The Man

by Irving Wallace

  It came as a small shock to Dilman that the trial, which had become a way of life for him, was almost over. There was left only the rest of this fading day, some drugged sleep, and then tomorrow the final decision to acquit or convict. He was not prepared for judgment day, not so soon, but then, he supposed, no one ever was, really.

  “Thanks, Miss Foster, sorry to interrupt your work.”

  He went back into the lonely Oval Office and closed the door. Hands locked behind him, he walked around the room. He tried to figure out why the trial’s end appeared to him to be so sudden and disturbing. Then he knew the answer. There was a sense of incompleteness about it for him, because he had not been an active participant. It was as if a great vessel was sinking-maybe yet to be saved, more likely to be lost forever-and the captain was not there; the captain was somewhere far away, on land, going over the steamship company’s accounts. That would be wrong, as this was wrong.

  He called to mind Nat Abrahams’ firm injunction of ten days ago-ten thousand years ago, it seemed by emotion’s calendar-that the President, although legally permitted to do so, must not stand as a living witness in his own defense. Like himself, President Andrew Johnson had wanted to be heard and had been kept silent by his managers. In the end, perhaps, Johnson’s managers had been proved right. But somehow, this second Presidential impeachment trial in American history was different, basically different, from the nation’s first. The first had been important, aside from the opposing two philosophies on reconstructing the defeated South, because it pitted the legislative branch of government against the executive branch. President Johnson had been tried for being an obstructive politician. This second impeachment trial, however, was vastly more crucial to the United States. The basic issue was not the differences between two powerful branches of government. The basic issue was the hushed and invisible Article V of the impeachment. Dilman knew that Abrahams was right. As President, he was not being tried for being an obstructive politician. He was being tried for being a Negro.

  Yet, the real reason for the historic trial would never be heard again on the floor of the Senate. The trial had gone its way, with oratory and testimony, and suddenly, tomorrow, it would be done, and at no time would the Senate have been forced, or the public outside have been forced, to examine themselves openly so they would understand why they were voting as they did. What had there been, these cruel days, to represent President Dilman? The interrogation of witnesses on peripheral charges, the speeches on evasive indictments. And now, tonight, more witnesses, more affidavits, offered to the Senate and the nation on what they preferred to hear and see, not on what they should hear and see.

  Soon the sounds of battle would be stilled. Dilman would be ousted, condemned like Mindy to wander the country and the earth in disgrace. And more than Mindy-he was aware of this in a flash of clarity now-it would be his own fault for not helping to emphasize the nature of the real accusation against him for all the world to know. It would be his failure for not insisting that the public be forced to see for itself, firsthand, what it was really voting upon, and for not letting the people decide then whether they could, after voting, live with only satisfied minds, eyes, eardrums, or whether they needed to be able to live with their consciences, too.

  He started moving toward his desk. It was John F. Kennedy, he remembered, who had so truly written of the Andrew Johnson impeachment trial: “Two great elements of drama were missing: the actual causes for which the President was being tried were not fundamental to the welfare of the nation; and the defendant himself was at all times absent.”

  This time, he told himself, the great elements of drama would be fulfilled. This time America must not be lulled with a sugared half play, but must suffer, with him, the harsh play in its entirety. This time it had to be shown that the cause for trial was fundamental to the welfare of the nation, and it could be shown in only one way.

  He lifted the telephone from the white console, and he instructed Edna Foster to locate Nat Abrahams for him, wherever he was in the Senate building.

  Waiting, he thought Nat Abrahams would not be pleased by his casting aside of this one remaining garment of cowardice. No, Nat Abrahams would not be pleased. And might not understand. There was only one who might totally understand his act. Mindy would understand, at last.

  He heard Felix Hart’s voice on the telephone, and Dilman said that he urgently wished to speak to Nat Abrahams. In a half minute, Nat Abrahams was on the other end.

  “Nat, is it true you are putting on your defense witnesses between five-thirty and seven, and the rest later in the evening?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nat, I’ve thought about it. I want our invisible Article V opened up again-I want it there for everyone to see and hear-”

  “But, Doug, you remember the ruling. We can’t-”

  “There is one way we can.” He held his breath, and then he said it. “Nat, I’m coming right over to the Senate. I have made up my mind to testify. I am going to be your first and key witness.”

  “Doug, you are the President of the United States.”

  “I am the black man President of the United States. I don’t care what I’m asked or what I say. I only want to stand up there and be seen and heard by my judges. I know my appearance can lose it. But I also know this-something more may be finally won.”

  By twenty minutes to six o’clock, as darkness covered Washington, D.C., the illuminated rectangular Chamber of the Senate of the United States was ready. Until this crucial moment, it had been filled for every speech and every witness, but now the word was out, and for the first time the vast room was crammed to overflowing with incredulous humanity. Not only was every seat occupied, but every square foot of standing space.

