“According to Reuters, this morning, an informant in the British Embassy in Moscow has stated that Soviet Marshal Vladimir Borov was flown to Baraza last night to take charge. Can you confirm or deny this, sir?”
Dilman said, “It is possible, but speculative. I have received no official word to that effect.”
The New York Times correspondent asked, “Are the United States battalions being kept in their landing areas in Africa, or are they being transported inland to more strategic positions?”
“They are on the move to the frontier. If the Communists strike, we want to be in control of as much ground as possible.”
“Mr. President.” It was the Chicago Tribune correspondent speaking. “Is there any definite information on exactly when you expect the Communist rebels to invade?”
“There is no way of knowing for certain. Intelligence believes the Soviet timetable is set for late today or early tomorrow morning.”
The Associated Press correspondent asked, “If an actual clash takes place, and the Russian Premier then suggests a compromise over Baraza, have you considered any alternative or revised policy in regard to our position in Baraza and toward the Pact countries?”
“As long as I am President, there will be no compromise when it concerns defending democracy anywhere.”
“Mr. President,” a rasping voice called out. It was Reb Blaser, of the Miller newspapers. All eyes were upon him as he pushed forward, and Dilman waited, regarding him with distaste. “Mr. President,” said Blaser, “of course, the Senate will have something to say about what you have just announced. Are you aware that a sampling poll made of the Senate members last night, by the House managers, indicates that the sentiment stands eighty senators for your conviction, twenty for your acquittal, and therefore the Senate has thirteen more votes than the necessary two-thirds required to impeach you? Wouldn’t that—”
“Mr. Blaser,” said Dilman, “the main forces in my command are committed to defending democracy in Baraza, not in the United States Senate. I am here to discuss foreign affairs. Perhaps you might better ask your question of former Secretary of State Eaton, who seems to have become an expert on domestic affairs.” For the first time, there was laughter, and then Dilman added, “If you’ve ever gone to a prize-fight, you will know that the judges’ ballots are not counted before the first bell, but after the last bell—”
“Except when there’s a knockout!” Blaser shouted.
Dilman ignored him. “That is all, gentlemen.”
The United Press International correspondent intoned, “Thank you, Mr. President.”
Briskly, Dilman left the Cabinet Room, parted with Flannery at Miss Foster’s desk, and returned to his own desk in the privacy of the Oval Office.
He switched on the television set and dropped into his swivel chair, exhausted.
When the picture came on the screen, it showed Nat Abrahams, in the latter part of his summation of the defense case, earnestly addressing the senators.
“—absurd even to consider that the President violated the Constitution, disregarded the law, displayed contempt for your noble body, by his necessary removal of Secretary of State Eaton,” Abrahams was saying. “Learned senators and judges, as we have attempted to show the other three articles to be a maliciously woven fabric of falsehoods, let me now remind you that the more serious charges embodied in Article IV represent the autocratic, intemperate vengefulness of a small group of legislators. Let me hark back to 1868, when another President’s entire impeachment revolved around his right to override the Tenure of Office Act, ancestor of the New Succession Bill, which President Dilman challenged. Chief Justice Chase, who sat on the bench then, where Chief Justice Johnstone sits now, made the following sage remark, as applicable and important in these troubled times as it was in that day: ‘Acts of Congress,’ he warned, ‘not warranted by the Constitution, are not laws. In case a law believed by the President to be unwarranted by the Constitution is passed, notwithstanding his veto, it seems to me that it is his duty to execute it precisely as if he had held it to be constitutional, except in the case where it directly attacks and impairs the executive power confided to him by the instrument. In that case, it appears to me to be the clear duty of the President to disregard the law, so far at least as it may be necessary to bring the question of its constitutionality before the judiciary tribunals.’
“So spoke a Chief Justice, in the only other impeachment of an American President in our history. So speak I, on behalf of our President today. The issue is simple. President Dilman assumed office swearing to preserve, protect, defend the Constitution. How could he do so, how could he carry out his duties, if another branch of government, by means of a doubtful law, and from motivations not necessary to repeat, stripped him of his power to thus preserve, protect, defend? If the President has no longer the power to remove an adviser who is acting as President behind his back, an adviser ready to sell out democracy in Africa to the Soviet Union while the lawful President himself, determined to save that democracy, is rendered helpless, where, then, is left the executive branch, and where, then, is left the Constitution itself? Learned senators—”
The telephone behind him buzzed, and Dilman sat up, lowered the volume of the television set, and spun around to the console.
“Yes?”
The voice was Miss Foster’s. “Mr. President, I’m sorry, but there’s a new policeman at the north gate who insists on speaking to you directly. He says there is someone at the gate who claims to be a relative of yours and wants to see you. He wouldn’t tell me more.”
“A relative?”
“I told him you couldn’t be—”
“One moment, Miss Foster.” On impulse, he said, “Connect me with the gate.”
He waited, wondering.
