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

by Allen Drury

  “Second!” and “Question!” shouted everyone at once.

  “I move the message be referred to the Foreign Relations and Armed Services committees with instructions that they do not report back to the Senate on its contents,” shouted Fred Van Ackerman.

  “Second!” and “Question!” shouted everyone at once.

  “This is most irregular, now!” Jawbone cried, his eyes meeting and then scooting away from William Abbott’s bitter glance.

  “This is most—irreg—Mr. President—Mr. President—” Arly Richardson shouted, as all around him Senators were on their feet, shouting too.

  “VOTE!” demanded the House. In a moment a great roar of “Aye!” welled up.

  “VOTE!” demanded the Senate. In a moment a great roar of “Aye!” welled up.

  “And now,” Bronson Bernard said, breathing hard but triumphant, all innocent, righteous youth and liberalism, “let us get on with the vicious, partisan attempt to impeach our great President. I want to say a few things on that myself, after the gentleman from Colorado has given us his unfair, one-sided comments.”

  “And now,” said Fred Van Ackerman with a savage relish, all craft, calculation and ruthless determination to pursue his own dark purposes, “I’d suggest we have a little discussion of this impeachment question, so that we can dispose once and for all of this vicious, inexcusable attempt to embarrass our great President in his search for peace.”

  “The Senator is out of order,” said Lacey Pollard, overflushed and overexcited, in the chair in his capacity as president pro tempore. “The Senator knows the Senate cannot act on impeachments until the House has voted to have an impeachment trial. The matter then comes to us and we conduct the trial. The Senator knows—”

  “What the Senator knows,” Fred Van Ackerman said with the same harsh relish, “and what the Senate will do, I will say to the distinguished president pro tem, may be two different things. Is the president pro tem going to deny me the right as a United States Senator to comment on anything I want to comment upon? Is he going to deny my right of free speech in this Senate?”

  “The chair,” Lacey Pollard said, visibly struggling for breath in a way that made Verne Cramer, the doctor, lay a warning hand on the arm of his seat mate, Johnny DeWilton of Vermont, “is going to enforce the regular order and the regular constitutional procedures, he will say that to the Senator—”

  “Mr. President,” Fred Van Ackerman demanded, his eyes glistening bright with battle, “I move that the Senate debate the impeachment move against our great President.”

  “The Senator is out of order!” Lacey Pollard cried angrily.

  “I appeal the ruling of the chair, Mr. President!” Fred said.

  “VOTE!” cried what the Congressional Record would refer to next day as MANY SENATORS.

  “Question!” said Arly Richardson, suddenly capitulating and scuttling back to join the group.

  “Mr. President!” shouted Bob Munson with a furious indignation.

  “Question!” shouted Arly and others.

  “Regular order!” shouted Lafe, Cullee, Warren Strickland and others.

  “QUESTION!” roared Arly and friends.

  “The Clerk,” Lacey Pollard said, struggling ever more noticeably to control his breathing, “will call the roll.”

  “And now, Mr. President,” Senator Van Ackerman said triumphantly a few minutes later into the hush of the suddenly silent, temporarily exhausted Senate, “let us turn to this most inexcusably vicious attack upon the President which is presently under way in the other body. Let us send the word so clearly and loudly that even a grotesquely vindictive ex-President can hear it, that it will do him and his friends no good to try to impeach Edward M. Jason because we won’t have it. Send them word to stop their nonsense and leave our leader alone!”

  “Mr. Speaker,” William Abbott said solemnly into the suddenly silent, temporarily exhausted House, “the President’s men have done his bidding: they have let him make a tiny gesture toward the security of the nation, and they have combined their forces to bury it without trace, thereby relieving him of the embarrassment of following through on something he never really said, anyway. If anything ever demonstrated why this man should be impeached, this episode is it. And,” he said with a sudden significant change in tone which caught the attention of even those who despised him most, “there are other things.”

