The Autobiography of Eleanor Roosevelt (44 page)

At least a month before the Quebec conference my husband had received memoranda from Secretary Hull, Secretary Stimson and Secretary Morgenthau, members of the Cabinet committee he had set up to recommend a plan for the postwar treatment of Germany. All were carefully considered, so it is fair to surmise that Henry Morgenthau’s plan more closely met the needs of the situation as Franklin saw it.

Henry Morgenthau himself told the story of his last interview with my husband the night before he died. He left him with the firm conviction that Franklin was still determined “not to allow any sentimental considerations to modify the conditions necessary to prevent Germany and the German people from becoming aggressive again.” Henry Morgenthau felt that these views were embodied in the Potsdam Agreement. The trouble that arose later was not because of that agreement but because of the lack of further agreement. A careful analysis of much that happened would probably show that Mr. Churchill always favored a less harsh attitude toward Germany and, as fear of Russia increased, his feeling naturally intensified.

While we were at the Quebec conference, both Mrs. Churchill and I were asked to speak in French over the radio, and there were a number of entertainments which we attended. On the 18th Franklin returned to Hyde Park with Mr. and Mrs. Churchill. Their rest there was necessarily brief because the 1944 campaign was about to begin.

Franklin opened the campaign by speaking at the Teamsters’ Union dinner in Washington, Daniel Tobin being an old and warm Democratic adherent. It was at this dinner that Franklin really laid the foundation for Mr. Dewey’s defeat by the way in which he told the story of Fala’s indignation over the Republican accusation that he had been left behind on an island, and retrieved only at the cost of untold sums of the taxpayers’ money. By ridicule, Franklin turned this silly charge to his advantage.

After that dinner the campaign was on, but I was busy with a number of things which had nothing to do with it. A conference on rural education, organized largely through Mrs. Charles Ormond Williams’ interest, was held in the White House on October 4 and 5.

Shortly after my birthday I went at the regular interval to donate blood to the Red Cross. The young lady at the desk was terribly embarrassed because I had passed the sixty mark in years and no one over sixty could be allowed to give blood. I was unable to see how in a few weeks my blood could have changed, but I felt I really entered old age on October 11, 1944.

At the end of the campaign Franklin and I drove through miles of New York City streets in one of the worst rainstorms I ever remember. We did everything that had been planned, but between times we stopped in a city garage so Franklin could change into dry clothes. Riding in an open car in that downpour, he was drenched to the skin. He ended up at the apartment, which I had been trying to get him to look at ever since we sold the 65th Street houses. He had told me to get an apartment in New York City in which we could stay occasionally after we left Washington, specifying that it should be in a place where he could work in peace with no steps anywhere.

He had every intention of spending the rest of his life, after leaving the White House, in Hyde Park and Warm Springs, but realized, since he planned to do some magazine work, that he must have some place in which to stay in New York City.

I was really worried about him that day, but instead of being exhausted he was exhilarated, after he had had a chance to change his clothes and get a little rest. The crowds had been warm and welcoming and the contact with them was good for him. People had seemed not to mind standing in the rain so long as they could get a glimpse of him as he waved at them. That must give anyone a very warm feeling. People love you when they believe you have done something really worthwhile for them, and there was no question but that the people of New York City had been telling him that day how much they cared. Men, women and children had stood for hours, and as far as I could tell it had made no difference that the sun was not shining.

Dr. McIntire had worried about the campaign, but I had told him early in the autumn that I thought Franklin drew strength from contact with people. On the day of our visit to New York City I felt that I had been right and that Franklin was better than he had been at the beginning of the campaign.

That night, October 21, Franklin spoke at the Foreign Policy Association dinner. I heard afterwards that some people thought he looked ill that night, but I was not surprised because, of course, he was extremely tired. We went to Hyde Park for the election. When the returns showed that his re-election was assured, he went out on the porch as usual to welcome our neighbors when they came down to greet and congratulate him.

