by Allen Drury
“First of all, I’ll say to our dear friend from Colorado, our distinguished ex-President, ex-Speaker—”
“For God’s sake, Jawbone!” William Abbott snapped, abandoning parliamentary courtesy but provoked beyond endurance. “Knock it off!”
“—Mr. ex-Speaker, sir,” Jawbone repeated blandly, ignoring him, “first of all, I never would have put us into those two itty-bitty good-for-nothing spots in the first place. Not that I don’t have every respect for the great people of Gorotoland,” he added hastily, “and the great people of Panama, and not that I don’t respect their li’l ole right to determine their own destinies, but for that very reason I’d never have got us into those messes in the first place. And secondly, if I did, I’d sure not have handled it like Harley Hudson, God rest his soul, and you, Bill, and now ole Orrin there. I’d sure not have gone in there breathin’ fire and throwin’ bombs and sendin’ troops and generally messin’ up the whole peace of the world. No, sir, I would not!
“I’d have gone to the UN right off, that’s what I’d have done. I’d have said, ‘Now, looka-here, you-all, we got us a li’l ole problem here, and we want you fine gentlemen of the earth to help us out. We want you to help us handle it in a peace-lovin, peace-respectin’, decent way like you-all gentlemen want us to do!’
“I’d say, ‘Now, pass us a li’l ole resolution here declarin’ as how we want a real peace in Gorotoland, a real peace in Panama, and you help us get it. You order a cease-fire, you set up a peace-keepin’ force, you call a peace conference and we’ll attend and we’ll abide by it. We’ll abide by it, win, lose or draw,’ I’d say, ‘we’ll abide by it! Yes, sir! And if you-all say, “Git!” then we’ll git,’ I’d say. ‘You won’t find us cheatin’ around tryin’ to hang in there and impose our armed will on those two itty-bitty ole countries! You won’t find the good ole U.S. of A. empirin’ and conquestin’ and generally raisin’ unmitigated hell tryin’ to get our own way. No, sir! We’ll take you-all’s way because we believe that’s the way of peace! We surely do, now! We believe that’s the way of peace!’”
“And what if—” William Abbott attempted, but as he knew from experience, Jawbone in full flood was not one to be interrupted short of terminal catastrophe.
“Yes, sir!” Jawbone cried sternly. “That’s what I’d have done, and we’d never even been in the spot where we are now! Never even been, I’ll say to our dear ex-President, ex-Speaker here! Never even been! But if we had been”—and his voice became abruptly quieter and more confidential—“if we had been, and I’d found what Orrin Knox found waitin’ for him when he hit that big room down there at 1600 Pennsylvania, why I’d have said this to our friends in Moscow and Peking. I’d have said, ‘Sure, you-all, I see where you got a right to be a little bit annoyed with the good old U.S. of A.,’ I’d say. ‘I see where you got a feelin’ you needed to do somethin!’ I’d say. ‘And while I mebbe think you been jes’ a li’l bit extreme, mebbe, jes’ a li’l bit harsh, I can understand it, now, I surely can! So why don’t we all go to that good old United Nations up there in New York and give ’em our problem, now, and see if mebbe we can’t all sit down together—not offerin’ harsh resolutions against each other, not tryin’ to gain advantages over each other, not tryin’ to make points—jes’ talkin’ together quiet and friendly-like to try to work this out. Meanwhile,’ I’d say, ‘we won’t fire back at you-all. We’ll jes’ sit tight. We won’t run but we won’t go forward—we won’t run but we won’t go forward. We’ll jes’ sit tight and let that good ole UN bring us together, and we’ll do it with love! We’ll do it with peace in our hearts! We’ll do it with care for mankind and love for ev’body, because that’s how we feel the good old U.S. of A. ought to act in this world of ours! Yes, sir, that’s how we feel the U.S. of A. ought to act!’”
And he paused triumphantly as a great wave of cheers and applause burst from floor and galleries and continued for a full minute as the Minority Whip in the Chair banged the gavel and tried without success to restore order.
