dependent on the good will of every other one to stay alive. All offense
and no defense. See what I mean?”
I thought about it, but I still didn’t guess at the difficulties. It seemed
to me that a peace enforced by us was the only way out, with precautions
taken to see that we controlled the sources of uranium. I had the usual
American subconscious conviction that our country would never use power in
sheer aggression. Later, I thought about the Mexican War and the
Spanish-American War and some of the things we did in Central America, and
I was not so sure—
It was a couple of weeks later, shortly after inauguration day, that
Manning told me to get the Chief of Staff’s office on the telephone. I
heard only the tail end of the conversation. “No, General, I won’t.”
Manning was saying, “I won’t discuss it with you, or the Secretary,
either.” This is a matter the Commander in Chief is going to have to decide
in the long run. If he turns it down, it is imperative that no one else
ever knows about it. That’s my considered opinion. . . . What’s that? . . .
I took this job under the condition that I was to have a free hand. You’ve
got to give me a little leeway this time. . . . Don’t go brass hat on me. I
knew you when you were a plebe. . . . O. K., O. K., sorry. . . . If the
Secretary of War won’t listen to reason, you tell him I’ll be in my seat in
the House of Representatives tomorrow, and that I’ll get the favor I want
from the majority leader. . . All right. Good-bye.”
Washington rang up again about an hour later. It was the Secretary of War.
This time Manning listened more than he talked. Toward the end, he said,
“All I want is thirty minutes alone with the President. If nothing comes of
it, no harm has been done. If I convince him, then you will know all about
it. . . . No, sir, I have no desire to embarrass you. If you prefer, I can
have myself announced as a congressman, then you won’t be responsible. . .
. No, sir, I did not mean that you would avoid responsibility. I intended
to be helpful. . . . Fine! Thank you, Mr. Secretary.”
The White House rang up later in the day and set a time.
We drove down to the District the next day through a nasty cold rain that
threatened to turn to sleet. The usual congestion in Washington was made
worse by the weather; it very nearly caused us to be late in arriving. I
could hear Manning swearing under his breath all the way down Rhode Island
Avenue. But we were dropped at the west wing entrance to the White House
with two minutes to spare. Manning was ushered into the oval office almost
at once and I was left cooling my heels and trying to get comfortable in
civilian clothes. After so many months of uniform they itched in the wrong
places.
The thirty minutes went by.
The President’s reception secretary went in, and came out very promptly
indeed. He stepped on out into the outer reception room and I heard
something that began with, I’m sorry, Senator, but—” He came back in, made
a penciled notation, and passed it out to an usher.
Two more hours went by.
Manning appeared at the door and the secretary looked relieved. But he did
not come out, saying instead, “Come in, John, The President wants to take a
look at you.”
I fell over my feet getting up.
Manning said, “Mr. President, this is Captain deFries.” The President
nodded, and I bowed, unable to say anything. He was standing on the hearth
rug, his fine head turned toward us, and looking just like his pictures—but
it seemed strange for the President of the United States not to be a tall
man.
I had never seen him before, though, of course, I knew something of his
record the two years he had been in the Senate and while he was Mayor