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

by Allen Drury

  “Let us,” Bronnie Bernard cried to a tensely listening House, “stop trying to evade and avoid the only real issue that confronts the Congress here this morning, namely whether we are going to support our great President in his search for peace, or whether we are going to let domestic disturbances and harassment tie his hands and thwart his actions at every turn! That is the only real issue, Mr. Speaker, and we must stick to it. We must stick to it! We cannot afford to wander away, the stakes are too important—”

  “And my mother’s life is not important?” Hal demanded in a sudden harsh outburst. “That is not important, the gentleman argues? That does not matter to anyone?”

  “Well,” Bronson Bernard said, and he paused and drew a deep breath. “Well—at the risk of sounding harsh, I think historical perspective compels the thought that while individual lives are of course important to those around them, they do not, in the long run, count so much as the historical imperatives that confront great states and societies. Therefore—”

  “Mr. Speaker!” William Abbott cried, and Hal, who had turned pale and started an angry retort, deferred to him immediately. “Mr. Speaker,” William Abbott said, his voice somber, “I had never thought to reach the day when I would hear so cold-blooded and inhuman a statement uttered in all seriousness on the floor of this House. I had never thought to hear the day when a member of the Congress of the United States would place human life at so low an evaluation—when he would have the utter callousness and gall to say to a son that the life of his mother is worthless and unimportant. The gentleman from New York cried shame upon me, Mr. Speaker. I say to him, for shame, and for shame, indeed, to say so cruel and heartless a thing! And God help us if that accurately reflects the heartlessness and cruelty of the new generation of leaders who are coming to power in this land where human life and individual rights once meant something.”

  “Mr. Speaker,” Bronson Bernard said, and his expression, which had for a second looked upset and abashed, hardened into a mask of superior and self-righteous anger. “The Congressman from Colorado as usual uses inflammatory and derogatory language in his attempt to portray me, and those who think like me, as monsters. But that is not honest, Mr. Speaker, nor is it fair. I was simply saying what all intelligent students of history know, which is that the historical imperative in the life of nations in the long run overrides the lives of individuals, and that the lives of individuals must therefore in the long run find themselves subordinate to the needs of their nations. History shows this, Mr. Speaker. It is nothing new. It has happened in many lands, and it is sheer hypocrisy to say it has not happened in this. The gentleman from Colorado knows this.”

  “The gentleman from Colorado,” William Abbott said coldly, “knows that an occasional historical happenstance is a long way from a formally enunciated and active principle of government and political behavior. It is one thing if it happens inadvertently in the course of things. It is quite another if it represents the cold-blooded policy of the government.”

  “How many American boys did the gentleman, as President, send to die in Panama and Gorotoland?” Bronnie Bernard inquired softly. “Was that an ‘occasional historical happenstance?’” There was a little gasp of delighted laughter, and some applause, from the galleries. The Speaker banged his gavel sternly.

  “Now, then!” he said. “Now, then, up there, you-all be quiet, now! You-all are guests of this House and you must be quiet. Does the gentleman from Colorado wish to reply to the question of the gentleman from New York?”

  “Only if the gentleman believes I am a cold-blooded monster who enjoyed sending American boys to their deaths,” Bill Abbott said with a savage dryness. “Does he?”

  “The gentleman seems to believe equally derogatory things about me,” Bronson Bernard replied with a deliberately offhand air. “I don’t see that we’re so different.… Anyway, Mr. Speaker! Anyway! Here we stand arguing a side issue while the President who does not believe in sending American boys abroad to die, the President who does not believe in ‘an occasional historical happenstance’ but who does believe in a positive program for peace, finds his policies hampered and disrupted by domestic protest. That is still the issue.

  “Mr. Speaker, I sympathize with the gentleman from Illinois, but I really honestly do not think that one life, however valuable and important to those around it, must be allowed to stand in the way of action to help America in her hour of need. I must insist on the regular order, Mr. Speaker, in order to bar the resolution of the gentleman from Illinois and allow us to get on with the business of the House.”

