The Autobiography of Eleanor Roosevelt (14 page)

Here, as in Albany, I tried to get in from my calls by five o’clock so as to have tea at home, and the children were always with me for an hour before their own supper and bedtime.

Somewhere around the middle of that winter—I think in early March—my husband was sent on an inspection trip to the West Coast and I accompanied him.

When we arrived in each place, a naval aide appeared and told us what we should do, for which I was thankful. I was still new at getting on and off naval ships, with all the ceremony attached thereto.

The first time Anna was with us when we bobbed up and down in a little boat, and my husband received the seventeen-gun salute fired for the assistant secretary of the navy, she buried her head in my lap because she was sensitive to noises. Afterwards she carried cotton to put in her ears. I was totally unprepared the first time the salute came, but, as I was somewhat deaf even then, the noise did not bother me.

When it came to boarding a battleship I had to wait to be told whether I went ahead of my husband or whether he went ahead of me. What did I do while he stood at salute, whom did I shake hands with, and what parts of the ship should I not visit; and when we came to leave, did I go first or last? All these questions and many more worried me during these first inspection trips. But gradually I learned. Somehow my husband seemed to know all this without coaching, and I have always wondered how he absorbed knowledge where I had to struggle and ask innumerable questions. Perhaps he grew curious earlier in life. In any case, he was able to answer most of the questions we asked him; and when we thought on occasion we had him trapped and went to an encyclopedia to prove him wrong, almost invariably he was right.

On this trip, as on most other official trips, our engagements began at nine or ten o’clock in the morning and ended somewhere around midnight. After that I wrote my letters and packed my bags.

On all these trips I started out with a great deal of apprehension, in spite of the fact that I loved seeing new places. I hated to leave my children; but once out, my fears were quiescent until we were about two days from home, and then they revived in full force, and the last night I usually imagined all the terrible things that might happen to the children before we saw them again. They might fall out of a window, or into the fire, or be run over! My mother-in-law always had an eye to the children when we were away, so there was really no cause for anxiety, but during those years they had the usual runs of colds and earaches and tonsils which are the lot of children, and, in addition, many of the less serious childish illnesses.

Any woman with children knows that she must be prepared for all kinds of vicissitudes, but it takes time to accustom yourself to these things. At first you feel that you or someone else should have prevented whatever goes wrong. Later you learn that no amount of care will ward off the accidents and all you can do is to meet them, as they come along, with a calm and steadfast spirit.

That summer of 1914 the children and I went to Campobello, as usual, but war clouds were gathering over Europe and Washington was full of anxiety. My baby was due to arrive in August and plans had been made for the doctor who had taken care of me and my four other children to fly up and be with me for the event. Miss Spring, the same nurse who was always with me on these occasions and who managed to come as often as possible when the children had any ailments, came up to keep me company. My husband came for a short holiday, my mother-in-law was in her own cottage nearby. But, instead of waiting until the right time, I woke my husband on the night of August 16, to tell him I thought he had better go to Lubec and get our old friend, Dr. Bennett. My mother-in-law heard my husband call down to the men on the
Half Moon
to bring in the little boat so he could sail over, so she came running over from her cottage to find out what was wrong.

I made everyone wait around for the whole of the next day, and the baby did not arrive until early evening on August 17. I felt guilty, for I knew Dr. Bennett had many other patients, probably much more in need of his care than I was, and I tried to make him leave, but he felt responsible and insisted on sitting around. At last it was all over and he remarked to Miss Spring, “Why, she is just like one of us. I never took care of summer people before.”

Franklin Junior, the second baby to be given this name, progressed satisfactorily and I never had a pleasanter convalescence.

Franklin had arrived on July 25, but on the 29th he had a telegram to return to Washington because war seemed imminent. He wired me from there the various events as they occurred before he returned to Campobello. None of us quite realized the years of war that lay ahead. This is best illustrated by the fact that a young banker, who was married to my husband’s cousin, said reassuringly to us that summer that this war could not last long; the bankers of the world could control it by refusing credits. When my husband remarked that people had always been able to find money with which to carry on war, more than one man in the financial world smiled knowingly and said it could only be a question of a few months before Europe would be at peace again.

While I was still in bed, one of the destroyers came up and spent a few days cruising around the coast. My husband gave all the young officers heart failure by insisting on taking the ship through a place that looked to them extremely dangerous, but which his intimate knowledge of the waters made safe for navigation.

I remember one occasion when he brought a destroyer through the Narrows. This is a passage running between the mainland at Lubec, Maine, and the island of Campobello. The tide runs through at great speed, except when it is slack, and at low water it would be entirely impossible to take a destroyer or any big ship through; but at high tide, if you know the passage, it can be done. My husband did it on a number of occasions, though the officers with him thought he would surely scrape the bottom.

That autumn, though he did not resign as assistant secretary of the navy, my husband ran in the September primaries against James W. Gerard for United States senator and was defeated. I remember little about the campaign. I had to stay in Campobello until September was well on, and had such a small baby that most of my attention was focused on him at the time. I do not think that my husband ever had any idea that he was going to win, and I have often heard him say that he did not think himself suited to serve in the United States Senate; and it was probably a great relief to find himself back at his desk in the Navy Department.

Eight
    

Growing Independence

IN THE SPRING
of 1915 President Wilson appointed as commissioners to the San Francisco Fair Mr. William Phillips, who was assistant secretary of state, and my husband. Mr. Phillips went out ahead of us. I was to go with my husband and we were to accompany Vice-President and Mrs. Marshall, who were the personal representatives of the President at the fair. Much to our joy, the secretary of the interior and Mrs. Franklin K. Lane and Mr. and Mrs. Adolph Miller decided to go out at the same time.

