by FDR
* Illinois primary law required a sworn statement from a potential candidate that he was indeed seeking the office before his name could be placed on the ballot. Garner complied, but Roosevelt was at sea on the USS Houston when the deadline expired. Illinois election officials nonetheless placed his name on the ballot. Bascom N. Timmons, Garner of Texas 269–270 (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1948).
* “When the ships from America approached our shores with their priceless arms,” wrote Churchill, “special trains were waiting in all the ports to receive their cargo. The Home Guard in every county, in every town, in every village, sat up all through the nights to receive them. By the end of July we were an armed nation.…
“All of this reads easily now, but at that time it was a supreme act of faith and leadership for the United States to deprive themselves of this very considerable mass of arms for the sake of a country which many deemed already beaten.” Winston S. Churchill, Their Finest Hour 143, 272 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1949).
* After meeting with Landon, Knox wrote Roosevelt, “In the light of events which almost hourly show greater implications for us and for the world, our thinking was animated solely by our desire to promote national unity in the face of grave national peril.” Knox to FDR, May 21, 1940, FDRL.
† As managing partner of Cravath, Swaine, and Moore, McCloy had supervised the preparation of the Supreme Court brief for the Schechter Brothers challenging the constitutionality of the New Deal’s National Industrial Recovery Act. Schechter Poultry Corp. v. United States, 295 U.S. 495 (1935). Kai Bird, The Chairman: John J. McCloy, The Making of the American Establishment 101 (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1992).
* That same week, Stimson also gave the commencement address at Andover. Unaware of FDR’s impending call, the seventy-three-year-old Stimson told his young listeners that he envied them because they had the opportunity to choose between “right and wrong,” to stand up for good against evil. “I wish to God that I was young enough to face it with you.” Among the audience that day was sixteen-year-old George Herbert Walker Bush, for whom Colonel Stimson became a lifelong hero. Godfrey Hodgson, The Colonel: The Life and Times of Henry Stimson, 1867–1950 214 (New York: Knopf, 1990); Jean Edward Smith, George Bush’s War 136–137 (New York: Henry Holt, 1992).
† Dewey’s biographer Richard Norton Smith called him “the first American casualty of the Second World War.” A novice in foreign affairs, Dewey turned for advice to John Foster Dulles, a senior partner at Sullivan and Cromwell, who was then in a pro-German phase. As Dewey later expressed it, Foster believed that “Hitler was a passing phenomenon who would disappear.” America’s proper role was “to stand aside and hopefully wait until a stalemate would occur and then exercise our weight to bring about a peace.” Smith, Thomas E. Dewey and His Times 302–303 (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1982).
* In addition to Fadiman, the program’s regulars included the columnist Franklin P. Adams of the New York Post, the composer and pianist Oscar Levant, Charles Kieran of The New York Times, and the sportswriter Heywood Hale Broun.
* A majority of the convention, 501 votes, was required to nominate. On the first ballot 730 votes were cast for the four front runners. The remaining 270 were split among nine favorite sons. Congressional Quarterly, Guide to U.S. Elections 161 (Washington, D.C.: Congressional Quarterly, 1975).
* Not all Republicans agreed. Former Indiana senator James E. Watson, referring to Willkie’s Democratic roots, complained, “If a whore repented and wanted to join the church I’d personally welcome her and lead her up the aisle to a pew. But I’d not ask her to lead the choir the first night.” Mary Earhart Dillon, Wendell Willkie 143 (Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1952).
TWENTY-ONE
FOUR MORE YEARS
I have said this before, but I shall say it again and again and again: Your boys are not going to be sent into any foreign wars.
—FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT, OCTOBER 30, 1940
WITH WILLKIE’S NOMINATION and the appointment of Knox and Stimson, the fight over foreign policy shifted to Capitol Hill. On June 28, 1940, at the behest of Senator David I. Walsh of Massachusetts, chairman of the Naval Affairs Committee, Congress amended the defense appropriations bill to prohibit the sale of military equipment to any foreign power unless the chief of staff of the Army and the chief of naval operations certified it to be nonessential to national defense. Walsh, who was passionately isolationist, shared the anti-British sentiments of many of his Irish constituents and was determined to head off the delivery of twenty new torpedo boats to Great Britain.1
The act placed enormous pressure on General Marshall and Admiral Harold R. Stark, the chief of naval operations, both of whom worried increasingly about the denuded state of America’s defenses. “If we were required to mobilize after having released this equipment and were found short,” Major Walter Bedell Smith of the general staff warned Marshall and Morgenthau, “everyone who was a party to the deal might hope to be hanging from a lamp post.”2 FDR called off the torpedo boat transfer but continued to press the military for increased aid to Britain.
The isolationist sentiment on Capitol Hill removed the last doubts Roosevelt had about seeking a third term. FDR now saw himself more as commander in chief than president and recognized the necessity to prepare the nation for war.3 When the delegates to the Democratic National Convention convened in Chicago on July 15, 1940, there was no serious doubt he would accept renomination. If anything, Willkie’s selection by the GOP made his candidacy all the more likely because no other Democrat stood a chance of winning in November.
Roosevelt refused to tip his hand. By not doing so he dominated events in Chicago. He selected the site because he believed Mayor Kelly would control the galleries. He sent Hopkins (now partially recovered) to set up shop in the Blackstone Hotel—not a campaign headquarters but a communications post.* And he asked Judge Samuel Rosenman to come to the White House: a personal visit that could have no purpose other than to prepare his acceptance speech. FDR wanted to be drafted but declined to say so. That frustrated the delegates on the floor, who were awaiting their marching orders, and the president relished the suspense.
The script did not play out as Roosevelt intended. On Monday, the first day, the proceedings were listless. The Chicago Daily News reported that the delegates were drafting Roosevelt “with the enthusiasm of a chain gang.”4 The president wanted to be renominated by acclamation, but Garner would not cooperate and neither would Farley. When FDR telephoned to suggest ever so obliquely that an actual ballot might be dispensed with, Farley rejected the proposal out of hand. “That’s perfectly silly,” he told the president.5 Even worse for Roosevelt, Farley as national chairman, not Mayor Kelly, controlled the tickets to the gallery. When FDR’s name was mentioned by the mayor in his welcoming remarks, the convention’s response was tepid. Farley, on the other hand, received a prolonged ovation even though the massive pipe organ—which was to have sounded “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling”—remained mysteriously silent. “Power failure,” snapped Mayor Kelly.6
Tuesday began badly for the president as well. Hopkins, often condescending when dealing with politicians but now even more abrasive because of his illness, was probably the last man in Washington who should have been entrusted with managing a campaign. Delegates were infuriated by his assumed power over the convention and resentful at the way he exercised it.† “Harry seems to be making all his usual mistakes,” Eleanor told friends at Val-Kill, where she listened to the proceedings over the radio. “He doesn’t seem to know how to make people happy.”7
Even the platform miscarried. A sizable group of isolationists led by Senators Wheeler and Walsh insisted on including a plank aimed at blocking any intervention abroad: “We will not participate in foreign wars and we will not send our army or navy or air force to fight in foreign lands outside of the Americas.” Roosevelt salvaged the plank at the last moment by adding the words “except in case of attack,” which Walsh and Wheeler grudgingly accepted.8
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br /> At a strategy session attended by Senator James Byrnes and Attorney General Robert Jackson Tuesday morning in Hopkins’s suite at the Blackstone, Harold Ickes said that “if the Republicans had been running the convention in the interests of Willkie, they could not have done a better job than we were doing.”9 Hopkins took offense, and Ickes put the case directly to the president. He sent a telegram rather than telephone. “It is too easy to divert a telephone conversation and the President is adept at that.” Ickes wrote to FDR at length, but his message boiled down to one sentence: “This convention is bleeding to death and your reputation and prestige may bleed to death with it.” Ickes asked Roosevelt to come to Chicago and take charge. “There are more than nine hundred leaderless delegates milling about like worried sheep waiting for the inspiration of leadership that only you can give them.”10
Frances Perkins, attending her sixth Democratic convention, agreed. She had known FDR more than thirty years and was much closer to him than Ickes. She chose to telephone. (“He was always easy to get on the phone and willing to interrupt whatever he was doing to talk to one of his associates.”) He would be renominated, Perkins told the president, but “the situation is just as sour as it can be.” Like Ickes, she urged him to come to Chicago.
