Pearl Harbor (26 page)

A reporter noted that FDR appeared oblivious to the ovation that greeted him. The president, he observed, “appeared to be lost in deep thought.” He assumed that Roosevelt was “thinking of the gravity of the pronouncement he was about to make, a statement which, however inevitable it was, nevertheless was something to make any man think seriously.”
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While Roosevelt no doubt appreciated the gravity of the moment, James believed that his father was far more focused on the difficult task of appearing to walk down the aisle and then force his way up the wooden ramp that led to the rostrum. “His uppermost thought,” James later wrote, “was that he get one braced foot after the other in the right position; that he hold his balance over his hips and pelvis just so; that
he shift his great shoulders forward, left, and right just so; that he not fall down. This concentration caused him to break out into a sweat as, indeed, it always did.”
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As James helped his father to the rostrum, the outburst of applause grew louder, joined by cheers and rebel yells, until Speaker Rayburn stilled the demonstration and presented the president. Once at the podium, the president grasped the firm sides of the platform. He adjusted his glasses and took a long, steady look at the assembled leaders of government that stood before him. He gazed almost directly into a battery of floodlights that had been set up for photographers.

If he could see past the lights, Roosevelt would have noticed how much Washington had changed since he first stood before Congress in 1933. Seeing the members of the Supreme Court sitting to his left would have reminded him both of the partisan legal wrangling of his presidency and of the remarkable impact he had on the judiciary. The average age of the Court he had inherited in 1933 was seventy-one, and it was then dominated by conservatives who did not share his faith in activist government. After it invalidated key New Deal programs, FDR announced an ill-conceived plan to reform the Supreme Court. The plan went down in defeat, but he still managed to transform the Court over the next few years, as many older, more conservative members resigned. He could take note that he had appointed seven of the nine members sitting before him and that the average age was now in the midforties, making it the youngest Court since the Civil War.
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Behind the cabinet sat the senators and members of the House. There were more Republicans in the seats than earlier, and many of the Democrats were from southern states that were unsympathetic to his liberal agenda. Gone were the massive majorities of 1937, when Democrats commanded margins of 331 to 89 in the House and 76 to 16 in the Senate. The margins on December 8 were 267 to 162 in the House, and 66 to 28 in the Senate.

After scanning the audience, Roosevelt looked down and flipped open his black leather loose-leaf notebook holding his speech, which
was typed on special paper that would not rustle as he turned the pages. Reporters noted how a year earlier, while giving his State of the Union address, Roosevelt had seemed tired and worn. His hands had trembled, and he had almost dropped his glasses as he prepared to read his speech. It was a different story today. “Today, that tremor was gone,” noted an observer. “His hand was firm, its muscles bulging as he gripped the desk.” His voice was “steely, brittle with determination.”
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As he began to read his speech, the gallery fell silent. “Yesterday,” he said in a strong resonant voice, “December 7th, 1941—a date which will live in infamy—the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.” His tone became indignant as he outlined the dishonesty of a Japanese government that launched attacks even as it negotiated for peace. “The United States was at peace with that nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with its government and its emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific.” He told the nation how “one hour after Japanese air squadrons had commenced bombing in the American island of Oahu,” the Japanese ambassador had given the secretary of state a message that “contained no threat or hint of war or of armed attack.” The only conclusion to draw was that “the Japanese government has deliberately sought to deceive the United States by false statements and expressions of hope for continued peace.”

Roosevelt made only a brief, vague reference to the damage at Pearl Harbor. The attack, he said, “has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. I regret to tell you that very many American lives have been lost.” Then he moved quickly into cataloging the list of Japanese targets in the past twenty-four hours:

There was little applause during this early part of his speech. The first sustained outburst came when he declared that no matter how long it might take, the United States would win through “to absolute victory.” As he proceeded, and the applause broke in, he appeared anxious to curtail the demonstrations. This was not a political campaign speech; it was about the grim business of war, although the line that Hopkins added was clearly designed to produce applause. “With confidence in our armed forces—with the unbounding determination of our people—we will gain the inevitable triumph—so help us God.” The line brought the chamber to its feet. Even the ordinarily restrained members of the Supreme Court stood to applaud.
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As Roosevelt's war message culminated, Congress once again rose and gave him a standing ovation. “I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire.” Only two members remained sitting: Republicans Jeanette Rankin of Montana and Clare Hoffman from Michigan.

