Preserve and Protect (49 page)

Ted was a dupe, but he was something more: he was a dupe whose egotism and self-confidence were so great that they made it almost inevitable that he should have become a dupe. No wonder he could accept denials from Fred, LeGage and Rufus: he was so supremely sure of himself that he was tailor-made for their purposes. He honestly did not know about the later meeting, but more than that—and much more disturbing to Justice Davis as he sat alone in his utterly silent wing of the beautiful building—was the fact that he quite obviously did not want to know about it, and in fact
would not let himself know.

The revelation that a meeting had occurred, and one sufficiently dangerous in its implications to justify the concern of both Helen-Anne and Bob Leffingwell, had in a sense not been nearly as shattering for the little Justice as this revelation of the character of the man whose political cause and personal integrity he had believed in so completely. Somebody’s money—probably, he suspected, Patsy’s—had been given freely to buy the silence of all—except one—who could bear witness to the individuals who had gone up to the twelfth floor that night. Whether Patsy knew this, he was not sure: in all likelihood not. Someone she recognized as friendly to her brother had probably said funds were urgently needed for the campaign, and she had dashed off a check and that was it, as far as she was concerned. From buying silence it had spread to—he didn’t want to face it, but there was no way to avoid it—Helen-Anne and a busboy dead in the street. And it could spread much, much beyond; and the only man who could really repudiate it and stop it was Governor Jason, and he evidently was unable—or unwilling, which was much more serious, because consciously or subconsciously, that made it a deliberate decision—to face it in all its implications.

To do so—and here also Tommy had to force himself to go on, but he did it—would be to jeopardize the effective foundations of Ted’s campaign and very likely terminate his ambition to be President.

Beyond that point in his thinking, Mr. Justice Davis, at this moment, did not want to go. What it did to his whole concept of the Jason cause, what it did to his whole concept of Ted himself, what he himself should do from now on about both Ted and his cause, he did not know right now. That would require a very careful thinking-out, and one in which he would have to struggle with his heart and conscience, and with many very deep-seated convictions about many things. It was not something he wanted to tackle now, nor did he have to: but he knew it was waiting for him, as soon as these hectic hours of his dubious and difficult fame were over.

At eight o’clock, as he had requested, Robert A. Leffingwell knocked on his door; and after he had told Bob about his reaction to the notes, and his thoughts about them, and to some degree about Ted Jason, and about Bob himself, Bob had shaken his hand gravely and gone away, still uncertain what Tommy’s decision would be, but thinking perhaps he had helped him clarify it a little.

And shortly before nine one other, perhaps the only one who would think of inviting himself at such a time, appeared and did what he could to clarify Tommy’s thinking, from his own point of view, more angrily than George, more vehemently than Bob; and also shook Tommy’s hand and departed uncertain, but not before the little Justice had said, “Please see me after the decision. There is a visit I want to make, and I would like to have you accompany me.” The other, almost as though he guessed where—though how could he, it had only that moment popped into Tommy’s head—had said with a wary caution, “We’ll discuss it when I see you.”

And now it was time for him to write his decision. Placing a large pad of yellow legal note paper neatly before him on the desk, he did so in no more than fifteen minutes, for it had really been inevitable from the first.

With that completed, he did one more thing, which in some curious way was a linkback to old, unhappy events; something which he recognized, with a little prickling of the hair on the back of his neck, as a penance, a payment, a settling of accounts with the gallant, unhappy ghost of Brigham Anderson, whom he had joined with others to drive from life a year and a half ago.

He took an envelope, inserted Helen-Anne’s notes, sealed it, franked it with his signature; opened his door and took it himself, though the waiting bailiff offered to do it, to the nearest mail chute and dropped it in.

It would reach the addressee tomorrow. Mr. Justice Davis had no idea at all what he would do with it. But that he should have it seemed right and just and somehow a thing that would make not only that earlier unhappy ghost, but Helen-Anne’s as well, rest more easily this fateful night.

