Chapter 52
Joseph said to his daughter-in-law, "Are you going to Boston next week when Rory speaks there?" "If you wish," said Claudia, who found it all exhilarating. "I don't know," said Joseph. Claudia was far too stylish and sophisticated -at least in appearance and manner-for Boston. Boston was not susceptible to charm. It also did not like the Irish, though the Irish were growing in power and wealth in that city. But that very wealth and power was suspect. However, Claudia was not Irish, and she had Manners. Joseph considered it. Joseph had begun reluctantly to admire Claudia, who had the genius always to say the right thing at the right time. The voters were devoted to her. Perhaps Boston, who knew her assumed aristocratic pedigree, might be influenced. It was worth the chance. There would be teas for the ladies. Men were never invited to them, of course. It was all so charming, so feminine, so delicately urgent, so unobtrusive. So appealing, so shy, so modest, with the ladies all in silk and lace, carrying parasols and wearing dainty slippers. Joseph decided that Bernadette was not to go to Boston. She was too earthy for the ladies of Boston, though those ladies were earthy and ruthless and greedy enough. Even Irish ladies might be offended by Bernadette, and if invited would consider themselves her equal and therefore not be taken seriously. Then Joseph received an abrupt if courteous invitation to attend "a very important meeting" of the Committee for Foreign Studies in New York. He more than suspected that he had not been invited to the last four meetings, and to a certain extent he knew why, or thought he knew why. The Committee was apolitical. It supported any politician who would serve their purposes, and the purposes of their European colleagues. To them there were no Democrats or Republicans, no Populists, or "Wobblies," or Farmer-Labor Parties. There were only potential and obedient servants, whether Presidents or obscure delegates, mayors of big or small cities, governors, congressmen or senators. Every man was carefully scrutinized, his past records studied, his bent analyzed. On their judgment a man prospered politically or he fell ignominiously. They had supported Rory for congressman and senator, and had approved of him, or rather had approved of his father, their colleague. They had said nothing against Rory on his bid for the nomination of his Party. But insofar as Joseph knew they had not overtly approved of this either. Their whole attitude had been tentative. They had talked frequently with Rory and had been apparently impressed by him, and had complimented Joseph on his splendid son. "Nominal Catholic or not, he could be elected," they had told Joseph. "If he is-correct." Joseph had no reason to believe they had suddenly' found Rory "incorrect." Still, he was apprehensive. However, his relentless drive made him adamant, though he admitted he had no real reason to "set my back up." Everything had been smooth and perfect. A member of the Committee had even written a few of Rory's most telling speeches, which he had delivered with eloquence and elegance, and with spontaneity. Why the hell* do I worry? Joseph asked himself on the way to New York. If they have ; changed their minds-which is not possible-it will mean nothing to me. My son is going to be President of the United States. He is all I have left. He is my justification. "My son is going to be President of the United States," he said to his colleagues in New York, after the rich luncheon, with the best French wines, in the building. "I have nothing more to say." He had stood up in the meeting room, tall, spare, ascetic, with his severe and hollow face under the thick mass of his white hair. His blue eyes were burning, and he had looked at them all, man after man, and they had felt his force and now his dominance. "Who the hell is Woodrow Wilson?" he said, and he spoke with cold contempt. They told him again, reasonably, quietly, and without reticence. They never spoke in ambiguities. Woodrow Wilson was an Innocent. They had watched and studied him for many years. He was naive and an idealist, and an "intellectual." Therefore, he was their man. He would never know who manipulated him. They had had many talks with him recently, and had impressed him with their solicitude for America and in turn he had impressed them with his solicitude. He had quietly congratulated them on their publications, "concerned with the advancement of America." "I bet," said Joseph. "Did he ever guess who we are? And what we, want?" I They ignored that with pained expressions. It was their intention to make him feel uncouth, which he did not. They were gentlemen, they I implied. They regretted that he was not a gentleman. Joseph smiled. He ' looked at Jay Regan, who soberly winked at him. But he knew in spite of the apparent camaraderie that Mr. Regan would stand with his colleagues, and not with Joseph Armagh. Together, they had far more money than did Joseph, and far more influence. He was only a member, after all. He was not the Committee. Recent