King was the first to regain his composure,
“This is very, very bad. One of these two situations we could deal with. But losing both the Canal and the Hawaiian Islands’ oil, this is going to make things extremely, extremely difficult.”
Again, silence descended.
The old war horse, Stimson, was the first to speak.
“Young man, take my car to the War Department and bring us the latest Scapa Flow deployment please.”
King looked at Stimson and nodded, “I was thinking the same.”
The two young men of Roosevelt’s much-vaunted Brains Trust realized how out of their depth they—and their President—were. While the two Brain Trusters were distilled almost to jelly out of fear, the two experienced men were actually thinking rationally.
King’s assistant ran from the room.
Stimson asked King, “Are Repulse and Prince of Wales in Singapore?”
“Yes, they arrived there last Tuesday.”
King said, “We might just get away with this, but it’s going to be damn, damn close.”
Stimson sat down on one of the yellow damask sofas. In normal times, the long-established protocol was to sit only after the President invited you to do so, but these were now no longer normal times.
The phone rang; Roosevelt lifted the receiver. There was a pause as Roosevelt listened for a great while to the instrument; finally he said,
“Yes, thank you. Thank you very much, Winston.”
The President covered the mouthpiece and quietly said to the room, “He’s very, very drunk and extremely happy.”
On the sofa, Stimson looked up; King quietly sighed and said, “Shit.”
Roosevelt dismissed the meeting. He requested Stimson stay behind.
After the others had left the room, the President said,
“Well, Henry, I think a little celebratory tipple is in order, don’t you?” Roosevelt smiled his famous broad smile that he normally reserved just for his favorite press photographers.
Stimson poured two martinis, and as was customary, he took a long look—but just a look—at the bottle of vermouth.
“I was a little surprised it took so long, Henry.”
Roosevelt opened the drawer to his desk and withdrew an envelope. From inside the envelope, he withdrew four typed sheets of paper at the top of the first sheet of paper in the upper left corner was typed: “DRAFT No. 1.”
“I penned these words back in January, a frigid Tuesday morning, right here in the Oval. At some stages this year, I thought I would never be able to use this glorious fiction.”
The President laughed but Stimson remained unchanged.
He started reading with his fountain pen at the ready, “Yesterday,” he paused,
“OK, time to finally add the date, ‘December Seventh,’” he handwrote the date.
He continued,
“A date that will live in world history, the United States of America was simultaneously and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan in the Philippines and Hawaii. Should I add ‘without warning’ Henry?”
Stimson shrugged, “Can if you like, Mr. President.”
The President completed reading and replaced the four sheets in their envelope in the drawer.
After finishing their first of five celebratory rounds, Stimson said,
“Well, I think we’ve successfully ‘crossed the T.’ You’re an old naval man, Franklin. And damn tough it was. It was harder than I thought it would be. You know in August when that fucking Konoe suggested a meeting on our possessions of Hawaii or Alaska, I feared we were in real trouble. It is very clear there are strong forces in Japan—even up to the Prime Minister—that really wanted to avoid war with us, regardless of how we tormented and provoked them. And we know Minister Kishi was also trying to maintain peace as well. We faced the delicate question of the diplomatic fencing to be done so as to be sure Japan was put into the wrong and made the first bad move—an overt move. The question was how we should maneuver them into the position of firing the first shot. Thank God we’ve been able to trick them into doing just that. I mean, realistically, with our rather rude closing of the Canal to them and blocking all their oil, what else could they have done?”
“Yes, I agree Henry, it was close. But finally the Goddess of Fortune has wafted by and we’ve been able to grasp her skirt. And just in the nick of time, I should say. Any longer and that peace faction in Tokyo may have succeeded. Of course, this war is huge benefit as it will give the U.S. economy a real boost, as young Rex—and even Hopkins, from time to time—have been suggesting. These peripatetic work projects are all well and good—but how the fuck do we make money by planting trees and creating national parks? Tell me that. We need to be constantly at war to keep our economy humming; it’s a sad truth, but it is the truth—that’s how the U.S. economy works. Fortunately, the Japanese are so innocent we’ve finally been able to force them to fire the first shot. Christ, it took enough time.”
Stimson nodded enthusiastically and added,
“Yes. Absolutely. This war is a godsend. It’s just what we need. We need to revitalize the core industries of the country—factories, foundries, mills, not these Namby Pamby projects—fucking writers group, oh my God. We must expand the West and get new ships built and men doing proper work. And most important of all, take complete control of the Pacific. As we have often discussed, we need to completely destroy Japan—once and for all. Dominate it. Invade it. Pacify it. And most important of all, control it. Long-term, the Japs are far more of a threat than the ragged and decrepit British, and their so-called ‘Empire.’ We must control the Pacific and the trade routes to China. And we need to starve the Japs into total and complete submission. Ideally, we could make them a colony, like the Philippines or the Hawaiian Islands, but that is probably too much to ask for. Nevertheless, we need to destroy Japan, as they really are our one true rival in the world—they have the brains and discipline and leadership to take over the Pacific, and with control of the Pacific, the Japs could control much of the world’s commerce. The Japanese have a pure culture—look at what we’ve got—a bunch of mongrels straight off Ellis Island. And the Japanese think long-term; they plan; and they execute flawlessly.”
Stimson paused and thought for a moment.
“Of course, the Brits will be a problem. But you can deal with the Lisper, Franklin.”
While a classic Anglophile—weak kneed where it came to anything English—Stimson detested Churchill, who he saw as having extremely poor judgment, as being a lush, and with an unjustified air of superiority. Hadn’t Churchill had the gall to correct the President’s grammar at the Placentia Bay meeting, like a short, fat, condescending school master? And Stimson knew the real Churchill, the true Churchill. Not the one portrayed as the valiant bulldog, the smiling and warm father. No. Stimson knew—and hated—the real one: bitter, vindictive, too often drunk, bullying and self-centered.
“There’s little to deal with. In contrast to you, I can tolerate Winston, at least in small doses. He is short, and fat, and can be entertaining at times. Of course, he does a very good job of projecting the image of the pugnacious, determined-but-friendly father figure, with his “V” for Victory signs and all that crap he goes on with. Few plain people know what a bitter and sarcastic drunk he really is. I thank my lucky stars that I can hold my liquor because it is hilarious to watch him caper nimbly around the room when he is drunk, pontificating on his many new dream projects—the Cape-to-Cairo railroad line, the overland rail link to India (‘and, of course, we will allow one or two first-class American companies to offer bids, Franklin’), and adopting a common currency to replace our dollar. Combine the greenback with their so-called ‘sterling’—the man must be mad.”