The Last 100 Days Read online

  Not satisfied with this expression of disapproval, some members of Congress said that the Charter’s principles were being “crucified in the current Polish and Greek crises,” and they and others began to call for the administration to clarify US policy in Europe. In a press conference held on December 19, 1944, Roosevelt insisted that there was no need to do so, since his administration’s foreign policy was already on record. As for the Atlantic Charter, FDR downplayed the importance of the disclosure. When asked about it again a few days later, he said that the Charter represented an important objective—one not unlike President Wilson’s fourteen points, which signified “a major contribution to something we would all like to see happen… a step towards a better life for the population of the world.”6

  Although FDR did his best to give the impression that all was in order and that American foreign and domestic policy was proceeding apace, the challenges he faced in late December 1944 were grave. Throughout the fall—and certainly since October—FDR understood that the growing divisions among the Allied powers meant that another summit meeting with Churchill and Stalin was necessary. The fate of postwar Germany, the timing and extent of Soviet participation in the war against Japan, the question of whether France should be given a zone of occupation and a seat on the Allied Control Commission for Germany, the acrimony that had crept into the Alliance over Poland and Greece and other parts of Central and Eastern Europe—all of these matters remained unresolved.7

  Looming above these questions was the fate of the United Nations Organization, the establishment of which was threatened not only by the growing dissention among the major powers but also by a serious impasse among the “Big Three” regarding the voting procedure for the proposed Security Council and the number of seats allocated to the Soviet Union in the General Assembly. Given the Kremlin’s strong stance over these questions, FDR understood that obtaining a firm Soviet commitment to the new institution was not going to be easy. Nor could he afford to overlook the difficulty of maintaining the American public’s support for the new international body, particularly given the recent disillusionment over the Atlantic Charter reported in the press and the growing isolationist sentiment it seemed to herald as the end of the conflict approached.

  At home, FDR faced still other problems. He had to reconstitute his cabinet, deal with the threatened resignation of Labor Secretary Frances Perkins, and find a place for his soon-to-be-former vice president, Henry A. Wallace, who was strongly supported by the liberal wing of the Democratic Party. He also had to act to maintain war production, solve the growing manpower crisis, and reverse the sudden consumer shortage of gasoline, meat, and canned fruits and vegetables. Most important, FDR needed to find a way to balance all of these urgent matters while adhering to the rest-regimen that his two primary physicians insisted was critical to his survival.8

  In fact, by this time, FDR’s health had become a major item of concern among those who were closest to him. Since his return from the Tehran conference at the end of 1943, FDR had struggled with a number of illnesses that he couldn’t seem to shake, including a lengthy bout of both flu and bronchitis. It was during these months that his daughter Anna, who had recently moved back into the White House, began to express alarm about the state of her father’s health. This led to two extensive medical workups by a team of physicians in March and May of 1944. These examinations revealed that FDR was suffering from severe hypertension and the early stages of congestive heart failure.9

  That the president of the United States was suffering from heart disease unleashed a fierce debate between Vice Admiral Dr. Ross McIntire, FDR’s surgeon general and long-serving White House physician, and the other specialists brought in to examine him: Dr. James A. Paullin, former head of the American Medical Association; Dr. Frank Lahey, director of the Lahey Clinic in Boston and widely regarded as one of the most prominent surgeons in the country; and Dr. Howard Bruenn, the young naval cardiologist tasked by Dr. McIntire to carry out the initial cardiac examination. It was Dr. Bruenn who determined that FDR had heart disease and who was the most disturbed by the state of the president’s health. He insisted that FDR’s condition was serious enough to warrant aggressive treatment, including extensive rest as well as the administration of digitalis and two other medications.10

