A President In Peril

Chapter Twenty-Four B₃ I₁ Z₁₀ A₁ R₁ R₁ E₁ (adj) markedly unusual, esp. whimsically strange or odd

I was nearing the end of my home recuperation period when Election Day rolled around. Catherine and I walked the two blocks to the polling place in our neighborhood grammar school.

“Oh, Mr. Malek, it is so wonderful to see you!” effused old Mrs. Wilkins, a neighbor who was handing out ballots. “We all are so very proud of what you did.” The other poll workers then chimed in with their congratulations and their concern about my condition. I thanked them all and we cast our ballots.

“I’ll be glad when this hullabaloo is all over and I can go back to being anonymous,” I told Catherine on the way home.

“One thing you will never be, Steve, is anonymous. I have a feeling you’re always going to be making news, one way or another.”

“Problem is, my dear, newspaper people aren’t supposed to make news, they’re supposed to report it.”

“That has not always been the way it’s worked out for you, though, has it?” Catherine said with mock severity.

“Well, there were a few times when things have gotten a little... dicey.”

“Like maybe last week, for instance?”

“You have to admit that was an extraordinary situation.”

“It’s just that you so often seem to find yourself in extraordinary situations.”

“I guess you’d just have to say I’m an extraordinary sort of guy.”

“Yes, I’d say that, all right. Time to change the subject. As of right this minute, partway through Election Day, what do you think Truman’s chances are, Steve?”

“Not the best, I’m afraid. I still think that guy, Thurmond, is going to win a whole slew of the southern states, territory that otherwise would go for Harry in a two-man race.”

“What about Wallace?”

“From what I’ve been reading and hearing, he probably won’t win a single state, but he could funnel enough votes away from Truman to give some states to Dewey. Particularly New York, with all those electoral votes it has.”

“It doesn’t sound good.”

“No, not good at all. But you’ve certainly done your part.”

“Oh, I don’t think I did nearly as much as I could have, Steve. I only passed out campaign literature on three or four days.”

“Well, if Truman wins Illinois by a close vote, you just may have made the difference.”

That night we played Scrabble after dinner, but it was a less-spirited session than usual. We both were thinking about the election.

At ten-thirty, we finished our second game, each of us having won once, and we folded up the board. I switched on the radio only to learn that the news was not good for the Democrats. The analysts were beginning to get a fix on results in the Eastern Time Zone states. They were reporting that Dewey looked to be a sure winner in both New York and Pennsylvania, the two states with the most electoral votes, and that another big state, Michigan, was trending for the Republicans as well. In addition, South Carolina appeared to be in the bag for Thurmond and his States Rights bunch. Ohio was too close to call.

“You were right about New York, Steve; Wallace must have tipped it to Dewey,” Catherine said, looking glum. I wasn’t exactly doing hand springs myself.

“Let’s turn in, my love,” I said at about eleven-thirty. “It will be hours before we know the outcome.”

The next morning, I got up about seven-thirty as usual and went downstairs to flip on the radio. “It looks like President Truman’s got it!” were the first words I heard from an excited announcer. “Illinois and Texas are going Democratic, although Ohio is still up in the air. The western states are almost all falling into line for Mr. Truman. We have gotten reports that Governor Dewey is expected to concede by noon today.”

He then went on to report that “In some of its early editions, the Chicago Tribune ran a banner headline that read DEWEY DEFEATS TRUMAN. Wonder how those folks are feeling this morning? If any of you out there has one of these papers, save it; you have got yourself a collectors’ item.”

I listened a little while longer. I scribbled some notes about the results and projections, got some information on the Illinois races, climbed back up to the bedroom, and woke Catherine, whispering in her ear: “Wake up, sleeping beauty, there’s something I must tell you.”

“Huh? What?” she said, rolling over and looking at me through tousled hair.

“Your man is going back to the White House for another term,” I said, leaning down and nuzzling her cheek.

“Steve — don’t tease me. That isn’t at all funny!” she said, jerking upright.

“I’m telling you true, dear heart, and if you don’t trust me, come on downstairs and listen to the radio.”

“I can’t believe it!”

“Believe it,” I assured her, looking down at my notes. “Truman has won Illinois and Texas, and he’s running ahead in all the states from the Rockies west except for Oregon. That’s eleven out of twelve. The early lead Dewey had in the East has been totally erased. Oh, and by the way, you’ll also soon have a new governor, name of Stevenson and a new senator, name of Douglas. All because of your doorbell ringing.” She threw her arms around my neck and alternated between laughing and kissing me passionately.

“Well, I only wish I could wake you up with that type of news every day,” I said. Then I told her about the Tribune’s bizarre headline.

“How in the world could that have happened?”

“I guess an editor last night was positive Dewey had it in the bag. Most of the polls certainly thought so, as you and I have discussed.”

“But still, shouldn’t they wait until they know something for sure?”

“Of course they should, but in our business, everybody wants to be out first with the news.”

“I think this time it was more a case of wishful thinking,” she said. “Will someone get fired?”

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t want to be in the Tower today.”

“They’ll probably drape the whole outside of the building in black crepe paper,” she said with a laugh.

“That’s enough,” I said. “Be a gracious victor now.”

“Do you think your paper would have been a gracious victor if Dewey had won?”

“So now it’s your paper again, is it?”

“Well, you have to admit they haven’t been very nice to Truman.”

“Yes, I admit it, and I’m sure they are going to be tough on him in the next term as well. But he can handle it; he’s pretty damn tough himself.”

“Well, I promise I won’t chortle too much. But I can be happy, can’t I?”

“Damn right you can. After all, I’m pretty happy myself. How about an extra-big breakfast to celebrate? Pancakes, sausage, the whole works.”

“Hard for me to say no to that, especially since I have everything on hand here.”

“Then don’t say no. I’m starving.”

“So what’s new about that?”

“Now don’t be sarcastic. After all, I’ll be heading back to work next week and you won’t have the pleasure of my company at home during the days — at least during those times when you’re not at the library.”

“All right, you’ve got yourself a deal,” she said. “But I have a request for you as well.”

“Fire away.”

“I know that by now the Tribune — your paper — will probably be out with a different headline. But I’d still like to have all of the local papers for today as souvenirs. Can you walk down to the drugstore and get them while I’m fixing you that big breakfast you crave?”

“Sounds like a deal,” I said. I got dressed and headed out the door. Unfortunately, the morning’s Tribune and Sun-Times were hardly souvenir material because the outcome had been in doubt when they went to press with their final editions. The Tribune had at least retreated from its earlier faux pas, however, with the current headline DEWEY LEAD NARROWS.

That lead had of course disappeared by the time I purchased these papers. Later that morning we heard on the radio that Thomas E. Dewey, every pollster’s choice as the “next President of the United States,” had given his concession speech.

Catherine would have to wait until later in the week for the more interesting editions, including the Friday Sun-Times. Its front page was dominated by a photograph of a grinning Truman on the open observation platform of a train holding up a copy of the rival Tribune with the already notorious headline that the paper — my paper — had to live with for years to come.