by Allen Drury
Prepared, and indeed, eager, for now all his work and that of his friends for many patient weeks was abruptly undone, and he knew they faced an enormous task to set it right. Together with his colleagues of the Times, the Post, The Greatest Publication That Absolutely Ever Was, CBS, NBC, ABC, Frankly Unctuous and his other friends of the networks, Walter had labored long and hard to put Ted Jason on the ticket. Not because they loved Ted Jason, but because they hated Orrin Knox. And “hate,” though he felt it to be an exaggerated and rhetorical word he never used to himself, was probably not too strong for the combination of contempt, repugnance, disapproval, mistrust and plain, downright dislike with which they had all, over so many long, embittered years, regarded the Secretary of State.
And now, God help the country, there was nothing left to restrain him unless Walter and his friends could do the job. They had entertained great reservations about Ted Jason, who had been equivocal, tricky and devious as he played with the violent in his attempt to wrest the Presidential nomination from Orrin. But at least he had been Right on all the essential issues. And in Walter’s world, when you were Right, you could be forgiven failings that would bring universal condemnation when indulged by lesser men.
Thus Ted’s flirting with NAWAC and all its dangerous and even sinister components could be blandly ignored and smoothly brushed over in newsprint and on the tube. The Governor of California believed in Peace with a capital P, he was against the old, outmoded big-stick-brandishing that had so often marred America’s past, he opposed the wars in Panama and Gorotoland, he believed in meeting the Communists half- or even more than halfway, he would apparently make enormous concessions to avoid any kind of confrontation with them—he was simply, classically Right on the issue that Walter and his colleagues saw as determining whether mankind would live or die.
As such, Ted Jason could be forgiven for being what they had come to perceive in these recent weeks—a weak, vacillating, overly ambitious man. He could not only be forgiven, he could be protected, as they always protected those who agreed with them. Around his essential weakness could be drawn the cloak of an incessant and unvarying drumbeat of press and media adulation. The public could never get through to him because the media kept the public out. Inside the charmed circle of their determined protectiveness, Edward M. Jason flourished and grew great in the eyes of his countrymen, who “only knew what they read in the newspapers or saw on television.” What they read in the newspapers and saw on television often was not the truth, but that was beside the point. The point was to defeat that irresponsible, headstrong, desperately dangerous, warmongering fool, Orrin Knox. Anything could be excused and justified in the pursuit of that goal. And anything was.
For some strange reason, however—no doubt caused by the essential frivolity, stupidity and unworthiness of the American people, characteristics often observed and commented upon by their mentors—the massive onslaught of the media had not been enough. Orrin, though politically battered and bloodied, had somehow managed to hang on to a basic constituency in the country whose members persisted in seeing him as a man whose personality was sometimes prickly but whose honesty, courage and integrity were constant. This hard core the media had not been able to erode; and when the showdown had finally come earlier in the week at the National Committee meeting, it had proved to be something more than just a hard core. By some miracle of direct communication that rested more on what people sensed about him than on what they were told by those who tried to persuade them differently, he had been able to get sufficient support to win the nomination. Enough genuinely spontaneous public pressure had descended on the committee to persuade enough—just enough—of its members to vote for Orrin. It had been a very narrow victory but there was no doubt it had been approved by a majority of his countrymen. And even his opponents had been disposed to fall in line when Orrin had decided, with what Walter and his friends could only regard, grudgingly, as genuine statesmanship, to pick Ted for his running mate.
Thereby, as Walter shrewdly knew from his twenty-five years in Washington, Orrin had drawn most of the teeth of his liberal critics—while at the same time producing an erosion of doubt in his basically conservative constituency that he would have a hard time overcoming. A hard time, that is, as long as Ted lived and could exercise an influence on Orrin’s policies—as long as he provided a focal point for the liberal point of view that would hold Orrin in check.
But now Ted was gone and the check was no longer there. Why was it no longer there?
