The Doctor and the Rough Rider

by Mike Resnick

  Roosevelt felt the president of the United States had to protect Americans abroad, so he sent a telegram to the sultan of Morocco, the country in which the kidnapping took place, to the effect that America wanted Perdicaris alive or Raisuli dead. He also dispatched seven warships to Morocco.

  So why wasn't there a war with Morocco?

  Two reasons.

  First, during the summer of 1904, shortly after the kidnapping and Roosevelt's telegram, the government learned something that was kept secret until after all the principles in the little drama—Roosevelt, Perdicaris, and the Raisuli—had been dead for years…and that was that Ion Perdicaris was not an American citizen. He had been born one, but he later renounced his citizenship and moved to Greece, years before the kidnapping.

  The other reason? Perdicaris's dear friend, the Raisuli, set him free. Secretary of State John Hay knew full well that Perdicaris had been freed before the Republican convention convened, but he whipped the assembled delegates up with the “America wants Perdicaris alive or Raisuli dead!” slogan anyway, and Roosevelt was elected in a landslide.

  Roosevelt was as vigorous and active as president as he'd been in every previous position. Consider:

  Even though the country was relatively empty, he could see land being gobbled up in great quantities by settlers and others, and he created the National Park System.

  He arranged for the overthrow of the hostile Panamanian government and created the Panama Canal, which a century later is still vital to international shipping.

  He took on J. P. Morgan and his cohorts, and became the greatest “trust buster” in our history, then created the Department of Commerce and the Department of Labor to make sure weaker presidents in the future didn't give up the ground he'd taken.

  We were a regional power when he took office. Then he sent the navy's “Great White Fleet” around the world on a “goodwill tour.” By the time it returned home, we were, for the first time, a world power.

  Because he never backed down from a fight, a lot of people thought of him as a warmonger—but he became the first American president ever to win the Nobel Peace Price while still in office, when he mediated a dispute between Japan and Russia before it became a full-fledged shooting war.

  He created and signed the Pure Drug and Food Act.

  He became the first president to leave the United States while in office when he visited Panama to inspect the canal.

  Roosevelt remained physically active throughout his life. He may or may not have been the only president to be blind in one eye, but he was the only who to ever go blind in one eye from injuries received in a boxing match while serving as president.

  He also took years of jujitsu lessons while in office, and became quite proficient at it.

  And, in keeping with daughter Alice's appraisal of him, he was the first president to fly in an airplane, and the first to be filmed.

  Roosevelt's last day in office was February 22, 1909.

  He'd already been a cowboy, a rancher, a soldier, a marshal, a police commissioner, a governor, and a president. So did he finally slow down?

  Just long enough to pack. Accompanied by his son, Kermit, and the always-present journalists, on March 23 he boarded a ship that would take him to East Africa for the first organized safari on record. It was sponsored by the American and Smithsonian museums, which to this day display some of the trophies he shot and brought back. His two guides were the immortal F. C. Selous, widely considered to be the greatest hunter in African history, and Philip Percival, who was already a legend among Kenya's hunting fraternity.

  What did Roosevelt manage to bag for the museums?

  Nine lions.

  Nine elephants.

  Five hyenas.

  Eight black rhinos.

  Five white rhinos.

  Seven hippos.

  Eight warthogs.

  Six Cape buffalo.

  Three pythons.

  And literally hundreds of antelope, gazelle, and other herbivores.

  Is it any wonder that he needed 500 uniformed porters? And since he paid as much attention to the mind as to the body, one of those porters carried sixty pounds of Roosevelt's favorite books on his back, and Roosevelt made sure he got in his reading every day, no matter what.

  While hunting in Uganda, he ran into the noted rapscallion John Boyes and others who were poaching elephants in the Lado Enclave. According to Boyes's memoir, The Company of Adventurers, the poachers offered to put a force of fifty hunters and poachers at Roosevelt's disposal if he would like to take a shot at bringing American democracy, capitalism, and know-how to the Belgian Congo (not that they had any right to it, but from their point of view, neither did King Leopold of Belgium). Roosevelt admitted to being tempted, but he had decided that his chosen successor, William Howard Taft, was doing a lousy job as president and he'd made up his mind to run again.

  But first, he wrote what remains one of the true classics of hunting literature, African Game Trails, which has remained in print for just short of a century as these words are written. (And half a dozen of the journalists wrote their versions of the safari to the book publishers, whose readers simply couldn't get enough of Roosevelt.)

  William Howard Taft, the sitting president (and Roosevelt's handpicked successor), of course wanted to run for re-election. Roosevelt was the clear choice among the Republican rank and file, but the president controls the party's machinery, and due to a number of procedural moves Taft got the nomination.

  Roosevelt, outraged at the backstage manipulations, decided to form a third party. Officially it was the Progressive Party, but after he mentioned that he felt “as fit as bull moose,” the public dubbed it the Bull Moose Party.

  Not everyone was thrilled to see him run for a third term. (Actually, it would have been only his second election to the presidency; he became president in 1901 just months after McKinley's election and assassination, so though he'd only been elected once, he had served in the White House for seven years.) One such unhappy citizen was John F. Schrank.

