Theodore Rex - Edmund Morris [153]
Nicholas II’s rejection of the petition cable the next day thus came as neither a disappointment nor a surprise. Roosevelt authorized the B’nai B’rith leaders to publicize the rejection as they chose, and accepted congratulations from John Hay. “You have done the right thing in the right way, and Jewry seems really grateful,” the Secretary wrote.
An exuberant Roosevelt was less inclined to call the matter quits. “If only we were sure that neither France nor Germany would join in, I should not in the least mind going to ‘extremes’ with Russia!”
THE CRESCENT SELF-CONFIDENCE Edith Roosevelt had noticed after her husband’s return from the West continued to energize him. He seemed to delight in juggling as many political and diplomatic balls as possible. To the annoyance of his children, carriages full of ponderous adults kept creaking through the chestnut trees. One such vehicle on 15 July discharged Treasury Secretary Leslie Shaw, Herman Kohlsaat of the Chicago Record-Herald, Charles J. Bonaparte, special counsel for the Justice Department in the Post Office investigation, and Ray Stannard Baker, reporter at large for McClure’s. Baker’s briefcase was especially bulky with notes, maps, and memoranda. The President had asked him to substantiate charges of corruption in the Salt River Valley, Arizona, reclamation project.
A servant showed the visitors into the library. Roosevelt was nowhere to be seen. They sat for a while under the varnished gaze of Theodore Senior, absorbing an aura of well-handled books, oak, and mahogany. On the desk, radiant with sun slanting in through gauze curtains, there lay a gold-miner’s pan, a silver dagger, and an inkwell ornamented with a little bust of Abraham Lincoln. Bearskins snarled silently on the floor. Somewhere a clock was ticking: it was well past noon.
Like a sudden explosion, the President blew in through the door. He looked ruddy and healthy in knickerbockers, worn gray shirt, and scuffed hiking shoes, and was bursting with mirth. In his hand he carried a note and newspaper clipping.
“I want to read you something I have just got,” he said, “in connection with conditions in the South.”
He shot a gleeful glance at Bonaparte, who owned a Maryland plantation. The note was from Booker T. Washington. “My dear Mr. President, the enclosed is a true story.” Roosevelt turned to the clipping, from the Baltimore Herald:
An old Florida colonel met Booker T. Washington and in a bibulous burst of confidence said to the Negro educator: “Suh, I am glad to meet you. Always wanted to shake your hand, suh. I think, suh, you’re the greatest man in America.”
“Oh no,” said Mr. Washington.
“You are, suh,” said the colonel, and then, pugnaciously, “who’s greater?”
“Well,” said the founder of Tuskegee, “there’s President Roosevelt.”
“No, suh,” roared the colonel. “Not by a jugful; I used to think so, but since he invited you to dinner I think he’s a [—] scoundrel.”
The library rang with presidential laughter. A gong sounded, and Roosevelt led the way into the dining room. Baker left a bemused account of the subsequent proceedings:
It was a very simple lunch, served by a maid. At first the President talked postal affairs with Mr. Bonaparte, asserting over and over again that he wanted the investigation to be thorough.
“I don’t care who it hits!” he said. “We must get to the bottom of these scandals.” He then turned abruptly to me and said, “Baker, who is the chief devil down there in the Salt River Valley?”
Since I had never considered the situation in terms of devils, I hesitated a moment—and the President burst into a vigorous, picturesque, and somewhat vitriolic description of the situation, implying that if he could catch the rascals who were causing the trouble he would execute them on the spot. Several of the statements he made seemed to me to be inaccurate, or at least exaggerated, but when I tried to break into the conversation—boiling inside with my undelivered