“Yes, sir!” Jawbone said in a tone of finality and satisfaction, and appeared about to sit down. But even as he started to, one of the new young members—William Abbott thought it was a Representative Bronson Bernard of New York, but he wasn’t sure, there were so many rigidly determined young faces in this new House—hurried forward and thrust another piece of wire copy into Jawbone’s willing hand. Jawbone promptly waved it high above his head.
“Look now!” he cried. “Hear this, Mr. ex-President, Mr. ex-Speaker, sir! Hear this, my dear colleagues of the House!
“‘United Nations, New York—The war policies of the Knox Administration suffered their second devastating rebuke in less than an hour today as the Security Council voted 9-4 against a United States resolution condemning moves by the Soviet Union and the People’s Republic of China in Panama and the African nation of Gorotoland.
“‘The resolution was vetoed by both the Soviet Union and China. The United States was joined only by Australia, Norway and Lesotho in voting for it. Two other permanent members of the Council, Britain and France, again abstained. Neutralist India joined Chile, Cuba, Egypt, Ghana, Rumania, Zambia, Russia and China in voting against the American resolution.
“‘Both Soviet Ambassador Nikolai Zworkyan and the new United States Ambassador to the UN, Mrs. Edward M. Jason, announced plans to take the issue immediately to an emergency session of the General Assembly scheduled for 6 p.m. tonight.
“‘Observers were unanimous in predicting that the United States position would again go down to crushing defeat in this evening’s session.’
“You see?” Jawbone cried. “You-all see?”
“Mr. Speaker,” someone shouted into the excited babble of the House, and William Abbott could see that it was indeed Bronson Bernard, flushed and quivering with the excitement of his dramatic debut on the national scene, “I nominate the great chairman of the House Foreign Affairs Committee, our distinguished colleague Representative J. B. Swarthman of South Carolina, to be Speaker of this honorable House!”
“Mr. President,” Tom August said with a wistful regret into the excited babble of the Senate, “I nominate the distinguished senior Senator from Arkansas, our good friend and colleague Arly Richardson, to be Majority Leader of the United States Senate.”
“Vote! Vote! Vote!” the friends of Jawbone cried in the House.
“Vote! Vote! Vote!” the friends of Arly cried in the Senate.
And although both William Abbott and Robert D. Munson were dutifully nominated to their old jobs by loyal friends in their respective chambers, the results were what they had both expected.
And so, as they watched in grim defeat from their respective chairs, was what happened immediately thereafter.
“On this vote,” the Clerk of the House intoned solemnly as he finished a tally that cut, with the war issue, across both parties, “the vote for the distinguished gentleman from Colorado is 110, the vote for the distinguished gentleman from South Carolina is 332, and the distinguished gentleman from South Carolina, Representative J. B. Swarthman, is elected Speaker of this honorable House.”
“On this vote,” the Clerk of the Senate intoned solemnly, “the vote for the distinguished senior Senator from Michigan is 26, the vote for the distinguished Senator from Arkansas is 71, and the Senator from Arkansas, Mr. Richardson, is elected Majority Leader of the United States Senate.”
“Mr. Speaker!” Bronson Bernard shouted, a happy, righteous triumph in his voice. “I move that the President’s request for an emergency ten-billion-dollar supplemental appropriation for the Department of Defense be sent to the Armed Services and Appropriations committees for careful consideration in the regular order.”
“Without objection,” Jawbone cried, ignoring the few unhappy voices that shouted indignant protests from the floor, “it is so ordered!”
“Mr. President,” cried the Senator whom Bob Munson had referred to a scant hour before as “the new kid from Oregon,” w
ith a happy, righteous triumph in his voice, “I move that the President’s request for an emergency ten-billion-dollar supplemental appropriation for the Defense Department be sent to the Armed Services and Appropriations committees for careful consideration in the regular order.”
“Is there objection?” Cullee Hamilton asked hesitantly, looking down at Bob Munson in his new seat off to the side in the front row of the majority.