Franklin went down to Warm Springs for Thanksgiving and had nearly three weeks there. I was always glad when he was able to go, because he got great satisfaction out of contact with the patients, especially the youngsters. I think he felt that Warm Springs represented something that he had really been able to do for people who suffered as he had suffered.

Again that year we went to Hyde Park for Christmas. Soon after, Franklin began to plan for his trip to Yalta. I remember that he was so busy it was well into January before he had time to open his Christmas presents. He would not let any of us do it for him, so little by little, as he had a few minutes before dinner, he had the pleasure of opening his gifts, every one of which he enjoyed.

Early in January, realizing this would certainly be his last inauguration, perhaps even having a premonition that he would not be with us long, Franklin insisted that every grandchild come to the White House for a few days over the 20th. I was reluctant to have thirteen grandchildren, ranging in age from three to sixteen, together, for fear of an epidemic of measles or chicken pox, but he was so insistent that I agreed.

After the inauguration it was clearer every day that Franklin was far from well. Nevertheless, he was determined to go to Yalta, and when he made up his mind that he wanted to do something he rarely gave up the idea.

Franklin had high hopes that at this conference he could make real progress in strengthening the personal relationship between himself and Marshal Stalin. He talked a good deal about the importance of this in the days of peace to come, since he realized that the problems which would arise then would be even more difficult than those of the war period. He also told me that he intended, if possible, to see some of the Arabs and try to find a peaceful solution to the Palestine situation.

On the way back, however, General Watson, who had wanted above all else to go on the trip, had a stroke, which I knew must be causing Franklin great anxiety. Before they were out of the Mediterranean he died. Harry Hopkins also was ill on the trip and got off at Marrakech for a holiday and rest. Altogether, dark clouds seemed to be settling over the ship and I was really worried.

Many things have been said about the “surrender” of the United States’ interests in the agreements at Yalta. Edward Stettinius’ book answers these accusations authoritatively and I hope it will be read by everyone who has for one minute thought that Franklin was not always first concerned with the good of the United States. However, that our welfare was inextricably linked with the welfare of other countries was something he believed deeply, and he also believed we needed the friendship of other countries.

Yalta was only a step towards the ultimate solution Franklin had in mind. He knew it was not the final step. He knew there had to be more negotiation, other meetings. He hoped for an era of peace and understanding, but he knew well that peace was not won in a day—that days upon days and years upon years lay before us in which we must keep the peace by constant effort.

Though Franklin had felt confident of being able to work with Stalin when he left for Yalta, not long after he got home he began to feel that the marshal was not keeping his promises. This was something he could not overlook, and I believe he wrote him a number of extremely stern messages. He still thought, however, that in the end he could make Stalin live up to his word, and that he, Stalin, and Churchill, having fought the war together, had gained enough understanding and respect for each other to be able to work things out.

In telling of his experiences on this trip Franklin always said that one of the most interesting and colorful episodes was his meeting with King Ibn Saud. The King arrived on a destroyer, sitting with all his entourage under a canopy on deck, the sheep which he had brought for food herded at the other end of the ship. Franklin said it was the strangest-looking destroyer he had ever seen. Beautiful rugs had been spread and everything done to make the King comfortable in fairly familiar surroundings. Franklin served coffee on their arrival and the King asked permission to have his own coffee-maker prepare the ceremonial coffee, which Franklin drank with him.

The purpose of this visit was to get some kind of agreement on Palestine; also, Franklin wanted to make some suggestions about the development of the Arab countries. He had always felt strongly that they should not turn over all their oil resources to the great nations of the world but should retain enough to use in pumping water to the surface to irrigate the desert for better agricultural development. He was sure that much of the desert land had underground rivers which would make irrigation possible. He also thought that much more could be done in the way of reforestation in these countries. He had mentioned this to the Sultan of Morocco when he and Mr. Churchill had dined with him during the Casablanca conference. Franklin said Mr. Churchill did not look too happy over the idea, but the Sultan seemed enthusiastic.

