A history lesson—and an absorbing book

 

From time to time, someone on Facebook asks about everyone’s earliest memory of a public event. I am not quite old enough to remember Pearl Harbor, but I’ve been told about the moment my family knew so often that I almost feel I remember. I would have been three, and I was playing on the kitchen floor while Mom worked in the kitchen. Dad, a veteran of WWI, stuck his head in the door and said, “We are at war.” It was a momentous thing, and my parents told the story over and over.

The first public memory I have is of the death of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. We lived on a park, and I was outside playing, probably with neighbor children. I had been raised in a household where FDR was a minor god, and I assumed everyone loved him as much as my parents did. Not so. This day a woman jumped out of her car and shouted, “Hooray! Hooray! Roosevelt is dead.” I went home and told my mom, who said, “Don’t talk like that.” Soon enough, she found out it was true.

Now a book recommended by a friend is bringing back all those memories and more. The book is The Accidental President: Harry S. Truman and the Four Months that Changed the World, by A. J. Baime. From the blurb to the book: “The first four months of Truman’s administration saw the founding of the United Nations, the fall of Berlin, victory at Okinawa, firebombings in Tokyo, the first atomic explosion, the Nazi surrender, the liberation of concentration camps, the mass starvation in Europe, the Potsdam Conference, the controversial decision to bomb Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the surrender of imperial Japan, and finally, the end of World War II and the rise of the Cold War. No other president had ever faced so much in such a short period of time.”

Truman was the most unlikely man—accidental is a good term—to deal with such challenges. Small, bespectacled, from a poor family, and until he was in his thirties and assumed a military command, a failure at almost everything he tried. The only thing he didn’t fail at was his courtship of Bess Wallace, and it took him years to convince her to marry him--and then more years before he felt he could support her. Even then, he moved into her family’s home and lived under the disapproving eye of his mother-in-law. He lost the first election he tried, but won later ones, and with the help of Kansas City political boss Tom Prendergast, found himself vice-president of the United States.

Roosevelt almost didn’t know who he was, never involved him in the policies and problems of government. He had little to do, as vice president, besides preside over Senate meetings. All that changed on April 12, 1945, when FDR died. It was a sudden death but should not have been a surprise—the president had been in failing health for some time.

For Truman it all happened in a whirl—the call to the White House, the swearing in, and then he went back to the modest apartment he shared with his wife and daughter, Margaret (he called her Margie, with a hard “g”). The telling of all this is full of names that now I remember, whether from the actual time or from the history books-- Alben Barkley, Dwight Eisenhower as a general and not a president, General George C. Marshall, Frances Perkins, the labor secretary and first female member of the Cabinet, Generals Omar Bradley and George Patton. And it fills in m knowledge of those crucial days—the apparent collapse of the Nazi regime, the discovery of the first concentration camp, the conference between Stalin, Churchill, and FDR at Yalta.

There is one object lesson here that I wish today’s Republicans could take to heart as they resist funding Ukraine in its efforts to stop Russia from greedily absorbing more and more territory, as it has done with Crimea. After the agreement at Yalta, Stalin backtracked on all that he had promised, such as access for international troops to Poland and other Russian-occupied territories. Russia could not be trusted then, and it cannot be trusted today.

Historian Heather Cox Richardson writes an amazing daily column, “Letters from an American,” in which she uses history to help readers understand today’s world, with all its conflicts, and the importance of our democracy. Her work is a living embodiment of the familiar caution that he who does not know history is doomed to repeat its mistakes. Another reason to fear the rampant censorship of what is taught in our schools today. Baime, in this book, also uses history to help us understand leadership and international relations—and, yes, that endangered concept known as democracy. And he gives us an intimate portrait of a period in the life and presidency of a man some have named among our greatest presidents and others among our worst. You read it and decide.

Some Saturday musings

 

The death of RBG is one of those events—after the news flooded the internet, the airwaves, and print journalism, there’s not much left to say. On the other hand, if you write an (almost) daily blog, as I try to do, you can’t just not mention it or prattle on as though it had never happened. My only original thought is that all today I have not heard any criticism of her, no negative comments. People have either been sincere in their respect and admiration—or they’ve been silent.

Even trump, who she openly disliked, a disaffection that was mutual, apparently  said, “Wow! She was an amazing woman.” Although he requested flags be at half-staff, I have not heard a formal announcement of either respect and honor or loss. Similarly, Mitch McConnell has said nothing about RBG, although he was quick to talk publicly about replacing her, not long after she had drawn her last breath.

