King put his hand below the knot in his perfectly knotted tie.
“Because he is so short, he is called ‘Tom Thumb.’ And he is both shy and abrasive at the same time. I saw him standing on a wharf one time in his uniform, his hands in front of him. His right hand was holding his left thumb, as you often see shy kindergarten children do. This left a most disagreeable impression. As you know, I am a Big Ship man, but even I know in this modern era we need coverage against enemy aircraft. When I broached this subject with Phillips, his amazing answer was that gun crews on capital ships were quote, ‘simply not trying hard enough’ and that large capital ships had quote, ‘nothing to fear from aircraft.’ I was so surprised at the comment, I had him repeat himself. The man is typically English: short, smug, superior and always wrong. It is my distinct impression that Churchill is surrounding himself with yes men on the naval side—his First Sea Lord is Dudley Pound, who seems to be completely dominated by Churchill, but Pound is not as bad as this Phillips character.”
“Get me a drink, will you Henry. Something for you, Ernie?”
King nodded and got himself a double tot of rum.
For minutes, no one spoke.
It was clear Roosevelt’s nimble brain was hard at work. He quickly downed his martini, and Stimson provided a refill and then another. Roosevelt rubbed his chin, thinking. He leaned back in his wheelchair.
Impetuous as ever, Roosevelt said,
“I got an idea. I know it sounds crazy, but just listen for a second. Suppose, just suppose—I am not saying we do this—it’s just an idea. But suppose we cut a deal with the Japs.”
King exploded,
“Cut a deal; are you mad? Have you lost your senses? We lost American lives yesterday, brave American sailors, and you want to cut a deal. Are you mad? These are Americans, American lives were lost. And after your radio address.”
King was so angry that all pretense of formal address and “Mr. President” had evaporated.
“OK, Ernie. First thing you need to know is we politicians simply say what our constituents want to hear—that’s the essence of democracy.”
The President’s face beamed his broad grin while King looked stone-faced at this axiom of political expediency.
“Today, I simply gave my radio audience what they wanted to hear. But, ignoring the minutiae of a typical politician’s sleight of hand for a moment, answer me this larger question. You tell me how we fight a war with them; go on, you tell me that.”
Roosevelt held up his fingers and counted off each point in turn,
“We have no oil in the Hawaiian Islands; we have no oil in San Diego; we have two aircraft carriers in the Pacific, both running on fumes by now; the English are being pricks, as they always are; the Canadian rail system is broken, for how long no one knows; and to get Texas oil to California we send it by rail, but both the SP and CP roads have trestles down, and these trestles took months to build originally. And now the Canadians know all about War Plan Red. And the Canal—our Canal—is out of commission, and that could take months to clear. Oh, yes, and we don’t have enough latex to make a single rubber for a randy high school boy on a Saturday night with a hot date. So you tell me, what’s my next move in this chess game—what piece do I move?”
King sat and silently fumed, saying nothing. Stimson also remained silent and was drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. An uncomfortable silence descended, which no man was eager to break.
Finally, the President spoke,
“I tell you one thing, however. Sticking it to those English pricks would feel oh so good. Fuck, yes. After all I have done and all the crap I have had put up with.”
The phone rang; Roosevelt leaned forward and answered it. A broad smile spread over his generous face.
“You are not going to believe who is outside.”
The Americans called the Japanese diplomatic code, “Purple” and over the preceding two years had wildly varying degrees of success in reading the code—sometimes breaking one word in five, while a month later breaking just one word in 20. While there were many gaps in individual messages, one thing was clear—the Japanese ambassador in Washington had been dealing in good faith.
It was clear that Ambassador Nomura was an honorable man and was genuinely trying to work with Secretary Hull and his own government to resolve the two countries’ differences. The common definition of an ambassador as an honest man sent to lie for this country seemed to perfectly describe Nomura.
“Ernie, are you ready to speak to Nomura?” Roosevelt asked in the tones of a stern and strict school master.
“OK, let’s see what he’s got to say, and no insults—I suspect he is as surprised as us.”
Roosevelt buzzed Miss Tully, “Grace, please send in the Ambassador.”
The door opened and Nomura entered. His appearance dismissed all doubts about the Ambassador’s sincerity: he had removed his top hat, and carried it in his left hand; his suit was an old-fashioned black mourning suit with tails. There are a surprising number of shades of black but the suit worn by the Japanese ambassador was the blackest any of the three men could remember ever seeing.
Upon entering the room, he bowed, and he bowed so low that his back was parallel to the floor, and he stayed bowed for ten seconds. On any day but this, a friendly American wisecrack would have been made, but this day was not one for wisecracks.
After an eternity, Nomura rose. His face showed his anguish, and it was an unhealthy white glaze.
Very slowly, he finally spoke, “Mr. President, my Emperor is very, very badly served.”
Roosevelt was tempted to speak, but rather, he waved Nomura to sit. The Ambassador sadly shook his head,
“Today I do not deserve to sit, Mr. President. I have failed you and I have failed my Emperor.”
Ernie King’s stern Midwestern roots sensed a man in torment.
“I had heard rumors of this insanity, but foolishly dismissed them as rumors. I should have brought my suspicions to you and to Secretary Hull and to Mr. Stimson.”
Stimson nervously glanced at Roosevelt who caught his glance; each could read the other’s thoughts—here is an honest man trying to make amends for something that Roosevelt and Stimson had themselves created.
“While Secretary Hull and I have held the differing positions of our two governments, I have always considered Secretary Hull—as I do consider you, Mr. President, and you, Mr. Stimson, as honest and honorable gentleman. I have always hoped that our two countries could work together.”
“We Japanese admire the United States without limitation. It was your Commodore Perry who shook us from our incestuous complacency and thus created the modern Japan. While Japan is a very old country, we have much to learn from your country—Fordism is a religion for us, and he has helped our country immensely. It has always been my sincere hope that our two Pacific Ocean countries could jointly develop Asia, to replace the narrow-minded, bigoted European colonialists. But the fools and madmen in Tokyo have destroyed this glorious possibility.”
Nomura spat out the last sentence with the contempt that Roosevelt reserved for California Republicans.
“And progressive elements in Tokyo have always talked of working with the United States and with you personally, Mr. President, to have your National Industrial Recovery Act implemented throughout all of Asia for all commodities. We Japanese could have worked with you to make this dream a reality and remove cut-throat and greedy competition with your excellent idea, and without selfish business men and foolish lawyers. But all hope of that has now been shattered. I am very truly sorry I have failed you, Mr. President.”