  But McIntire was initially incredulous—“You can’t do that,” he said to Bruenn. “This is the President of the United States.” Nor were Paullin and Lahey convinced that such treatment was necessary—in part, because they disagreed with Bruenn about the extent of the president’s cardiac disease, but also out of concern that the sudden administration of a number of medications might cause the president distress.11 Thus they tended to concur with Dr. McIntire’s more conservative assessment and, according to Bruenn, “grudgingly” agreed to support a compromise proposal put forward by the young cardiologist at the end of March: the president would take digitalis, go on a low-fat diet, cut the number of cigarettes he smoked to six per day, and try to avoid stress and significantly reduce the number of hours he worked—not an easy task for a man charged with the responsibility of running a global war.12

  By the time FDR had made the decision to run for a fourth term, however, the fragile consensus the team of physicians had reached over the state of FDR’s health and treatment had broken down. Indeed, just days before FDR made his historic July 11 announcement to seek reelection, Lahey telephoned Admiral McIntire to inform him that the second round of tests they had conducted on the president in late May had convinced him that the president’s heart condition was worse than he initially suspected and that he thus did not believe that the president “had the physical capacity to complete [a fourth] term.” Lahey acknowledged that it was not his place to determine whether or not the president should run; but, suspecting that the president was on the verge of making his announcement, he insisted that it was the admiral’s duty—as surgeon general and FDR’s primary physician—to inform the president about the likelihood that he would not survive the strain of another four years in office and, in a clear indication of the gravity of the situation, argued that if the president did accept another term, “he had a very serious responsibility concerning who is Vice President.”13

  According to a secret signed, sealed, and witnessed memo that Lahey drew up recording his conversation with McIntire, the latter “was in complete agreement” about the state of FDR’s health and had in fact “informed the President” about the nature of his condition. There is no way to confirm definitively whether or not this is true (and the Lahey memo would remain locked away in a safe in Boston for more than seventy years), but the balance of the evidence suggests that neither McIntire nor Bruenn—who would go on to become FDR’s attending physician under the supervision of McIntire—ever provided FDR or his family with a blunt warning about the risks involved in his decision to seek another term. Nor was the public fully informed. The standard line taken by Dr. McIntire—an ear, nose, and throat specialist—was that FDR was in fine health for a man his age. This was the mantra that was repeated to the press whenever the issue of the president’s health came up—which was often during the course of the 1944 campaign—and despite all of the evidence to the contrary, it appears that the surgeon general clung to this view right up until FDR’s death.14

  Still, there is no question that FDR understood that he had “some trouble with [his] heart,” as he once informed his cousin, Daisy Suckley, and was well aware of his physicians’ insistence that he had to cut back on his workload. Moreover, the weight loss that accompanied FDR’s treatment, along with the ever more frequent bouts of fatigue brought on by his coronary disease and the gray pallor brought on by the digitalis, made it increasingly difficult for McIntire and other senior aides to simply brush aside both the private and public expressions of concern over the state of FDR’s health. As the 1944 campaign intensified, these expressions broke out into the open. On October 17, the Chicago Daily Tribune insisted that the president’s health be regarded as �
�one of the principal issues of the campaign” and two weeks later editorialized that “A Vote for F.D.R. may be a Vote for Truman.” On October 25, the Detroit Free Press and the Los Angeles Times published an editorial that took issue with the Democratic Party’s insistence that “Roosevelt’s health is a private matter.” Taking note of recent photographs that “revealed a man so changed” as to be almost unrecognizable, and calling Dr. McIntire’s subsequent claim that the president “is a few pounds underweight” but is “otherwise in perfect health… nonsense,” the two papers insisted that the president’s health “is not a private matter at all” but an issue “of vital concern to all the people.”15