  But as the afternoon drew on, baffling Walter Dobius who sat above in the Press Gallery and stared down intently like some somber little Buddha, he did not go into them, nor did he, really, even remotely hint. Walter did not understand why, but the reason, in Bill Abbott’s mind, was quite simple and quite overriding: there still remained, in himself and a good many others of the older generation in politics, some basic decency which made them recoil from using upon their opponents the ultimate weapons they might possess.

  A Fred Van Ackerman in such a situation would not have hesitated. Even a Bronson Bernard, whose youthful righteousness infuriated the ex-President even though he could not help but respect its essential innocence, might have been strongly tempted. But most of the older hands were still playing the game the way they had always played it: roughly, sometimes, but still with some essential decency which, as they were beginning to suspect—though it was too late to remedy—disqualified them in the new world of the new breed that was closing down, with terrifying rapidity, upon America.

  So as Walter passed back and forth across the Capitol during the afternoon from House to Senate, listening to a bit of the debate on one side, following it for a while on the other, the conviction began to grow that it was going to be up to him. It was not clear to him, just yet, exactly how he would use his knowledge. But he knew he must.

  At one point, around 5 p.m. when the House debate had lapsed into one of the exhausted lows that came quite regularly between the emotional peaks as Edward Jason’s critics battled with his friends, he felt he had to confirm this impression. He went to the press lobby and sent in word to William Abbott. The ex-President came out at once and they retired to a couple of chairs among the newspaper racks, in the members’ reading room just off the floor.

  “Why don’t you use it?” Walter demanded without preliminary, his voice lowered, face carefully impassive against the curious glances coming their way from other members, some of them strongly pro-Jason.

  “Walter,” Bill Abbott said simply, “I can’t do it. Not on the floor of the House in public debate. I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it. My resolution’s lost anyway, we all know that, and it would just be attacking a man terribly to no real purpose—at least for no purpose of the debate. I can’t do it, because basically, I guess, I’m sorry for the poor bastard.” He smiled and shook his head with a wry disbelief. “I am actually sorry for Edward Jason, though I think he is the man who has—probably already, beyond recall—destroyed America. How’s that for one of life’s little ironies?” He lost the smile, made no pretense to hide his somber expression, which matched Walter’s own, from the observant eyes all around. “I tell you what I’ll do, though. I’ll go to the White House with you and we’ll confront him with it. I think Bob and Warren may want to go too.”

  “Another of these endless little delegations calling on the President that don’t do any good?” Walter inquired bitterly.

  “Walter,” Bill Abbott said, “something has got to reach that man. It has just got to.”

  “What time?”

  “Tonight. As soon as the debate ends in both houses. Whenever it ends: midnight, one, two—no matter. We’ll go. There’s no time left to space things out gracefully, it’s all moving too fast. As soon as we’re free, we’ll go.”

  Walter studied him for a long moment. Then he shook his head with a sudden decisiveness.

  “No, I guess not. I’ll go by myself.”

  “Why?” the ex-President asked blankly.

  “I just feel I have an obligation. On behalf of myself—and the media—and a lot of people. I thin
k I’d rather see him alone.”

  It was William Abbott’s turn to study him. Finally he nodded.

  “Very well. But call me and let me know right away what the results are, please. And, Walter—don’t get yourself too far out on a limb. These really are dangerous times. You have the proof that some people are not stopping at anything.”

  “Is cowardice the answer?” Walter inquired. “It isn’t for you. Or caution, either.”

  “No,” the ex-President said slowly. “But I have certain protections, still.”

  “I think I do, too,” Walter said. “And if I don’t—” he shrugged, his eyes suddenly bleak—“well, maybe I deserve it.”

  “Be careful,” William Abbott said. “Be very careful.”

  He stood up quickly, shook hands, departed.

  Walter, staring blankly at the other occupants of the room as though he did not see them, as perhaps he didn’t, departed too.

