Fall of Giants

Gus struggled to hide his anger. The league was the greatest hope for peace that had ever been offered to humankind, and it was in danger of being stillborn because of this kind of narrow-minded quibble. He said: “The council of the league has to make unanimous decisions, so the United States would never find itself fighting a war against its will.”

“Nevertheless, there’s no point in having the league unless it is prepared to fight.”

The enemies of the league were like this: first they complained that it would fight, then they complained it would not. Gus said: “These problems are minor by comparison with the deaths of millions!”

Dr. Hellman shrugged, too polite to press his point against such a passionate opponent. “In any case,” he said, “I believe a foreign treaty requires the support of two-thirds of the Senate.”

“And right now we don’t even have half,” said Gus gloomily.

Rosa, who was reporting on this issue, said: “I count forty in favor, including you, Senator Dewar. Forty-three have reservations, eight are implacably against, and five undecided.”

Her father said to Gus: “So what will the president do?”

“He’s going to reach out to the people over the heads of the politicians. He’s planning a ten-thousand-mile tour of the entire country. He’ll make more than fifty speeches in four weeks.”

“A punishing schedule. He’s sixty-two and has high blood pressure.”

There was a touch of mischief in Dr. Hellman. Everything he said was challenging. Obviously he felt the need to test the mettle of a suitor for his daughter. Gus replied: “But at the end of it, the president will have explained to the people of America that the world needs the League of Nations to make sure we never fight another war like the one just ended.”

“I pray you’re right.”

“If political complexities need to be explained to ordinary people, Wilson is the best.”

Champagne was served with dessert. “Before we begin, I’d like to say something,” Gus said. His parents looked startled: he never made speeches. “Dr. and Mrs. Hellman, you know that I love your daughter, who is the most wonderful girl in the world. It’s old-fashioned, but I want to ask your permission”-he took from his pocket a small red leather box-“your permission to offer her this engagement ring.” He opened the box. It contained a gold ring with a single one-carat diamond. It was not ostentatious, but the diamond was pure white, the most desirable color, in a round brilliant cut, and it looked fabulous.

Rosa gasped.

Dr. Hellman looked at his wife, and they both smiled. “You most certainly have our permission,” he said.

Gus walked around the table and knelt beside Rosa’s chair. “Will you marry me, dear Rosa?” he said.

“Oh, yes, my beloved Gus-tomorrow, if you like!”

He took the ring from the box and slid it onto her finger. “Thank you,” he said.

His mother began to cry.

{II}

Gus was aboard the president’s train as it steamed out of Union Station in Washington, D.C., at seven o’clock in the evening on Wednesday, September 3. Wilson was dressed in a blue blazer, white pants, and a straw boater. His wife, Edith, went with him, as did Cary Travers Grayson, his personal physician. Also aboard were twenty-one newspaper reporters including Rosa Hellman.

Gus was confident Wilson could win this battle. He had always enjoyed the direct connection with voters. And he had won the war, hadn’t he?

The train traveled overnight to Columbus, Ohio, where the president made his first speech of the tour. From there he went on-making whistle-stop appearances along the way-to Indianapolis, where he spoke to a crowd of twenty thousand people that evening.

But Gus was disheartened at the end of the first day. Wilson had spoken poorly. His voice was husky. He used notes-he was always better when he managed without them-and, as he got into the technicalities of the treaty that had so absorbed everyone in Paris, he seemed to ramble and lose the audience’s attention. He had a bad headache, Gus knew, so bad that sometimes his vision blurred.

Gus was sick with worry. It was not just that his friend and mentor was ill. There was more at stake. America’s future and the world’s hung on what happened in the next few weeks. Only Wilson’s personal commitment could save the League of Nations from its small-minded opponents.

After dinner Gus went to Rosa’s sleeping compartment. She was the only female reporter on the trip, so she had a room to herself. She was almost as keen on the league as Gus, but she said: “It’s hard to find much positive to say about today.” They lay on her bunk, kissing and cuddling, then they said good night and parted. Their wedding was set for October, after the president’s trip. Gus would have liked it to be even sooner, but the parents wanted time to prepare, and Gus’s mother had muttered darkly about indecent haste, so he had given in.