The Other Teddy Roosevelts (20 page)

“If it’s inevitable, why are you so worked up about it?” asked a distant relative. “Why did you let it cost you the presidency?”

“He hasn’t lost anything!” snarled a younger man. “Those are fighting words! Step outside and—”

“He’s right,” interrupted Roosevelt. “It did cost me the election.”

“But Mr. President—”

“That’s a fact,” continued Roosevelt. “And facts can be many things, pleasant and unpleasant, but the one thing they always are is true.”

“Then I repeat—why did you let it cost you the presidency?”

“Because I believe in the principles of the Republican Party,” answered Roosevelt.

“The Republicans voted almost ten-to-one against your proposals, and it took you six ballots to win the nomination once you decided to merge your Bull Moosers party with them,” continued the man. “What makes you think this has anything to do with the Republican Party?”

“Please!” said Edith, coming back into the parlor. “We didn’t invite you here to fight. This is supposed to be a birthday party.”

“It’s all right, Edith,” said Roosevelt. “It’s a fair question; it deserves an answer.” He turned to his questioner. “I believe in the Republican Party,” he said, “and I tell you that the party will rise or fall on this single issue. It’s as simple as that.”

“How can you say such a thing?” demanded the man incredulously.

“How can you not see it?” retorted Roosevelt. “How can
they
not see it, those fools in the Congress? It’s only a matter of a few years, a decade at most, before women get the vote, before we stop harassing our minorities at the polls. Can’t anyone else see that the party that fights most vigorously for their rights will count them among their numbers? Can’t anyone else understand that an influx of voters greater than the number that already exist will totally change the balance of political power in this country?” He paused, and his chin jutted out pugnaciously. “No matter what you think, I haven’t been waging this war for myself —though I pity the man who has to tell my Alice that she can’t vote for her father on election day. I’m waging it because it’s the right thing to do, whether I win or lose—and because if the Republicans don’t realize what the future holds, then sooner or later the Democrats will, and we will permanently become the nation’s minority party.”

“Calm yourself, Theodore,” said Root, laying a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t have the President dying of a stroke a week before the election.”

Roosevelt jumped at the touch of Root’s hand, then blinked his eyes rapidly, as if suddenly realizing his surroundings. “I’m sorry, Elihu,” he said. “The election is all but over, and here I am, still campaigning.”

“It’s an issue worth campaigning for,” said the plain- looking woman.

“The problem is that nobody who agrees with me is allowed to vote for me,” said Roosevelt with a wry smile.

“That’s not so, Theodore,” said Pinchot. “
I
agree with you.”

“And I,” added Root.

“Me, too, Teddy,” said McCoy. “You know that.”

“That’s probably why none of you hold elected office,” remarked the President with dry irony.

The party continued for another three hours, as still more relatives and old friends stopped by to pay their respects, and to see Roosevelt one last time while he was still the President of the United States. Politicians and Rough Riders, New York dandies and Indian chiefs, men of letters and men of action, black men and white, women of all political stripes, mingled and rubbed shoulders in the Hyde Park mansion, for the President had made many friends in his 58 years. Even F. C. Selous had taken time off from a safari to cross the Atlantic and celebrate his most famous client’s birthday. Roosevelt, for his part, was soon so busy greeting guests that there were no more outbursts.

At ten o’clock, Edith had the servants bring out a case of champagne, which everyone except the President imbibed. Then came the cake, and a chorus of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow”, and then, one by one, the guests began departing.

By midnight only a handful of people remained: Root, McCoy, Selous, two grizzled old Rough Riders, and the plain-looking woman.

“I see your husband’s left without you again,” noted Roosevelt.

“He had business to conduct,” replied the woman. “Politicians are just the opposite of flowers: they don’t bloom until the sun goes down.”

Roosevelt chuckled. “You always did have a fine wit.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll never know what perverse whim caused you to marry a Democrat,” he continued, “but I suppose he’s no worse than most and probably better than some. Grow him out and I imagine he’ll turn out all right.”

“I plan to, Cousin Theodore.” She paused. “By the way, I fully agree with what you said before. The party that reaches out to the disenfranchised will dominate the next half century of merican politics.”

“I’m glad
someone
was listening,” said Roosevelt.