“No, no, I have given it full consideration,” Roosevelt replied. “I thought it all through both ways. I know I am right, Frances. It will be worse if I go. People will get promises out of me that I ought not to make. If I don’t make promises, I’ll make new enemies. If I do make promises, they’ll be mistakes. I’ll be pinned down on things I just don’t want to be pinned down on, yet. I am sure that it is better not to go.”
“What can we do?” asked Perkins.
“How would it be if Eleanor came?” said FDR. “I think she would make an excellent impression. You know, Eleanor always makes people feel right.”
Perkins agreed. “Call her,” the president said. “I’ll speak to her too, but you tell her so that she will know I am not sending her on my own hunch.”11
When Perkins called Eleanor, she found her reluctant. “I thought it utter nonsense,” ER wrote later.12 She was also concerned about Farley. Both Eleanor and Frances Perkins were very fond of the chairman and regretted that he and Franklin were now rivals. Finally, ER said she would go only if Farley invited her. “I am not going to add to the hard feelings,” she told Perkins.13
Eleanor put in a call to Farley in Chicago, who was so overcome by the first lady’s gesture he could barely speak.14
“I don’t want to appear before the convention unless you think it is all right,” said Eleanor.
“It’s perfectly all right with me,” Farley replied when he regained his composure.
“Please, don’t say so unless you really mean it.”
“I do mean it and I am not trying to be polite. Frankly, the situation is not good. Equally frankly, your coming will not affect my situation one way or the other. From the President’s point of view I think it desirable, if not essential, that you come.”15
Eleanor made arrangements to fly to Chicago Wednesday. Rather than use government transportation, she called C. R. Smith, the head of American Airlines and an old friend, who put his personal plane at her disposal.
Tuesday evening the clouds parted and the convention came to life. Mayor Kelly regained control. Farley might command the tickets to the gallery, but the Chicago police determined access to the convention site. By the time the delegates were called to order, Chicago Stadium was packed with Cook County regulars waiting for the mayor’s signal. The principal address would be given by Senator Alben Barkley upon assumption of his duties as permanent chairman. Nominating speeches would follow. Twice, in 1932 and 1936, Barkley had brought the delegates to a partisan frenzy with his stem-winding keynotes, and in 1948 he would exceed even those performances with a keynote speech that galvanized a fractured and dispirited Democratic party to press on to victory. In 1940 he was at his rhetorical best. As the audience stomped and cheered, Barkley delivered a litany of New Deal accomplishments and Republican failures. Thirteen minutes into the oration he casually mentioned the president’s name, igniting the pent-up emotion on the floor and precipitating an unplanned demonstration that lasted almost an hour. When order was restored, Barkley continued another thirty minutes. At the conclusion he announced the magic words the delegates were waiting for: a message from the president of the United States:
The President has never had and has not today any desire or purpose to continue in the office of President, to be a candidate for that office, or to be nominated by the convention for that office. He wishes in all conviction and sincerity to make it clear that all of the delegates at this convention are free to vote for any candidate.
