The Irregulars (32 page)

The conference got off to a rocky start and more than once came close to derailing in face of insurmountable obstacles. Juan Trippe kept his distance from the proceedings, but Pan American agents were everywhere, stirring the pot and feeding stories to the
Chicago Tribune,
the leading Roosevelt-baiting paper, making it seem as though the Americans were giving too much away. Both countries kept up stiff propaganda campaigns, but little else could be expected under such strained circumstances. As Berle observed in his diary, “This is merely a note, the only moral of which is that politics is nasty.” Nevertheless by day ten there was reason to hope that both sides would eventually be able to reach an accord and start the ghastly process of putting the policy resolutions into agreed-on texts. In a weary letter to his mother, Dahl wrote that he was so befuddled by the many days of dashing between airports and meetings that unless he glanced at a newspaper, he had no idea what day it was.

The conference dragged on for nearly a month. The talks threatened to break down again when the British, in secret meetings, balked at the idea of putting their bases all over the world at the disposal of other nations—primarily the United States. Again the conference became bogged down in controversy and was saved only by Roosevelt’s pointed intervention, when he told Churchill that people would wonder at the chances of their two countries “working together to keep the peace if we can not even get together an aviation agreement.”

Several days later Roosevelt received a conciliatory message from the British prime minister, who blamed Berle for any apparent misunderstanding. Even so, his letter seemed to sum up the accumulated hurt of a war that had placed the United States in “an incomparably better position,” and not just when it came to the aircraft industry:

You will have the greatest Navy in the world. You will have, I hope, the greatest Air Force. You will have the greatest trade. You have all the gold. But these things do not oppress my mind with fear because I am sure the American people under your reacclaimed leadership will not give themselves over to vainglorious ambitions, and that justice and fair play will be the lights that guide them.

 

While the conference ground on, the British still expected the hoped-for Roosevelt landslide on November 7. No matter how often they were told that the election results were a foregone conclusion, Dahl’s superiors found new grounds for concern. Dewey, who had tapped John Bricker as his running mate, was garnering a lot of press attention and gaining ground. Roosevelt’s absence at Chicago, along with the haggard photo of him that appeared in the newspapers the day after his acceptance speech, was vivid proof of his decline in health and had been the talk of the convention hall. Dewey, meanwhile, was busy acting presidential and impressed reporters in a postconvention press conference by following up a question about the danger of “changing horses” midstream with an uncharacteristically clever quip about how the Democrats had already “changed half a horse” at Chicago. It was the sort of playful joust Roosevelt had once been known for, and it reinforced the impression that the sixty-two-year-old president was tired and spent. Jittery British officials worried that the president was fading fast.

As Election Day drew near, London asked Stephenson to undertake an independent voter survey. Stephenson conferred with Donovan, who first cleared the project with the president. Roosevelt, who paid close attention to opinion polls and had consulted them in determining political strategy on everything from the First Lady’s public profile to Lend-Lease, reportedly gave his approval and asked to be apprised of the results. Donovan then brought in David Seiferheld, one of the OSS’s top statisticians, to prepare “a clinical analysis” of the election polls. Seiferheld reevaluated Gallup’s calculations and found that in the 1940 election there had been a 4 percent margin of error in his poll. By correcting for that error in the system that he used, Seiferheld maintained that his predictions would be much closer to the actual outcome than Gallup’s. London was naturally interested to learn that the custodian of America’s leading polls was privately a Republican and, according to some reports, might be deliberately adjusting his figures in favor of the Dewey-Bricker ticket in hopes of “stampeding the electorate.” If the Gallup poll was “tainted,” it could have major implications for the coming election. Ernest Cuneo carried news of this startling development to the BSC chief. “It’s unbelievable,” he told Stephenson. “There are going to be some white-faced boys in this country…. Dewey is calling Gallup up so often they have to have a clerk to answer him…. Imagine a guy shaking so much.”