“Listening and taking notes.” She smiled. “Well, mental notes, anyway.”

“How about your husband?” said Roosevelt. “I’ve never asked before—but what’s
his
position on enfranchisement?”

“The same as yours.”

“Really?” said Roosevelt, suddenly interested. “I didn’t know that.”

“He doesn’t know it, either,” answered the plain-looking woman, “but he will when I get through speaking to him.”

Roosevelt grinned. “You’re a remarkable woman, Eleanor.”

She smiled back at him. “Why, thank you, Cousin Theodore.”

“Play your cards right and you may be the second First Lady named Roosevelt.”

“I plan to,” she assured him.

1917:

Over There

Roosevelt spent most of 1915 and 1916 writing articles and making speeches all across the country in favor of America entering World War I. It isn’t generally known, but he actually volunteered to reconstitute the Rough Riders and take them to France, but Woodrow Wilson slapped that idea down the second he heard of it.

But what if he
had
been allowed to go? What if the greatest hero of the late 19
^th
Century had come face-to-face with what warfare had become in the 20
^th
Century? It was an irresistible notion. I wrote it for one of Greg Benford’s
What Might Have Been?
anthologies, and he graciously let me sell it to
Asimov’s
as well.

(Side note. I have had maybe fifteen of my stories and two of my novels read aloud for various audio recordings. Some were okay, some were embarrassingly bad. Only one was outstanding—this one, read by the fine actor William Windom for an audio anthology Marty Greenberg assembled. After I heard it, I wrote Windom a letter telling him that I thought it was a pretty good story when I wrote it, but I had no idea
how
good it was until I heard him read it.)

***

I respectfully ask permission immediately to raise two divisions for immediate service at the front under the bill which has just become law, and hold myself ready to raise four divisions, if you so direct. I respectfully refer for details to my last letters to the Secretary of War.

—Theodore Roosevelt

Telegram to President Woodrow

Wilson, May 18, 1917

I very much regret that I cannot comply with the request in your telegram of yesterday. The reasons I have stated in a public statement made this morning, and I need not assure you that my conclusions were based upon imperative considerations of public policy and not upon personal or private choice.

—Woodrow Wilson,

Telegram to Theodore Roosevelt,

May 19, 1917

The date was May 22, 1917.

***

Woodrow Wilson looked up at the burly man standing impatiently before his desk.

“This will necessarily have to be an extremely brief meeting, Mr. Roosevelt,” he said wearily. “I have consented to it only out of respect for the fact that you formerly held the office that I am now privileged to hold.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. President,” said Theodore Roosevelt, shifting his weight anxiously from one leg to the other.

“Well, then?” said Wilson.

“You know why I’m here,” said Roosevelt bluntly. “I want your permission to reassemble my Rough Riders and take them over to Europe.”

“As I keep telling you, Mr. Roosevelt—that’s out of the question.”

“You haven’t told
me
anything!” snapped Roosevelt. “And I have no interest in what you tell the press.”

“Then I’m telling you now,” said Wilson firmly. “I can’t just let any man who wants to gather up a regiment go fight in the war. We have procedures, and chains of command, and…”

“I’m not just
any
man,” said Roosevelt. “And I have every intention of honoring our procedures and chain of command.” He glared at the President. “I created many of those procedures myself.”

Wilson stared at his visitor for a long moment. “Why are you so anxious to go to war, Mr. Roosevelt? Does violence hold so much fascination for you?”

“I abhor violence and bloodshed,” answered Roosevelt. “I believe that war should never be resorted to when it is honorably possible to avoid it. But once war has begun, then the only thing to do is win it as swiftly and decisively as possible. I believe that I can help to accomplish that end.”

“Mr. Roosevelt, may I point out that you are 58 years old, and according to my reports you have been in poor health ever since returning from Brazil three years ago?”

“Nonsense!” said Roosevelt defensively. “I feel as fit as a bull moose!”

“A one-eyed bull moose,” replied Wilson dryly. Roosevelt seemed about to protest, but Wilson raised a hand to silence him. “Yes, Mr. Roosevelt, I know that you lost the vision in your left eye during a boxing match while you were President.” He couldn’t quite keep the distaste for such juvenile and adventurous escapades out of his voice.

