(1976) The R Document

by Irving Wallace

  tampering with the Constitution when we try to change it. I’m only saying it was many things when it began, and it can still be many things. That’s why we have amendments. The word amendment derives from the Latin word emendare -meaning to correct a defect or modify something for the better.’

  ‘But those different versions of the Constitution and Bill of Rights?’ Vanbrugh prompted again.

  ‘Yes. Well, as you may know, a group of fifty-five men from twelve states met from May until September of 1787 in the Pennsylvania State House - which is called Independence Hall today - to draw up a Constitution that would bind thirteen individual states into a nation. The average age of these men was forty-three. Perhaps patriotism and survival were not the only incentives for these delegates. Half of them owned public securities. If they could write a Constitution that would form a new government, their securities would rise in value. At any rate, if you think the Presidency, as we have it in the Constitution today, is sacred, consider the fact that Alexander Hamilton wanted a President appointed for life. Edmund Randolph and George Mason wanted three men to serve as President at the same time, while Benjamin Franklin suggested that a council rule the United States. The Convention voted five times in favor of having the President appointed by Congress. It was the delegation from Virginia that first suggested a single “national executive”. They did not even call him President. It was Randolph who opposed this kind of one-man office, describing it as “the fetus of monarchy”.’ Collins glanced at the moderator. ‘Do I have time for more?’

  ‘Please go on,’ Vanbrugh urged him.

  ‘Perhaps many people think that the creation of the Senate, as outlined in the Constitution, is also sacred. Not so in the beginning. Some members of the Convention wanted the various state legislatures to appoint Senators. Hamilton wanted the Senators appointed for life. James Madison suggested Senators serve nine-year terms. When it was agreed Senators should be elected by the people, some delegates meant elected by people who were property holders and therefore stable. It was John Jay who said, “The

  people who own the country ought to govern it.” In the end, a compromise was reached. The state legislatures could vote for Senators, and the Senators would serve six-year terms. Not until 1913 did the 17th Amendment change this, giving all citizens the right to select Senators. As for the Bill of Rights, there was no Bill of Rights - none at all - when the Constitution was signed. Most of the Founding Fathers felt the Constitution itself was a Bill of Rights, and no amendments had to be added. I repeat, the wisest men in America felt no Bill of Rights was necessary at the time. In the light of our past, I don’t see what injury we can do our Constitution in the present century by appending to it a 35th Amendment which would merely temporarily suspend the Bill of Rights if necessary to preserve our country.’

  ‘Mr Vanbrugh?’ It was Tony Pierce trying to be heard. ‘May I respond to the Attorney General’s version of American history?’

  ‘Your turn, Mr Pierce,’ said the moderator.

  ‘Mr Collins,’ said Pierce, ‘despite everything you’ve said, we do have a Bill of Rights today. How did we get it? You omitted mentioning that. We got it because the people wanted it, because the people felt the Constitutional Convention had been wrong in leaving it out. The various states wanted people’s rights and states’ rights spelled out, they wanted this before they would ratify the Constitution. Patrick Henry of Virginia suggested twenty amendments, among them the first ten later adopted. Massachusetts wanted the ten amendments. Other states did. When the First Congress met in 1791, Madison proposed twelve amendments. Congress agreed on ten, and sent them to the thirteen states for ratification. They were ratified and the Bill of Rights became effective in December of 1791.’

  ‘You’re implying all the states wanted a Bill of Rights,’ said Collins, ‘and that’s simply not true. Three of the original thirteen states refused to ratify the Bill of Rights. In fact, they didn’t do so until 1939, a century and a half later.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re quibbling, Mr Collins,’ Pierce shot

  back. ‘What is meaningful is that from the beginning we

  ad a Bill of Rights that guaranteed all our people three

  main rights - freedom of religion, freedom of speech, freedom of trial. It was Thomas Jefferson who insisted, “A Bill of Rights is what the people are entitled to against any government on earth, general or particular, and what no just government should refuse or rest on inference?’ Our Bill of Rights was important, and remains important. Surely Jefferson would have opposed your 35th Amendment as vehemently as I am opposing it now. What you are arguing for is an amendment to avoid the Bill of Rights, and I am saying to do so is to void democracy itself.’

  Collins felt cornered and helpless, and because he felt cornered and helpless, he compensated with anger. ‘Mr Pierce, it is to preserve democracy that I am supporting the 35th,’ he said heatedly. ‘What will void democracy is permitting our present plague of lawlessness and anarchy to escalate totally out of control, to let the murders, kidnappings, bombings, assassinations, conspiracies, revolutions -to let all these overwhelm us. In a few years there won’t be a democracy. There won’t even be a country. Who are you going to give rights to if there is no country?’

  ‘I’d rather have no country than a country without freedom,’ retorted Pierce. ‘But there will be a country as long as there are people - free people and not slaves. There are better ways to control crime than by offering dictatorship. We might begin by offering people food, jobs, housing, justice, compassion, equality.’

  ‘I believe in all those things, too,. Mr Pierce. But we must stop the killing first. The 35th Amendment may stop the killing. After that, with order restored, we can start attending to our other priorities.’