  Furious, FDR responded to these and other charges—which he attributed to his Republican opponent, Thomas E. Dewey—by engaging in a whirlwind tour of no fewer than seven states during the final weeks of the campaign, highlighted by a much-publicized tour through the four most populous boroughs of New York in an open car and driving rain. As Eleanor later recorded, FDR seemed to draw strength from this contact with the people. But this exhilaration soon wore off. The truth is that FDR often expressed ambivalence about the prospect of another four years in the White House. As he said in his July 11 announcement, after “many years of public service” his personal thoughts had turned to the day when he could return to civil life. “All that is within me cries out to go back to my home on the Hudson River,” he famously quipped.16 The conservative press dismissed these comments as “the usual fraudulent talk” based on “the artful pretense that he is another Washington craving the peace of his Mount Vernon.”17 FDR’s private comments to numerous friends and acquaintances, however, reveal that these sentiments were genuine. “I shall not weep bitter tears if Dewey wins,” he wrote to one colleague in early September. Yet the prospect of leaving office while the war still raged and before he had realized his dream of establishing the United Nations seemed unthinkable. So he marshaled on.18

  To restore his energy in the wake of what turned out to be “the meanest campaign of his political life,” FDR had spent only seventeen of the forty-six days since his reelection in the White House and was now on his way to Hyde Park for another six-day sojourn away from the Oval Office. His plan was to make this “a very quiet time with complete rest.” But as both Head of Government and Head of State, he had to attend not only to the practical aspects of being the nation’s chief executive but also to the ceremonial ones. Hence, at 5:15 p.m. that evening, after his arrival in Hyde Park, his first duty was to address the nation in what had become an annual Christmas message. His goal, as so many times before, was to offer hope, to reassure the millions of men and women who gathered around their radios to listen to him speak that in spite of recent setbacks and difficult days ahead, the war was indeed drawing to a victorious close. Thanks above all, he said, “to the determination of all right-thinking people and nations that Christmases such as those we have known in these years of world tragedy shall not come again to beset the souls of the children of God.”19

  FDR, Eleanor, and Anna enjoying Election Night victory on the porch of Springwood, November 7, 1944. (Getty Images)

  ACCOMPANYING THE PRESIDENT AS HIS TRAIN PULLED INTO HIGHLAND Station, just opposite the river from Hyde Park, were his daughter, Anna, and her husband, John Boettiger, as well as Anna’s children, Sistie, Buzzie, and young Johnny. FDR’s friend and Hudson Valley neighbor Treasury Secretary Henry Morgenthau Jr., his wife Elinor, and a small contingent of White House staff were also on the train. Eleanor Roosevelt was already at “the big house,” as the family often referred to Springwood, the home and estate that had belonged to FDR’s family since his father purchased it in 1866. And the party would soon be joined by FDR’s son Elliott and his new wife, the actress Faye Emerson; Mrs. Franklin D. Roosevelt Jr.; the Morgenthaus’ daughter Joan; and the feeble Mrs. J. R. (Rosy) Roosevelt, daughter of FDR’s late half-brother, James Roosevelt Roosevelt.20

  The six days FDR spent in Hyde Park were relatively tranquil. On Christmas Day, he plumbed stockings and opened gifts with his family. He also spent a good deal of time with his cousin Margaret “Daisy” Suckley, who lived ten miles or so up the river near Rhinebeck. Daisy, who was unmarried and lived alone, had known FDR since they were teenagers and was utterly devoted to “the Pres.,” as she often referred to him in her diary. Always concerned about his health, she gave him “medicinal” garlic pills and arranged for him to receive massage “treatments” from Harry “Lenny” Setaro, a masseuse who reportedly had a gift for restoring people’s health through intense manipulation of muscles and internal organs.21

  Thanks to a direct line that linked Springwood to the White House, and to the mail pouch that arrived each morning, FDR kept apprised of events overseas. He learned that Churchill spent Christmas Day on a surprise visit to Athens, in an effort to quell the violence and political unrest that had erupted in Greece after the Nazi withdrawal. In the meantime, the now-clear skies of Northern Europe allowed the British and American air forces to send seven thousand warplanes on a fierce attack against the Wehrmacht. And in the Philippines, American forces had closed in on the last Japanese stronghold on the Island of Leyte, before moving on to the all-important Island of Luzon for the final bloody assault on Manila.22