Suddenly, as he later told his chum the executive director of the Post, it was as though Walter heard a great voice from the sky, a genuine revelation. Into his mind like a slither of lightning came the question: Why was Ted Jason no longer there? One of the shrewdest political brains in the world came to a dead halt. Across its owner’s face passed a strange look of astonishment, speculation and the beginnings of an almost gleeful triumph. Not openly gleeful, for such blatant satisfaction would not have suited Walter’s image of himself, but a genuine satisfaction, nonetheless.
He drew a sharp breath and his mind began to race. Out of its headlong plummeting came the column that was to mark the beginning of the last great attempt to get Orrin Knox—the attempt that would carry Walter and his friends into strange and dangerous alliances with deadly enemies of theirs whom they believed, in their naïve sophistication, to be friends.
It was to be an attempt undertaken, by those who launched it, with an absolute self-righteousness and an unshakable, uplifting, thoroughly comforting self-congratulation. Walter and his friends would be convinced, as they had been in the case of so many other savage attacks upon public figures they knew were clearly unworthy to serve the great Republic, that what they were doing was best for America. This justified all, even the type of attack he was beginning now as he turned back to his typewriter with a sudden determination, his pudgy fingers racing over the keys as both his ideas and what his less friendly colleagues (and there were some) called “Walter’s hysteria quotient” began to flow:
“In this dreadful hour, when American politics are in disarray and when the peace-loving have lost perhaps their last, best hope who might have restrained a war-obsessed Administration, all Americans who love their country must now reassess their attitudes and approaches to the coming campaign and the election in November.
“As of this moment, it appears an all but total certainty that the nominee chosen to run against Orrin Knox will be the amiable and worthy Minority Leader of the United States Senate, Senator Warren Strickland of Idaho. But when one says ‘amiable and worthy’ about Senator Strickland one has said it all. He has served for twenty years with notable diligence and unnoticeable accomplishment. Nothing in his record indicates Presidential stature. Nothing in his personality indicates the kind of national charisma that will be needed to defeat Secretary Knox. Secretary Knox,” (and Walter gritted his teeth as he wrote it, but one had to give the devil his due, unfortunately) “whatever one may think of his policies, does have a dominant and commanding personality. It may frequently be prickly, sharp-tongued, impatient, intolerant and unattractive” (and that, he thought with satisfaction, put the devil’s due in proper perspective) “but there is no denying that it is a powerful one. Like him or dislike him, trust him or mistrust him, Orrin Knox is there and he cannot be ignored. That poses, for all those many millions in America who deplore his pro-war policies and his harsh impatience with dissenters at home, a major problem.
“It is a problem, it seems likely, which cannot be solved by voting for Senator Strickland, whose personal friendship and basic sympathies in any event lie with Secretary Knox, even though he is theoretically in opposition. It can only be solved by placing on the ticket as Secretary Knox’s running mate a man in the Ted Jason mold, dedicated to the Ted Jason policies—as strongly, immovably and implacably opposed to war, to phony hostility towards our peace-seeking Communist friends, and to the outworn tenets of shotgun diplomacy, as was Ted Jason himself.”
(And where, Walter asked himself with a savage inner sarcasm, do you find this paragon? Roger P. Croy, that fatuous fool, the demagogic silver-haired, silver-tongued, former Governor of Oregon who had managed Ted’s campaign for the nomination? George Henry Wattersill, that constantly publicized young legal defender of the sick, the misfit and the misbegotten from the underside of America? Some other Senator, shopworn and unappealing even though he might parrot the Jason line? Some other Governor, arriving too late on the Presidential scene for any effective buildup? There was nobody sufficiently big in his own right so that Orrin could be forced to take him, that was the problem. But the thought must be given one more boost for the record, before Walter turned to matters more subtle and long-range.)