Vice-President and Mrs. Marshall were to join us in Chicago; and, as I had never known either of them well, and the vice-president had the reputation of being extremely silent, I looked forward with some trepidation of being thrown with them on what must be rather intimate terms. I liked them both very much, and while I struggled through a number of meals with rather a silent gentleman, I discovered that he had a fund of dry humor and there was no pretentiousness about him. When he did not know a thing he said so. When he did not like a thing he said so, and usually had some amusing remark to make. We were on the back platform of the train when we crossed the Great Salt Lake. Everyone was exclaiming at the beauty around us. He removed the cigar which was rarely out of his mouth and remarked, “I never did like scenery.”

I was beginning to acquire considerable independence again because my husband’s duties made it impossible for him to travel with us at all times, and I was accustomed to managing quite a small army on moves from Washington to Hyde Park and to Campobello and back.

In the summer of 1915 I had not been long in Campobello when a wire came telling me that Franklin had been operated on for appendicitis in Washington. I was on my way to him when one of the men on the train came through calling my name. He handed me a telegram which said, “Franklin doing well, your mother-in-law with him. Louis Howe.”

I could cheerfully have slain poor Louis because I had to claim that wire and eyes were turned on me from all over the car. So my shyness was not entirely cured. In fact, it never has been. I remember Louis Howe, years later, taking me out to dinner at a restaurant, sitting at a table he did not like, and eating food he did not like, simply because he knew I would be uncomfortable if he made me conspicuous by getting up and changing to another table or complaining about the food.

I don’t suppose that kind of shyness ever really leaves one and to this day it sweeps over me occasionally when I face a crowd, and I wish the ground would open and swallow me. Habit has a great deal to do with what one actually does on these occasions, and the next years were going to give me a very intensive education along many lines.

I found Franklin’s mother in Washington at his bedside and we spent some time there together. She finally felt her son was well enough for her to leave and I stayed on alone until Franklin was able to leave the naval hospital and go on board the
Dolphin
for a trip up the coast.

Ever since the beginning of World War I in Europe our country had been becoming the battleground of opposing ideas, and our family was being torn by the differences between Theodore Roosevelt’s philosophy and that of President Wilson and his administration in general. I had a tremendous respect for this uncle of mine and for all his opinions. I knew that he felt we should take sides in the European war.

Woodrow Wilson, on the other hand, was determined that our nation should not be dragged into the war if it could possibly be kept out, and above everything else he did not wish our country to go in until the nation itself felt the urge to take a stand that would undoubtedly cost it much in men and money. No one had any realization of how much, and few saw far enough into the future to visualize the results that would come years later.

We had already begun to send ambulances and food to European nations. Mr. Herbert Hoover was feeding the Belgians. My husband was conscious of the pull of varying ideas and standards, and I think, being young, there were times when he wished a final decision could be reached more quickly. I often thought in later years, when he waited while younger advisors champed at the bit for action, of those early days when he played the role of a youthful and fiery adviser.

William Jennings Bryan, secretary of state, was a well-known pacifist. I was always fond of Mrs. Bryan, but in spite of my admiration for Mr. Bryan’s powers of oratory there were certain things that did not appeal to me at this time.

Antiwar germs must have been in me even then, however, for I had an instinctive belief in his stand on peace. I remember Mr. Bryan had miniature plowshares made from old guns and given to many people in the government. These were greeted by some with ridicule but to me they were not in the least ridiculous. I thought them an excellent reminder that our swords should be made into plowshares and should continue in this useful occupation.

Many people were already making fortunes out of the war; those who made munitions, for instance; the growers of cotton and of wheat were finding a ready market in the nations that required more raw materials and foodstuffs than they could grow themselves, with most of their men at the front and much of their land out of cultivation.

Distinguished groups came from foreign nations to look after the interests of their own countries over here, and the social life of Washington became busier and more interesting.

In the winter of 1915-16, a large economic conference for South and Central American commerce was held in Washington, and the State Department arranged for every government official to entertain some of the delegates and their wives at different times.

The dinner that we gave I remember vividly because we never could find out how many people were going to dine with us or what their names were. A list was furnished us, but, as the people arrived, many of the names were quite different from the ones on the list. However, we finally sat down and had enough places at table.

I was getting on very well because the men on either side of me spoke English and French. I looked toward the other end of the table and saw that my husband was having a difficult time making conversation with the lady on his right. On his left he had a man who seemed able to talk to him. Later that evening I inquired how he had enjoyed his dinner companions and he answered that they were charming; the lady had been difficult to talk to as she could speak only Spanish and all he could say was: “How many children have you, madam?” to which she always responded smilingly with the number and nothing more!

The German ambassador was conscious, I think, of the general antagonism growing around him, particularly after the sinking of the
Lusitania
, but he had a few warm friends and went his way serenely enough in Washington society. The French and English ambassadors were under great pressure; many people wanted them to undertake the same kind of propaganda that the German ambassador was carrying on. The French ambassador, M. Jules Jusserand, had been so many years in this country that he had a great knowledge of the United States and its people, and the same was true of Sir Cecil Spring-Rice, the English ambassador, and neither of them would consent to much active propaganda. Perhaps they felt that there was enough interest among certain United States citizens to bring about all the propaganda that was really needed, and events later vindicated their judgment!

Sir Cecil Spring-Rice had been in this country as a young man; he had become a great friend of Theodore Roosevelt’s family, and retained that friendship through the years, so that when we went to Washington one of the first houses that opened to us was the British embassy. He was a great reader and student of American history; one of the things he asked me the first time I sat beside him at dinner was which of the American histories I felt was the best. When I hesitated he remarked how strange it seemed that we citizens of the United States read so little of our own history. Sir Eustace Percy, one of the younger members of the embassy staff, was making an exhaustive study of our Civil War and had visited all the battlefields. Few young Americans do as much.