Theodore Rex - Edmund Morris [48]
Night after night, he gazed more cheerfully at the Capitol, knowing that some of its lights, at least, twinkled for him.
ONE UNSEEMLY INCIDENT marred the week before Christmas: the President’s public scolding of Nelson A. Miles, Commanding General of the United States Army. His treatment of the old soldier was by most accounts brutal. “It is a horrible thing,” wrote a former aide to Benjamin Harrison, “to realize that we have a bully in the White House.”
Roosevelt had developed an antipathy for the Commanding General during the Spanish-American War, dismissing him as nothing more than “a brave peacock.” Miles still loved to parade before admiring eyes. At sixty-one, he was a splendid specimen of bristling military masculinity. If he wore more gold braid, silver stars, and polished leather than seemed necessary for national security, few begrudged him his glitter. He was, after all, a hero of the Indian Campaigns.
What angered Roosevelt now was not so much the preening and strutting as signs that the Commanding General wished to become Commander-in-Chief. He was not particular as to which party should nominate him, but the latest signs were that he was courting the anti-imperialist vote, with a view to running as a Democrat in 1904.
As Commanding General, Miles had access to all classified dispatches sent to the Secretary of War. Secrets embarrassing to Elihu Root’s management of the war in the Philippines were being leaked to senators in the opposition. Roosevelt and Root were sure that he was responsible.
Miles played into their hands on 17 December by telling an interviewer that he disagreed with a naval court investigating a dispute between two admirals. Root informed him, on behalf of the President, that the senior officer of one service had “no business” criticizing legal proceedings in another. Miles hurried to the White House to explain that his remark had been merely “personal.” Roosevelt was in the middle of an open reception, and jumped at the chance to humiliate him. His voice rose to a shout, accompanied by jabs of the presidential forefinger: “I will have no criticism of my Administration from you, or any other officer in the Army. Your conduct is worthy of censure, sir.”
“You have the advantage of me, Mr. President,” Miles said, controlling himself. “You are my host and superior officer.” He bowed and left the room. On 22 December, his reprimand was made official. There was much sympathy for him, and criticism of the President for going beyond normal disciplinary decencies. “Mr. Roosevelt,” commented The Army and Navy Register, “approached General Miles in a manner which, without exaggeration, may be described as savage.”
PURGED, PERHAPS, by his outburst, Roosevelt radiated contentment at pre-Christmas appearances. The approach of the festive season always delighted him. Now that he inhabited the house of his highest desire, his excitement was childlike. “The President,” a visitor remarked, “seems to get whole heaps of fun out of the Presidency.”
Yet there was something about Roosevelt that gave close observers pause. Was he as naïvely impulsive as he seemed? Why was he so cheerfully equivocal on every possible issue? Why had he sent Philander Knox down to Florida for a month’s “rest,” and why was the Attorney General carrying such a suspiciously fat briefcase?
“I should say,” the last reporter to interview the President in 1901 wrote, “that he has something up his sleeve.”
HOWLS OF MIRTH, mixed with music and hand-claps, were heard in the East Room after dinner on 25 December, as the President led his family and friends in a Virginia reel. The tempo quickened until even Senator Lodge shed his solemnity and joined in. Roosevelt, beaming like a boy, performed a variety of buck-and-wing steps to loud applause. Edith collapsed