Taft 2012 - Jason Heller [9]
He snorted and wiggled his mustache. “Talk. That seems to be the major preoccupation of you people of the twenty-first century.” He paused to let one of those violently loud mini-aircraft—what had Kowalczyk called it, a hell-copter? Appropriate name, given the infernal racket—shoot past overhead. “Ahem. Speaking of which. I started reading the notes you left me, Miss Weschler. On the twentieth century.” He closed his eyes. “So, correct me if I’m wrong, madam: Scarcely five minutes after I left office, the entire world burst into war. Woodrow Wilson led America to victory. And then it happened again twenty years later, and Teddy Roosevelt’s cousin led America to victory.” Taft pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. “The atom has been split. Men have traveled to the Moon. Only one president has been assassinated since McKinley—not bad, I suppose, statistically speaking. Palestine is a Jewish state and the Arabs would like it back. China is now the United States’ largest debt-holder. China! And a singer named—what was it, Michael Jackman?—was the greatest artist of the twentieth century?”
“Well, that last one is open to debate.”
“Indeed. It seems only yesterday the newspapers were falling over themselves to bestow the title upon that boy Al Jolson.”
“Mr. Taft,” she said quietly. “What do you think of all that? All those changes in the world?”
Finally, he turned to stare at her. “What would you have me say?”
“I don’t mean to be pushy. It’s just that … sometimes it feels better to talk. You know, about your feelings.”
He snorted through his mustache. “I feel quite better shutting up, fine, thank you. In any case, I need to conserve my breath. Have you noticed how dreadful the air tastes? What do you people burn for fuel? Old shoes? In any case, besides an itch to play nine rounds at Chevy Chase and a tickle in my belly where my dinner isn’t, I’m afraid I don’t have any feelings to report.”
She stepped forward and leaned against the rail next to him. “I mean your emotions.”
He had to laugh at that. “Emotions? If you want emoting, Miss Weschler, I’ll take you to a fine night at the theater.”
It must have been the glare of the city—he could have sworn she blushed. “No, Mr. Taft, that’s not what I meant exactly. I was just thinking you might be feeling scared. Or confused. Or maybe … alone.”
“Oho!” Why hadn’t he seen it coming? “I understand now, Professor Weschler. You have an ulterior motive here, don’t you? You are a historian, are you not? Of the presidential persuasion? And picking my brain of its contents is surely a way for you to better your handicap among your peers, perhaps even secure a more auspicious post within the academy? Well, I won’t be the butt of your ambition, Miss Weschler. I assure you, I’m not anybody’s subject to be prodded, poked, and dissected. Since that first day in the White House, your doctors have gotten me medicated to the point that I’m sleepy and out of sorts half the day. I’ve had quite enough of that, I assure you, quite enough!”
He stormed back into the apartment and slammed the sliding glass door behind him.
A moment later, much more gently, he reopened it. “Oh, Miss Weschler, sorry to bother you. Just one more thing. Is there still a golf course nearby?”
From Taft: A Tremendous Man, by Susan Weschler:
I’ve been asked countless times: Why Taft? Why did I choose for my life’s work to study this most hapless of one-term presidents? Was I just looking for an easy path to being the foremost expert in something, by picking a field that no one else cared about?
People are obsessed with greatness. Washington led the Revolution and founded the presidency. Lincoln brought us to victory over slavery and separatism. FDR reinvented the institutions of civic life with the New Deal. Kennedy stood up for civil rights and led us into space. Yes, these are all defining moments in our nation’s history, in our human history. But the “great man” approach to history misses a much larger point: small moments also define us. In fact, aren’t the small moments