The editor (me) thoughtfully allowed the author (me) to sell it to Asimov’s prior to the anthology’s publication.
I don’t care what may be his politics, I don’t care what may be his religion, I don’t care what may be his color. I don’t care who he is. So long as he is honest, he shall be served by me.
— Theodore Roosevelt
Speech at Cooper Union Hall,
New York, N.Y., October 15, 1886
Personally I feel that it is exactly as much a “right” of women as of men to vote. I always favored woman’s suffrage, but only tepidly, until my association with women like Jane Addams and Frances Kellor changed me into a zealous instead of a lukewarm adherent to the cause.
— Theodore Roosevelt
Autobiography (1913)
The date was October 27, 1916.
It was a birthday party, but it resembled a wake.
The President had invited only his family and a few close friends to his retreat at Sagamore Hill on this, his 58th birthday. He walked from room to room in the huge old mansion, greeting them, trying to joke with them, but unable to keep a dark scowl from periodically crossing his face. Even Alice, his oldest daughter, who had distracted her share of cabinet meetings and press conferences, seemed unable to distract him tonight.
“Well?” demanded the President at last.
“Well, what, Theodore?” asked his wife.
“Why is everyone tiptoeing around me?” he demanded. “I’m not dead yet. There are worse things than taking an enforced vacation.” He paused. “Maybe I’ll go back to Africa again, or explore that river the Brazilian government has been asking me to map for them.”
“What are you talking about, Mr. President?” said Elihu Root. “You’re going to spend the next four years in the White House.”
“This isn’t a political rally, Elihu,” answered Roosevelt. “It’s a quiet party, and you’re among friends.” He sighed deeply. “You’ve seen the papers, you’ve heard what the pundits say: I’ll be lucky to win six states.”
“I believe in you, Mr. President,” insisted Root.
“You’re my Secretary of War,” said Roosevelt, managing one of his famous grins. “You’re supposed to believe in me.” The grin vanished, to be replaced by a frown. “I wish I could say the same of the Republican Party.”
“They’re still angry at you for running and winning as a Bull Moose four years ago,” said Edith, standing in front of her husband and stroking his hair lovingly. “Some of them probably wish that fanatic who tried to shoot you in Milwaukee had been a better shot. But when they’re faced with a choice between you and Mr. Wilson, they’ll do what’s right.”
Roosevelt shook his head. “If I can’t win the Congress to my cause, how can I expect to win the people?” He strode restlessly across the parlor. “The choice isn’t between me and Mr. Wilson; if it was that simple, I’d have no fear of the outcome. It’s a choice between their principles and their prejudices, and given the splendid example of the Congress” — he spat out the word — ”it would appear that their prejudices are going to win, hands down.”
“I just can’t believe it,” said Gifford Pinchot.
“Gifford, you’re a good man and a loyal man,” said Roosevelt, “and I thank you for the sentiment.” He paused. “But you’re my Director of National Parks, and trees don’t vote. What do you know about it?”
“I know that you came into office as the most popular American since Abraham Lincoln — probably since Jefferson, in fact — and that you managed to win the war with Germany in less than a year. We’ve become a true world power, the economy’s never been stronger, and there aren’t any more trusts left to bust. How in God’s name can they vote you out of office? I simply refuse to believe the polls.”
“Believe them, Gifford,” said Roosevelt. “You’ve got less than three months to find employment elsewhere.”
“I’ve spoken to Hughes, and he thinks you’re going to win,” persisted Pinchot.
“Charlie Hughes is my running mate. It’s in his best interest to believe we’re going to win.” Roosevelt paused. “That’s one thing I’m especially sorry about. Charlie is a good man, and he would have made an excellent President in 1920. A lot better than that fat fool from Ohio,” he added, grimacing at the thought of William Howard Taft, who had succeeded him the first time he had left office.
“Speaking of Charlie,” said Root, surveying the room, “I don’t see him here tonight.”
“This is a birthday party, for my friends and my family,” answered Roosevelt. “I’m sick of politicians.”
“I’m a politician, Theodore,” said Root.
“And if that’s all you were, you wouldn’t be here,” answered the President.
“What about him?” asked Root, nodding toward a tall, well- dressed young man who seemed uncomfortable in his surroundings, and viewed the world through an elegant pince-nez.
Roosevelt sighed. “He’s family.”
“He’s also a Democrat.”
“At least he’s still speaking to me,” said Roosevelt. “That’s more than I can say for a lot of Republicans.”
“He’s too busy looking down his nose to speak to anyone,” commented Pinchot.
“He’s young,” answered Roosevelt. “He’ll learn. And he’s got a good wife to teach him.”
A tall, grizzled man clad in buckskins entered the room. Everyone stared at him for a moment, then went back to their drinks and conversations, and he walked across the parlor to where the President was standing.
“‘Evening, Teddy,” said Frank McCoy.
“Good evening, Frank,” said Roosevelt. “I’m glad you could come.”
“Brought some of the stuff you asked me to hunt up,” said McCoy.
“Oh?”
McCoy nodded, and pulled a wrinkled folder out of his rumpled jacket. “Two hundred thousand acres adjoining the Yellowstone, a couple of lakes, nice little river flowing through it, even got some buf and grizzly left, and yours for the asking.”
“You don’t say?” replied Roosevelt, his eyes alight with interest.
“And I found another one, out by Medora in the Dakota Bad Lands, right near where you used to own a ranch.”
“Medora,” repeated Roosevelt, a wistful smile crossing his face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of Medora.” He paused. “Stick around when the party is over, Frank. I’d like to go over these brochures with you.”
“I won’t hear of it!” snapped Pinchot. “You’re going to be the President of the United States for four more years!”
“So who says the President can’t own a ranch out near the Yellowstone?” asked McCoy.
“You should be out campaigning for him, not finding retirement homes,” continued Pinchot angrily.
“Gifford, I’ve always been a realist,” said Roosevelt. “I’m going to lose. It’s time to start planning the next phase of my life.”
“I won’t hear of it!” said Pinchot.
“I admire your loyalty, but I question your grasp of politics,” said Roosevelt gently. “The people will speak one week from today, and neither you nor I are going to like what they have to say — but we’re going to have to abide by it, and I’m going to have to find something to do with myself.”
“But you’re right!” said Pinchot. “Can’t they see it?”
“Evidently not,” answered Roosevelt.