“Mr. President,” Bob Munson began, rising to his feet and rallying strength from some reserve he was surprised to find still untapped, “I object—”
“Then we will have a vote!” Arly Richardson snapped. “Does the Senator from Michigan doubt it will carry?”
Bob Munson looked about him for a moment and then shook his head as though trying to clear it of heavily encumbering cobwebs.
“No,” he said quietly, and in spite of himself a sudden sad little sigh, quite audible and leading to some snickers in the galleries, escaped his lips as he sat slowly down again. “I do not doubt that.”
“Very well,” Senator Richardson said coldly. “Mr. President, I join in the request of the distinguished junior Senator from Oregon.”
“Without objection,” Cullee said glumly, conceding a defeat his curious new office permitted him to do nothing about, “it is so ordered.”
Knox war policies in chaos as congress revolts against new president. UN General Assembly joins security council in overwhelming condemnation of U.S. Moves in Gorotoland and Panama. New hill leadership, world animosity may force American withdrawal from war zones. Knox course may end in worst U.S. Diplomatic and military defeat in many years.
President calls emergency session of old and new leaders to White House tonight. Announces he will address American people tomorrow morning on “gravest crisis to face republic in my lifetime.”
Peace forces jubilant as “get tough” attempt heads for collapse.
3
“Well, Sir, Mr. President,” Jawbone said brightly when they were all assembled in the Oval Office at 10 p.m., “here we are.”
“Yes,” he said, his flat tone conceding nothing. “Please be seated, Mrs. Jason, gentlemen. They’ll be bringing coffee and sandwiches in a minute.” His tone became dry. “Also liquor. We may be in for a long session.”
“Long as you like, Mr. President,” Jawbone said cheerfully. “I daresay we’re all game.”
“I am,” William Abbott said, helping Ceil to a chair, taking one beside her in the semicircle that faced the desk, now covered with documents and reports. “There’s a lot to talk about.”
“Yes,” Arly Richardson agreed with some acidity. “Indeed there is.”
“So I have invited you,” the President agreed, his tone still flat and impersonal. “I am glad you all could come.”
And he looked slowly around the semicircle from face to face: Jawbone, Arly, Ceil and the ex-President; the Vice President; Senator Munson, Senator Strickland, Senator August, Lafe Smith; the Secretary of State, the Secretary of Defense; his son. Stacked rather in his favor, he had to admit, only Tom August, Jawbone and Arly really in opposition—but now, of course, their opposition was a vital matter. He decided to address himself to it immediately the refreshments were served.
Ten minutes passed in stilted chitchat about the weather, which was still dreadful, a massive new snowstorm whipping out of the West and across the frozen Potomac with paralyzing cold and gale-force winds, pounding in on the beautiful old house, piling the deserted streets high with drifts—the only reason, they all knew, that there were not at this very moment huge hostile anti-Knox crowds filling Pennsylvania Avenue and Lafayette Park across the way. During the interval waiters came in, placed coffee, sandwiches, cakes on a small table set up in the corner, liquor, ice and mixes on another next to it.
When they were gone he looked straight at the new Speaker and the new Majority Leader and demanded,
“How much trouble are you two going to make for me?”
“Well, now, Orrin—Mr. President, sir,” Jawbone began hastily, “you mustn’t take that hostile attitude, now, you really—”
Arly Richardson cut across his bluster, his voice as cold as the wind off the river.
“As much as the Congress decides you deserve,” he said, and even considering his long-time jealousy of Orrin, his harsh comment brought a surprised intake of breath around the room.
“I see,” the President said thoughtfully. “That seems frank enough. In effect, then, I really have no leader in either house, do I?”
“Oh, now,” Jawbone began, “let’s don’t get off on this kind of foot now, Mr. President, sir, let’s don’t get all hostile and unhappy right away, now—”
But again Senator Richardson spoke with a bluntness to match Orrin’s own.