Then he went back and asked his secretary to notify the press officer that he would appear in the chamber in fifteen minutes’ time, at ten p.m. sharp, to deliver his decision.

“Damn it,
stop shoving!”
the
Los Angeles Times
said in exasperation to
France-Presse
, and from the row behind Reuters leaned forward to poke them both in the back.

“Let us have more international friendship and cooperation,” he suggested. “And also, if both of you would please lean to the left so that I can see past—”

“We’re so squeezed in we can’t lean either way,” the
L.A. Times
tossed over his shoulder, still sounding annoyed but beginning to relent a little. “Anyway, what makes you think we would both want to lean left.”

“I’m not thinking of your preference but my view,”
Reuters
said. “What a mess!”

And so it was, for not even on the most dramatic of Mondays, the day the Court traditionally hands down its opinions, had the dimly lit, dark-paneled chamber known such confusion of reporters, photographers, lights, cameras, correspondents, commentators, publishers, editors, hangers-on. The rule that prohibits photographs and television in the chamber had been relaxed (the Chief Justice, vacationing in Switzerland, had cabled his approval this morning in view of the magnitude of the event; and also, because he wanted to watch it himself via satellite) and a room that normally accommodates 500 comfortably was jammed with almost twice that number, plus equipment. And as they pushed and shoved and squeezed and turned uneasily about, trying to find positions of greater comfort, trying to free their arms from their encroaching neighbors’ so that they could take notes, or broadcast, or, like Walter Dobius, just observe, they gossiped and argued and speculated and shouted back and forth across the chamber to one another with such uninhibited enthusiasm that to Tommy Davis, approaching along the Court’s private hallway with a bailiff in attendance, it sounded like the distant angry hum of giant bees that grew ever louder as he neared until it seemed it must drown out the universe and thought itself.

Then, as he stepped, still unseen, into place behind the red velvet curtains that form a backdrop for the nine battered old leather armchairs which house the nine supreme judicial bottoms, the noise ceased so abruptly that it seemed a giant hand must have reached down and chopped it off. Out front, at his high desk to the right, the Marshal had suddenly appeared. In his clear, measured tones, he cried out in the old, traditional way:

“The honorable, the Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States!”

“Oyez, oyez, oyez
! All persons having business before the honorable, the Supreme Court of the United States are admonished to draw near and give their attention, for the Court is now sitting!”

“God save the United States and this honorable Court!”

And Tommy parted the red velvet curtains and stepped through, as the Justices do, almost before they knew he was there.

For a moment he stood where he was, alone in the eye of the world, trying to find his particular friends but unable to do so in the harsh glare of the lights.

Then he stepped forward, his expression grave and thoughtful, in a silence broken only by the steady whirring of the television cameras, and sat down in his chair, two seats to the right of the chair of the Chief Justice.

He placed several sheets of yellow legal note paper neatly before him on the burnished desk, fussed with them for a moment or two, then folded his arms, lifted his head, leaned forward slightly and began to talk, in a rather thin but steady voice that was carried to the ends of the earth.

“First of all,” he said, “the Court wishes to apologize for the confusion here, even though it is perhaps inevitable considering the nature of the occasion. The Court hopes you are all reasonably comfortable and may be able to do your work without undue interference by the various extremities of your neighbors.”

There was a spatter of laughter, tight with the tension of great events that affects even the most experienced of correspondents; yet friendly, for most of them liked Tommy Davis.

“The Court also regrets,” he went on, “that it has been impossible to prepare printed copies of the Court’s opinion”—there was a groan but he responded with a certain testiness that silenced it at once—“but the Court, after all, has not had long to consider this. The Court felt that it was more important to announce a decision swiftly than it was to make easier the work of the press. The Court is sorry, but that is how it is.

“Members of the press,” he said, more amicably, “will simply have to revert to being working reporters for the evening. I don’t think it will hurt you.”