events were all recounted to him, in modulated voices, as if he had violated decorum out of gross impudence and idiocy, and that all that had been said here before had escaped his feeble comprehension. He sat down and listened with a parody of attention. They were not disturbed. They did not even look at him but stared down at the papers before them on the great oval table, while the Fifth Avenue traffic outside bellowed and the late summer heat struck at the windows. It was their intention that no Republican would be elected in 1912, and that no Democrat except of their choosing. Mr. Tail was "impossible." He was not "amenable." He had quarreled with Mr. Roosevelt, who had recently shouted that Mr. Tail was a "hypocrite." "My hat is in the ring!" Teddy had cried. "The fight is on and I am stripped to the buff." "I know, I know," said Joseph with impatience. "We are to divide the Republican Party with two candidates: Tail and Roosevelt. And Rory, then, is supposed to win." They ignored him with elaborate patience. "Mr. Roosevelt will run on the new Progressive Party ticket. We coined a phrase for him, 'the New Nationalism.' The voters are intrigued. They love the word 'new.' Mr. Roosevelt, himself, has said he wishes 'a Square Deal.' It is a poker expression, and liked by the voters. People love him. He has a marvelous grin. Infectious. We have suggested a phrase for him: The Bull Moose Party.' He is, to use his own word, 'delighted.'" "Yes, yes," said Joseph. "This was supposed to be in behalf of my son." They pretended they had not heard him. They recounted to him all they knew about Mr. Wilson. He had established the first potent Socialistic cell in Princeton in the early i88os, when he had been a professor there. A fairly rich man, and a scholar, he had been most emotional concerning Karl Marx and had understood all that was necessary for the emergence of an "Elite" in America. He distrusted the common man, though he championed him, not having known, through all his six universities, in which he had studied and taught, any common men at all. He was an aristocrat by birth, and that made him respected by the common man. He feared and hated the "common men" who composed Congress, and he had quickly taken up what had been suggested to him concerning the power reserved to Congress for the coining of money. 'Money trust!' he had proclaimed. He had declared himself in favor of an independent Federal Reserve System, a private organization, which would have the supreme power of coining the nation's money. "I know, I know," said Joseph. "We have been working a long time to take away the power of Congress to coin money, and to give it to bankers, who will issue money by flat If you have anything new to tell me, please do so." His heart was beating fast with rage.' "We made him Governor of New Jersey." "Really?" said Joseph, raising his white-russet eyebrows. "I didn't know that!" They sighed. They hated sarcasm. They particularly hated irony and had always deplored Joseph's tendency to that. "Mr. Wilson," one gentleman said, "understands that America must leave her traditional isolation from world affairs. We must now emerge'.' as a world power." "In short," said Joseph, "he will help get America into a war."?; He was sorry immediately that he had said that, and many pairs of eyes looked at him in hurt rebuke as at a child who had been repeatedly told a self-evident fact "Mr. Wilson," said one gentleman, "understands that America must4 no longer be indifferent to World Injustices. Joseph nodded. "Good for Mr. Wilson. He is now in our kindergarten,' j isn't he?" He was so infuriated that he lost caution. "I've missed a few meetings. Is Germany to be the 'enemy' or is France? Or England? I suspect Germany, of course." "The Kaiser," said Mr. Regan, pursing his lips under his ambushing'; mustache, "is
really an insufferable man." "Teddy Roosevelt likes him," said Joseph. "Is that why he isn't going' to get our support?" ' They did not answer him. One said, "Mr. Wilson has shown us his pro1 gram for what he calls 'the New Freedoms' for America." ' "I thought the American people had all the freedoms they could handle," said Joseph, more and more aroused. "What else do they want?" He was more than a little taken aback when they laughed decorously. J "They don't want freedom, Joe," said Mr. Regan kindly. "They want 'j Caesar. But you know that. We've talked about it often enough ah1 through these years. So, we will help them. We will give them Caesar. Mr. Wilson, j a gentle and unsophisticated man, who will follow our directives. He won't * know he is Caesar, but we will. For-we are Caesar. Come on, Joe, you know that has been our aim for a long time. What's the matter with you, I Joe?" , Joseph stood up again, and leaned his clenched fists on the table. "So Wilson is to be our candidate, our manikin. Our Little Boy Blue who ) blows our horn. Mr. Wilson, the Defender of the common man, whom he I despises. Mr. Wilson, who never did an honest day's labor in his life, with his hands, and knows nothing of labor."
