Eleanor vs. Ike: A Novel by Robin Gerber

Author:Robin Gerber
Language: eng
Format: mobi, pdf
Tags: Political, Contemporary Women, Fiction
ISBN: 9780061373213
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2008-01-08T23:13:26+00:00

“Negro marching band—most had never seen—never at white candidate’s event…”

As the band lined up next to the stage, the raised platform began to fill with state Democratic Party officials. Maurice Splain Jr., Democratic Party chairman, stood at the microphone, looking around with a satisfied smile and waving at people in the crowd.

“Tell me again why we picked a state where the governor and both senators are Republicans,” Joan was saying to Larry O’Brien.

“Because it’s a must win.”

Joan looked skeptical.

“Look at the union members here, Joan. Look at the Negroes. They can carry us over the top in this state, but we have to rally them. After she gives this speech, believe me—we’re going to need them.”

“I take it Mrs. R. didn’t listen to you.”

Larry gave a grim laugh. “No, but what did we expect? I think this is probably political suicide. More fodder for McCarthy and the others, as if they needed any. But you know what, Joan?” He put his hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye.

“You and I aren’t running for president—she is. And a big part of me thinks, maybe she ought to just say what she believes, not what we political strategy smart alecks think will win her votes.”

“I’m writing that down, Larry, because I have a feeling you won’t believe you said that two months from now.”

Several weeks before, Eleanor had met with her close friend, Mary McCloud Bethune. The fifteenth of seventeen children born to illiterate sharecroppers in Mayesville, South Carolina, Bethune’s parents had been slaves. She was the first in her family to be educated, and had been part of what came to be called the Black Cabinet during the 1930s, advising Franklin and Eleanor on civil rights reforms. Eleanor counted Mary among her closest friends.

As Eleanor headed across the Midwest on a late summer campaign swing, she asked Mary to meet her in Cleveland. They sat together on two folding chairs in a small storage room in the “Eleanor for President” headquarters in town. Mary was seventy-seven years old, and Eleanor saw with concern that she moved her large body with slow care, overfilling the flimsy chair as she lowered herself to it. Mary is so elegant, Eleanor thought, looking fondly at her older friend’s full head of white hair under a smart black hat, and the three-strand pearl necklace, like the one Eleanor favored. Mary pulled a small notebook out of her oversized handbag.

“You said this was about the civil rights part of the program you’re going to announce, so I brought you this.” Mary handed Eleanor the book.

“Reconstruction Era Civil Rights Laws,” Eleanor read from the binding.

“That’s right,” Mary spoke with firm authority. “If you’re president, you have the right—no, you have the duty,” Mary paused and gave Eleanor a meaningful stare over the top of her glasses, “the duty to see that these laws are understood and enforced.”

“You’re talking about executive orders,” Eleanor said.

“If necessary, yes. If your Congress won’t pass what we need, well, you need to tell them that another Congress already did.

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