A week before the election Stephenson sent London a telegram containing his latest electoral predictions and told Cuneo that the forecast would forever brand him “either an idiot or a genius”:

MY ESTIMATES HAVE CONSISTENTLY CONFLICTED MARKEDLY WITH THOSE OF GALLUP AND OTHER POLLSTERS AND POLITICAL PUNDITS…AND NOW SHOW EVEN GREATER DIVERGENCE FROM LARGELY ACCEPTED VIEW THAN PREVIOUSLY….

MY CURRENT ANALYSES INDICATE VICTORY FOR FDR IN MINIMUM REPEAT MINIMUM OF
32
STATES WITH
370
ELECTORAL VOTES AND MAXIMUM OF
40
WITH
487
ELECTORAL VOTES
….

DEWEY MINIMUM COMPRISES NORTH DAKOTA, SOUTH DAKOTA, NEBRASKA, COLORADO, KANSAS, WYOMING, VERMONT AND IOWA…. MAXIMUM INCLUDES FORGOING PLUS MAINE, IDAHO, WISCONSIN, INDIANA, MICHIGAN, OHIO, MINNESOTA, AND ILLINOIS…. LAST FOUR ARE DEWEY’S MOST DOUBTFUL ONES AND NOT IMPROBABLE RESULT ANTICIPATES HIS LOSING THREE OR ALL FOUR.

 

Stephenson’s election prophecies were right on the mark. Roosevelt carried thirty-six states, and Dewey the eight states listed in his forecast as his minimum, as well as four of the questionable ones. In the Electoral College vote, Roosevelt won 432 to Dewey’s 99, nothing less than a landslide. His popular vote edge was significantly reduced, however, the majority being only 3.5 million. The party gained twenty-two seats in the House and lost one in the Senate, too small a change to alter the political course of the country. Roosevelt could continue to be his own man during the fourth term. In the end, the professional polls were nowhere near as accurate a guide as the BSC’s private tally. Gallup ended up with only 51.5 percent voting for Roosevelt, where in fact—with the soldiers’ ballots still waiting to be counted—more than 53 percent had. The results, as Isaiah Berlin observed in his November 11 dispatch, “although undeniably within Gallup’s admitted margin of error (of 3–4 per cent), does not serve to strengthen the faith of the unconverted in the complete dependability of his polls. Perhaps his alleged Republican sympathies led him to underestimate the size of the total vote on which the percentages were based.”
*

In any event, Ogilvy had served them well. Stephenson regarded him as a superior talent in the field of covert warfare and later praised his performance in Washington, singling out his “keen analytical powers and special aptitude for handling problems of extreme delicacy…not only a good intelligence officer, but a brilliant one.”

Dahl spent election night at Mrs. McLean’s traditional gala. The crowd of Washington leaders, legislators, diplomats, and notables were more raucous than usual, arguing and debating noisily among themselves, falling silent only long enough to hear the latest report on the radio. People’s appetites were either ruined or improved depending on the voting trends, though most had only an absentminded regard for the food. Dahl stayed well into the night listening to the reactions as the final returns poured in over the airwaves. The next day he sat down and wrote Eleanor Roosevelt a congratulatory letter telling her how pleased he was that the president was the winner and confessing that he gave “a sigh of unofficial relief” when he heard the news. He went on to explain that he had been back in Washington for some time and was happy to hear that the First Lady was feeling well and was in good spirits. He sent his regards to Tommy, signing the letter “Wing Commander Roald Dahl.” He typed the brief note on his new British Security Coordination letterhead, with the official crest on the top, crossing out the BSC’s address at Sixteenth Street and typing in the new office address at 1106 Connecticut Avenue. Eleanor promptly replied, thanking Dahl for his letter, adding, “I deeply appreciate your writing and the very kind things you say. Now that you are back here I shall hope to see you soon.” A few days later he was invited to dine with her at the White House.

