Irving Wallace - The Man

Senator Hankins coughed and wheezed. “Mighty powerful case, gentlemen.”

Talley echoed, “Mighty powerful case.”

“For what?” asked Arthur Eaton. He stood up, and went to find a cigarette. Not bothering about his holder, he lifted a silver table lighter before him as he said to Miller, “What do you intend to do with all that-that research?”

Zeke Miller opened his hands and raised his shoulders. “Simple. I intend to go-or have you and the Governor go-straight to our beloved President Dilman and say, Mister, you’re here ruining the country, and we’re here with our minds made up to save the country. The way for you to help us save the country, Mr. President, is for you to become incapacitated and be forced to resign because of ill health-maybe you been pretty sick since that assassin almost got you-maybe you got a heart condition and it’s been kept hushed, but now your family physicians say you can’t go on-so you resign because of disability, for the sake of the country, and the Party, and your health, and let the next in line, namely, our able Secretary of State and close friend of T. C., Mr. Arthur Eaton, become President for the rest of this term. If you won’t resign, Mr. President, we got to tell the country the truth about your son being a Commie Turnerite, and you condoning it and giving those subversives aid and comfort, and we got to tell about your wife’s death, and your past, your unreliability because you’re a drinking tosspot of a Nigra, and we got to tell your own people how you’re so ashamed of being a nigger you encouraged your daughter to pass deceitfully for a white girl. Now, what’ll that do for you and your family, Mr. President, all that coming out? So for reasons of your health, you better resign.”

“Impressive,” said Eaton with irony.

“You betcha,” said Miller, pleased.

Suddenly Eaton ground out his cigarette and said, “And what if Dilman refuses to quit?”

“Aw, Arthur, cripes, you know he’ll shrink up and have to.”

“American Presidents don’t resign,” said Eaton flatly. “Not a single one ever has, not even Woodrow Wilson when he was bed-ridden by a stroke. They die. They are killed. They become ill, even incapacitated, but they do not resign. And Vice-Presidents, they’re the same. Only one ever resigned, Jackson’s Vice-President, John C. Calhoun, and that was with only two months to go and he had already been elected to the Senate, and that was as far back as 1832.” Eaton shook his head. “No, I’m afraid President Dilman might not fold up and quit. He might prefer to have you expose him, suffer his family to go down the drain, rather than give in to your pressure. Have you allowed for that?”

Before Miller could reply, Senator Hankins snorted and trembled on the sofa, as he raised his hand. “I allowed for it, Mr. Secretary. Actually, so did Zeke. We talked about it with our friends before coming here. We decided this. If that nigger won’t leave the White House on his two feet, then we’ll carry him out.”

Eaton contracted his brow. “Carry him out?”

“Remove him, sir, remove him by force,” said Senator Hankins. “Your Constitution, young man-never forget your Constitution. Article II, Section 4. ‘The President… of the United States shall be removed from office on impeachment for and conviction of treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors.’ The law of the Founding Fathers, young man.”

Arthur Eaton tried to maintain his poise, but he was deeply shaken. He stood still, eyes averted, staring at the carpet. He had never before, not until this moment, heard the monstrous word impeachment used in this way by men elected to high offices of responsibility. He had heard it employed in gossip, he had read it in the columns of the lurid tabloid press, but he had not heard it used by members of the United States Congress. It was as impossible an American word to him as secession or revolution or assassination . All of his background and breeding-his intelligence, his faith in orderly settlement of any crisis, his belief in the give and take of gentlemanly compromise-was offended by this word.

“That’s right,” he heard Miller saying, “if Dilman won’t get out, we’ll evict him out under due process of law.”

“Gentlemen,” Eaton said, “I find even consideration of such a solution repugnant. I think such a solution could do the country as much injury, in these times, as Dilman’s own bumbling. Even if I stand to gain by the outcome, I’m afraid I could not support you in such a drastic act.”

“But the Constitution-” Miller said.

“The Founding Fathers, riding to their meetings in horse-drawn carriages, creating the Constitution with their quill pens, could not have anticipated what every article of it would mean in a nuclear age, with Communists in front of us, with racial strife behind us,” said Eaton. “No, impeachment would be dangerous. Jefferson said it was merely a ‘scarecrow’ in the Constitution, presumably not to be used except as a scarecrow. But Jefferson aside, and given real cause to use impeachment powers, and even if it could be managed quickly and safely, I do not believe that Dilman would merit removal, at least not on the evidence you have at hand. What you possess is criticism of the character of a man in high office, what you have is scandal, but that is not evidence of treason, bribery, or high crimes against his country.”

Miller pounced forward, confronting Eaton. “It can all be made to add up to treason and unfitness for office,” he insisted.

“I have strong doubts,” said Eaton.

“Anyway, we don’t have to prove that much,” said Miller. He turned to Hankins. “Senator Bruce, you got that-”

“Got it right here handy,” said Hankins, holding up the photocopy of a book page. He adjusted his pince-nez, studied the photocopy briefly, then looked up at Eaton. “There’s no precise exact definition of impeachment crimes, Mr. Secretary. Fact is, it’s a pretty wide umbrella, and our evidence fits under a fair amount of it. Example, this little definition of impeachment I have here. George T. Curtis, the historian-attorney, made it back in 1889. He said”-Hankins read from the photocopy-“ ‘A cause for removal from office may exist where no offense against positive law has been committed, as where the individual has, from immorality, or imbecility, or maladministration, become unfit to exercise the office.’ ”

“See!” Zeke Miller exclaimed triumphantly to Eaton. “Like it’s tailor-made for Dilman.”

“Nevertheless, I have my doubts,” said Eaton.

“Well,” Talley called out, “I think we’re barking up the wrong tree, and wasting our breath. It’ll never come to anything so serious. Arthur, I’m inclined to side with Zeke and the Senator on what’ll really happen. If they pull together what authentic findings they already have, and hit Dilman smack between the eyes with them, I think he’s got to back off. I think he’ll run up the white flag and call it quits.”

Eaton bit his lip. “I wish I could be as confident as the three of you. I can’t be. I believe you have enough evidence right now to hold over the President’s head, and make him reconsider any further rash and self-serving behavior. I believe you can slow him down, and force him to listen to our advice. I think you can manage that, and more power to you. But, I reiterate, I do not believe you have enough evidence to impeach, and, I repeat, I doubt that you even have enough to frighten him out of office.” Eaton shrugged. “This is my opinion. You do what you will. I feel it only fair to say that if you take more drastic steps, based on what you have, I cannot let myself go along with you.” He saw their unsmiling faces, and he said, as lightly as possible, “But I will go along with you for one more drink, before we-”