  The weather remained crisp and cold in the days after Christmas. Perhaps recalling his boyhood days sledding on his estate, FDR took delight in the six inches of snow that blanketed the region. He also worked on his stamp collection, took some quiet moments with his son Elliott, and did his best to regain his strength. There was talk of the coming inaugural, which FDR insisted had to be kept as simple and uncomplicated as possible, and a mounting sense of anticipation about FDR’s plan to organize a family reunion at the White House in conjunction with the event, with all of his thirteen grandchildren in attendance.

  As one day merged into the next, the world, as Elliott later recorded, seemed “for a brief moment to be shut out.” It wasn’t long, however, before their varied responsibilities would take each of them away from the quiet tranquility of the Hudson Valley. On December 27, Elliott departed for England, where he served as a reconnaissance pilot, and the next day, Eleanor, who, as Grace Tully once noted, was “on the move… ad infinitum,” left for New York. Before she did, she asked Daisy “to be with the President” for his meals in her absence—a request that Daisy was more than happy to fulfill. As FDR himself prepared to leave on the evening of December 29, the happy consensus among Daisy, FDR’s longest-serving Secret Service agent Charlie Fredericks, and FDR’s physiotherapist, Lieutenant Commander George Fox, was that the president looked refreshed—a fact that seemed to be confirmed by a drop in his blood pressure.23

  There would be much to do when he returned to Washington, and as FDR’s overnight train began to make its slow journey southward, he took a few moments to reflect on the many challenges that would confront him in the New Year. First and foremost was the need to craft his State of the Union Address, a task that, as he noted to Daisy earlier, “he planned to plunge into the minute he reaches the White House tomorrow.” In the meantime, as his train slipped quietly and unannounced through the city of New York toward its scheduled arrival at 8:45 a.m. at the secret siding he used at the Bureau of Engraving in Washington, the fighting in the Ardennes continued to rage. There would be no end to the war this holiday season, and given the major blow the Wehrmacht had delivered to the Anglo-American forces still struggling to reach the Rhine, all thought of a quick victory had long since vanished.24

  Chapter 1

  An Uncertain New Year

  THE WASHINGTON THAT FDR RETURNED TO ON DECEMBER 30 WAS still covered in the thick layer of ice that one of the worst sleet storms in recent memory had deposited on the city. Fortunately, the last day of 1944 brought a slight thaw to the capital, although the return of cold temperatures on January 1 meant that this respite would be short-lived. In New York, intermittent rain was forecast as revelers gathered for the New Year’s Eve celebration in Times Squa
re. By midnight an estimated 750,000 people had crowded into the space in front of the Times Tower, “joyously but not uproariously” welcoming in the New Year. Most were happy to put 1944 behind them and hopeful that “the ‘five’ in 45 would spell ‘V’ for victory and an enduring peace.” The New York Times reported that there would be plenty of alcohol on hand to help keep the merrymakers warm, but in a reminder of the ceaseless demands of war, an estimated 20 percent of all the major restaurants in the greater New York City area would be closed that night owing to a shortage of meat.1

  Unable to resist the onrush of events or to rid himself of what Dr. McIntire described as “a terrible sense of urgency” in the first three weeks of the New Year, FDR dismissed all entreaties—even from his beloved daughter, Anna—“to live within his reserves” and pressed ahead with a frantic schedule upon his return to Washington. In keeping with the directive he had issued to the senior members of his administration to work through the New Year’s holiday, FDR got right down to work on January 1, meeting with a number of foreign representatives, engaging in a review of government finances with his budget director, Harold D. Smith, and hosting a luncheon with his wife Eleanor and fourteen guests. He also put the final touches on a statement to be read at the State Department later that day marking the moment at which, after three acrimonious years of struggle with Charles de Gaulle, France would finally be invited to sign the Declaration of United Nations.2