A troubled male voice came on. “Mr. President—”
“Yes—yes—”
“I know I’m not supposed to disturb you, but the person insisted I contact you directly. I know there are crackpots and impostors every day, at least a half dozen daily coming around like this, but this one, she showed me an old beat-up snapshot of you, a photograph from her purse, signed by you, and she—”
“She?” said Dilman slowly.
“A young lady, Mr. President. She claims to be your daughter. I wouldn’t give her the time of day, you understand, because—how should I put it?—she looks white to me—but the newspapers did say you—you have a daughter like that—still, the identification cards in her wallet say her name is Dawson, Linda Dawson, which doesn’t make sense, except she says you might recognize that name even though it’s not her real name, but I thought I ought to—”
“What does she give for her real name?”
“She says her name is Mindy—yes, that’s right—Mindy Dilman, like it’s supposed to be, and she says for me to tell the President she’s better now, and she’s been away too long—”
For the first time in weeks, Dilman felt a real smile ease the muscles of his face.
“Mister,” Dilman interrupted, “I have an idea that young lady is neither a crackpot nor an impostor. You show her right in. You tell Mindy—her father is waiting for her. Now, hurry up! Don’t leave her standing around!”
* * *
In the paneled and book-lined library of their early English house in Georgetown, at ten minutes to eleven in the morning, Arthur Eaton and Kay Varney Eaton sat side by side on the couch, concentrating their attention upon Zeke Miller, who was gesticulating on the television screen as he approached the end of his closing address on behalf of the House managers before the United States Senate.
“And so, honorable senators,” Miller was saying, “since the able manager of the defense has chosen to bolster his concluding remarks with words borrowed from the impeachment proceedings of 1868, I feel that I can do no less upon behalf of the House indictment. Let me close my remarks in support of Article IV by referring to the wisdom of Representative Butler, as shown in the remarks made by him on that oth
er historic occasion, and conclude by addressing to you the further remarks made by Representative Bingham before the Senate at that same trial.
“The words of Representative Butler, applicable to Article IV, are these: “This, then, is the plain and inevitable issue before the Senate and the American public—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 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, in behalf of the people, joins this issue by affirming that the exercise of such powers is a high misdemeanor in office. . . . Whoever, therefore, votes “not guilty” on these Articles votes to enchain our free institutions, and to prostrate them at the feet of any man who, being President, may choose to control them.’ Senators, remember this, remember and do not forget a word of history’s warning, when you consider your vote on Article IV charged against President Dilman.
“And remember, too, the considered wisdom of Representative Bingham in that other time, and remember and do not forget his patriotic beseeching when you stand up to be counted for all time in your judgment of one and all of the Articles of Impeachment. He said then, and I say now, ‘I ask you to consider that we stand this day pleading for the violated majesty of the law, by the graves of half a million of martyred hero-patriots, who made death beautiful by the sacrifice of themselves for their country, the Constitution and the laws, and who, by their sublime example, have taught us that all must obey the law; that none are above the law, that no man lives for himself alone, but each for all; that some must die that the state may live; that the citizen is at best but for today, while the Commonwealth is for all time; and that position, however high, patronage, however powerful, cannot be permitted to shelter crime to the peril of the republic.’
“Glorious words, these, which once ennobled this hallowed Chamber. They are timeless, yet were I to make them entirely pertinent to our cause today, I would paraphrase what that House manager had to say—let not the graves of thousands of martyred hero-patriots, sons of the mothers of America, be dug tomorrow and in days to come in the remote and distant jungles of primitive Africa to satisfy the whims of one ill-motivated, incompetent, intemperate, impermanent President-by-accident. Better that one man figuratively die so that the thousands who share our blood, and the state itself, to which we pledge our blood, shall survive and live. Gentlemen of the Senate—”
The library door had opened, and Governor Talley stuck his head in. “Arthur, the press is ready and assembled.”
“Wayne,” Kay Eaton said, “do you mind switching off the set?” As Talley hastily obeyed her, she turned to her husband. “That wretched Miller of yours is clever, no question. If I had any doubts, they’re gone. What do I wear when you’re sworn in, Arthur?”
Eaton had been cheerful, but a frown crossed his brow. “Don’t talk like that, Kay. Don’t let anyone hear you talk like that. . . . Ready, Wayne? Come on, Kay. Let’s make it sweet and simple, and get them to the sandwiches and drinks.”
Eaton left the library and strode quickly into the packed living room, followed by his wife and his colleague. There were more than one hundred correspondents waiting, and many applauded as he waved jovially and took a position before the built-in bar, maneuvering his wife to one side of him, and drawing Talley to the other side.
“Hold it for some pictures!” a photographer yelled.
As the shutters clicked and bulbs exploded, Talley called out, “Remember the caption—‘T. C.’s Team Together Again!’ ”
More applause greeted this, and then, as reporters roughed the photographers to the sides of the room, Arthur Eaton held up his hand.
“First,” he said, “an apology for these cramped quarters. I’m afraid this is a do-it-yourself press conference, but since I’ve been locked out of the Department of State, it’s the best I can offer you!”