  Pierce shook his head. ‘We’ll be able to attend to nothing once our human rights are lost. And make no mistake about it, under your 35th our rights will be lost. I was just rereading a book last night - ‘ He plucked a paperback off the table and opened it. ‘ - a book called Your Freedoms: The Bill of Rights by Frank K. Kelly, Vice-President of the Fund for the Republic. Listen to what he has to say: “If we lost our Bill of Rights, what would happen to our way of life? Here are some of the things that could happen: The Government could keep young men in the military services for indefinite periods, without giving any explanation or

  justification for this policy. Young men and women leaving school could be assigned to jobs in industries where the Government asserted the workers were needed. Young people could be forced to take these jobs. Students protesting against Government policies …could be thrown into Federal prisons by order of the President. Americans, young and old, could be required to give up their property for public use without compensation… The names of persons writing critical letters to their congressmen might be turned over to the police, and such persons could be arrested and imprisoned … Editors who printed articles in their newspapers criticizing the Government would be subject to arrest at any time, night or day…”’

  Pierce was going on and on, and Collins unconsciously began shrinking back into his chair. The fight he had tried to fake had gone out of him. He didn’t belong here, not on the side where he sat, and he was filled with loathing for the other man inside him, the ambitious monster who had put him here.

  He waited. He listened. He attempted a few more feeble, halfhearted defenses. He did his duty. The minutes passed, the endless thirty minutes, and finally the torture was over.

  He fumbled to remove his microphone as Vanbrugh and Pierce stood up, both amiable, both ready to chat.

  Collins ignored them. ‘Excuse me,’ he said to Vanbrugh, ‘but where’s the men’s room?’

  ‘Across the hall to the left.’

  Collins spun around, went hastily across the television stage, out the door into the hallway, and swung left.

  He found the bathroom and rushed inside. Luckily, no one else was there. He made it to the toilet basin just in time.

&
nbsp; He hung over it a moment, ashen.

  Then he threw up.

  After a while, he washed his face and hands, and tried to regain his composure. He stared at himself in the mirror.

  If he had wondered where he finally stood on the Bill of Rights, he knew now. And strangely, his conscience hadn’t told him where to stand. It was his stomach that had.

  It was an hour later, and he had made up his mind as to what he must do. It wasn’t what he wanted completely, but it was a start - a good start.

  As he left the elevator that had brought him two floors below the main lobby of the Century Plaza Hotel, he knew that he had definitely decided upon his next act. While his bodyguards and the local police officers helped him push through the mob of press photographers and spectators, Collins crossed the vast lower lobby and entered the Los Angeles Room of the hotel.

  Escorted along the fringe of the upper tier of tables, he was not ready for the impact of so many bodies jammed together in this cavern of a hall lit only by a mammoth central chandelier and one set of four chandeliers on the far side of it. Clutching the leather folder that held his speech in his left hand, striding awkwardly, he came onto the bright stage and the dais, where officers of the American Bar Association rose to welcome him. His public recognition was not yet high, but a scattering of applause from below followed him to his seat.

  Small talk, small talk, the amenities, as he was directed to his place beside Chief Justice John G. Maynard.

  Shaking hands with the Chief Justice, Collins was once again impressed by the idol of his youth. Maynard was one of the few public figures in America who seemed to have been type-cast for their roles. His mass of white hair, deep-set probing eyes beneath thick brows, hooked nose, and square jaw gave him the appearance of an honest Caesar. His bearing, his carriage ramrod-straight, gave him an air of vigor and youth remarkable for a man in his mid-seventies. For Collins, the next move was difficult. He barely knew Chief Justice Maynard. He had met him no more than three times, briefly, during Government receptions, and had never spoken to him at length. Actually, there had been a fourth time very recently - the occasion when Chief Justice Maynard had sworn him in as Attorney General in the White House.

  Aware that the President of the American Bar Association had gone to the podium, that the proceedings were about to begin, Collins was pressed by the necessity to act

  now. He sought Maynard’s attention, saw that he was occupied by the lady to his left, and bided his time. In a few moments, Maynard had turned away from the woman to devote himself to the introductory remarks.

  Collins touched his sleeve and leaned toward him. ‘Mr Chief Justice -‘

  Maynard bent toward Collins. ‘Yes?’

  ‘ - I wonder if I could have five minutes alone with you in private after we leave here?’

  ‘Why, certainly, Mr Collins. We have rooms upstairs, on the third floor. We won’t be going back to Washington until this evening. Mrs Maynard is out shopping, so we can be quite alone.’

  Pleased, Collins sat back again, feeling better. But as he listened to the windy introduction of himself as the first speaker, his mind fixed on the 35th Amendment, and the feeling of oppression returned.

  On his lap rested his speech recounting the acceleration of crime in the United States and the ways in which the law and judiciary had developed and changed to meet it. At the beginning of his speech and at the end were pleas for the necessity of Constitutional revision, when required, with particular emphasis on the importance and value of the 35th Amendment. Skimming the statements he would shortly be making, Collins was uncomfortable.

  Finding his pen, he quickly reread three quotations in the opening pages.