That is the message which I bear to you tonight from the President.16
The vast crowd in Chicago Stadium was speechless for a moment. What did Roosevelt mean? The statement said neither yes nor no. Five, ten, fifteen seconds, and then bedlam broke loose.17 From loudspeakers all over convention hall a powerful voice boomed out “We want Roosevelt,” “We want Roosevelt,” over and over. Delegates joined in, the galleries emptied onto the floor, state standards crowded into the aisles, the Chicago police band marched in playing “Happy Days Are Here Again,” the city firemen tooted “Franklin D. Roosevelt Jones,” and this time there was no power failure as the giant electric organ joined the celebration. It was pure pandemonium, and through it all that deep penetrating voice could be heard above the noise that filled the arena: “We want Roosevelt,” “Everybody wants Roosevelt,” “The world needs Roosevelt.” In a tiny office in the stadium basement, his mouth inches away from a microphone, belting out the message, sat Chicago’s leather-lunged superintendent of sewers, fifty-four-year-old Thomas D. Garry, who would gain convention immortality as “the voice from the sewers.”18
The balloting Wednesday was pro forma. Roosevelt swept the field with 946 votes, Farley received 72, Garner 61, Senator Millard Tydings of Maryland 9, and Cordell Hull, whose name had not been placed in nomination, 5. Shortly after midnight, the roll call complete, Farley moved to make the vote unanimous.
Equally pro forma was FDR’s call to Hull that night offering him the vice presidential nomination.19 When Hull again declined—he had turned Roosevelt down three times in the two past weeks—the president called Hopkins and said he wanted Wallace to be the nominee—Secretary of Agriculture Henry A. Wallace, a choice that jolted party leaders no less than TR’s selection by the Republican convention in 1900.20* Roosevelt wanted Wallace because he was concerned about carrying the farm belt against a transplanted Hoosier like Willkie; he wanted a liberal to carry on the New Deal tradition should that be necessary; and he wanted someone whose antifascist credentials were impeccable. Wallace had done an outstanding job at Agriculture, his revolutionary work as a scientist to develop hybrid corn was transforming the face of American farming, and unlike the crusty, embittered Garner, Roosevelt found him likable and loyal. On the negative side, Wallace had never run for elective office. He was regarded by many as a mystic fascinated by the occult, a crackpot quality that professional politicos found difficult to comprehend.21 And his loyalty to the Democratic party appeared uncertain. His father had been secretary of agriculture under Harding and Coolidge, and Wallace had not registered as a Democrat until the 1936 election. “Just because the Republicans have nominated an apostate Democrat,” shouted one leader, “let us not for God’s sake nominate an apostate Republican.”22
Other candidates were off and running. Hopkins urged FDR to take Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas. Speaker Bankhead believed FDR had promised the post to him. Paul McNutt wanted it, and so did the RFC’s Jesse Jones. Wallace had no tangible base of support. He would have to be forced down the throat of a convention already aggrieved and bitter. Jimmy Byrnes (who also wanted the job) suggested Jones or Alben Barkley; Farley suggested anyone but Wallace—preferably Jones, Bankhead, or McNutt in that order. Eleanor concurred. “I�
�ve been talking to Jim Farley and I agree with him. Henry Wallace won’t do,” she told FDR. “Jesse Jones would bolster the ticket, win it business support and get the party contributions.”23
When Roosevelt remained adamant, Hopkins and Byrnes fell into line and began to work the convention on Wallace’s behalf. Jones bowed to presidential pressure and withdrew. (When Hopkins resigned as secretary of commerce on August 22, 1940, FDR named Jones to replace him.) That left Bankhead, McNutt, and Wallace. Nominations were scheduled for Thursday evening. After his name was placed before the convention, McNutt withdrew. “Franklin Roosevelt is my leader and I am here to support his choice for vice president.”24 That left Bankhead and Wallace. Before the voting began, and with the outcome very much in doubt, FDR received a crucial assist. Escorted by party chairman Farley, Eleanor Roosevelt made her way to the platform. The entire convention rose to its feet in a rousing burst of applause. The obvious affection ER and Farley shared provided a healing effect. The bitterness on the floor subsided. Eleanor began her speech with a tribute to Farley: “I think nobody could appreciate more what he has done for the party and I want to give him here my thanks and devotion.” Mrs. Roosevelt hit the right note. The convention that had booed Wallace’s name when the nominations were made listened with rapt attention as she moved on. “This is no ordinary time,” said ER. “No time for weighing anything except what we can best do for the country as a whole.” Without mentioning Wallace by name, she asked the delegates to support her husband’s choice. “No man who is a candidate or who is President can carry this situation alone. This is only carried by a united people who love their country and who will live for it … to the fullest of their ability.”25