Roosevelt appeared oblivious to the demonstration. He had sat in the same chamber as an assistant secretary of the navy and recalled the wild cheering that had greeted Wilson's declaration of war. He remembered how the harsh reality of war ultimately quieted the cheers and how disillusion with the postwar settlement had endured for a generation. More than anyone in the chamber that day, FDR was in a position to understand the challenges that lay ahead. Unlike the applauding members of Congress, he knew the full extent of the devastation in Hawaii. With a tight-lipped smile, FDR waved his right hand in acknowledgment and turned swiftly to leave the rostrum.
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Eleanor Roosevelt, who had been seated behind a construction beam in one of the worst seats of the House, stood applauding with everyone else. But she had mixed feelings that evening. “I was living through it again, it seemed to me, the day that President Wilson addressed Congress to announce our entry into World War I. Now the president of the United States was my husband, and for the second time in my life I heard a president tell the Congress that this nation was engaged in a war. I was deeply unhappy. I remembered my anxieties about my husband and brother when World War I began; now I had four sons of military age.”
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R
oosevelt had spoken for only six minutes and thirty seconds. The speech attracted the largest audience in the history of radio. The response was overwhelmingly positive. The
New York Times
reported that Roosevelt “spoke concisely, clearly and to the point to an already convinced audience already stirred to belligerency by the wantonness of the Japanese attack.” Columnist Ernest Lindley observed that FDR “delivered his address soberly and unfalteringly.” The
Philadelphia Inquirer
described Roosevelt as “serious and tired looking. His face was lined and his eyes were somber. But his voice had all of the resonance and confidence that has thrilled millions of Americans over the last nine years. There was no hint of hesitation in his manner; only cold, grim determination.”
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In all of the coverage of events that day, not a single journalist made mention of FDR's disability. Even when describing his “walk” down the aisle, reporters noted only that he leaned on the arm of his son. Later they said he “slowly” made his way out of the hall. In its live radio broadcast of the speech, the CBS announcers described the scene as Roosevelt was “walking up to the battery of microphones” on the Speaker's platform. No one mentioned the cane that he gripped with his right hand or the effort that he seemed to expend to make it up and down the aisle.
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The speech's reception in London was less enthusiastic. Churchill was hoping that Roosevelt would use his address to declare war on
Germany and Italy. Now he worried that Lend-Lease shipments would be curtailed and that the United States would move resources from the war in the Atlantic to the Pacific. “America is fighting for her own life,” editorialized the
Daily Express
. “Arms workers of Britain and Russia must be ready to provide from their own factories some of the weapons they had expected from America.”
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C
ongress moved with unprecedented speed to pass the war resolution. After Woodrow Wilson delivered his war message, a divided Congress debated the resolution for four days. It passed, but with 56 dissenting votes. The nation, however, had not been attacked in 1917. As soon as Roosevelt left the building, the Senate returned to their chamber to begin debate.

Senator Connally introduced the resolution at 12:51 p.m. He made clear that he wanted no speeches, and he refrained from giving one. However, Senator Arthur Vandenberg, a Republican from Michigan, and leading isolationist, said he desired “to make the record clear.” He told the Senate that “when war comes to us,” partisan differences disappear and the nation unites behind the commander in chief. If Japan believed that it could exploit America's differences, it was mistaken. “There can be no shadow of a doubt about America's united and indomitable answer to the cruel and ruthless challenge of this tragic hour—the answer not only of the Congress but also of our people at their threatened hearthstones.”
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Vandenberg's rousing speech signaled the end of the foreign policy debate that had plagued the nation since the end of World War I. For twenty years, isolationists and pacifists had conspired to restrain American power, tying Roosevelt's hands as he struggled to deal with the growing crisis in Europe. While Roosevelt had managed to nudge public opinion toward supporting efforts to aid Britain, the nation remained reluctant to embrace the cause of war. Less than twenty-four hours earlier, FDR's key foreign policy aides were refining their arguments
to convince him of the necessity of declaring war if Japan attacked British possessions in the Pacific. In one decisive move, Japan managed to erase those divisions and unite the nation.

As soon as the Michigan senator finished his speech, the Senate began calling the roll. A succession of proud and defiant “ayes” filled the room. By 1:06 the roll had been called. The final tally was 82 to 0. There were 13 senators who missed the vote. A few were ill, but most were unable to make it back to Washington on such short notice. In the chamber were 5 members who had voted on the last war resolution in 1917. One, George Norris, an independent of Nebraska, voted no then, but supported this resolution.

The process of passing the resolution was slower in the House. Majority Leader John McCormack presented the “unanimous consent” resolution and asked that the rules be suspended so that it could be considered immediately. When he made the request, Jeanette Rankin rose to object. Suffrage was what motivated her, but pacifism would define her career. Rankin had voted against America's entry in the last war and now seemed poised to oppose this one as well. Speaker Rayburn ignored her. “There can be no objection,” he declared.

With members shouting from the floor, “Vote, vote, vote,” House Republican leader Joseph Martin took the floor. “There can be no peace,” Martin declared, “until the enemy is made to pay in a full way for his dastardly deed. Let us show the world that we are a united nation.” With restless members shouting for a vote, Rayburn tried calming the crowd. “It won't be long. Let us keep order,” he insisted. The cries, which had temporarily died down, picked up again when Martin yielded three minutes to Hamilton Fish (R–NY), who took the floor to renounce his isolationist views and support FDR's call for war. “There is no sacrifice I will not make to annihilate these war-made Japanese devils,” he told his colleagues. When Fish concluded, Rankin was standing, seeking recognition from the Speaker. “Sit down, sister,” yelled John Dingell of Michigan. Rayburn continued to ignore her and recognized two more speakers.

At 1:04 p.m., Rayburn ordered the roll call. Rankin tried to interrupt, but the Speaker again ignored her. The clerk of the House needed to read each name and register their vote on the resolution. Taking the roll call was often a slow and laborious process, complicated by the chaos on the floor. Irving Swanson, the twenty-nine-year-old clerk taking the roll call, remembered this day as different. “You could hear the drop of a pin,” he reflected. “Everybody was quiet. Very serious.”
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As the roll call proceeded, Representative Everett Dirksen of Illinois sat next to Rankin, pleading with her to vote “present” rather than “no” to allow the vote to be unanimous. He failed. When the clerk called her name, Rankin declared in a firm soprano voice, “Nay.” Spectators in the gallery hissed as the clerk recorded her vote, forcing Rayburn to pound the gavel and restore order. Rankin was the only dissenting vote. At 1:26 p.m., the House passed the resolution with a vote of 388 to 1. A cheer followed Rayburn's announcement that the resolution had passed.
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