to see that Miller’s balding warm pate was beaded and his eyes burning and his thin-lipped mouth compressed with contained bile.
Abruptly, Nat Abrahams swung back to confront his audience.
“Gentlemen of the Senate, I shall now enter into my argument against the five Articles of Impeachment—wait, it was not a slip of the tongue, I repeat, the five Articles of Impeachment pronounced against the President this afternoon.”
There was puzzlement on many faces, he could see, and there were rustles and whisperings of wonder from behind some of the desks. Rapidly, Nat Abrahams resumed. He almost had them; now he must grab them and hold them and bang their skulls against the truth.
“It is not the fourth Article, as my distinguished opponent has stated, that stands as the gravest charge and the one most crucial to the welfare of our government and our democracy. No, gentlemen, it is the fifth Article of indictment against our President, the covert, hushed fifth Article, unannounced, unwritten, unmentioned yet in this judicial court, that pervades the atmosphere of this Chamber, that dominates this trial, and that exists as truly as if it had been made public from the first—it is this Article, I submit, that is and shall be the head and heart of the House’s case against our President, and the disposition of which shall affect the future existence of our democracy most seriously.
“This vaporous, invisible, elusive Article V, if the opposition had possessed the courage to set it down in writing against President Dilman, would have read as follows: ‘That said Douglass Dilman, President of the United States, at Washington, in the District of Columbia, unmindful of the high duties of his office, of his oath of office, and in violation of the Constitution, did irresponsibly, and without regard for the will of the majority of the public and its elected legislators, accept the high office of the Presidency, despite his origin and color. And said Douglass Dilman, President of the United States, did then and there commit high crime and misdemeanor by daring to undertake his duty as Chief Executive and perform as President, while knowing that in the eyes of zealots and bigots he was unqualified and unfit for leadership because he was of the Negro race, and therefore not a full citizen but a second-class citizen, and therefore semiliterate, shiftless, mentally arrested, socially inferior, addicted to whiskey and violent behavior, possessed of unnatural inherited desires, if not to marry, then at least to molest daughters of Caucasians, and contemptuous and sullen in his determination not to know his rightful place and in his refusal to serve his racial betters.’ ”
Nat Abrahams could hear the vocal storm rising before him, around him, the legislators barking their indignation, or pounding their desks, the lung-filling intake of shock followed by scattered outbreaks of applause from the galleries, the enraged protests from the House managers’ table.
He tried to go on. “Gentlemen!” he cried out over the tumult. “This unannounced Article, I submit, is what lies behind the announced four Articles, colors them, shades them in the hue of darkness, and unless this fifth indictment of President Dilma
n is brought into the open and aired, and considered by honest and courageous men, there can be no justice done in the impeachment trial of Douglass Dilman!”
He wanted to say more, but he could hardly hear his own voice now over the hubbub, and so he stopped and waited for what would happen next.
Chief Justice Johnstone’s gavel smashed down three times, and the sounds of it were as deafening as a cannonade, and at once the tumult receded, settled into order, except for a pocket of continuing protest at the rear of the Chamber.
Then Abrahams realized that Senator Hoyt Watson, gray hair disheveled, string tie out of line, was standing, arm aloft, attempting to hail the chair.
“Mr. Chief Justice! Mr. Chief Justice!” Senator Watson roared. “Objection! I submit a question on a point of order!”
At last, the room fell silent.
“The chair recognizes the honorable Senator on a point of order,” Chief Justice Johnstone announced. “Your inquiry, Senator?”
“Mr. Justice, we have just been subjected to the most insolent performance I have ever been witness to in my many years on this floor. That Mr. Manager Abrahams, on behalf of the President, should dare to insult our intelligence, impugn our integrity, by implying that we fly under false colors, that the four Articles under consideration are lies created to mask some horrendous racial plot, that he should dare assail the honesty and human decency of the Senate of the United States, and the House as well, by charging that we want that miscreant Dilman out of the White House because he is black, and not because he is incompetent, offends me, offends every one of us, beyond conceivable expression. . . . Mr. Chief Justice, I demand that the manager’s offensive grandstanding tirade be stricken from the records forever. I suggest that he be reprimanded by the chair for attempting to convert this august Chamber into a Turnerite meeting hall. I demand that he not be permitted to discuss again his ludicrous and inciting fifth Article, this rabble-rousing figment of his imagination, at the pain of being ordered to withdraw from the case and from this Chamber for the remainder of the trial. I trust, Mr. Chief Justice, that you will instruct Manager Abrahams to confine himself strictly to a discussion of the evidence against his client that is known, that exists, that is the subject of this impeachment trial, and if he should arrogantly persist in disobeying, that he be held in contempt of court!”
(1964) The Man Page 77