  “Then if that is the case, Mr. Speaker,” William Abbott said, “I must appeal to the chair for a ruling on the resolution, and I serve notice that if the ruling is adverse, I shall appeal to the House to override it.”

  “Mr. President,” Fred Van Ackerman said, “I am sure we all sympathize very, very deeply with the Knox family, but, after all, there are things more important than one life or one family. The country is important, Mr. President! A leader who seeks peace is important, Mr. President! Working with our great friends in Russia is important, Mr. President! Mr. President, this resolution is a nice piece of sentiment but it is impeding the work of the Senate. I must insist on the regular order.”

  “Then, Mr. President,” Bob Munson said, “I must appeal to the chair for a ruling on the resolution, and should it be adverse, I serve notice that I shall appeal to the Senate to override it.”

  CONGRESS PASSES HELP AMERICA BILL BY SURPRISINGLY NARROW MARGIN AFTER FOES FAIL IN LAST-MINUTE ATTEMPT TO BLOCK IT. ADMINISTRATION FORCES IN BOTH HOUSES BEAT DOWN SPECIAL RESOLUTION DEMANDING PRESIDENT’S ENDORSEMENT OF BILL, THEN PASS MEASURE 56-44 IN SENATE, 279-256 IN HOUSE. FATE OF MRS. KNOX STILL UNKNOWN.

  But not for long.

  It fell to Frankly Unctuous to announce the news in a special bulletin and commentary, as first light began to touch the gleaming white dome of the Capitol and the glistening white expanses of the snow-held morning city. He faced the cameras in one of the broadcasting booths of the House Radio-Television Gallery, deathly pale, drawn, almost, it seemed, crying. His voice trembled and he steadied it with difficulty, but there was no mistaking where he stood this day. He had made his decision—although, like that of so many, it came a little late.

  “This long night is almost ended,” he said, “and it ends with another terrible tragedy, this one wanton, unnecessary, savage and awful. It is my sad duty to report to you that the body of Mrs. Orrin Knox, widow of the late Secretary of State and late candidate for President, has just been found on the steps of the West Front of the Capitol. The discovery was made just moments ago by a Capitol policeman making a last check on the grounds as Congress adjourned after passing the so-called ‘Help America bill.’

  “Mrs. Knox had been shot once through the head. Her body, apparently with some care on the part of whoever did this dreadful thing, had been placed in the center of the massive ceremonial steps that overlook the city where she and her late husband served their country with such distinction for so many years. She was fully clothed and wearing a coat. FBI officials, already on the scene, believe that she was alive when brought to the Capitol and was executed—for there can be no gentler word—on the spot at some point during the final moments of the Congressional session.

  “The purpose of all this,” Frankly said, and he paused to draw a trembling hand across his forehead, “is, apparently, that there is no purpose—that it is simply frightfulness and horror for the sake of frightfulness and horror. It is true that Mrs. Knox’s son, Congressman Harold Knox of Illinois, with whom all decent Americans must join in sorrow and mourning, had defied the kidnappers’ demands that he support the so-called ‘Help America bill.’ It is true that President Jason, whose formal endorsement of the bill had also been demanded by the kidnappers, had ignored them. But if the basic objective of the kidnappers was to secure passage of the bill, as their statements seemed to say, then all of that was immaterial. The bill passed—and all
the kidnappers really succeeded in doing, during the time their captive lived, was to alienate some of the votes all observers agreed they had, so that the final margin was much narrower than they presumably desired.

  “There is some presumptive evidence that Mrs. Knox’s captors may have intended to release her alive at the Capitol, and that her murder was a sudden angry act of revenge because Congress, the President and her son had not behaved exactly as they were ordered. That motive is being speculated upon in this now hushed and saddened building, as shocked members of Congress and the media prepare to go slowly and unbelievingly away to their homes.