  “Mr. Speaker,” Bronson Bernard said shortly before 8 p.m., “we are nearing the end of this historic debate, and I submit that the proponents of this impeachment resolution have not produced one single piece of evidence to warrant any such drastic, preposterous and fantastic action as they propose. All they have succeeded in doing is to demonstrate the paucity of their own arguments. Against that standard, Edward M. Jason towers like a giant: peace lover, peacemaker, statesman, leader. The gall of this proposal, Mr. Speaker! The monstrous, sheer, unadulterated, unmitigated presumption of it! How dare the ex-President and his friends? How dare they?”

  “How dare they?” Fred Van Ackerman cried, taking the floor once more after the three new Senators from Minnesota, Wisconsin and South Dakota had joined him in ringing denunciations of the impeachment group, ringing defenses of Edward M. Jason. “How dare this cabal—this corrupt, evil, sinister cabal that has found its inspiration and guide in a jealous old man in the other body—how dare this cabal attempt to besmirch and demean—attempt to actually throw out of office—one of the greatest patriots who ever sat at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue? It is impossible to believe unless they have gone insane, Mr. President. I think they have. I am convinced of it.”

  “Mr. President,” Cullee Hamilton said patiently, “will the Senator yield?”

  “No, I won’t!” Fred cried, his sudden upward-soaring hysteria beginning to break through. “No, I won’t yield to the Senator from California who is such a lackey for the cabal! A lackey, Mr. President, a lackey! … Mr. President,” he said, abruptly calm again, “I have a resolution here I want to offer and I ask for its immediate consideration.”

  “Now, Mr. President—” Bob Munson began.

  “I offer it, Mr. President,” Senator Van Ackerman said, “and I am going to read it. And then I am going to insist on a vote. It reads as follows:

  “Whereas, a sinister attack has been launched upon the President of the United States by certain unprincipled members of the other body; and Whereas, this attack has taken the form of a completely partisan and unjustified resolution of impeachment; and Whereas, the President of the United States is striving with all his heart and soul, with all his integrity and honor, to bring peace to the world and should not be hampered by partisan attacks of this nature from enemies who hope to thwart his plans for peace; and, Whereas, the aforesaid resolution of impeachment is indeed such a hampering and partisan attempt; Now, therefore, be it resolved by the Senate that the Senate approves of the policies of peace being followed by the President of the United States, condemns without reservation the resolution of impeachment offered in the other body, and declares the sense of the Senate that if such resolution should pass the House and come to the Senate, it will be rejected by the Senate, and declared null and void by the Senate, and no trial of impeachment of the President of the United States will be held thereunder.”

  (“How’s that for being unconstitutional, out of order and generally no damned good?” the Chicago Tribune inquired wryly of the Honolulu Star-Bulletin. “And lovable, into the bargain,” the Star-Bulletin said. “We should have cut him down years ago,” the Post said. “You were too busy working on Orrin Knox and people like that,” the Star-Bulletin remarked; “meanwhile, your little friend crept up. It’s too late to catch him now.” “I hope to hell not,” the Post said. “A truly pious hope,” said the Star-Bulletin, “but not one I’m putting any money on.”)

  “Mr. President,” the new junior Senator from Massachusetts asked cautiously into the silence that had fallen upon the chamber, “is a resolution like that possible? I mean, I’m new here, and I don’t know all the ropes, but I have the impression that if the House passes an impeachment resolution, we don’t have any choice. We have to try it, don’t we?”

  “Certainly,” Lacey Pollard said tartly. “The Senator is absolutely correct. There is no way out of it. The resolution of the Senator from Wyoming is absurd.”

  “Oh, it is, is it?” Fred Van Ackerman cried, his voice sailing again into its ranting register. “Absurd, is that what the president pro tempore calls it? Is that what our great, distinguished presiding officer has to comment, just an empty word like ‘absurd?’ Well, I’ll tell you who’s absurd, Mr. President: you are! Utterly and completely and beyond any peradventure of a doubt. An old,” he said with deliberate cruelty, “out-of-date, used-up, absurd leftover from an earlier time—and not such a worthy time, either. You won’t be here after the election two years from now, you know that, don’t you, Senator? The voters of Texas are going to retire you because you’re so absurd. That’s what’s going to happen!”