  On October 14, 1912, Roosevelt came out of Milwaukee's Hotel Gillespie to give a speech at a nearby auditorium. He climbed into an open car and waved to the crowd—and found himself face-to-face with Schrank, who raised his pistol and shot Roosevelt in the chest.

  The crowd would have torn Schrank to pieces, but Roosevelt shouted: “Stand back! Don't touch that man!”

  He had Schrank brought before him, stared at the man until the potential killer could no longer meet his gaze, then refused all immediate medical help. He wasn't coughing up blood, which convinced him that the wound wasn't fatal, and he insisted on giving his speech before going to the hospital.

  He was a brave man…but he was also a politician and a showman, and he knew what the effect on the crowd would be when they saw the indestructible Roosevelt standing before them in a blood-soaked shirt, ignoring his wound to give them his vision of what he could do for America. “I shall ask you to be as quiet as possible,” he began. “I don't know whether you fully understand that I have just been shot.” He gave them the famous Roosevelt grin. “But it takes more than that to kill a Bull Moose!”

  It brought the house down.

  He lost the election to Woodrow Wilson—even Roosevelt couldn't win as a third-party candidate—but William Howard Taft, the president of the United States, came in a distant third, capturing only eight electoral votes.

  That was enough for one vigorous lifetime, right?

  Not hardly.

  Did you ever hear of the River of Doubt?

  You can be excused if your answer is negative. It no longer exists on any map.

  On February 27, 1914, at the request of the Brazilian government, Roosevelt and his party set off to map the River of Doubt. It turned out to be not quite the triumph that the African safari had been.

  Early on they began running short of supplies. Then Roosevelt developed a severe infection in his leg. It got so bad that at one point he urged the party to leave
him behind. Of course they didn't, and gradually his leg and his health improved to the point where he was finally able to continue the expedition.

  Eventually they mapped all 900 miles of the river, and Roosevelt, upon returning home, wrote another bestseller, Through the Brazilian Wilderness. And shortly thereafter, the Rio da Duvida (River of Doubt) officially became the river you can now find on the maps, the Rio Teodoro (River Theodore).

  He was a man in his mid-fifties, back when the average man's life expectancy was only fifty-five. He was just recovering from being shot in the chest (and was still walking around with the bullet inside his body). Unlike East Africa, where he would be hunting the same territory that Selous had hunted before and Percival knew like the back of his hand, no one had ever mapped the River of Doubt. It was uncharted jungle, with no support network for hundreds of miles.

  So why did he agree to map it?

  His answer is so typically Rooseveltian that it will serve as the end to this chapter:

  “It was my last chance to be a boy again.”

  JOHN WESLEY HARDIN describes his confrontation with Wild Bill Hickok:

  I have seen many fast towns, but I think Abilene beat them all. The town was filled with sporting men and women, gamblers, cowboys, desperadoes, and the like. It was well supplied with bar rooms, hotels, barber shops, and gambling houses, and everything was open.

  I spent most of my time in Abilene in the saloons and gambling houses, playing poker, faro, and seven-up. One day I was rolling ten pins and my best horse was hitched outside in front of the saloon. I had two six-shooters on, and, of course, I knew the saloon people would raise a row if I did not pull them off. Several Texans were there rolling ten pins and drinking. I suppose we were pretty noisy. Wild Bill Hickok came in and said we were making too much noise and told me to pull off my pistols until I got ready to go out of town. I told him I was ready to go now, but did not propose to put up my pistols, go or no go. He went out and I followed him. I started up the street when someone behind me shouted out, “Set up. All down but nine.”

  Wild Bill whirled around and met me. He said, “What are you howling about, and what are you doing with those pistols on?”

  I said, “I am just taking in the town.”

  He pulled his pistol and said, “Take those pistols off. I arrest you.”

  I said all right and pulled them out of the scabbard, but while he was reaching for them, I reversed them and whirled them over on him with the muzzles in his face, springing back at the same time. I told him to put his pistols up, which he did. I cursed him for a long-haired scoundrel that would shoot a boy with his back to him (as I had been told he intended to do me). He said, “Little Arkansas, you have been wrongly informed.”

  I shouted, “This is my fight and I'll kill the first man that fires a gun.”

  Bill said, “You are the gamest and quickest boy I ever saw. Let us compromise this matter and I will be your friend.”

  MIKE RESNICK has won an impressive five Hugos and has been nominated for thirty-one more. He has published seventy-one novels and more than two hundred fifty short stories. He has edited forty-one anthologies. His work ranges from satirical fare, such as his Lucifer Jones adventures, to weighty examinations of morality and culture, as evidenced by his brilliant tales of Kirinyaga. The series, with sixty-six major and minor awards and nominations to date, is the most honored series of stories in the history of science fiction.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication Page

  Prologue

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  10.

  11.

  12.

  13.

  14.

  15.

  16.

  17.

  18.

  19.

  20.

  21.

  22.

  23.

  24.

  25.

  26.

  27.

  28.

  29.

  30.

  31.

  Appendix 1

  Appendix 2

  Appendix 3

  Appendix 4

  Appendix 5

  Appendix 6

  About the Author

  Back Cover