Reilly of the White House by Michael F. Reilly William J. Slocum

Author:Michael F. Reilly, William J. Slocum [Michael F. Reilly, William J. Slocum]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: History, Military, Wars & Conflicts (Other), United States, 20th Century, Civil War Period (1850-1877)
ISBN: 9781789128703
Google: CH-7DwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Pickle Partners Publishing
Published: 2019-11-01T16:06:19+00:00

FOURTEEN. Casablanca Bound

Late in 1942 it was obvious to us at the White House that FDR did not have his mind on the work at hand. On November 7, eleven months to the day after Pearl Harbor, we knew why the Boss had spent so much time in the map room and why his answers were sometimes pretty vague. The President had been sweating out the North African landings.

A month later I was told that the Boss wanted to see me the next morning at 8:00 a.m. I found him sitting up in bed, finishing the remnants of his personally brewed coffee. He greeted me with a cheerful “Good morning.” He began to grin, obviously in anticipation of the effect his next sentence would have on me. “Mike,” he said, “I have to go to Africa.”

I gulped, “Africa, Mr. President?” with about the same inflections as if it had been, “The moon, Mr. President?”

“Yes, Africa. Churchill and his Chiefs of Staff are going and our Chiefs of Staff will be there, too. We want to see if we can get the French fighting for France instead of battling one another. We are trying to get Stalin to come. But I won’t go any further than Casablanca to meet him. And, Mike, there are many other reasons why I must go.”

“You have undoubtedly thought this out from every angle, Mr. President,” I replied. “But there is grave risk, human beings and machines being what they are. But, if you feel you must go, we will make it as safe as we can.”

“Mike, I have to do it.”

“All right, Mr. President. We’ll get you over and we’ll get you back.” I hope I sounded more confident than I was.

The Boss continued, “I do not care where we stay; out in the desert in tents if you think that is necessary. Only our Chiefs of Staff and John McCrea [FDR’s naval aide] know about it. I haven’t even told Steve [Early] or any of the others around here. When you get over there, work with Patton and Mark Clark. I have no other instructions except I do want to see President Vargas of Brazil on my return trip.”

“Very well, sir,” I said. “I’ll take care of the details—but please play it our way.”

“Mike, I will.” And he did, too, although I know we were terrible pests.

It is an old Secret Service bromide that a thing is either a secret or it is no secret. A whispered, off-the-record phrase that the President will leave the country is as damaging as a published itinerary. Captain McCrea knew about the trip, which was all right with me; there wasn’t much I could do about the Chiefs of Staff, and I had to tell one more man, General Harold C. George, commanding general of the Air Transport Command. Eventually some of my men would have to know what was up, but I could tell them at the last moment. I was not quite sure when the President would leave, but I knew I had about a month of sitting on a torrid secret.

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