Tonic

Rain fell, a sleety, chilling March drizzle. Up the green slopes of Arlington Cemetery rolled a black limousine. On a roadway near a freshly dug grave it stopped. Inside, Franklin Roosevelt leaned back against the beige upholstery and looked out on a dismal scene. They were burying big, bluff "Pa" Watson, the man whose boisterous laugh and high good humor had never failed to cheer the President. If Franklin Roosevelt's lean, set face showed any emotion, no one could record it. The rain streaming down the windows curtained the man within. He was left to himself, and his thoughts.

Such was the homecoming from Yalta.

On the long voyage home Franklin Roosevelt, sunning himself on the cruiser's deck, had made a decision to report to Congress on Yalta, in person and as soon as possible. Except for the blow of Pa Watson's death, he had returned from the Crimea refreshed in body, mind and spirit. Thirty-six hours after his return, he went to the House chamber.

It was his first appearance there in 26 months. The gallery was packed. Ranking diplomats were there and Administration bigwigs; in front-row gallery seats sat Eleanor Roosevelt and Daughter Anna, notepaper in hand. The floor, too, was filled: Representatives (some holding youngsters in their laps), Senators and all the Cabinet except Secretaries Stettinius and Forrestal, who were out of the country.

Franklin Roosevelt had made another decision: to leave his leg braces at home. There was a momentary hush as he came into the chamber in an armless wheelchair. Then there was an ovation. The President slipped into a red plush chair in the well of the House, behind a table lined with a dozen microphones. As the flashbulbs popped and newsreels ground, he turned to wave to Vice President Truman and House Majority Leader McCormack on the dais.

Ten Pounds of Steel. He began by frankly noting what everyone had wondered about: "I hope you Will pardon me for the unusual posture of sitting down . . . but I know you will realize it makes it a lot easier for me in not having to carry about ten pounds of steel around the bottom of my legs and also because of the fact that I have just completed a 14,000-mile trip."

The audience applauded, and it laughed and applauded again when he said "I was not ill for a second [on my trip] until I arrived back in Washington and heard all the rumors. . . . The Roosevelts are not, as you may suspect, averse to travel."

Thus Franklin Roosevelt set the tone for what may come to be one of the most historic speeches of his career. It was a confidential, informal speech, all but devoid of the ringing Roosevelt oratorical tone. There was none of the usual recrimination, reprimand or warning. In his studied informality, the President departed often from his prepared text (49 times for a total of 700 words).

It was not a great speech. Franklin Roosevelt revealed almost nothing which had not been said in the Yalta Communique, or in semi-official explanations afterward, or by Winston Churchill in his report to the House of Commons (see FOREIGN NEWS). Going into the chamber, the President had said: "I hope to do in one hour what Winston did in two."

But the occasion was far greater than any words Franklin Roosevelt spoke. As the Senators watched him--perceptibly leaner, slightly stooped over the table, following the text with his forefinger, rubbing his chin when he ad-libbed, occasionally taking a sip of water in a thin hand that patently trembled--they knew that he was talking primarily to them. In numberless ways, Franklin Roosevelt made his main point over & over again: I think Yalta is pretty good; it's not perfect, but it's a good start. I also know that 33 of you, Democrats and Republicans, can band together to block the whole concept of Yalta and Dumbarton Oaks. That is why I am talking to you and soliciting your support.

"The World Is Watching." The President said he had educated Winston Churchill and Joseph Stalin on this point --the necessity of Congressional support --and he was sure they understood. He was certain, he said, that the whole world understood, and that the whole world is consequently watching. "The slightest remark in either House of Congress," he said, "is known all over the world the following day." And he added: "I think that Republicans want peace just as much as Democrats."

At one point the President's voice seemed to give way, as his throat got hoarse. He sipped water, and continued. At all times, he had to battle against the poor acoustics of the hall. Some Administration friends were disturbed at the large amount of ad-libbing, thought that, when doing so, the President's voice seemed hesitant, uncertain. Others thought the ad-libbing increased the informal, chatty air of the talk.

In his 54-minute speech the President touched on many matters. He said that Yalta had not only achieved unanimous action but, more important, unity of thought between the Big Three. Yalta, he said, would also end unilateral action by any of the Allies. He frankly admitted that the Polish solution was a compromise, but he stoutly defended it as such.

One of his ad-libs was a roundhouse swing at the "prima donnas" in the world --"there are a great number of prima donnas in the world"--which many interpreted as a swat at Charles de Gaulle, who had refused to meet him at Algiers (TIME, Feb. 26). And in describing his post-Yalta travels he said: "Of the problems of Arabia, I learned more about that whole problem, the Moslem problem, the Jewish problem, by talking with Ibn Saud for five minutes, than I could have learned in exchange of two or three dozen letters."

"I'll Come Back." The gist of his speech, the whole purpose of his appearance, came out when he said: "There will soon be presented to the U.S. Senate and to the American people a great decision which will determine the fate of the United States--and of the world--for generations to come. There can be no middle ground here. We shall have to take the responsibility for world collaboration, or we shall have to bear the responsibility for another world conflict."

Leaving the chamber in resounding applause, the President paused to shake hands with two Congressmen in wheel chairs, Missouri's John J. Cochran and Ohio's Robert Grosser. To friends he said: "Now that I've broken the ice, I think I'll come back."

Commented Columnist Walter Lippmann: "It is evident that the President has been relieved of a deep anxiety about the course of events, and of worry whether he could shape them in a way which he could justify to the country with a good conscience. . . . For many months before he went to Yalta, he was a worried man, uncertain, unsure, aware that his policy was working badly. . . .

"The worry and the irritable self-isolation which it caused have for the time being all but disappeared. There can be little doubt about the reason. He mustered up his courage, grasped the nettle, reversed his old negative policy of postponing decisions, and found that the difficulties were less than he had feared, the response of Marshal Stalin and the Prime Minister more forthcoming than he had dared hope. . . . There is no tonic like doing the right thing boldly and finding that it succeeds."

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