Eaton beamed at the laughter and cheers, and then he quieted the roomful of reporters, and his demeanor became serious.
“I have tried to avoid any communication with my friends of the press until the momentous matter before the bar of the Senate is settled today,” he said. “However, I have been so widely and persistently solicited by many of you to make some comment that I have, with reluctance, consented. Perhaps, after all, a few brief remarks are in order.”
“Hear! Hear!” someone shouted.
Again Eaton held up his hands for silence. Then, in his well-modulated voice, he resumed.
“I have been made increasingly aware of the fact, not that I have consciously ignored it or should do so, that under the law of the land, I am, as Secretary of State, next in line of succession to the Presidency. Although the person now in the office of the Presidency has not wished me in this position, has attempted to place himself above the law and exercise dictatorial powers to remove me, he has failed. The people of the United States would not have it, and the effect of their outrage was felt in Congress, which immediately condemned and rejected the President’s illegal behavior and reinstated me as the Secretary of State, as a member of the Cabinet, and as first in line of succession to the Presidency.”
Since he was speaking without notes, although he had considered with care what he would say, Arthur Eaton paused at length to determine what he should say next. Having organized his thoughts, he went on.
“Contrary to the propaganda mill of the White House, I have not desired wished for, or in any way actively sought, or do now seek, the Presidency. It was enough for me, these last years, exceeding my fondest dreams, to be our beloved T. C.’s Secretary of State and Cabinet adviser. I wish that were my position today. The eccentricities of life, so unpredictable, would not have it, the Lord’s will was done, and my mentor and our former President went to his premature death. When his successor, Senator Dilman, sought to retain my assistance, wishing, he then said, only guidance to carry out T. C.’s policies at home and abroad, I agreed to stay on. Like all of us, I was weighted down with grief, but I realized quickly that the welfare of our people, their government, came first, and grief must be subordinated to duty, and so I served.
“I will not discuss the events that have transpired since T. C.’s death. They have been fully and widely aired these last ten days from the floor of the United States Senate. Let me say, however, in complete earnestness, that although deeply concerned about the new President’s deviation from T. C.’s policies, and about certain deficiencies in his character and competence, I was reluctant to approve of his impeachment. When there was no longer a choice, when the impeachment became the desire of the American people, when I realized that it was my duty to stand with the people against one who would endanger the very life of this republic, only then did I submit to the inevitable and throw my full support behind the House of Representatives.
“I have no knowledge of what the outcome of the Senate’s vote will be this afternoon, and I have no opinion about it. If the members of the Senate choose to acquit and retain the President, I shall, of course, resign from my office, and devote all of my energies, as a private citizen and a personal friend who loved T. C., to opposing those White House actions that I feel are detrimental to the country at large. If the members of the Senate choose to convict and oust the President from his office, I can only say that I shall do my duty under the Constitution and God to serve as your President, and as T. C.’s President, with all my strength, with all of my heart and mind, and with every fiber of my being.
“I repeat, my friends, if serve I must, then serve I shall—yes, serve I shall, as everyone’s President, as President of no faction or factions but as President of the entire United States of America.
“Beyond that, there is little more I can say. I appreciate your attentiveness.”
Eato
n was gratified by the spontaneous outbreak of handclapping, and he ventured a smile.
“Mr. Secretary,” the Atlanta Constitution correspondent called out, “do you mind a few questions?”
“Gentlemen, you know my position,” Eaton said. “It would be difficult to comment on a matter not yet settled by the Senate. Besides, every question keeps you longer away from Mrs. Eaton’s groaning board and that portable bar she’s stocked.”
There was pleased laughter, and Talley added, “Well, fellows, maybe a couple of quick questions if you don’t put him on the spot, you know. Okay, what was it, Jim?”
The Atlantan said, “Dilman seems to have rallied a good deal of last-minute Negro support. Everyone thinks that if he’s removed, racial rioting will reach a higher pitch. If that happens, do you have a plan for restoring peace to this country?”
“I have T. C.’s plan, I have the people’s plan, the one the impeached President has derailed,” said Eaton. “I would advocate revival of the Minorities Rehabilitation Program as the one guaranteed way of restoring peace and prosperity to our people.”
“What about Baraza?” the Portland Oregonian man asked. “Would you pull out our troops and seek a summit meeting with Premier Kasatkin?”
“No comment,” said Eaton. Then he added, “My feelings about the reckless adventure in Africa, this playing hide-and-seek until we catch or are caught by a nuclear catastrophe, are too well known to bear repetition. President Dilman is Commander in Chief, as of now, and what he is doing represents how much he is willing to risk for what he believes, for whatever reasons, to be right. If I were Commander in Chief of our armed forces, I would indeed have a policy statement to make on Baraza and the Soviet Union. Right now, it would be premature and out of order.”
“Mr. Secretary, you are practically Commander in Chief right now,” Reb Blaser bellowed. “Last night’s straw vote has eighty senators going to vote against Dilman—thirteen more than required. Doesn’t that impress you?”
(1964) The Man Page 94