“I’m not here to discuss my health,” answered Roosevelt gruffly, “but the reactivation of my commission as a Colonel in the United States Army.”

Wilson shook his head. “You have my answer. You’ve told me nothing that might change my mind.”

“I’m about to.”

“Oh?”

“Let’s be perfectly honest, Mr. President. The Republican nomination is mine for the asking, and however the war turns out, the Democrats will be sitting ducks. Half the people hate you for entering the war so late, and the other half hate you for entering it at all.” Roosevelt paused. “If you will return me to active duty and allow me to organize my Rough Riders, I will give you my personal pledge that I will neither seek nor accept the Republican nomination in 1920.”

“It means that much to you?” asked Wilson, arching a thin eyebrow.

“It does, sir.”

“I’m impressed by your passion, and I don’t doubt your sincerity, Mr. Roosevelt,” said Wilson. “But my answer must still be no. I am serving my second term. I have no intention of running again in 1920, I do not need your political support, and I will not be a party to such a deal.”

“Then you are a fool, Mr. President,” said Roosevelt. “Because I am going anyway, and you have thrown away your only opportunity, slim as it may be, to keep the Republicans out of the White House.”

“I will not reactivate your commission, Mr. Roosevelt.”

Roosevelt pulled two neatly-folded letters out of his lapel pocket and placed them on the President’s desk.

“What are these?” asked Wilson, staring at them as if they might bite him at any moment.

“Letters from the British and the French, offering me commissions in
their
armies.” Roosevelt paused. “I am first, foremost, and always an American, Mr. President, and I had entertained no higher hope than leading my men into battle under the Stars and Stripes—but I am going to participate in this war, and you are not going to stop me.” And now, for the first time, he displayed the famed Roosevelt grin. “I have some thirty reporters waiting for me on the lawn of the White House. Shall I tell them that I am fighting for the country that I love, or shall I tell them that our European allies are more concerned with winning this damnable war than our own President?”

“This is blackmail, Mr. Roosevelt!” said Wilson, outraged.

“I believe that is the word for it,” said Roosevelt, still grinning. “I would like you to direct Captain Frank McCoy to leave his current unit and report to me. I’ll handle the rest of the details myself.” He paused again. “The press is waiting, Mr. President. What shall I tell them?”

“Tell them anything you want,” muttered Wilson furiously. “Only get out of this office.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Roosevelt, turning on his heel and marching out with an energetic bounce to his stride.

Wilson waited a moment, then spoke aloud. “You can come in now, Joseph.”

Joseph Tummulty, his personal secretary, entered the Oval Office.

“Were you listening?” asked Wilson.

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there any way out of it?”

“Not without getting a black eye in the press.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” said Wilson.

“He’s got you over a barrel, Mr. President.”

“I wonder what he’s really after?” mused Wilson thoughtfully. “He’s been a governor, an explorer, a war hero, a police commissioner, an author, a big-game hunter, and a President.” He paused, mystified. “What more can he want from life?”

“Personally, sir,” said Tummulty, making no attempt to hide the contempt in his voice, “I think that damned cowboy is looking to charge up one more San Juan Hill.”

***

Roosevelt stood before his troops, as motley an assortment of warriors as had been assembled since the last incarnation of the Rough Riders. There were military men and cowboys, professional athletes and adventurers, hunters and ranchers, barroom brawlers and Indians, tennis players and wrestlers, even a trio of Maasai
elmoran
he had met on safari in Africa.

“Some of ‘em look a little long in the tooth, Colonel,” remarked Frank McCoy, his second-in-command.

“Some of
us
are a little long in the tooth too, Frank,” said Roosevelt with a smile.

“And some of ‘em haven’t started shaving yet,” continued McCoy wryly.

“Well, there’s nothing like a war to grow them up in a hurry.”

Roosevelt turned away from McCoy and faced his men, waiting briefly until he had their attention. He paused for a moment to make sure that the journalists who were traveling with the regiment had their pencils and notebooks out and then spoke.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “we are about to embark upon a great adventure. We are privileged to be present at a crucial point in the history of the world. In the terrible whirlwind of war, all the great nations of the world are facing the supreme test of their courage and dedication. All the alluring but futile theories of the pacifists have vanished at the first sound of gunfire.”

