The White House
Washington, D.C.
November 1904
Lieutenant Junior Grade Stephen Morrison, naval aide to Secretary of the Navy Paul Morton, hated wearing his mess dress uniform, but for a White House reception, it was mandatory. He had been warned that formal dress functions would become part of his job, and tonight would be the first time he had to attend such an affair. Standing near the far corner of the East Room, he surveyed the throng of guests, all elegantly attired. As the orchestra played quietly in the background, the guests mingled as waiters offered both drinks and heavy hors d’oeuvres to them. On the far side of the room, Morrison could see President Roosevelt engaged in animated conversation with a small crowd of admirers who gathered around him. Although Morrison had not personally met the president, he greatly admired the man for his intellect and his energy.
When he first reported to his new job the previous May, the incoming Secretary Paul Morton proved to be an eager student of naval affairs. He and Morrison became nearly inseparable. Morton insisted that his new aide accompany him to Chicago for the Republican Convention held that June. The entire train ride from Washington was filled with briefings. “Heck, Lieutenant, let’s call this remedial education!” was how Morton jokingly put it. Morrison was both glad and honored to accompany his new boss. They quickly developed an excellent working relationship, despite Morton’s relative lack of knowledge concerning the day-to-day operations of the United States Navy.
That evening at the East Room, as Morrison watched several couples take to the dance floor, he chuckled to himself about his increased competence as a dancer. His boss had insisted that he learn how to waltz, stating, “Stephen, as a bachelor, you will likely be attending White House functions. No doubt, you will be tasked with escorting young guests and dancing with them. Let’s not embarrass ourselves, shall we?” Soon afterwards, Morrison enrolled in dance classes, in addition to his other duties. On one prior occasion, he had escorted an ambassador’s daughter to a ball at the British Embassy, and he surmised that his dancing had been adequate. Tonight, feeling fairly bored and wishing that the evening would end, he suddenly saw the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Like a bolt out of the blue, her beauty struck him, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She stood nearby, surrounded by several admiring men.
She looked to be in her twenties, and all of the tuxedoed admirers appeared to be middle-aged. She seemed to be regaling them with a story, and all of them laughed, obviously enjoying the entertaining presence of such a beautiful and vivacious young lady. Her dark brown hair, pulled up in the fashion of the day, highlighted her porcelain skin and sparkling green eyes. To Morrison, she looked just like the famous socialite Consuelo Vanderbilt or even the fictional Gibson Girl. He was absolutely mesmerized by her beauty. He found himself walking toward her until he came to a stop in front of the small crowd that had formed around her.
“Gentlemen,” she purred, “it appears that the United States Navy is about to make an official port call. Am I right, Lieutenant?” The other gentlemen around her broke into laughter as a smile played upon her lips. She looked directly into Morrison’s eyes. He was captivated.
“Ma’am, I am under direct orders of President Roosevelt,” he began. “I have been directed to rescue you from this distinguished throng and escort you to the dance floor where I will proceed to dazzle you with my waltzing abilities.” The other men burst into laughter, yelling “Bravo,” and slapping Morrison on the back for his effort. They grabbed his arms and brought him closer to the beautiful young girl, who smiled broadly. “Well, Lieutenant,” she replied, “I always obey orders!” He offered her his arm, and she took it as he led her to the dance floor.
They began waltzing and she complimented him, saying, “I must say, for a navy man, you are not a bad dancer. Tell me, Lieutenant, do you have a name? Are you John Paul Jones? Or are you perhaps the Flying Dutchman or some other figment of my imagination?”
“Actually, I do have a name, ma’am. I’m Stephen Morrison, naval aide to Secretary of the Navy Paul Morton. Also, let me say that I can’t believe the line I made up to get you to dance with me! That really isn’t like me. It just happened.”
“Please don’t apologize, Stephen Morrison. You actually rescued me from a bunch of stuffy old men. Nice, but stuffy, you know.”She looked into his eyes, and decided that he was fairly handsome. “Tell me, Lieutenant, do you always look so serious?”
He smiled at her. “Only when I don’t know the name of the woman I’m dancing with. That just drives me crazy. If I didn’t know better, I would say I’m dancing with Consuelo Vanderbilt. Is that who you are? Or are you the original model for the Gibson Girl?”
She threw her head back and laughed heartily. “I’m so sorry, but thank you for that nice compliment. I’m Helen Leavitt, and I must say, Lieutenant, that it is pleasure to be with someone under the age of fifty. I really do thank you.” She was beginning to find this mysterious naval officer intriguing and sensed that there was perhaps much about him that she wanted to learn.
“Please, call me Stephen, and I’ll agree to call you Helen. Tell me, how does a lovely young girl like you end up at the White House?” The music stopped and all of the dancers offered polite applause as the musicians left for a break. “May I get you some punch?” She nodded, and they strolled over to the serving tables.
“My father is in government,” she explained. “He was the United States minister to the Ottoman Empire for two tours. Now he is a consultant to President Roosevelt. He is also very active in B’nai B’rith. You’ve probably never heard of that organization.” Morrison nodded, indicating that he hadn’t. “It’s an organization dedicated to the betterment of world Jewry. They do great work,” she said, pausing to lift her cup of punch. “I propose a toast. To the dashing young naval officer, who rescued a damsel in distress with the worst line ever uttered in the history of the United States.”
Morrison raised his glass as he grinned and clinked it to hers. “I’ll drink to that!”
The couple sat down. “Tell me about your father, about you, about, well, everything about you,” Stephen encouraged.