There has, of course, been much speculation about what her death means to the country and specifically to the election. That now-empty court seat will surely be an election issue as much as COVID-19. I leave it to wiser heads than mine to predict and prognosticate. Specifically I’d recommend reading Heather Cox Richardson’s column tonight—her column last night was an eloquent tracing of RBG’s life, career, and importance. Perhaps tonight she’ll take on the consequences. Meantime, I of course hope that the eventual outcome will be a balanced court, but I am probably dreaming. McConnell has spent trump’s entire term packing the courts, and there’s little reason to think that this opportunity isn’t the stuff of his dreams.

Interesting to me and that I didn’t know is that after the Depression President Franklin D. Roosevelt packed with Supreme Court with liberals. Much more to my liking, but I recognize that what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander or whatever (does that go the other way around?) Eventually, balance was restored, and that will happen again someday. Meanwhile, the question of women’s rights looms large.

We were kind of off our feed—or at least our schedule—last night, which is why I missed Richardson’s column. Christian had planned to grill—steaks for them and a lamb chop for me. But he got home so late that the idea had little appeal and we ordered take-out from Chadra. I have not been really happy with almost any take-out we’ve had, but I have to say last night was great. Chadra’s spaghetti with meat sauce isi a favorite, and I am glad to have leftovers in my fridge.

I may have to give up my daily nap, because I’ve been having bad dreams. Today it was people chasing a dog to kill it—supposedly a vicious dog, but nonetheless a living, terrified creature. I couldn’t bear to stay on the front porch, so I grabbed my dog and went inside. Only I went from the porch of our house in Fort Worth inside to my childhood home. A Freudian psychologist might have a field day with that.

Why bad dreams? I have a friend who almost came undone with the news of RBG’s death and explained that it was just too much on top of the political uproar already whirling around us. I think that’s the tension I’m feeling. Quarantine hasn’t been hard for me, mostly because Jordan has seen to it that I am secure in my bubble, but nothing keeps me from the computer and from political news. I know many people have sworn off Facebook, for instance, because politics is so virulent these days that it upsets them. I think that’s a self-indulgent luxury we can’t allow ourselves. I think we must continue to speak out, to fight for democracy.

And I was going to write an apolitical blog! Apologies to any who do not see things the way I do.

Whoa! A norther blew in

When I first moved to Texas I thought "norther" was some sort of a nonsensical term. And then I experienced one of those dramatic and severe drops in temperature when, sometimes, the air turns blue. I'm not sure last night brought a blue norther--too dark to tell--but it sure brought lots of thunder, lightning, and rain along with cold temperatures. This morning I braved the cold to go to the grocery store, and now with predictions of freezing rain and the like, I'm glad I did. The only other time I had to go out was to get Jacob and a pal from school across the street. (Their much anticipated play date left them both saying they were bored, so they passed the time by wrestling--though Jacob had brought cards, action figures, and all sorts of things for this occasion). I think I scored because I fed them chocolate covered donuts with sprinkles.
But now it's evening, I have a fire in the fireplace, and I don't intend to go anywhere. Probably not for the next two or three days. Church on Sunday is iffy. I have company coming for supper Sat. night and everything in the house to prepare supper, and Sunday I feel a pot of soup coming on, even if I have to eat it by myself and freeze the rest. It's cabbage soup, and I seriously considered substituting sauerkraut--there used to be an old restaurant on Fort Worth's North Side that served wonderful tomato/sauerkraut soup.
Tonight I'll work on that manuscript I'm editing and I'll watch some of the JFK tributes. I've been surprised that I've not been more interested in those than I am, but I think the memories of living through that tragic weekend, glued to the TV, are still raw enough that I don't want to see much of it again. Was he a great president? I don't think the votes are in even yet, but there's no denying he had a vision and a dream for America, and he was compassionate and charismatic--and in that sense he brought us magic. The magic died when he was shot down,  and we've never reclaimed it. In the few programs I've seen, I've been surprised by the great pain he lived with daily and the measures he took to be able to be "on" constantly when he campaigned. Maybe he took a lesson from FDR, another of my heroes.
Elsewhere on Facebook I posted that I see similarities between the dreams, vision, and compassion of JFK and President Obama. I expect to get slammed for that opinion, but I'm just not going to answer.