Come Nineveh, Come Tyre: The Presidency of Edward M. Jason

by Allen Drury

  “We would be remiss indeed,” said the Times in the magisterial tones with which it liked to confer its blessings—or its disapproval—upon the wayward nation for whose destinies it felt such personal responsibility, “if we did not make the point that some have overlooked in their comments on the selection of Gov. Roger P. Croy as Vice-Presidential candidate:

  “This is a good man.

  “These simple words sum up why the nation, we submit, should be delighted with his nomination as running mate for Gov. Edward M. Jason of California. It is not only the fact that his choice makes of the Jason ticket—and the Jason Administration-to-be—so single-minded, so united and so bright a promise of world peace.

  “Dwell for a moment on the qualifications of this man who has come out of the West: Phi Beta Kappa student, Rhodes scholar, brilliant lawyer, husband, family man, civic leader. Major political figure of the great Northwest, twice governor of Oregon. Prime mover in many national causes, committees and campaigns in the ceaseless quest for peace. More recently, principal lieutenant of Governor Jason in his quest for the Presidency. Liberal, progressive, forward-looking, staunch, undaunted, never-tiring fighter for human justice.

  “Citizen of America.

  “Citizen of the world.

  “Roger P. Croy.

  “We do not think Governor Jason could have made a sounder choice. We wish him and his running mate—and America—well, in their certain election and their certain Administration, to which all decent men everywhere can look forward with bright and confident hope.… ”

  “It is rarely,” Frankly Unctuous informed his viewers on the evening news roundup, “that the selection of a Vice-Presidential candidate is an occasion for genuine rejoicing in the land. Far too frequently these men—who, in one of history’s most shopworn but most accurate clichés, stand only one heartbeat away from the Presidency—are simply the leftover choices of party politics. All too often they are selected to appease one party faction—to ‘balance,’ as they say, the ticket.

  “Well, tonight, in former Governor Roger P. Croy of Oregon, appeasement of party faction has been tossed out the window and a true balance of integrity, honor and hope has been achieved.

  “Not for Edward M. Jason the shabby compromises of conventional politics. Not for him the appeasement of defeated political enemies. Not for him an artificial ‘balance’ which could only hamper, hinder and handicap his Administration as it goes forward.

  “He has grasped the overriding necessity of his candidacy in these desperate times—a running mate who sees things as he does, 100 per cent. He has him, in Roger P. Croy. We have him, in Roger P. Croy.

  “If, as seems likely, Governor Jason is a shoo-in for election, the nation can rest easy. Whatever happens in the future, the cause of peace is guaranteed in the nomination of a Vice President made today.”

  In similar vein crowed The Greatest Publication That Absolutely Ever Was, the Post and Percy Mercy in his new magazine, successor to View (named, of course, Overview). In similar vein caroled networks, newsprint and all thinkers of Right Thoughts in politics, the arts and sciences, drama and academe. So thought they, overseas. So sang NAWAC.

  It was not surprising at all that most of these trumpeters of the Vice-Presidential nominee really had only the haziest idea of what he was all about. It was not surprising that this sudden and overwhelming flood of praise should have come quite automatically, simply because he was running mate of the man they wanted for President. It was not surprising that they should thus give this lavish and enormous build-up to a man who was, for many of them, a pig in a poke. He was their pig in their poke, and it was not the first time in American history that the self-same process had occurred. And this time, of course, he was on the Right Side of everything. That really made it perfect.

  There were some, of course—illiberal—stupid—enemies of peace—in love with war—imperialistic—short-sighted—antediluvian—dangerous—reactionary—“conservative”—who had some doubts.

  Naturally they included the President and Senator Munson, who, however loyal a face they put upon it in public, could not conceal from one another their profound misgivings about the basic character of Roger P. Croy; Robert A. Leffingwell, who said, No, he was not, when Patsy called triumphantly to ask if he wasn’t simply THRILLED TO DEATH by Roger Croy’s selection; Beth Knox, who had seen in the gesture of her own nomination really only a symbol of genuine balance, which she now feared was gone altogether; some few journals, commentators and columnists, terribly reactionary, who felt uneasily, in an old-fashioned and out-of-date sort of way, that balance at such a time was indeed vital, and that the nomination of Roger P. Croy might well open the gates to excesses they could not help but worry about; and some older members of Congress, who took the experienced long view that the violent elements backing Ted Jason needed the checkrein that a more middle-of-the-road and vigorously skeptical Vice President might provide.