  “But to those familiar with the methods of terrorists in other lands in these recent unhappy decades, it seems likely that a motive deeper and more sinister may well be present.

  “This awful event may have been intended from the first. It may have been simply frightfulness for frightfulness’ sake—terrorist horror for no other reason than to shake the American people—to put the country into a state of shock deeper than it is in already as the result of the assassinations last summer and the difficult and still-unresolved events that have followed the inauguration of President Jason.

  “And it may also have been done to precipitate exactly the kind of domestic division and internal turmoil that would justify an immediate appeal to the extremely dangerous provisions of the so-called ‘Help America bill’—a bill which this correspondent among others, may God forgive and help us all, at first believed necessary to assure the effective fruition of the policies of Edward M. Jason.

  “Now those policies seem dreadfully precarious, the bill dreadfully dangerous to the liberties of this nation. Already anti-Administration demonstrations touched off by Mrs. Knox’s death are being reported from many cities throughout the country, even though much of the nation, in time zones beyond the eastern seaboard, is still in the grip of night. The dreadful news is spreading fast, and with it come the first eruptions of what promises to be a most somber and fateful day for America. Because, of course, the demonstrations are not being allowed to pass unchallenged.

  “They are being met already with force from the organization which many here, rightly or wrongly, are holding responsible for Mrs. Knox’s death—the National Anti-War Activities Congress—NAWAC. Bloody clashes have already been reported from Chicago, Milwaukee, Des Moines, Boston, Richmond. And this is very likely just the beginning.

  “Edward M. Jason must speak now. Even the most patient charity, the most charitable patience, can no longer excuse his silence in the face of all that is happening to this unhappy land.

  “First he must issue the most forceful and powerful condemnation of the murder of Mrs. Knox, and increase to the utmost the government’s search for her murderers.

  “Then he must veto the so-called ‘Help America bill’ with a forcefulness that will guarantee that no such evil proposition will ever again be placed before the Congress.

  “And then he must address the nation and take it into his confidence concerning his plans to meet what has now become the definite Soviet menace to the very future and existence of the American people and of the United States of America itself.

  “Further silence from the President would be inexcusable.

  “Already there is talk of impeachment in the air, up here in the Capitol. Grounds may not yet entirely or logically exist. But further silence and inaction from the President—in the opinion not only of his opponents but of many, including this reporter, who have long defended and supported him—may well provide those grounds: and harsh and saddening though it may be to acknowledge—justly so.”

  It was quite a profound and moving recantation, for one who had joined his colleagues so often in ringing denunciations of all those fellow citizens who had feared the basic trend of recent decades in the great Republic. But it did not impress at all those who had held Mrs. Knox.

  They knew, as he had accurately surmised, that frightfulness—wanton, unnecessary, savage, awful—had its place in a nation’s intimidation; and that a people, if you gave them a few sudden, sharp examples of it, could sometimes be shocked, stunned and nearly beaten before the battle was half begun.

  There were still a good many, of course, who continued to fight on; and to them, for the first time in a week that seemed a year, the President of the United States gave encouragement with one hand, even as he drew it away with the other.

  PRESIDENT LEADS NATION IN MOURNING FOR MRS. KNOX. STATEMENT DENOUNCES “MURDERERS AND SUBVERSIVE ELEMENTS FOREIGN TO THIS DEMOCRACY WHO ARE BEHIND THE KIDNAPPING.” HE PLACES ATTORNEY GENERAL WATTERSILL AT HEAD OF DRIVE TO FIND AND PUNISH CAPTORS, PLEDGES “FULLEST RESOURCES OF GOVERNMENT.” SIGNS HELP AMERICA BILL AS “STRONG NEW WEAPON TO AID IN BATTLE AGAINST ALL SUCH SUBVERTERS OF THE AMERICAN WAY OF LIFE.” RIOTS AND DEMONSTRATIONS SPREAD ACROSS COUNTRY.

