FDR - Jean Edward Smith [188]
Saturday, March 4, dawned dull and dreary in Washington, the sky overcast with the final days of winter. Homeless men, disheveled and threadbare, wandered the deserted streets in search of a breakfast handout. Under the leafless trees the flags flew at half-mast in honor of Senator Walsh. It was as if the nation’s gloom had settled over the city. Roosevelt began the day at 10 A.M. with a precedent-setting prayer service at St. John’s Episcopal Church, directly across Lafayette Square from the White House.* He was joined by his family and personal staff, plus the members of the cabinet and their families, some hundred people altogether. At FDR’s request, the Reverend Endicott Peabody, still paterfamilias to a growing legion of Groton old boys, presided over the brief service. After reading the appropriate selections from the Book of Common Prayer, the elderly Peabody offered a special request, asking God “Thy favor to behold and bless Thy servant, Franklin, chosen to be President of the United States.” Roosevelt selected the hymns and psalms and joined in heartily as the choir led the small congregation in “Faith of Our Fathers” and “O God, Our Help in Ages Past.” When the service ended, FDR remained on his knees for some time, his face cupped in his hands, in private prayer, his thoughts to himself.
Shortly before eleven, Roosevelt, in striped pants, cutaway, and silk hat, arrived at the porticoed north entrance to the White House. Breaking with custom again, FDR remained in the car while the presidential party assembled in the East Room. Soon President Hoover joined him, sitting to his right as protocol required. Eleanor rode in the second car with Mrs. Hoover. The seven-car procession, escorted by a troop of cavalry, began its two-mile journey up Pennsylvania Avenue to the Capitol. Roosevelt attempted to make conversation, but except for a brief exchange in which Hoover asked FDR if he might provide a position for the president’s administrative assistant, the two sat in silence.80 Happily, the ride was a short one. After the inaugural ceremonies they never saw each other again, although they were often in the same city. Hoover, the scapegoat from central casting, retired into domestic exile only to reappear every four years at Republican conventions, much to the delight of Democratic carnivores.
As required by statute, the vice president was sworn in first. Standing in the well of the Senate chamber, Vice President Charles Curtis, president of the Senate, swore in John Nance Garner as his successor. He then declared the Senate of the Seventy-second Congress adjourned sine die. Garner called the Seventy-third Senate to order and then recessed it until two o’clock, when it would reconvene to consider FDR’s cabinet nominees. When the ceremony ended, there was a rush to the inaugural stand at the east front of the Capitol. When the thousand or so guests were seated, a bugle sounded, followed by ruffles and flourishes, and the Marine Band, resplendent in scarlet and gold, broke into the “President’s March.” Franklin Roosevelt, braced on the arm of his eldest son, James, began his laborious walk to the rostrum, 146 feet away. Watching the scene, the veteran broadcaster Ed Hill observed that if this man had the courage to lift himself by sheer willpower from the bed of invalidism, had the determination and patience to make himself walk, then he must have within him the qualities to lead the nation to recovery.81
Charles Evans Hughes, chief justice of the United States, wearing the black robes of office, stood at the center of the platform to meet him. On the table beside Hughes rested the Dutch family Bible brought to the New World by Claes van Rosenvelt in the 1650s—upon which Roosevelt had twice taken the oath as governor of New York. It was opened to the thirteenth verse of the thirteenth chapter of Paul’s First Epistle to the Corinthians: “And now abideth faith, hope, charity, all three; but the greatest of these is charity.” FDR had proposed, and Hughes agreed, that he should repeat