“Introduce, Harry, but not endorse. There is a difference. You got me into this, my friend — you and your buddies at the college. I’ll tell you this. He’s a rouser, a great showman, and a master wordsmith, but a bit of a snob, talked down to me at Potsdam. Those old Tories still think America is one of their colonies. All right, he was a pain in the ass. Hell, he kept pushing Eisenhower to go straight for Berlin.”
“Not a bad idea if you ask me,” Vaughn said.
“Hell, we’d be fighting the Russians,” Truman said. “It was a quagmire for Hitler and Napoleon, why not for us?”
“We had the bomb. We could have wiped the floor with the bastards.”
Truman looked at his old friend with mock severity.
“Better not bandy that stuff around, Harry.”
Despite this mild admonishment, Truman had no illusions about what direction Churchill would take in the Fulton speech, and he was fully prepared for a highly charged lobbying effort on Churchill’s part urging him to get tougher with the Russians. He fully expected Churchill to mount this onslaught on many fronts, sometimes subtle, sometimes blunt and blatant, but relentless and directed towards a single goal. Truman knew he had a nose for such salesmanship and felt clever enough to parry whatever thrusts Churchill made in his direction.
While he was inclined to agree, his political instincts told him America was not ready to acknowledge any strong antagonisms to a valiant former ally. Already there had been ominous warnings from the U.S. diplomat George F. Kennan who was running the embassy in Moscow in the absence of the ambassador Averill Harriman. Kennan had warned, in what had become known as the “Long Telegram,” that the Russians were becoming a destabilizing influence in the postwar world.
At this juncture, he was happy to let Churchill do the heavy lifting, although he didn’t want it to be too heavy. This was not the time to bash good old Uncle Joe.
There were other problems on his mind as well, purely political. The Democratic Party was split down the middle, with the Left making noises to run their own candidate and the Right threatening a similar assault. He was particularly upset with the former vice president, Henry Wallace, whom he had appointed secretary of commerce. He was a damned fool and a tool of the hard Left and could be a potential opponent. He’d have to ask him to resign. As for that band of die-hard segregationists on the Right, they were a tough bunch, on the wrong side of history and fighting a lost cause. He had no choice but to fight them on both fronts if he wanted to stay in the White House.
He was, after all, in the persuasion business and knew he had to woo some of the Lefties and Righties into the Democratic center if he had any chance of another term. While he agreed somewhat with Churchill’s known opinions of the Russians, he knew that any really hard criticisms now would push the Wallace supporters even further Left. As a political realist, he would, if the speech were too blatantly hostile to the Russians, have to distance himself from its full import.
Suddenly, they heard a rousing cheer and cries of “Winnie! Winnie!” Through the train’s window, he saw Churchill being led through the crowd by a police escort. The former prime minister acknowledged the cheers and made his familiar V sign, which stimulated even more applause.
“Son of a bitch has a flair for the dramatic. Makes me look like a bit player at a minstrel show.”
Churchill moved along the platform accompanied by Thompson, his bodyguard, and a young woman, presumably his secretary. He was followed by a crowd of press people, photographers snapping pictures and shouting questions at him, the dominant theme of which was the content of his upcoming speech in Missouri. From his vantage, Truman was able to hear the shouted byplay.
“Will it be another ‘blood, sweat, and tears’ speech?” a reporter shouted.
“No blood, but lots of sweat and tears.”
The reporter who shouted the question looked confused.
“It’s what goes into composing a speech,” Churchill said. “Mostly sweat and tears.”
“What are you going to talk about Mr. Churchill?”
Churchill apparently recognized the reporter who asked that question.
“Was it… Benson?” Churchill asked.
“I’m going with you,” Benson said. “Can you give us a hint as to what your speech will contain?”
“A lesson in history, Benson.”
“But what lesson, sir?”
Churchill’s blue eyes twinkled.
“‘For now sits Expectation in the air,’” he called out, impishly.
The reporters laughed. Exercising his sense of the dramatic, he paused in front of the observation car so that the photographers might get a glimpse of the presidential seal affixed to the gate.
As he posed, the reporter who had been identified as Benson sidled over to the young woman near Churchill.
“We’ve met, haven’t we?” Benson said.
She glanced at him, blankly at first, then obviously remembering.
“Oh, yes, I do remember.”
“The first secretary introduced us. I see you’ve been promoted.”
“Not really. Temporary duty. I’m taking Mr. Churchill’s dictation.”
“Are you? Any crumbs for this hungry reporter?”
“Sorry. My duties are confidential.”
Benson nodded. She moved closer to Thompson, who had observed them.
“See you in Fulton,” he waved.
“You know him?” Thompson asked.
“Met him at the embassy.”
Thompson turned away.
Posing for the photographers, Churchill gave his V sign again, and then following the policemen, he entered the observation car where the president and other U.S. officials had assembled to greet him. Churchill was introduced to Admiral Leahy, who had worked with Truman during the war, Charlie Ross, his press secretary, Harry Vaughn, his military aide, his physician, Wallace Graham, and his young naval aide, Clark Clifford.
The press were herded away into their special car attached to the Magellan, and Thompson and Victoria were shown to Churchill’s quarters and their own.
“Mr. President,” Churchill said, shaking hands.
“Mr. Prime Minister,” Truman acknowledged.
“Kind of you, sir,” Churchill said, smiling. “Would that I were.”
He surveyed the interior of the observation lounge, which was fitted with comfortable blue chairs and couches.
“Nice digs, Mr. President. Better than the ones I had as PM. I am also partial to trains and not a great fan of the ‘infernal combustion engine.’ Besides, my wife has forbidden me to fly. And I never disobey Clementine.”
Nothing went past Churchill without some anecdote or bon mot, Truman knew. The man was an inveterate, habitual, and dominating talker, and Truman was prepared for being talked at ad infinitum throughout the trip. Not that he objected to the onslaught of words. The man was enormously interesting and surely thought he was the most captivating person in the room, which he was. Truman, always honest with himself, acknowledged that he was no match in the talk department, although he did believe he might give the man a run for his money, especially after two or three bourbons.
Sitting down on one of the blue chairs, Churchill put the stump of his cigar in an ashtray on a small side table. The president sat facing him, while the others moved to other seats in the lounge.
The train began to move out of the station and pick up speed.
“I noticed that you posed before the presidential seal,” Truman observed. “You may not know this, but I just had it changed.”
“Changed?” Churchill seemed curious.
“Before the change, the eagle was turned to face the arrows. I had it changed so that it now looks at the olive branch.”