He tried talking on these subjects to King Ibn Saud only to be met by the statement that the King was a warrior and would continue to be as long as he lived. He said one of his sons—and he had a great many sons—was interested in agriculture and another was interested in conservation, but that he had no interest at all in anything except being a warrior and the King of his nomad people.

The King did not want his people changed and he felt that contact with Europeans would be bad for them. When it came to Palestine, Franklin got nowhere.

On the 1st of March, Franklin addressed the Congress, and I knew, when he consented to do this sitting down, that he had accepted a certain degree of invalidism. I found him less and less willing to see people for any length of time, needing a rest in the middle of the day. He was anxious to get away and I was pleased when he decided to go to Warm Springs, where he always gained in health and strength. He invited his cousins, Laura Delano and Margaret Buckley, to go down with him.

On April 12, in the afternoon, Laura Delano called me to say that Franklin had fainted while sitting for his portrait and had been carried to bed. I talked to Dr. McIntire, who was not alarmed, but we planned to go down to Warm Springs that evening. He told me, however, that he thought I had better go on with my afternoon engagements, since it would cause great comment if I canceled them at the last moment to go to Warm Springs.

I was at a benefit for the Thrift Shop at the Sulgrave Club in Washington when I was called to the telephone. Steve Early, very much upset, asked me to come home at once. I did not even ask why. I knew that something dreadful had happened. Nevertheless, the amenities had to be observed, so I went back to the party and said good-by, expressing my regrets that I could not stay longer because something had come up at home which called me away.

I got into the car and sat with clenched hands all the way to the White House. In my heart I knew what had happened, but one does not actually formulate these terrible thoughts until they are spoken. I went to my sitting room and Steve Early and Dr. McIntire came to tell me the news. Word had come to them through Dr. Bruenn in Warm Springs, first of the hemorrhage, and later of Franklin’s death.

I sent at once for the vice-president, and I made arrangements for Dr. McIntire and Steve to go with me to Warm Springs by plane that evening. Somehow in emergencies one moves automatically.

When the vice-president came I could think of nothing to say except how sorry I was for him, how much we would all want to help him in any way we could, and how sorry I was for the people of the country, to have lost their leader and friend before the war was really won.

Then I cabled my sons: “Father slept away. He would expect you to carry on and finish your jobs.”

Almost before we knew it we were on the plane and flew all through the night. The next day in Warm Springs was long and heartbreaking. Laura Delano and Margaret Buckley, Lizzie McDuffle, our White House maid, Daisy Bonner, the cook Franklin always had in Warm Springs, and Pretty-man, the valet, were all stunned and sad but everyone was as self-controlled and calm as possible. Though this was a terrible blow, somehow one had no chance to think of it as a personal sorrow. It was the sorrow of all those to whom this man who now lay dead, and who happened to be my husband, had been a symbol of strength and fortitude.

Finally, the slow procession moved to the railroad station and we got on the train and started for Washington. The military guard surrounded the coffin in the back of the car where Franklin had sat so often. I lay in my berth with the window shade up, looking out at the countryside he had loved and watching the faces of the people at stations, and even at the crossroads, who came to pay their last tribute all through the night.

The plans for the funeral were as Franklin would have wanted them. We had talked often, when there had been a funeral at the Capitol in which a man had lain in state and the crowds had gone by the open coffin, of how much we disliked the practice; and we had made up our minds that we would never allow it. I asked that the coffin be opened once after it was placed in the East Room, so that I could go in alone to put a few flowers in it before it was closed finally. He wanted to be remembered as he was when he was alive.

It seemed to me that everyone in the world was in the East Room for the funeral services except three of my own sons. Elliott was the only one who, by luck, could get back; he had been asked to fly in the plane which brought Mr. Baruch and several others from London. Jimmy was able to come east but he did not reach New York City until after the funeral at Hyde Park, so he joined us on the train on our way back to Washington. Langdon Marvin, Jr., who was my husband’s godchild, came with Jimmy. Franklin Junior and Johnny were out in the Pacific area.