  Not the least of those who worried, though no one who had been at Patsy’s that night, or indeed anyone of those who now so loudly welcomed the Croy nomination could have believed it, was the nominee for President. Even as the chorus swelled throughout the land and overseas (JASON PEACE TICKET CONFIRMED BY VICE-PRESIDENTIAL NOMINATION, said Paris Soir; PEACE CAMPAIGN BEGINS WITH CROY NAMING, said Corriere della Serra; WAR FORCES IN U.S. FACE FINAL DEFEAT, said Aftonbladet; RUNNING-DOGS OF IMPERIALISM LOSE U.S. HOLD, said the Indochina People’s World published simultaneously in Hanoi, Saigon, Phnom Penh, Vientiane and Bangkok), he was engaged in a conversation with his newly chosen running mate which was to come back to him many times later, so significant did it become in retrospect.

  It took place two days after the nomination in the book-lined den at Patsy’s house, where a temporary office had been set up. In those familiar surroundings he had thought he was at home with most things in his world, but discovered he was not.

  The first indication he received of this was word that Roger P. Croy was not arriving alone. The reaction when he objected brought the start of an uneasiness which grew, softly but insistently, throughout their talk.

  “Governor,” he said when Roger Croy was shown in, “I hope you will forgive my insistence that we talk alone. But it seemed to me that this early in the campaign—and also, this early, really, in our personal knowledge of each other—it might be best.”

  “As you like, Governor,” Roger Croy said calmly. “Although,” and the clever, intelligent eyes clouded a moment with an obvious hesitation, “I had thought perhaps Senator Van Ackerman, Mr. Shelby and Mr. Kleinfert might be able to contribute something of value to our discussion. They do represent, after all, probably the major elements in our support. However, if you think best—…”

  “I think so,” Ted Jason said.

  “I see,” Roger Croy said thoughtfully. “I would assume, however, that when we begin detailed planning for the campaign and the Administration, you will wish to consult them—and, of course,” he added smoothly as a little glint came into Governor Jason’s eyes—“many others as well, as to plans—programs—strategies—personnel—”

  “I would expect to receive their ideas and suggestions, yes,” Ted agreed.

  “But not right now,” Governor Croy said slowly.

  “Not right now,” Ted agreed pleasantly.

  “Well,” Roger Croy said briskly, a candid smile replacing the faintly regretful, almost wistful expression, “then I suppose they will just have to wait until a more propitious time.”

  “Perhaps they will,” Ted said, still pleasantly. “Tell me, Governor,” he inquired with a sudden calculated curiosity, “why did you bring them with you in the first place? Doesn’t it seem to you a little odd that the first meeting between the Presidential nominee and the man to whom he has given the Vice Presidency should be—cluttered up, as it were—by outsiders? Don’t we have the right to get acquainted a bit, and to plan basic strategy alone, at least in the opening stages? I’m a little puzzled.”

  “
Governor,” Roger Croy said with a smile, “you have a right to be puzzled and a right to seek clarification. I suppose they wanted to be here—and, quite frankly, I thought their presence would be helpful to us—because, in a sense, you would not have ‘given’ me the Vice Presidency as you so accurately state it, if it had not been for the pressures of public opinion in the country, which these gentlemen so vigorously represent. I suspect if it had not seemed best to you to—shall we say, cooperate—with these elements, you would not have made me this ‘gift.’ You would have ‘given’ it to Mrs. Knox, or to someone equally worthy to speak for that particular faction of the party and the country. In the eyes of Senator Van Ackerman, Mr. Shelby and Mr. Kleinfert, you chose, in a sense, ‘their man.’ As, of course,” he added smoothly, “you yourself are ‘their man.’ Isn’t that correct?”