There was a general murmur of amusement and even, though this, too, was against Court rules, a smattering of good-natured applause. The atmosphere became more relaxed and so, for a moment, did he. Then he sat straighter in his chair, his expression again turned grave and thoughtful, again only the whirring of the cameras broke the intent, devouring silence.

“The issue before the Court is this—” he began, and for five minutes, simply and clearly, he laid it on the record: the temporary injunction, the case below, the National Committee’s decision to appeal, his own decision to hear arguments at the earliest possible moment “to expedite a matter in which, it seems safe to say, there is an almost universal interest.”

“So, as you know,” he continued, “a hearing was held in chambers this afternoon, attended in physical fact by only a very small handful of individuals; but attended through the wonderful mediums of press, television, and radio, aided by the worldwide communications-satellite network, by a great many peoples of the earth. In fact, I would suspect, the great majority.

“During the hearing, as all who viewed or heard it are aware, counsel for one faction in the National Committee argued, in essence, that neither the court below, this Court, or any other body of whatever nature anywhere, have any legal right whatsoever to force the National Committee to choose one, as distinct from the other, of the two free and equally democratic options given it by its own rules.

“The other faction argued—

(“Come on Tommy, come on,” the
Boston Herald
whispered impatiently. “We know all that.” But the Court record, as always, had to be made.)

“—that to permit the National Committee to exercise its option freely might be, in effect, to pre-empt its choice anyway, by making possible a decision by a majority of the Committee to select its new nominees through what counsel chose to refer to as ‘a narrow, limited, possibly emotional democracy of 106’ rather than ‘a vigorous, active, solemn, broadly based democracy of more than 1,000 drawn from all the broad reaches of this broad land.’

“Whatever one may think of arguments of counsel on this side of the issue,” he remarked with a little smile that brought some uneasy laughter, for many were not sure but what he might be making a little fun of George Harrison Wattersill, and they didn’t like that, “it must be acknowledged that his language is colorful and added much to the interesting nature of the hearing.”

And he peered over the edge of the bench and did succeed in finding George Wattersill, seated directly down front with Roger P. Croy, who had Senator Munson next to him, and then Bob Leffingwell. George bowed and smiled, clamping an iron control on his suddenly rising uneasiness and appearing as cheerful as could be while the cameras zoomed in on him to find out how he was taking it.

“Essentially,” Tommy went on, “the Court feels that these two points of view do represent the major, and indeed perhaps the only valid, arguments that the Court can consider in this proceeding.

“The question then arises: how do they stand before the bar?

“It must be remembered—even,” he said, and a certain warning note came into his voice, “by the most partisan—that this is a court of law, and that it is only on matters of law that the Court has authority to act.

“It may well be that one argument or another is valid and superior in an emotional, political, or partisan sense. But it is in the legal sense that the Court must decide.

“The Court,” he said, and the tension soared as they realized that he was already into his peroration, “will say frankly that he personally hopes that the National Committee will, when it reconvenes tomorrow—”

(“Oh, NO!” Patsy cried in anguish beside her grimly silent brother in the enormous living room in Dumbarton Oaks. “Hot dog!” Hal Knox yelled gleefully in the drawing room at “Vagaries.” “Oh,
damn
it, hot DOG!”)

“—when it reconvenes tomorrow,” Tommy repeated, for there had been an immediate and irrepressible surge of confused sound, mostly angry, in the chamber too, “will proceed in regular order to reconvene the convention.

“That is the personal preference and desire of the Court.

“But the Court is not a Court that decides on the basis of its personal preferences. At least,” he said, with a little smile and a certain gentle irony, “we try not to be. And I think, for the most part, we succeed.

“Certainly in this instance I am satisfied the Court has succeeded, for I have told you frankly my own feelings. But I put the law above them. As,” he said firmly, “it should be.

“The Court,” he concluded quietly, “cannot, in all honesty, find precedents or justification for interfering with the normal procedures of the National Committee under its own rules, as is proposed by the temporary injunction from the court below.