He looked at them all. "What do the Democratic bosses think about all this?" A few gentlemen chuckled softly. "We haven't yet told them what to think, Joseph." Then Joseph made a fatal mistake out of his anger. "Perhaps Rory can tell them the truth." A deadly and absolute silence filled the great paneled room. No one looked at him. The air became heavy, immovable, still. Joseph felt it. He began to sweat lightly. He felt a chill on his flesh. God damn me, for my Irish tongue, he thought. No one looked at him. He slowly sat down, but his clenched fists remained on the table. He began to speak quietly. "Rory has followed all orders. He is speaking all over the country in favor of the Amendments for a Federal income tax, a Federal Reserve System, and the direct election of senators by the people, and not appointments by State Legislatures. You know that. You've read his speeches in the papers. He followed all your orders. All your directives. He has never deviated. You have written speeches for him. You have never, until now, indicated that he was not acceptable. Why now?" Mr. Regan spoke, after a glance at the averted eyes around the table. "Joe, let us be reasonable. Rory is magnificent. But, he is young. And the young are naturally rebellious-and have their own ideas. Mr. Wilson will unquestionably take our orders, given discreetly through many politicians we know. For instance, Colonel House. He is our man, as you know. Mr. Wilson has had a long apprenticeship-in Socialism. He is ripe for us. Rory is not. Joe, again, let us be reasonable. In eight years, most probably, we will reconsider Rory. That will make him a little more mature, a little more understanding of our aims." Joseph said, "You've talked often to Rory. Why have you turned against him?" Again Mr. Regan consulted half-averted eyes. "Joe, I hate to say this, but we have a feeling that at this particular time Rory is not quite- reliable." "And Wilson is, whether he knows it or not? To put it briefly, he is stupid enough, naive enough, to swallow anything you tell him. Any noble phrase, any high-sounding aphorism: He will adopt them. You are afraid Rory won't. You think he will laugh, and then do what he wants. "You've considered Tail. He is an old and able politician. He knows quite a lot about us, I have heard. He wouldn't be amenable. He would think, first, of America. He is suspicious. Teddy Roosevelt is too flamboyant. He might have individual thoughts, too. He is an internationalist, as he has proved. But still, he would think of America in sober moments, when he wasn't off hunting. So, Tail and Roosevelt won't be considered. They are, potentially, 'unreliable.' So is Rory." He stood up again, and gathered all eyes to him. "I'm wasting time. I have only this to say: I am pouring out my whole fortune to get Rory nominated and elected. I don't give a damn for our European colleagues, who want Wilson, as you have told me. This time I will act independently. Rory is going to be President of the United States." They listened and there was another silence. Then Mr. Regan said, "Joe, this is no time in history for personal vendettas. I know you have a vendetta. Wait, Joe. Suppose Wilson gets two terms as President. Then we will heartily reconsider Rory. What more can we promise you, in all reason, in all justice? We haven't abandoned Rory. We ask only that he, and you, wait for eight years. Come on, Joe. Be sensible." He looked at them all thoroughly. He said, "Compared to our European colleagues, we are little children. They have centuries of political manipulation, terror, revolutions, and chaos behind them. They have centuries of tyrants. They are old. They are very potent, more potent than we are. They know what they want. It is you who are following orders, not giving them." They did not speak. Joseph drew a deep breath. "When are they going to move against Russia?" It was as if he had uttered an obscenity in the presence of clergymen. "A silly question, isn't it?" he asked, when they did not answer or move. "It is planned, isn't it? So I have been told. Yes, I am wasting my time and yours. But again I must tell you. Rory is going to be President of the United States, if it costs every penny I have, and even if I have to shout the truth from the rooftops and alert America-" "To what?" asked a gentleman in the softest voice. "To you," said Joseph. Without looking at them again or speaking, he left the room. He was sick with his rage, but not frustrated. He felt no fear. He knew what he knew. No one spoke after he left. One gentleman gently ruffled some papers. They avoided each others' eyes. A few sighed over and over. They looked at Mr. Regan. He sighed also. Then he put out his hand in an old familiar gesture, one known to the ancient Caesars.