  He examined the first:

  As President George Washington stated in his Farewell Address to the nation in September, 1796: ‘The basis of our political systems is the right of the people to make and to alter their constitutions of government.’

  Collins crossed out the paragraph. He examined the next paragraph.

  And as Alexander Hamilton said a dozen years later, in an address to the United States Senate, ‘Constitutions should consist only of general provisions; the reason is

  that they must necessarily be permanent, and that they cannot calculate for the possible change of things.’ It is the general nature of the articles that allows for amendments to meet the emergencies of history. It is the general nature of our Bill of Rights that can allow it to incorporate the 35th Amendment, to solve the problems of this generation, without altering the integrity of the document as a whole.

  Swiftly, Collins ran his pen through this paragraph, deleting it also. He went to the third page.

  In 1816, Thomas Jefferson wrote a friend the following: ‘Some men look at constitutions with sanctimonious reverence, and deem them like the Ark of the Covenant, too sacred to be touched. They ascribe to the men of the preceding age a wisdom more than human, and suppose what they did to be beyond amendment.’ Jefferson believed our own Constitution not above revision…

  In firm strokes, Collins cut that paragraph as well.

  With these excisions, what remained was still an argument for flexibility, for consideration of new laws to handle new problems, but now the argument was milder, watered down - more a suggestion offered for debate.

  He heard Chief Justice Maynard whisper to him, ‘That’s what I call writing up to a deadline.’

  He glanced at Maynard. ‘Second thoughts,’ he said.

  Then he heard the President of the American Bar Association from the podium. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present to you the Attorney General of the United States - Christopher Collins!’

  As the applause rose, he came to his feet to speak.

  *

  Two hours later, with his own turgid speech behind him, with the Chief Justice’s brilliant speech still ringing in his ears, Collins sat on the edge of the straight-backed chair

  in the quiet of Maynard’s suite trying to form into words what had been on his mind throughout the afternoon.

  ‘Mr Chief Justice,’ Collins began, ‘I’ll tell you why I wanted to see you alone. I’ll come directly to the point. I’d like to know your views on the 35th Amendment. How do you feel about it?’

  The Chief Justice, relaxed on the couch, filling his pipe with tobacco from a leather pouch, raised his head with a frown. ‘Your question - is it inspired by the Executive Branch, or is it your own?’

  ‘It is inspired by no one. It is my own, growing out of my personal concern.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I have great respect for your opinion,’ continued Collins. ‘I’m eager to know your thoughts on what might be the most controversial and decisive bill ever put before the American people.’

  ‘The 35th,’ murmured Maynard, lighting his pipe. He puffed a few seconds, then studied Collins. ‘As you might guess, I’m against it. I’m very much against such drastic legislation. Improperly applied, it can suffocate the Bill of Rights, turn our democracy into a totalitarian state. Certainly we have a serious problem in this country. Crime and lawlessness are rampant as never before in our history. But curtailment of freedoms provides no permanent solution. It may bring peace, but it is the peace brought on by death. Poverty, we know, is the mother of crime. End poverty, and you are nearer to ending crime. There is no other way. I hold with Ben Franklin - give up liberty to buy safety and you deserve neither liberty nor safety. The 35th Amendment may buy safety. But it will be at the cost of human liberty. It’s a bad bargain. I strongly oppose it.’

  ‘Why don’t you come out and publicly say so?’ asked Collins.

  Chief Justice Maynard sat back, puffing at his pipe, and eyed Collins shrewdly. ‘Why don’t you?’ he countered. ‘You are the Attorney General. Why don’t you speak out against it?’ ‘Because I’d no longer be the Attorney General.’ ‘Is that so important?’

  ‘Yes - because I think I can do more good where I am. Besides, my voice wouldn’t be listened to as you
rs would. Except for my official position, I’m relatively unknown. I don’t have your credibility. Surely you saw the recent California statewide poll on the most admired Americans. You polled 87 per cent. People will listen to you here, and so will the state legislators.’

  ‘Wait a moment, Mr Collins,’ said Maynard, setting down his pipe in an ashtray. Tm afraid you’ve thoroughly confused me. When you asked me why I am not speaking out against the bill, I responded by asking you the same question. I think I expected you to say you aren’t speaking out against it because you are all for it. Instead, you indicate you’re on my side. Yet you want me to be the one to denounce it publicly. I simply don’t understand. I thought you, as well as the President, the Congressional leaders, the FBI Directors, were all supporters of the 35th. Even in your speech today you seemed to indicate the 35th should be given careful consideration. That’s confusing.’

  Collins nodded. ‘Perhaps because I’ve been confused myself. The speech was written before today, and delivered at the instigation of President Wadsworth. Since yesterday I’ve become increasingly suspicious of the Amendment, and fearful of how it might be misused. I think I now agree totally with you about it. I think I would resign rather than defend it again. But for now, I’d prefer to stay in office. I’m faced with some unfinished business. I want to finish it before taking a real stand. Meanwhile, time is running out here in California. Someone the people and legislators will listen to should be heard. That’s why I urge you to speak out. You, alone, could kill it.’

  ‘It may be killed without my help.’

  ‘I doubt it. Not according to the President’s private polls.’