“That there are such men in American life,” he assured his readers, “there can be no doubt. A dozen, starting with the outstanding former Governor of Oregon, Roger P. Croy, come instantly to mind.” (He knew he did not have to name them, because over the years his readers had become so conditioned that if Walter said something “comes instantly to mind” his readers would instantly start racking their brains to make something come to mind.) “Therefore, the first task before the vast millions who believed in the idealism, the purposes and the sheer human goodness of Edward M. Jason is this: to bring sufficient pressure on Secretary Knox, and on the National Committee, to persuade them to accept such a man.
“To do otherwise—to allow a handpicked Knox Vice Presidential nomination—would be to permit the unthinkable. It would be to endorse the creation of a ticket completely unbalanced, completely lopsided, completely dedicated to the war policies of Secretary Knox and the last two Administrations.
“National tickets must be balanced. It is one of the most honored traditions of American politics. It would be unthinkable to permit a ticket in which the opposing point of view within the party had no voice to speak for it. Balanced tickets have not become a time-hallowed feature of our politics for nothing. Balance means balance. It is absolutely imperative if the American democracy is to function fairly for all its citizens.
“Therefore, all those Americans who believed in Edward M. Jason, all Americans of good faith and good heart, must instantly make their wishes known on this issue, in overwhelming force and unanswerable unity. The country can accept no less.”
And now with that clarion call to the faithful out of the way, he decided—with a sudden overwhelming dislike for the man who had won the Presidential nomination over his bitter and implacable opposition—that he would give Orrin Knox something to think about. He would not do it frivolously, lightly or vindictively. A genuine thought had occurred to Walter Dobius and he did not consider it at all beyond the realm of possibility that it might be an entirely valid one. Not that Orrin himself could have been personally involved, of course; he would grudgingly but honestly give Orrin that much toleration. But somebody could have been involved … somebody could have been. And once he expressed the thought in print, he knew very well that for many millions it would be easy to accept. He and his colleagues lived happily in an age in which they could create “the truth” simply by stating it emphatically in print or on the tube.
If Orrin could not be defeated—and Walter was realist enough to doubt very seriously that he could be—and if he could not be restrained by a running mate handpicked by Walter, his colleagues and the peace-loving elements of the country—then he must be prevented from pursuing his insane war policies by other means.
Righteously, as he always chastised those who deserved it in American public life, Walter began to lay the groundwork—completely and honestly convinced that he was doing so in the best interests of the nation to which he owed, in odd but undeniable fashion, allegiance and a curious kind of jealous and possessive love.
“With this much said,” his talented fingers hurried on, “the mind inevitably returns to the terrible events that took place three days ago at the Washington Monument Grounds. And after all due sorrow has been expressed to the Secretary for the loss of Mrs. Knox—after all the universal mourning that has accompanied the end of the amazing career and infinitely valuable life of Governor Jason has been expressed to his widow—the questions begin. Americans have to acknowledge that they are not pleasant questions. But Americans must also acknowledge that they are questions that have to be faced, for they go to the very heart of the basic worth and potential capabilities of a possible Knox Administration.
“If these questions have any foundation at all—and many here in this capital” (another favorite phrase that dutiful readers out in the country could never verify but always accepted) “believe they may have foundation—then they throw the most grave and disturbing light upon Secretary Knox and all around him.
“They raise, indeed, the gravest question of all: Can he govern?
“Or will he, ultimately, face defeat at the polls?
“Or, if elected, will he face suspicion, mistrust, incapacity to function—and then perhaps, before too long—impeachment—ouster—disgrace?”
Which was pretty strong stuff, Walter knew. But he was in the grip of a bitter resentment against fate for removing the only hopeful element of the Knox ticket, and anger drove him on to lengths which, even for Walter at his most righteous, were perhaps a little extreme.
“Why was Edward M. Jason, the man who could have restrained the war policies of a Knox Administration, so tragically and abruptly taken from us? Why did there occur a death so convenient to the head of the ticket? What sinister forces, lurking in the background of the Knox campaign, may have been responsible for this terrible event? Did the candidate know—did he even remotely suspect—that some among his conservative supporters might be so radical and so ruthless that they could conceivably go to such terrible lengths to get rid of Edward M. Jason?