  From his high seat, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, swathed in his black judgment robe, peered out of his wrinkled, sunken face, peered down at the kinky-haired, grim, thickset black man who stood directly below him, facing the Secretary of the Senate, right arm raised.

  “You, Douglass Dilman, do affirm that the evidence you shall give in the case now depending between the United States and the President of the United States shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth: so help you God.”

  “I do.”

  “Please be seated, Mr. President.”

  The Chief Justice’s gavel struck. “As presiding officer, I once more admonish strangers and citizens in the galleries to maintain perfect order and profound silence… Senators will please give their attention… Gentlemen of counsel for the President, you may now begin your examination for the defense. Proceed with the first witness.”

  Douglass Dilman gripped the knob ends of the arms of the witness chair, and stared out at the rows of blurred men, his jurymen, his impeachers, men who would decide, perhaps had already determined, his fate. Strangely, their faces were individually unclear. Angled up toward him there was nothing more than a blended disc of whiteness, curiously punctuated by gleaming varicolored dots of eyes, the eyes around the aquarium in the old bad dreams. He could not see them. It did not matter. He was here. They could see him. They could see their black conscience.

  Then there was only one before him, the one he could trust. He had conceded Nat Abrahams but a single promise. He would keep his answers concise and to the point. He would, if possible, not permit himself to plead, rise to any bait, or digress. He was ready.

  Nat Abrahams was speaking. “You are Douglass Dilman, President of the United States, solemnly sworn on the Holy Book to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of your country to the best of your ability?”

  “Yes, sir, I am Douglass Dilman. I have sworn to that oath.”

  “You are appearing here, before the tribunal of the Senate, at your own request?”

  “I am.”

  “You are fully conversant with the charges in the four Articles of Impeachment brought against you?”

  “I am.”

  “Mr. President, let us swiftly take up the
indictments, one by one, and hear your replies, from your own lips, as to their truth or falsity… Mr. President, did you know, at any time before the day of his confession to the fact, that your son, Julian Dilman, was a member of the activist Turnerite Group?”

  “No, sir, I did not.”

  “Did you request that the Reverend Paul Spinger perform as an intermediary between the government and the Turnerite leaders because you wanted to make some kind of special personal deal with them, or because you wanted to have them come forward and confess or deny the Hattiesburg crime, and open their books to the government?”

  “No, I wanted no special personal deal. I gave the Reverend Spinger his only instructions in the presence of the Attorney General.”

  “Then you deny the allegation in Article II that you unlawfully hindered the Department of Justice in its prosecution of the Turnerites because you were in conspiracy with the Turnerites?”

  “I unequivocally deny that allegation, sir.”

  “Why did you delay the outlawing of the Turnerites, as charged?”

  “Because, sir, more facts were required in order to make certain, beyond any reasonable doubt, that this extremist society could be prosecuted legally, under the Subversive Activities Control Act. In our society, every citizen, no matter what his religious or political persuasion, is innocent until proved to be guilty. Once the facts were verified, and it was proved that the Group was guilty of subversion, I ordered the banning carried out.”

  “Let us examine the specifications in Articles I and III. I have brought them together, because the charges in them are repetitious and overlap… Mr. President, according to previous testimony, you have been a friend of Miss Wanda Gibson, single woman, for five years?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Did you, as accused, engage in an illicit love relationship with Miss Gibson at any time?”

  “I did not. The charge is false.”

  “Was your conduct with Miss Gibson, from the day you met her, anything but proper, in the accepted sense?”

  “It was nothing else, sir. We were and are now devoted friends. I esteem Miss Gibson above all the women I have known in the last five years. My affection for her is deep and abiding. Our relationship has been one of respect and utmost propriety.”

  “You were frequently in the company of Miss Gibson while you were a senator?”

  “I was.”

  “How many times have you personally visited with her from the night you became President until the impeachment proceedings began?”

  “Once, sir. I called upon her the evening after I moved into the White House. The meeting was of brief duration. It took place in the Spingers’ flat, while they were present in that flat.”

  “Since becoming President, did you communicate with Miss Gibson by any other means? Did you write to her?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Did you exchange telephone calls?”

  “Yes, nightly the first days I was in office, but never more than twice a week after that.”

  “Did you ever, on any occasion, by any means, since becoming President, relate to her information concerning matters of state?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You are sure of that, Mr. President?”

  “Positively sure of it.”

  “Did you discuss any other aspects of your new office with her?”

  “Yes. I spoke to her of my worries about having been elevated to such an office. I feared that T. C.’s advisers, the legislators, the military, the Party, in fact, the majority of the public, were not prepared to accept a Negro as President, and that they would resent me and cause me difficulty. I wondered, as all men do when they accidentally have a great responsibility thrust upon them, if I could adequately fill the office and please the electors. But most of all, I told Miss Gibson about my misgivings-my feelings that racial prejudice against me would hamper my freedom to serve my country as a President of all men.”

  “That was the extent of it? You never discussed with Miss Gibson, let slip to her, any government information of a confidential nature?”

