Theodore Rex - Edmund Morris [70]
Grief; disease; desire. And now, even more privately, Edith’s failure to carry her latest baby to term. Only the most masculine activism could dispel these feminine frailties. Roosevelt burst from his carriage like a bear. At the welcoming ceremony in Massachusetts Hall, he stood erect and talkative, his big chest nudging the presidential robes of Charles William Eliot.
Outside in the Yard, the Class of 1902 was yelling for “Teddy.” Stimulated by the sound of cheers and press of flesh, Roosevelt began to radiate his famous electricity. He joined the Commencement procession. Deputy marshals Owen Wister and Woodbury Kane, ’82, followed him.
WISTER When we were in college, you didn’t used to like him much. How do you feel now?
KANE If he and I were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, and he ordered me to jump over, I’d do it without asking why.
ROOSEVELT (calling) What are you fellows dangling behind for? Come alongside!
WISTER (hurrying to catch up) Unconditional surrender?
KANE Absolutely, old man.
The President’s behavior after receiving his honorary LL.D. was so archetypal as to imprint itself on the eyes and ears of many observers. Dr. Eliot escorted him to a guest suite to change, and watched with fascination as he tore off his coat and vest and slammed a large pistol on the dresser. Eliot asked if it was his habit to carry firearms. “Yes, when I am going into public places.”
At the Alumni Banquet, Roosevelt spied Senator Hoar and plumped down beside him like an impulsive boy. He whispered a confession, saying it was his “dearest wish” to do what the Senator wanted in the Philippines.
Dr. Eliot began to speak, interrupting them. At the first mention of the word millions, so dear to university presidents, Roosevelt’s attention wandered. Finance meant no more to him than the music of Chopin. He suppressed a yawn, and swiveled in his seat, staring at pictures on the walls. When John D. Long introduced him with a joke about his inability to sit still in any position of power, Roosevelt shook from head to foot with laughter. Moments later, he was leaning over the high table at an angle of thirty degrees, his teeth still bared, but no longer in mirth.
John Hay, seated nearby, knew what was coming. Harvard, to Theodore, was a temple defiled by mugwumps, who congregated here to exchange the dull coins of anti-imperialism. Sure enough, Roosevelt launched into a stentorian defense of his island administrations, and of the public servants who sacrificed their careers to help “weaker friends … along the stony and difficult path of self-government.” Clapping his hands for emphasis, he bit three names out of the air: “Elihu Root … Will Taft … General Wood!” Root could be earning fabulous fees as a corporate lawyer in New York, Taft could be a Justice of the Supreme Court, and Wood, in a more mythologically inclined culture, would be celebrated as “a hero mixed up with a sun god” for the miracles he had performed in Cuba.
Hay, listening, sensed a thought in many old heads: He is so young, and will be with us for many a day to come. The President’s forehead wriggled, his pince-nez flashed, and his harsh voice skipped from baritone to squeak, as pent-up loyalties poured out. With a