  For just a second a genuinely angry expression came into Ted’s eyes; all the arrogance, determination and fierce pride of his indomitable grandmother, Doña Valuela, and all his other Montoya and Yankee-trader Jason ancestors flared out for a second. Roger P. Croy thought he might have gone too far.

  But almost as soon as the spark flared, it died; and Governor Croy breathed easier. This was, after all, a man still desperately shattered by the horror of his wife’s death. For quite some time, in all probability, he would not really be very difficult about things.

  “Anyway,” Ted said rather lamely, “they have no right to be with us now.”

  “Certainly not,” Roger Croy agreed. “But perhaps a little later—after we have had a chance to talk—their advice could be quite helpful, I think. Perhaps we can consult with them then. After all, there would be no point in deliberately antagonizing them. They do represent many millions of votes which must be considered. But more importantly, and more worthily, they represent a genuine desire for peace which I am proud to say you and I represent. That, I think, is the perspective from which we must view them.”

  Ted nodded, passing a hand that still noticeably trembled over his eyes.

  “Yes, of course. Their views will have a proper place in the campaign.”

  “And, I would assume, in the Administration,” Roger Croy suggested. But this time the nominee for President sounded more Presidential and less compliant.

  “We shall see.… Tell me about yourself, Governor. We’ve never really had much chance to talk, in these last few hectic weeks. I have appreciated your support, as you know, at the convention and in the National Committee, but there certainly hasn’t been time to get acquainted. You’re fifty-seven, right?”

  Roger P. Croy gave a little mock bow and a graceful little laugh.

  “I have you outdistanced by a handful of years. But I think there’s life in the old boy, yet.”

  Ted smiled.

  “Oh, I’m sure of it. I wouldn’t have chosen you for running mate if I weren’t—support from our friends,” he added with a trace of acid, but amicably, “or no support. And you have, of course, a family, and you are in favor of love, motherhood and the flag.”

  Governor Croy chuckled.

  “I was in favor of love at twenty-two when I married, and promptly expanded this to include motherhood when my darling Katherine began presenting me with a steady sequence of offspring which finally numbered, as you no doubt know, seven. Five of them happily married, the sixth engaged and the seventh and last soon to graduate from Stanford and no doubt embark upon the same quest. I only regret, Governor, that you yourself did not have children to comfort you in this most tragic—…” His voice trailed away with a certain sympathy whose unctuousness Ted was unable to perceive as his face twisted suddenly with pain.

  “No,” he replied, staring out the window into the still, hot day, eyes suddenly clouded with emotion. “We were not that lucky.”

  “So sad,” Governor Croy said gently. “So terribly sad. It would have been such a comfort to you now.”

  “I know,” Ted said in a choked voice. “I know. Now please go on … tell me more about yourself.”

  “Not much to know beyond the public record,” Roger Croy said matter-of-factly. “Lawyer, public servant like yourself, twice Governor of Oregon, leaving office three years ago. ‘Activist’ to use the jargon term, in politics—at least activist in the sense that I had, I think, a very good reform record in the state house and have always been very vigorously engaged in campaigns for world peace. The Times,” he added comfortably, “summed it up pretty well in their editorial.”

  “Yes, I saw it,” Ted said, sounding more himself again. “They like you.”

  “I flatter myself they do,” Roger P. Croy said with a certain complacency. “It is comforting to know I have such support. As, of course,” he added suavely, “do you.”

  “Which of us, do you think, has more?” Ted asked with a certain quizzical note in his voice. Roger P. Croy gave the only answer possible.

  “You, of course,” he said flatly. “What would I be without you?”

  “If I thought you really meant that, Governor,” Ted said with a certain moody pleasantry, “I might have no worries at all about anything.”

  “Do you have worries?” Governor Croy asked in a disbelieving tone. “And if so, what are they, for heaven’s sake? Certainly they don’t revolve around me, I hope!”

  “No, of course not. Except as I wonder—”

  “What?” Roger Croy demanded with the start of an indignation, whether real or faked, Ted could not tell. “What is it you wonder, Governor?”

  “I keep coming back to your traveling companions this morning,” Ted said. “They puzzle me. You puzzle me. I wonder,” he said with an ironic echo, which he did not at first realize, of the President and Orrin Knox talking to him before the nomination, “how closely you can identify with those elements without becoming beholden to them in some way that could affect the campaign—and perhaps even the conduct of the Administration afterwards.”