Marsh was vastly amused when shortly after the election someone—Dahl claimed to be the culprit—painted the balls of the giant bronze bison by the Q Street bridge bright red. It was quite a shocking sight. The ornamental statue, which was near Dahl’s house, now stood out more than ever, its “prominent personal organs” in bold relief for all to see. To commemorate this historic event, Marsh penned one of his fake letters for Dahl’s amusement, this time addressing it to Cissie Patterson. He demanded that she take a bucket and brush and “do a job on the balls of the bison,” but not before satisfying herself that what had been done was not unnatural: “Have you, my dear Cissie, ever in your long and variegated experience, observed a bison, or even an ordinary man, with a gray or gray-green scrotum?” He went on to implore her to take pity on “the small man” who must walk to work each morning over the Q Street bridge, and back again at night, faced with this rude sight. After all, despite running “a scandal sheet,” he continued, “I realize that the purpose of your life has been for the public welfare and nothing has been too small or too large for you to observe.” The bull became Marsh and Dahl’s de facto mascot, a favorite joke between them, and an emblem of all they been through in that awful campaign.

With the election over, Dahl could relax. His superiors were overjoyed by Roosevelt’s thumping victory over Dewey and no doubt congratulated themselves that they had had a hand in seeing that he got in. The embassy was buzzing with rumors that the war in Europe was nearing an end and might be over by Christmas. Soon they would all be going home. The British were not alone in feeling cheered. The whole of voteless Washington, which had swelled to massive proportions during Roosevelt’s incumbency, seemed in a mood to celebrate. The long months of uncertainty were over, government employees could stop worrying if their jobs were safe, and administration loyalists would be rewarded. Even the campaign-weary press corps was glad it was finally finished and done with and toasted FDR in their customary fashion, three deep at the Mayflower bar.

On December 7 the aviation conference finally adjourned. In light of all that had preceded it, a surprisingly simple document was drawn up. A uniform set of rules for air navigation had been established, as well as a permanent international authority to promote the development of air transport. But both sides had been forced to concede key points, and the result was an uneasy compromise. Neither London nor Washington was happy. Addressing the convention for the last time, Berle tried to affirm the new spirit of cooperation and seized on the symbolism of the third anniversary of Pearl Harbor. “We met in an era of diplomatic intrigue and private and monopolistic privilege,” he told the restless crowd. “We close in an era of open covenants and equal opportunity and status.” Dahl doubted anyone believed him.

Dahl took advantage of his free time to see more of his new love interest, a French actress known as Annabella, née Suzanne Georgette Charpentier. Dahl had first met her in February, at the opening night dinner in honor of Franz Werfel’s and S. N. Behrman’s comedy
Jacobowsky and the Colonel
, which was playing in Washington for several weeks during its break-in tour. Delighted to find himself seated next to the glamorous blonde, who was married to the matinee idol Tyrone Power, he did his best to impress her with his literary flair, spinning a macabre tale about a stranger who bets his Cadillac that a young man can’t coax a flame from his cigarette lighter ten times in a row. The catch was that should he win the bet, the loser would have to surrender the little finger of his left hand. Accustomed to cowing listeners with his arrogance and barbed wit, Dahl was somewhat taken aback when the petite actress eyed him coolly and asked, “What happened next?” He saw her back to her suite that night and the next day returned for lunch in the hotel’s dining room, tipping the maitre d’ to make sure that he was placed across from her regular table.

Dahl made fast work of their courtship, but then he had plenty of encouragement. Annabella was an adventuresome spirit and was at the time estranged from her husband, who had enlisted as a private in the Marine Corps and was away at a combat training camp. Several years older than Dahl, she was beautiful, intelligent, and endowed with enormous charm. She was warm and down to earth and had no interest in associating with big Hollywood stars, preferring to surround herself with a lively mixture of American and European creative people, including playwrights, screenwriters, and theatrical directors. For Dahl, Annabella was more than just another wartime fling—she became his confidante and close friend. She was worldly in ways he was not, and as always, he was irresistibly drawn to fame and sophistication.