Leon Uris: A God In Ruins

“Only a half century ago Jewish citizens of Germany cried out in the

night for their neighbors to help them. As they slammed the door in Jewish faces, the gates of Auschwitz were opened.”

“A Kristallnacht is shaping up in the streets of our cities and in our countryside. In the end we have to earn our keep as Christians.

“We are still haunted by the Holocaust. The Holocaust is not a Jewish problem. The Holocaust is a Christian problem. We cannot permit this to happen, for if we do, we will wipe out our own teachings.”

“Turn that goddamned thing off!” Thorn ton snapped. “That goddamn kraut cardinal now wants to slap their guilt on us. Don’t forget, O’Connell is still a Catholic. And the Reverend Amos and his three kids are still Democrats.”

As Thornton received the minute-to-minute reports, Darnell all but hid himself in a corner, shriveling into a fetal position. It was befalling him to empty his head of his life and deeds. Surely, in a showdown Thornton Tomtree would come down on the side of decency. That proposition had kept them in place for over four decades. Why couldn’t he have seen what he saw now?

T3 was doing no more or less than making him an extension of himself. No, he would not curve the course. No, he would not go down graciously.

Yes, he would endanger the nation!

Oh, Lord! Darnell thought. There will be a still photograph to mark the era, like the Marines raising the flag on Iwo Jima, or the little oriental war baby sitting in the middle of the road, or John-John Kennedy saluting his father’s coffin. What will this photograph be? A burning Star of David? Blood on the street? Someone’s stuffed bunny being clutched by a dead infant? What will be our Kristallnacht? Like the Monica LewinskyClinton embrace, the Kristallnacht will bring back an ugly moment.

Dr. Jacob Turnquist did not sit opposite the President with a great deal of comfort. He squirmed.

“As the hard right groups have had a chance to organize, we can expect a renewal of street activities at daybreak. Once these incidents hop from town to town ... I think we’ve reached a danger point.”

That was not what Thornton wanted to hear. He needed to speak to the vice president, to ascertain that the bedrock Christian Coalition was still in place. What was Thornton weighing? Why? How much danger should he allow?

Mendenhall came in sallow, a single sheet quivering in his fingers.

“Well!”

Mendenhall cleared his throat, a signal of a coming disaster. “Editorials for tomorrow, one hundred largest markets. Front page, ninety-two. Pro rioters, so long as they protest without destroying property or life .. . twenty. Call for the President to react ... eighty-one. Believe Governor O’Connell .. . seventy eight. Zionist plot.. . three. Postpone election .. . yea, twelve, nay, eighty..

.”

“Shit!” Thornton mumbled.

“Some of the editorials hit pretty hard,” Mendenhall said.

Thornton looked to Turnquist angrily. It was one thing to sit at a conference table espousing his political Princeton wisdom, but quite another to be in the bunker with shells flying all around.

“Vice president is on the phone.”

“Thank God,” Thornton said. “Where the hell did you set down, Matthew?”

“I’m in Tulsa.”

“Bring me up to date.”

“I have canvassed twenty-five of our largest Coalition churches. It’s

a very mixed reading, Mr. President. It seems that O’Connell has made

very significant inroads into our solid front. The women don’t seem to

want guns, many of the men idolize O’Connell as a great hero, school

prayer a non sequitur, and uh, right of choice “What!”

“Well, they’ve always been taking the goddamned pill and visiting abortion clinics. They just feel it shouldn’t be covered up any longer. You’ve got to make a move. All we are doing is reaching now. We have to put men on the street and go on the offensive.”

“I was hoping I could hold up the process until afternoon,” Thornton said. “It crosses a thin line for reelection.”

“It’s very dangerous,” the vice president insisted.

“How do you stand personally in this!” Thornton demanded.

“We are speaking of a very disturbing image of America creeping in.

Stop them now!”

Thornton slammed the receiver, then picked up another phone. “Find me Lucas de Forest,” he ordered.

It was four-thirty in the morning, a few hours left before the curse of darkness turned into the curse of daylight. He noticed the devastated Darnell Jefferson, an old slave in sorrow. Couple of good shakes and Darnell would be back on board.

“Hello!”

“Mr. President, this is Lucas de Forest.”

“Where the hell are you, Lucas?”

“At FBI headquarters. I’m cleaning out my office.”

“What! I did not fire you.”

“I resigned. I left an envelope for you on your secretary’s desk.”

“Well, I don’t accept the resignation,” Thornton said, alarmed that such news would all but seal his doom. “I’m declaring a national emergency .. . and you must stay.”

Lucas de Forest throbbed, head, heart, joints, eyes. “Are you ready to order Joy Streets into motion?”

“Tomorrow at... say, ten o’clock.”

“Mr. President,” wheezed Lucas, “you are a schmuck.”

“Don’t hang up ... don’t hang up ... all right, Lucas, what do you have in mind?”

“Joy Streets immediately. Phase One and Phase Two simultaneously.

Yea or nay, sir?”

Darnell had uncrumpled himself, went over and took the phone from Thornton’s hand.

The two men locked onto one another with a ferocity never known before.

He handed the phone back to the President.

“I agree,” Tomtree said. He hung up and continued his venomous glare.

“All I needed was a few more hours to make this work right.”

“Sure, boss,” Darnell said. “So, you’ve gotta know when to hold and know when to fold. I’m picking up my chips, Thornton.”

“What? Oh, you mean our heated little discussion? Forget it, pal.

We’ve got a pile of work to do to get the story out straight .. . Darnell, are you listening .. . Darnell, are you really going to leave me? You won’t be so godawful righteous without those humongous T3 checks coming in!” Thornton cried.

“Doesn’t make any difference, man. I’ve given most of the money away, anyhow. Got a spin for you, free. Why don’t you blame Forest de Lucas for the late start on Joy Streets. Overriding your FBI head shows real balls.”

“Do you think we can use it?” Thornton asked earnestly.

“Jesus, I’m all dry,” Darnell said. “Not enough to wad up a good spit in your face.”

What would the photograph of Kristallnacht portray? American hate?

American decency. Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light?

“I’ve never seen anyone with the will to equal Siobhan’s,” the doctor said.

“Five more days,” Quinn begged.

“I don’t see how. She sinks to a near comatose state then forces herself awake, in unbearable pain and saturated with drugs. She will fight until she has a half hour, an hour of clarity. On one of these slumbers, she is bound to go.”

Quinn sat at the bedside holding her fragile hand. The sun always crossed this room lovely in January. The big mountain outside became diffused and, as the sun inched along, it made a montage of colors, then dipped below the horizon.