Roosevelt paused to clear his throat, then continued in his surprisingly high-pitched voice. “This war is the greatest the world has ever seen. The vast size of the armies, the tremendous slaughter, the loftiness of the heroism shown and the hideous horror of the brutalities committed, the valor of the fighting men and the extraordinary ingenuity of those who have designed and built the fighting machines, the burning patriotism of the peoples who defend their homelands and the far-reaching complexity of the plans of the leaders—all are on a scale so huge that nothing in past history can be compared with them.

“The issues at stake are fundamental. The free peoples of the world have banded together against tyrannous militarism, and it is not too much to say that the outcome will largely determine, for those of us who love liberty above all else, whether or not life remains worth living.”

He paused again, and stared up and down the ranks of his men.

“Against such a vast and complex array of forces, it may seem to you that we will just be another cog in the military machine of the allies, that one regiment cannot possibly make a difference.” Roosevelt’s chin jutted forward pugnaciously. “I say to you that this is rubbish! We represent a society dedicated to the proposition that every free man makes a difference. And I give you my solemn pledge that the Rough Riders will make a difference in the fighting to come!”

It was possible that his speech wasn’t finished, that he still had more to say…but if he did, it was drowned out beneath the wild and raucous cheering of his men.

One hour later they boarded the ship to Europe.

***

Roosevelt summoned a corporal and handed him a hand-written letter. The man saluted and left, and Roosevelt returned to his chair in front of his tent. He was about to pick up a book when McCoy approached him.

“Your daily dispatch to General Pershing?” he asked dryly.

“Yes,” answered Roosevelt. “I can’t understand what is wrong with the man. Here we are, primed and ready to fight, and he’s kept us well behind the front for the better part of two months!”

“I know, Colonel.”

“It just doesn’t make any sense! Doesn’t he know what the Rough Riders did at San Juan Hill?”

“That was a long time ago, sir,” said McCoy.

“I tell you, Frank, these men are the elite—the cream of the crop! They weren’t drafted by lottery. Every one of them volunteered, and every one was approved personally by you or by me. Why are we being wasted here? There’s a war to be won!”

“Pershing’s got a lot to consider, Colonel,” said McCoy. “He’s got half a million American troops to disperse, he’s got to act in concert with the French and the British, he’s got to consider his lines of supply, he’s…”

“Don’t patronize me, Frank!” snapped Roosevelt. “We’ve assembled a brilliant fighting machine here, and he’s ignoring us. There
has
to be a reason. I want to know what it is!”

McCoy shrugged helplessly. “I have no answer, sir.”

“Well, I’d better get one soon from Pershing!” muttered Roosevelt. “We didn’t come all this way to help in some mopping-up operation after the battle’s been won.” He stared at the horizon. “There’s a glorious crusade being fought in the name of liberty, and I plan to be a part of it.”

He continued staring off into the distance long after McCoy had left him.

***

A private approached Roosevelt as the former President was eating lunch with his officers.

“Dispatch from General Pershing, sir,” said the private, handing him an envelope with a snappy salute.

“Thank you,” said Roosevelt. He opened the envelope, read the message, and frowned.

“Bad news, Colonel?” asked McCoy.

“He says to be patient,” replied Roosevelt. “Patient?” he repeated furiously. “By God, I’ve been patient long enough! Jake —saddle my horse!”

“What are you going to do, Colonel?” asked one of his lieutenants.

“I’m going to go meet face-to-face with Pershing,” said Roosevelt, getting to his feet. “This is intolerable!”

“We don’t even know where he is, sir.”

“I’ll find him,” replied Roosevelt confidently.

“You’re more likely to get lost or shot,” said McCoy, the only man who dared to speak to him so bluntly.

“Runs With Deer! Matupu!” shouted Roosevelt. “Saddle your horses!”

A burly Indian and a tall Maasai immediately got to their feet and went to the stable area.

Roosevelt turned back to McCoy. “I’m taking the two best trackers in the regiment. Does that satisfy you, Mr. McCoy?”

“It does not,” said McCoy. “I’m coming along, too.”

Roosevelt shook his head. “You’re in command of the regiment in my absence. You’re staying here.”