Irving Wallace - The Man

“Mr. Chief Justice, I move that the Senate proceed by voice vote to the consideration of the order that I submitted to the bench a short time ago, as to the reading of the Articles of Impeachment.”

The Chief Justice looked directly below him. “The Secretary of the Senate will read the order which Senator Van Horn proposes to take up.”

The Secretary of the Senate rose, and from a sheet of paper read aloud, “Ordered, that the Chief Justice, in directing the Secretary to read the four Articles of Impeachment, shall direct him to read the fourth Article first, and the question shall then be taken on that Article, and thereafter the other three successively as they stand.”

Senator Bruce Hankins, coughing and hacking, stood up. “Mr. Chief Justice, is this legal? Can the Articles be voted upon out of their original sequence?”

Senator Van Horn spoke quickly. “Mr. Chief Justice, I suggest the bench remind the able Senator that there is historical precedent for such procedure, as evidenced in the minutes of the Andrew Johnson impeachment, and other lesser impeachments in modern times. While I am aware that each and every one of the Articles is subject to a separate roll-call vote, it is also legal, and there is precedent for this, to select of the several Articles of Impeachment the one that is most important, and center a vote on that. If the respondent is found guilty on that one Article, he will be guilty and removed no matter what the vote on the others. If the respondent is found not guilty on that one Article, it is unlikely he will be found otherwise on the remaining and lesser Articles, which have considerably less support for conviction. On both sides of the aisle, and in both camps, I find sentiment agreeing that Article IV is the key indictment against the President. That is why I have moved that it be taken up at once, and have suggested a voice vote for or against.”

The Chief Justice rapped his gavel. “A voice vote will be taken on the motion. On the question of reversing the order, in the first instance, for voting on the Articles under consideration, how many of you say yea?”

A powerful, lusty chorus of voices rang out, “Yea!”

“How many of you say nay?”

Another chorus of voices, thin and scattered, shouted, “Nay!”

“The yeas have it,” announced Chief Justice Johnstone. “The motion as to altering the sequence of the Articles to be voted upon is carried.”

Senator Selander, the Majority Leader, was calling for recognition. When he had it, he said, “Mr. Chief Justice, I move that the Senate now proceed to vote upon the Articles according to the order of the Senate just adopted. I have submitted this motion in writing to the chair.”

“Very well,” said the Chief Justice, “the motion will be read.”

The Chief Clerk came to his feet, and he read the motion. Promptly, a voice vote was called for. The motion was unanimously agreed upon.

Twice now the robed magistrate’s gavel was heard, and when the Chamber was hushed, he announced, “By direction of the Senate, I hereby, as Chief Justice presiding over this court, admonish citizens and strangers in the galleries that absolute silence and perfect order must be maintained from this moment onward. Persons responsible for disturbance will be immediately arrested… Senators, in conformity with the order of the Senate, the chair will now proceed to take the final vote on Article IV, as directed by the rule. The Chief Clerk of the Senate will now read aloud Article IV.”

The Chief Clerk was already standing with the document containing the Articles of Impeachment in his quivering hand. He scanned the assembly, and then, with deliberation, enunciating every word of the language of indictment clearly, he began to read.

“Article IV. That said Douglass Dilman, President of the United States, at Washington, in the District of Columbia, unmindful of the high duties of his office, of his oath of office, and in violation of the Constitution of the United States, and contrary to the provisions of an act entitled ‘The New Succession Act Regulating the Line of Succession to the Presidency and the Tenure of Certain Civil Offices,’ without the advice and consent of the Senate of the United States, said Senate then and there being in session, and without authority of law, did, with intent to violate the Constitution of the United States, and the act aforesaid, remove from office as Secretary of State…”

From his corner of the President’s managers’ table, Nat Abrahams had been listening to the words of indictment long engraved on his mind. But now his attention wandered from the Chief Clerk to the faces of the five at the table across the way, the House managers, each expression intent and solemn, except that on the countenance of Zeke Miller, sitting back carelessly, lips curled in a self-satisfied smirk, as if relishing every dagger word of the indictment.

From Miller’s face, Abrahams’ attention moved out and across the faces hung over the Senate desks, some directed toward the reading, some turned downward as if contemplating what judgment they must pronounce in not many minutes.

At once, the suddenness of silence brought Abrahams up short. He realized the reading of the indictment, the crucial one, had concluded, and that everyone, everyone around the room, up high, down low, was staring at the dais. Abrahams looked up, too.

Chief Justice Johnstone had risen from his chair, his black robes flowing. Majestically, he surveyed those beneath him. In a husky voice, he uttered three words.

“Call the roll!”

The moment had come, the moment of hope and dread, and Abrahams was certain that his heart had temporarily ceased its beat.

He thought of the millions everywhere, in America, in Europe, in Asia, hypnotized before their television sets. He thought of Doug Dilman watching, and of all the ones that mattered in Doug’s life and his own life. The moment had come, and there was no hiding from it, no turning from it, no stopping it.

The Senate Chamber was deathly still.

No longer, it seemed, were all eyes focused upon the Chief Justice, who remained upright. All eyes were on the Chief Clerk, directly beneath him, who had risen with a scroll containing the names of the 100 senators present who would vote in alphabetical order.

“Mr. Alexander,” the Chief Clerk called out.

A pinch-faced, elderly man rose in his place at the rear bench.

“Mr. Senator Alexander, how say you?” the Chief Justice asked sternly. “Is the respondent, Douglass Dilman, President of the United States, guilty or not guilty of a high misdemeanor, as charged in this Article?”

Senator Alexander’s reply was a shout. “Guilty!”

He sat down, satisfied with himself.

“Mr. Austin,” the Chief Clerk called out.

A dapper young politician in the second row stood up.

“Mr. Senator Austin, how say you?” the Chief Justice demanded to know. “Is the respondent, Douglass Dilman, President of the United States, guilty of not guilty of a high misdemeanor, as charged in this Article?”

Senator Austin hesitated, then answered, “Guilty.”

“Mr. Bennatt,” the Chief Clerk called out.

A twitching, stunted man leaped up from his desk near the center row.

“Mr. Senator Bennatt, how say you?” the Chief Justice inquired. “Is the respondent-”

“Not guilty, sir!” Senator Bennatt interrupted.

From the gallery came a nervous giggle, then laughter, and the Chief Justice suppressed his own smile, held his gavel poised, but did not use it.

“Mr. Bollinger,” the Chief Clerk called out.

“Mr. Senator Bollinger, how say you? Is the respondent, Douglass Dilman, President of the United States, guilty or not guilty of a high misdemeanor, as charged in this Article?”