“That depends entirely on what you do,” he said, somewhat more reasonable in tone but as adamant as before. “On some routine matters, I would think you would have the full cooperation of the Speaker and myself for whatever you want to do. On some other matters—” His voice trailed deliberately away.
“And those, of course,” Orrin said, “are exactly the matters most vital to this country, and the world.”
Arly shrugged.
“As you like, Mr. President. It is not the Speaker and I who have devised the collision course America is on now.”
“Right,” Orrin agreed promptly. “That has been devised in Moscow and Peking.”
“With some help,” Senator Richardson said dryly.
“From the beginning,” the President said, returning him stare for stare.
“Well, now,” Jawbone began nervously. “Well, now, Mr. President—”
“From the beginning,” the President repeated calmly. “When are you going to bring up my defense bill, Mr. Speaker?”
“Why, as soon as it’s gone through the committees,” Jawbone said. “As soon as it’s gone through the committees and everything’s in order. Can’t be any sooner than that, Mr. President. You know how the House works.”
“Slowly,” Orrin agreed. “And you, Mr. Majority Leader?”
“In the regular course.”
“That will be weeks.”
“So?”
The President gave him a steady look.
“So I need it now.”
Senator Richardson shrugged.
“Congress won’t give it to you now.”
“Bill—” the President said, turning to his predecessor and the former Majority Leader, “Bob—what can you do for me?”
“Mr. President,” William Abbott said regretfully, “you know: not very damned much. We’ve both been royally repudiated, and through us, you have been too.” He smiled ruefully. “It doesn’t exactly give any of us leverage.”
“I hope to provide the leverage with my speech tomorrow morning,” the President said. Bob Munson frowned.
“It’s a very uphill battle,” he observed. The President responded with a sudden blaze of the old Orrin.
“But why is it?” he demanded sharply. “Why is it an uphill battle? The facts of history are on my side, the truth of history is on my side—”
“But not,” the ex-President said glumly, “the frightened pretenses of history or the desperate willful blindnesses of history, or the terrible refusal of history to look harsh and demanding facts in the face. All of those things are rampant in America today. You know what the media will say tomorrow morning, have been saying for twenty-four hours—one long threnody of Pretend It Isn’t So, just as they’ve always done. Even more hysterical, now that you’ve cut through the pretense and acted on the reality.” He paused and fished in his breast pocket for a piece of paper. “I’ve been brushing up on my Solzhenitsyn these last few days,” he remarked when he found it, “because he’s an inside expert who knew what it’s all about and had the guts to say so.” He put on his glasses and read slowly:
“‘The timid civilized world’—and, he might have added, the leadership of its journalistic, educational and intellectual com
munities—‘has found nothing with which to oppose the onslaught of the sudden revival of barbarity, other than concessions and smiles. The spirit of Munich is a sickness of the will of successful’—and, he might have added, intellectually arrogant—‘people; it is the daily condition of those who have given themselves up to the thirst after prosperity’—and, he might have added, the favor of the intellectually fashionable—‘at any price.
“‘Such people … elect passivity and retreat … just so as not to step over the threshold of hardship today.…’
“They think ‘tomorrow … it will be all right. But it will never be all right. The price of cowardice will always be evil.’
“He knew,” William Abbott concluded gravely. “And the delicate way our great liberals tiptoed around him, first applauding, then becoming fearful of his terrible Russian honesty, then fading quietly away from their tentative and timorous defense of his views because his words threw too cold and glaring a light on their own frightened and responsibility-evading approach to the horrors of Communist reality, bore him out. He was the great touchstone of the liberal conscience. And the liberal conscience failed him, in America as everywhere, because it lacked the guts to face up to the truth of what he said about his own country, whose false myths of peace and freedom they wanted so desperately to preserve, for the sake of their own cowardice.” He sighed and concluded quietly, “You, Mr. President, occupy the same unhappy ground.”
“But from a different base,” Orrin said quietly, “because I am President of the United States.”
“It may not be enough,” Senator Richardson remarked with a sort of superior certainty, and Cullee Hamilton turned on him with a sudden burst of anger.