[This conversational entry is interesting as a snapshot in time, given that it depicts the reaction by my father and a couple of his Army buddies upon receiving the news of Franklin D. Roosevelt’s death (on April 12, 1945). The concerns they raise reflect the magnitude of FDR’s unequaled position on the national and global stage, and include even the possibility of domestic revolution. The trio also expresses what were probably widely held doubts about his successor, Harry S. Truman. Truman would go on to prove most of those doubts unwarranted.]
April 13, 1945 (Ft. Jackson, S.C.)
Cunningham and I were sitting on the ground near our tent, talking a little, and taking it easy in the afternoon heat. Pearson came down through the woods and stopped over us. “I’ve just heard some very bad news,” he said.
“What’s that,” we said, thinking, I suppose that he was going to tell us we were stuck on some special detail.
“President Roosevelt is dead,” he said.
Somehow I knew that he was speaking the truth, yet the words wouldn’t sink in, and automatically I said, “You’re kidding.”
“No,” he said, “it’s true. I’ve just been listening to it over a radio. He was at the place of his in Georgia –“
“Warm Springs,” Cunningham said.
“Yeah, I guess that’s it, the little White House. He was sitting having his portrait painted. All of a sudden he fainted, and that was all. Cerebral hemorrhage.”
“Truman!” Cunningham said. That was what had immediately flashed to my mind, too. Harry Truman was now President of the United States.
We three fellows talked together for half an hour before it was time to fall out for the evening formation. We were struggling to fit this almost incomprehensible event into our minds, and see what meaning it had for us. Some of our remarks were purely emotional; others we tried to think out.
“God!” We’ll never get out of the Army now,” Cunningham said.
But I didn’t think that the President’s death would have much effect on the actual course of the war. We agreed that it might have some immediate effect on the men at the front, but we couldn’t decide whether it would more inspire or discourage them. Also, it seemed likely that Germany and Japan would attempt to gain a psychological advantage from his death, but we weren’t really worried about their success.
Then we wondered if there was any danger of an internal revolution. “Watch and see,” Cunningham said. “The Communist[s] will really make a big bid to take over the country now.” Pearson and I didn’t think this possible, but we all began to see some danger of a military clique installing itself in power, and I thought the threat of some form of Fascism was more dangerous than that of Communism.
“Can you imagine Harry Truman sitting down with Churchill and Stalin!” Cunningham said.
“That sounds ridiculous,” I said. We all mentioned Truman many times, but had nothing kind to say about him beyond a vague hope that he might somehow rise to the occasion. We all thought that either Wallace or Dewey would have been preferable to Truman. “Maybe he’ll die of the shock,” I said.
“That would give us Stettinius,” Pearson said. But we couldn’t feel enthusiastic about the Secretary of State, either. In short, try as we might, we could think of no man now in public life sufficient to take his place. Thus we began to realize the true enormity of the risk we had taken upon ourselves by making Franklin Roosevelt almost an indispensable man in our national affairs. Once there was Willkie, at least, to stand beside him in stature, but Willkie, too, was dead now. “What’s going to happen to us now?” This thought seemed uppermost in the mind of almost everyone.
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