Irving Wallace - The Man

Eaton tried to distinguish one voice from another, but it was difficult, and then, he knew, unnecessary, for the voices were saying almost the same thing but in different languages of self-interest. Unanimously they favored the Minorities Rehabilitation Program and they wanted no paring of the budget. Secretary of Labor Barnes was saying that the Program would create jobs and guarantee prosperity. Secretary of Agriculture Allen was saying that farmers were satisfied that the Program would absorb their own surplus foods for use in depressed areas at home and abroad. Secretary of Interior Ruttenberg was saying the Program would help him develop and conserve natural resources, as Ickes had done with the WPA. Secretary of Commerce Purcell was speaking of his public highways, and Secretary of Health, Education and Welfare Mrs. Cummins was speaking of her expanded school-building program, and Postmaster General Guthrie was speaking of the promise of more post office branches and more carriers.

Ideas were flying, and despite the initial unanimity, there were suddenly acrimonious exchanges. Hearing the cross fire, the participation of almost the entire Cabinet, Eaton was pleased. T. C.’s genius, he told himself, had made such intellectual vitality and excitement possible. Here they were not suffocated by the tedious monologues that had often taken place in earlier Cabinets, ones divided by departmentalism. Eaton recollected a conversation, long ago, with a member of one of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Cabinets, about a typical meeting during which Secretary of Labor Frances Perkins had lectured the others on her problems, and Harry Hopkins, James Farley, Cordell Hull had been inattentive, and Robert Jackson and Henry Morgenthau had exchanged jokes about other matters. Only President Roosevelt, the catalyst interested in everything and everyone, listened to Madam Perkins.

Eaton cast a sidelong glance at President Dilman. His black face was as set and unchanged as ever. His hands were immobile, but his cautious eyes moved from speaker to speaker.

Then came the slapping of a palm on the mahogany table, and a voice louder than the rest. Immediately the others fell silent, fully concentrating on Attorney General Clay Kemmler, whose flinty eyes were colder than ever and whose prominent jaw was extended farther than ever.

“Why don’t we stop this economic and prosperity nonsense about the Minorities Rehabilitation Program, and all the sidetracking and disagreements about the money aspects, and speak right out about the only damn thing that is important about that bill?” Kemmler demanded. “We’ve had a Negro problem since Reconstruction days, and it didn’t get attention until the Eisenhower, Kennedy, and Johnson administrations, because the Negroes kept quiet and were poorly organized, and then all hell broke loose. Under T. C., all hell was still breaking loose. His administration had to dig up something fast or be witness to daily massacres of whites and blacks. So he thought of how F. D. R. pulled the WPA out of his hat, to keep the unemployed busy, keep them from open rebellion. Then he thought of the Urban League’s old notion of a domestic Marshall Plan to help Negroes, who have been deprived so long, to bring them up quickly, through increased income and education, to ready them for complete equality. That’s how MRP was born and that’s the sole reason for it.”

Attorney General Kemmler seemed to gulp for breath, and then he whirled toward President Dilman, and leaned against the table, wagging a finger at him.

“Mr. President, there’s no aspect of that bill for you to consider except one-that it’s designed to help your people, and therefore your country.”

Eaton could see that while Dilman’s broad face held to its impassivity, one hand folded over the other more tightly, until the dark knuckles lightened.

“Mr. President,” the Attorney General went on, “I hope you will find time to visit our Department of Justice someday soon, and walk through our Civil Rights Division. Under Kennedy and then Johnson we had a hundred men and women, lawyers, investigators, secretaries, working there. Under T. C. we had two hundred in this Division. In the past week, since you, a Negro, sir, have become President, we have had to bring our personnel up to two hundred and fifty and in a month it should be three hundred and fifty. Why? Because your sudden accession has doubly reminded the average Negro of what he is missing. He is tired of standing in line with his hungry belly, waiting for his citizenship and his book learning. He is tired of the Crispus Society and the NAACP fighting his battles with law books. He wants action. There’s this Turnerite Group, to name only one of a hundred others springing up, all putting on the heat, not merely demanding our action but acting themselves, and threatening all kinds of unnamed horrors. And there’s the Klan, and its offshoots, militantly revived, and doubly revived because they fear your administration may be anti-white and vindictive, and they’re getting ready for every kind of violence. Only one thing can stop the civil warfare that’s right ahead, and that is immediate passage and effective implementation of the Minorities Rehabilitation Program. Maybe it won’t solve everything permanently, but it’ll get this country back to normal right now, and give my Department a fighting chance to handle what is going on. I recommend strongly, because of the race issue and nothing else, that you, like T. C., throw the full weight and prestige of your office behind the bill.”

The Attorney General halted, chest heaving, and Eaton could observe that after this outburst there was little left to discuss. Eaton looked at President Dilman, whose expression still had not changed.

Eaton said, “Mr. President, I think we’ve used up our allotted time. If you are to keep to your appointment schedule-”

Dilman nodded, stuffing the envelope still before him back into his pocket, and then, blinking at Kemmler, and then at the others, he tried to speak. His voice, caught low in his throat, was almost inaudible.

“I will begin a thorough reading of the Minorities Rehabilitation Program Bill tonight,” he said. “Before our next meeting is convened, I may call upon some of you, individually, for more information about it, as well as on Baraza and other matters… Secretary Eaton, I appreciate the speech that you and the others among T. C.’s advisers prepared for my television debut tomorrow. It is excellent, and represents my sentiments entirely. I shall deliver it as written, with but one insignificant modification that I must make. I will not be explicit about the minorities bill in this talk to the nation, until I’ve studied it and understand it better. In all respects, I believe the speech will assure the country that I am not going to give it a-a black government-or a different government-but a government such as it enjoyed under the late President… Thank you, one and all. The meeting stands adjourned.”

He rose, and went hastily across the thick green carpet, and disappeared into Edna Foster’s office.

At once the Cabinet meeting broke up, and few lingered behind to hold postmortems, since each of them had a heavy engagement calendar. Going to the door, most of them expressed satisfaction that Dilman would “toe the mark” and “cause no trouble” and “listen to advice.” Eaton was the last member in the room, and before he could leave, he found Talley holding his elbow, guiding him to the privacy of the nook between the far wall and the farthest French door.

“What do you think, Arthur?” Talley asked

“I thought it went very well,” said Eaton. “He seems prepared to go all the way with us. He’s delivering our speech to the country tomorrow. We can’t expect more.”

Talley had a reservation. “Yeh, but what about that last little thing, about his saying he wants to modify the outright endorsement of the minorities bill we put in his speech, wants to study the bill so he can understand it? What does that mean, Arthur?”