  Governor Croy was ready for him.

  “Governor,” he exclaimed with a growing amusement. “Governor! This is not Africa, you know. No sinister plots revolve around Vice Presidents. I can’t conspire against you. You won’t be deposed by me, God knows! And anyway,” he went on, less humorously, more reasonably, “it isn’t just myself they support, is it? They support you too, far more than they do me. If anybody has problems, it’s you. But, of course, I utterly reject and denounce the idea that you do.”

  “Do you?” Ted Jason inquired, almost as though he didn’t believe it. “Do you really?”

  “Certainly,” Governor Croy said, surprised. “Don’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” Ted said slowly, and his running mate was intrigued to note the slow and almost hesitant way in which he spoke. “I know the President and Orrin were always very—…” and his voice trailed away.

  “Very what?” Roger P. Croy demanded. “Governor—Mr. President—surely you aren’t going to let their attitudes influence you now? You are the nominee. The Secretary of State is gone and the President is going. What could they possibly have said to you that could be allowed to hinder you now?”

  “They have always been very worried,” Ted said more strongly, “that in the forces that comprise NAWAC I might be aligning myself with things really dangerous to the United States. I know,” he said, raising a cautionary hand as Governor Croy started to interrupt, “all the reasons you and others produce to argue that this isn’t so. God knows I used them myself in my talks with Orrin and the President. I know there are many, many millions of sincere and loyal people who disagree with the war policies of the Administration. I know there are many, many millions of genuinely patriotic and genuinely uneasy Americans who oppose the methods and the manner of American intervention in world affairs. I know all the arguments for democratic dissent and protest, and I know many of those who dissent and protest are perfectly democratic and perfectly loyal. I know all these things, Governor … and yet—”

  “And yet what?” Roger P. Croy inquired, and his tone now was sympathetic and und
erstanding.

  “And yet there has been enough violence of a sinister nature,” Ted Jason said quietly, “enough protest of a deliberately organized and deliberately anti-democratic sort, enough protest and dissent of a deliberately anti-American kind, that I think—I think we had best be very careful, you and I. Because while I am not about to antagonize or lose the support of the genuinely loyal and genuinely concerned—as I told Orrin and the President—I am also not about to place myself in bondage to those who really want to destroy America, if I can help it. They do exist, you know.”

  “‘Destroy America,’ Governor?” Roger Croy echoed in disbelief. “Who could ‘destroy America?’”

  “Oh, ‘America’ wouldn’t be destroyed. Something with that name would still be around, of course. Nobody would be stupid enough to change that. But it would be a far different country from what you and I have grown up in.”

  “Isn’t that assurance enough?” Roger Croy inquired thoughtfully. “That we have grown up in it, that it is part of us, that we would never knowingly betray it in any way or surrender it to its enemies? That as two Americans charged, or about to be charged, with control of the destinies of America, we simply could not conceive of letting it go down?”

  “Yes, Governor,” Ted Jason said, still quietly, “but look at what we inherit if we win. We have mounted an effective, and mercifully short, engagement in Gorotoland. We are fighting to hold Panama and the Canal. But how much margin does that leave us, these days? How strong are we, really? How much have our predecessors, even Bill Abbott and Harley, who certainly have wanted to act in the tradition that America had power, left us to operate with? Defense has been cut back steadily in recent decades—the Soviets have consistently spent twice as much of their national budget as we have, all the while certain very vocal and powerful elements of our people have been demanding we cut back. And some past Congresses and administrations have bowed to this, and have cut back. Soviet power surrounds us in all the oceans and lies deployed and ready, if still hidden, not only in and under many areas of the earth’s surface but in the skies above. In a good many vital ways we are second-rate, Governor. The façade remains but what lies behind it? And how do we protect America when the knock comes on the door and history says, ‘This is the moment. It is now or never’? What do we do then? Particularly if we have let ourselves be persuaded or controlled by elements inside the country who clamor, ‘Don’t fight—be safe—do it the easy way—open the door!’”