Interlude
Woodrow Wilson (D) was President of the United States. An academic progressive and state governor before his election, he retained a considerable degree of ivory tower aloofness as well as an uncanny conviction in his own inherent rightness, intelligence, and sheer all-around wonderfulness. The first Southerner elected to the office of President since Zachary Taylor, in 1848, and the only one ever to have been a citizen of the Confederacy, he retained in vast measure the racial attitudes of his parents, themselves having been ardent secessionists and believers in and defenders of the institution of slavery. Indeed, so completely in accord with his parents’ views was Wilson that one of his first acts as president was to resegregate the federal bureaucracy.
It was little surprise, then, that highly progressive President Wilson had screened the film, The Birth of a Nation, which lauded the KKK and demeaned black Americans, while in the White House. This was, in fact, the very first film screened at the White House. Wilson had also been quoted or misquoted three times within the film. He never objected to either. To the director of the film, whatever public sentiments he’d professed, Wilson had called the work a “splendid production.”
Wilson was, again, a staunch “progressive.”
Ice clinked in whiskey glasses while cigar smoke swirled. The President of the United States was holding forth and had the rapt attention of all.
“They’ve a limited attention span, you know,” said the president, jovially. Why not, too, since he was among friends, men of similar outlooks and backgrounds?
“Why we had one servant, back in Augusta, and she would regularly become impossible, just impossible. Not just lazy, but also sloppy, sassy, and useless. Well, she’d been with the family a long time, and her people had been with the family for generations. So, when she got bad my mother would take her out to the woodshed and give her a good thrashing. Oh, not enough to draw blood, of course, but there would be welts and bruises a-plenty. And then she’d be a perfect housemaid for a week. In another week she’d get a little lazy. And then in the third week she’d become impossible again, and it would be back to the woodshed for her.”
The men laughed. Some of the laughter was sincere, since humor can also be found in the completely expected. As much was due to the fact of the President of the United States condescending to joke with them. Some too, was habit, since the President had a thorough repertoire of what he called “Darky jokes,” as well as a penchant for imitating an exaggerated form of the speech of southern blacks to raise a laugh.
“Mr. President,” asked “Colonel” Edward House, “what are we going to do about this Russian matter?”
House, it may be noted, had never seen a real day’s military service, his rank being more or less honorary. House was also at least as virulent a racist as his chief.
“What about it?” asked the President.
“Well, sir, the papers are full of the news of a daring rescue of the Romanov family, or at least a part of it.”
“I haven’t had time to read them, Edward. Can you summarize for me?”
“There’s a good deal we don’t know, Mr. President. And some reports are contradictory. What we do know is that a group of loyalists, members of the various Guards regiments, it’s said, launched an attack in a little city in Siberia. Most of the family was killed, including both parents, one sister, and the little crown prince. But the oldest remaining sister has taken up the duties of empress and seems determined to carry on the fight.”
“The fight against Germany and German militarism?” asked Wilson.
“No, sir,” came the answer, “the fight against Red Bolshevism.”
The president considered this and then asked his usually ignored secretary of state, Robert Lansing, for his opinion.
“In the long run, Mr. President, democracy isn’t suited to Russia, while Bolshevism is suited only to ants. I think we should recognize the Imperial Regime and send an ambassador.”
“Where is our current ambassador?” Wilson asked. “For that matter, who is our current ambassador?”
“David Francis, Mr. President, was our ambassador. But since, so far as we knew, the old regime was gone, as was its replacement, Kerensky’s government, and insofar as we have not recognized the Bolsheviks, he’s been hanging on as de facto chargé d’affaires. Last I heard he was in a place called ‘Vologda,’ a few hundred miles north of Moscow. With the apparent resurrection of the imperial government Mr. Francis would, I suppose, be ambassador again.
“Do you have any instructions for Mr. Francis, Mr. President?”
“Not at this time, Robert. Let me think upon it.”