  (“What the hell is Fred taking after Lacey for?” Johnny DeWilton murmured to Verne Cramer. “I don’t know,” Verne Cramer said in a worried voice, “but Lace had better watch it or he’s going to have a heart attack, and I’m not kidding.”)

  For a moment, indeed, it seemed that he might right then and there; but somehow, aided by years of discipline in Senate debates, many of which he had successfully dominated in his younger days, he managed to display a reasonable calm as he said quietly,

  “I shall not dignify the Senator’s remarks by any answer. His resolution is absurd and falls of its own weight. Surely the Senate has better things to do than waste its time on such an absurdity.”

  “There you go again,” Fred said with a furious impatience. “I told you not to use that word on me, being so absurd yourself.”

  “Mr. President,” Bob Munson said, “I must insist that the Senator take his seat if he is going to use such insulting language to the chair, or to anyone else on this floor. We can’t have any kind of debate if Senators descend to billingsgate. It destroys the whole democratic process.”

  “Destroys the democratic process?” Fred cried, and here and there over the floor came a snicker of supporting laughter from some of his new young colleagues. “Who is destroying the democratic process, I will ask the chair? The democratic process has recently elected a great President who is trying to bring the world to peace. But great noble Senators here and little noble Representatives over there—” and he flung out a contemptuous arm in the direction of the House—“are doing their best to cancel the democratic process with a resolution that says to the American people, ‘No, you made a mistake, you can’t have your great President, we’re going to take him away from you with a sinister, evil, partisan impeachment.’ How does that square with your great democratic process, Mr. President? Is that democracy?”

  “The chair is not going to engage in debate with the junior Senator from Wyoming,” Lacey Pollard said in his most dignified voice. “He has done that before, many times, and has always come away defiled by the pitch which he has touched.”

  “Senators!” Fred cried, turning to face the attentive circle of faces, back to the chair, arms upraised in anger and indignation. “Senators! You heard the language just used upon me by the president pro tempore of this Senate! Is that what we want as president pro tempore? Is that what we want to preside over this Senate? Is that—that—individual—what we want to represent
us to the world? That is the presiding officer of the United States Senate? My God, how low can we get!”

  (“What’s he up to?” Stanley Danta murmured to Bob Munson, and Bob Munson gave him a worried frown. “I don’t know. He’s trying to do something to Lacey, I don’t know quite why.” “I do.” Stanley said with a sudden conviction. “By God, I do.” After a second Bob Munson nodded and rose to his feet.)

  “Mr. President,” he said, “will the Senator from Wyoming yield to me?”

  “For what purpose?” Senator Van Ackerman demanded suspiciously.

  “To put an end to this bullyragging of a man old enough to be the Senator’s father,” Senator Munson said coldly, “and get on with the business of the Senate.”

  “He is the business of the Senate!” Fred Van Ackerman cried. “We don’t have any other business at this moment more important than the character and ability—and, yes, the alertness, since the Senator mentions age, I didn’t—the alertness of our president pro tempore. What else is more important to this Senate?”

  “I thought the Senator’s resolution about impeachment was,” Senator Munson said scornfully. Fred Van Ackerman rounded on him with an angry stare.

  “The Senator, and some other Senators too, and some members of the House, can be just too clever for their own good one of these days! Just too clever! All right, then, if my resolution bothers the Senator, I’ll withdraw it for a little while until we get this matter settled. I do so withdraw it, Mr. President. Temporarily, I withdraw it.”

  “The Senator has withdrawn his resolution,” Lacey Pollard said with a scorn as withering as Bob Munson’s, “knowing full well that it was an impossible resolution, an unconstitutional resolution which could not possibly have been passed. He was only threatening the House, I think, only making mischief. That is all the Senator was doing, trying to muddy the waters, stir up the country and make mischief. Not a very worthy pastime for a United States Senator, I think. Not a very worthy pastime.”