  Events moved to a yet more somber beat and the foundations of certainty crumbled with an ever more rapid acceleration, in a land where everything seemed to have gone wrong in the place where it really mattered fundamentally—at the top.

  In the hushed house in Spring Valley he looked at his wife in the ghastly dawn as though he had never seen her before.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said.

  And for the time being, and as far into the future as he was able to see in that awful moment, it did not matter.

  Nor did she.

  Nor did he.

  Nor did anything in all the ruined shambles of what was left of the once-bright dream of the fighting, independent, likable, loyal, cantankerous, freedom-loving Knoxes.

  “Dolly is coming over,” she said with a careful politeness.

  “That’s good,” he said. Some tag-end of thought prompted an inquiry. “What about Mabel?”

  “She just called. She isn’t going to marry Lafe. She’s going back to Utah with Pidge. She says politics is too evil. It killed Brig and now it’s killed—it’s killed—oh, Hal.”

  And they were in each other’s arms, finally, crying together as though they would never stop; although of course they would, eventually; and life would go on.

  But his instinct was right.

  The bright dream was over forever, for the Knoxes.

  They arrived at the East Gate shortly after 6:30 a.m., riding four by four in two limousines, the Speaker’s official Cadillac and Bob and Dolly Munson’s Rolls-Royce: Warren Strickland, Justice Davis and Walter Dobius with Jawbone; the ex-President, Cullee Hamilton and Lafe Smith with Senator Munson.

  They had gathered with a sort of uncoordinated inevitability in the Speaker’s office just twenty minutes ago. William Abbott had said tersely, “Let’s go!” The Speaker had started to protest, then fallen silent under the ex-President’s sudden glare. Meekly he had turned to the phone, ordered his car. Bob Munson had done the same. Bill Abbott had placed two quick calls, to the State and Defense departments’ switchboards; introduced himself, said the same brief words—“Tell the Secretary a group of Congressional leaders and myself are going to the White House immediately to see the President. Tell him to meet us there if he can.” Then he had led the way out the door through the now deserted Speaker’s Lobby to the elevator, down to the worn old stone steps of the East Front of the House where the cars were just drawing up.

  Silently they got in and silently traversed the mile-long run down the Hill and west along just-stirring Pennsylvania Avenue to the Mansion. The skies were clearing, the dawn was growing steadily stronger; there was, at last, the promise of a sunny day. But a knifing wind blew off the frozen Potomac. It was still cold. Very cold.

  As they drew up at the gate two other limousines moved in behind them. Under the portico the Secretaries of State and Defense stepped out, tired and haggard like the rest, clothes rumpled, eyes showing signs of all-night vigil. Not very many in official Washington had been to bed that night. Both Secretaries had been at their desks when the ex-President called. Both had welcomed the message. It was time, and past
time, to end all mysteries, hesitations, duplicities, evasions.

  If they could be ended, of which no one was sure.

  Again, as with Ewan MacDonald and the Joint Chiefs, the startled guards made some pro forma attempt to stop them. But the habit of yielding to the ex-President’s commands was still too strong; plus the fact that none of the formidable phalanx of ten somber men who stood in the lobby showed the slightest signs of taking no for an answer.

  A call was obediently put through, word came back at once from a surprised valet that the President was taking a shower to freshen up before breakfast.

  “Tell him President Abbott, two Cabinet officers and some members of Congress are coming up,” Bill Abbott ordered tersely, hung up, turned to the captain on the desk.

  “Alert the guards throughout the house that we’re on our way,” he directed—received a now-compliant, “Yes, sir!”—said again, “All right, gentlemen, let’s go!”—and trudged off along the corridor past the Rose Garden to the family elevator, where they went up in a couple of loads, regrouping on the second floor. Down the long central hall a member of the Secret Service came to greet them, shook hands deferentially with William Abbott, gravely nodded hello to the rest.

  “The President will be out in a few minutes,” he said. “He has directed me to show you to the solarium. He wants to know if you want breakfast also?”