  “Not once, sir, not once. I was always mindful of the responsibility of my office.”

  “Mr. President, did you know, at any time during the last two years while Miss Gibson was in the service of Vaduz Exporters, that she was being employed by a Communist Front organization?”

  “I did not know that. Miss Gibson has testified she did not know that either. The FBI did not know that. I first heard about it on the very day Miss Gibson suspected what was going on, and the FBI informed me of it, the day the director of the Vaduz organization fled. The company was closed down the next morning.”

  “Then you do deny the entire substance of Article I, that with knowledge beforehand or through unintentional indiscretion, you passed on national secrets to a Soviet organization through Miss Gibson?”

  “I emphatically deny it, sir. If it were possible to use stronger language, I would deny it in that language. I have never been a party to treason, and neither has Miss Gibson. The House charge is base fiction.”

  “So much for Article I, and a portion of III. Let us dispose of the remainder of the charges in Article III. Were you at any time in your past life, or in recent years, addicted to drinking alcohol?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Were you ever in your life treated for alcoholism by a member of the medical profession?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Were you ever committed, or did you ever commit yourself, to an institution for alcoholics because of such a habit or disability?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Let us proceed with the only serious specification in Article III. You have read the indictment presented by the House, and elaborated upon by Miss Sally Watson this afternoon, that you attempted to seduce Miss Watson and did commit bodily harm upon her when she resisted?”

  “I have read the indictment. I have seen and heard Miss Watson’s testimony on television.”

  “On the night in question, did you order Miss Watson to meet you in your bedroom to confer with you on pending social engagements?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “But she did visit your bedroom?”

  “She did. After the dinner for the Joint Chiefs, I joined them for a documentary film showing. Miss Watson took me aside to say she was intoxicated, and desired to forgo the showing. I advised her to return home. She said she was too drunk and would prefer to lie down first. I told her to do what she thought best. When I came back from the showing, I discovered Miss Watson lying upon my bed in a disheveled and drunken condition. I awakened her and told her I would arrange to have her escorted home. When she tried to get off the bed, her purse fell on the floor and the contents spilled out. I picked up these contents, and saw that among them were numerous index cards. The cards carried notes taken from a CIA document that was in my personal briefcase near the bed.”

  “Was the CIA document confidential, Mr. President?”

  “It was stamped “Top Secret’ and ‘Eyes Only.’ Miss Watson could not have been unaware of that.”

  “What transpired afterward? Did you discuss her motivation in trying to acquire this information?

  “We did.”

  “Could you repeat your conversation at that time?”

  “I would prefer not to.”

  “Was anything else, besides her motivation, discussed?”

  “Yes. It has no pertinence to this trial.”

  “And then?”

  “I told Miss Watson to leave. I told her she was fired. After some vituperation-”

  “Can you be more explicit?”

  “The usual thing, references to my race, and a few threats. Then she departed. It was a sad scene. I can only say here I bear her no animosity. She was, at the time, neither sober nor balanced. Emotional circumstances had driven her to this incredible act. I am sorry for her, but I cannot despise her.”

  “You did not, then, in any conceivable way, make improper o
vertures to Miss Watson, or attempt to detain her forcibly, or do her bodily harm?”

  “I did not.”

  “Have you anything more to say about this charge, Mr. President?”

  “It is untrue, every word of it. It is sheer fantasy, conceived by a fantastic mind and nurtured by other vindictive minds who have chosen to be deceived.”

  “Finally, Article IV of the impeachment. You did dismiss Arthur Eaton from your Cabinet and from his position as your Secretary of State?”

  “I did, sir,”

  “You attempted to replace him with another highly qualified appointee, did you not?”

  “I did, sir.”

  “You dismissed the Secretary of State without seeking the two-thirds approval of the Senate?”

  “I did, sir.”

  “Were you aware that there existed a special law, the New Succession Act, passed by both Houses of Congress since you became President, forbidding you to fire a Cabinet member without Senate approval?”

  “I was aware of the law. I had believed from the outset, and was supported by some of the best legal authorities in the field, that the law was unconstitutional, and would be so proved when it met its first challenge before the Supreme Court. I remembered that Chief Justice Charles Evans Hughes once remarked, ‘We live under a Constitution, but the Constitution is what the judges say it is.’ From my knowledge of precedent, I was certain the Supreme Court judges would say that the New Succession Act was and is a political measure entirely at odds with the Constitution. It was a measure rushed through merely to protect the old Administration from anticipated removals and appointments by a new Negro President. This law encroached upon the Constitution, which gives the Senate the right to advise and consent on a Presidential appointment, but gives the President himself the sole power to remove his appointees from office. I fired Eaton summarily, because I felt it necessary to do so, because I believed I had the legal right to do so, because I believed Congress had no right to dictate to the executive branch or freeze into its Cabinet posts the choices of a deceased President, and because I wanted a disgraceful and illegitimate piece of legislation put to constitutional test.”