“If this should ever prove to be the case—if there should ever appear the slightest suspicion that Orrin Knox—if not directly, then through the fundamental executive sin of not knowing what was going on around him—was in any remotest way culpable for the horrifying murder of his liberal running mate, Edward M. Jason, Governor of California—then he should be driven forever from public life with such a cry of condemnation and revulsion from his countrymen as will ring forever down the corridors of history.
“This correspondent does not say—no responsible observer or leader in this stunned capital says—that Secretary of State Orrin Knox did indeed know, or condone, or participate in, any such dreadful scheme. Yet the somber questions remain:
“Why was the only man capable of restraining his war policies so ruthlessly and mercilessly gunned down? Who planned it? How did it come about? Why did an event so convenient for Orrin Knox occur?
“Washington—America—the world—awaits answers to these questions from the only man who can give them—the Presidential candidate. It is the hope here, as it is everywhere, that they will soon be forthcoming.”
Which, as Walter told himself again, was indeed strong stuff. Under other circumstances—if, for instance, it had been Orrin Knox who had fallen dead on the platform instead of Ted Jason—Walter might have proceeded in a much different way and turned out to be, in the long run, a much different man. He would then have been dealing with a liberal candidate, but one whose real liberalism and basic human worth he did not trust for one moment. He would then perhaps have been much more the cautionary sage, attempting, as he had so often done with wayward Presidents in the past, to guide Ted Jason into sound and responsible paths worthy of his great office. But Orrin had not died, Ted had; and his dislike for Orrin and Orrin’s pro-war conservatism was such that he felt only a cold and self-righteous duty to America in attempting to weaken him as much as he could.
If Ted had lived … but Ted hadn’t lived, so all that was empty speculation.
Orrin was Walter’s problem now, and in his approach to it he felt, and acknowledged, very few, if any, restraints.
His column, appearing next morning in a nation still rocking from three major po
litical deaths in as many weeks, touched off, as he had expected and intended, many consequences in many hearts and places. The media, whose members might have given Ted Jason the benefit of much patience and tolerance had he lived and Orrin died, extended no such kindness, consideration or fairness to the survivor they had opposed so long and so savagely. He was given no quarter, save for a few cursory expressions of sympathy for the loss of his wife.
Frankly Unctuous picked up Walter’s column that evening on his commentary—dutifully labeled “Opinion” by the network—and his fellow commentators did the same. Agreeing editorials, more cautiously worded than Walter’s column but still sounding the same questioning and unsettling theme, appeared in the Times, the Post, The Greatest Publication and all their many editorial imitators across the country. As a result, understandably enough (although there were some slight expressions of alarm and regret in some sections of the media), the black-jacketed forces of the National Anti-War Activities Congress poured into the streets in many cities, their dismay at the death of the man they believed they had forced onto the Knox ticket suddenly given a focus, an idea and a theme. Savage banners demanded a liberal on the ticket, or failing that, the defeat, or death, or both, of Orrin Knox.
Overseas, the views of the mythical and inevitable “man in the street,” so avidly sought by American correspondents whenever anything detrimental to America could be used as excuse, revealed the not very startling news that the man in the street—or his interviewers, at any rate—was convinced that there was a very strong likelihood that Orrin Knox had, indeed, had something sinister to do with the death of Ted Jason. Within hours from the time Walter finished his column in “Salubria’s” quiet study, his flash of inspiration had traveled the globe with serious effects upon the man who seemed likely to be the next President of the United States.
As the National Committee prepared to meet to select a successor to Edward M. Jason, it was apparent that the Presidential nominee would not have his way without a fight; a fight he was not physically, mentally or emotionally prepared to make, just yet, but one for which history was not being allowed to give him time to prepare.