“Well, let’s see. I’m twenty-five years old. I was born in Philadelphia but I’ve lived all over the world. I’m a graduate of Swarthmore College. My father is Oscar Leavitt, and he was born in Germany. He is a genius and the love of my life. Most recently, he is active in B’nai B’rith. Earlier this year, Father was one of several key officials of B’nai B’rith that petitioned President Roosevelt to protest that terrible pogrom in the Russian city of Kishinev. They convinced the president to act, and he did lodge an official protest with the Russian government. That’s the type of honorable and just man my father is. There he is! Doesn’t he look aristocratic?” she proudly asked as she pointed to a group of distinguished looking gentlemen. “He’s the tall man with the graying beard and moustache. And my mother, well, she’s an angel. Now you know everything about me. So, what is the story of Stephen Morrison?”
He refilled their punch glasses and replied, “I was raised in New York City. My father was a United States congressman, Caleb Morrison. I’m a graduate of the United StatesNaval Academy, Class of 1893, and, well, that’s really about all there is to know. I’m a really boring individual, I must warn you.”
“Somehow, I rather doubt that, Stephen.” As he handed her the glass, she wrapped her hand around his for a brief moment. Morrison felt almost giddy from her touch. This feeling was something new to him. He had been involved with a few other women in his life, but no serious relationships resulted. He had never felt a closeness to any woman and finally concluded that he would always be a confirmed bachelor. He was now thirty-four years old and too set in his ways to let a woman enter his life. There was also the question of his naval career. Like his mentor William Sims, he was also likely to be married to the sea. Looking at the lovely face that smiled back at him that night, Morrison wondered if perhaps it was possible that things were about to change.
At the end of the reception, he said good night to her and found himself saying, “I hope that sometime we may meet again. Nothing would give me more pleasure, Helen.”
She smiled a mischievous smile at him and replied, “One can certainly never know, Lieutenant Stephen Morrison. One can certainly never know.”
The next week, when Morrison returned to his room at the bachelor officers’ quarters at the Washington Navy Yard, he found an invitation waiting for him to have dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Oscar Leavitt and family at their Georgetown home the following week. Things are definitely looking up, he thought to himself. He walked to the mirror over his sink and said out loud, “Stephen, old man, I do believe you’re in love!”
* * *
The invitation for Morrison to join the Leavitts for dinner came after much discussion at the Leavitt home. Both of Helen’s parents had typical parental concerns for their daughter. She was very bright and very beautiful, but she was a free spirit, and this quality proved to be a constant source of worry for them. She had no interest in marriage, despite ample proposals from the sons of the elite of the Jewish community from around the world. She seemed to intimidate and ultimately drive off any potential suitors with her wit, sarcasm, and directness. In an era when marriages were often prearranged by parents, Helen Leavitt would have none of it. She always had a criticism or complaint about any young man who attempted to court her. She seemed to be interested only in travel and government. In fact, she worked as her father’s personal assistant.
She had shocked her parents when she asked them to invite the young naval officer to their house for dinner. This behavior was not at all typical for her, and this was what concerned the Leavitts. She seemed very interested in this man. With all the eligible young Jewish men she had met, she seemed interested in this naval officer — the son of an Irish Catholic congressman! Oscar Leavitt had spotted them together at the White House reception and could see the look in his daughter’s eyes. He sensed the attraction. “Why do you want to bring home a shaggitz?” he demanded, using the Yiddish word for a non-Jewish male. “There aren’t enough eligible Jewish boys for you to choose from?”
“Father, please!” she retorted. “I don’t want to marry the man. For God’s sake, I only met him once! He just happens to be a good-looking, very intelligent man whom I find very interesting. He’s a nice change of pace from the other dullards you and mother seem to prefer for me. And I’ll be honest, he reminds me a bit of you — intelligent, witty, and dedicated to his country. Is that so bad? I just want to introduce him to you.”
In the end, their free-spirited daughter won. Her parents backed down and issued the invitation with the understanding that he would never be invited back again. To this stipulation, Helen agreed. Although she didn’t express her intuition to her parents, she had the definite feeling she would be seeing a lot more of the handsome lieutenant in the future.
When Stephen Morrison arrived at the Leavitt home in Georgetown, the family butler met him at the door and escorted him into the foyer, instructing him to wait there while he summoned the family. In a moment, Oscar and Sadie Leavitt appeared, with Helen right behind them. Again struck by her beauty, Morrison could see that she seemed very pleased that he had come, as indicated by her radiant smile.
“So good of you to come tonight, Lieutenant. We’ve heard so much about you from our daughter,” greeted Leavitt, as he and his guest shook hands. He introduced his wife and then stated, “I believe you and Helen have already met.”
“Yes, sir, we have. Thank you so much for inviting me.” He simultaneously handed them a bottle of expensive wine that he had purchased.
“Excellent! Thank you so much,” said Leavitt. Turning to the butler, he announced, “James, we’ll have a glass of wine in the parlor before we dine. Come, Lieutenant, I want to hear all about you.” The four of them went to the parlor and sat down while James poured the wine. Leavitt proceeded to ask Morrison a variety of questions about his job, his naval experiences, and about his relationship with his late father, Congressman Caleb Morrison.
Leavitt and his wife had to admit to themselves that their guest appeared to be an impressive, articulate young man. He certainly cut a dashing figure in his dark blue naval uniform. Damn it all, Leavitt thought to himself, I can see why Helen is attracted to this man! He glanced over to his daughter, who seemed absolutely entranced by the young naval officer. For his part, Morrison was also impressed by Leavitt. The young officer could see that Helen was a reflection of this man’s worldliness and intellect. Even though he knew he was being sized up, he felt comfortable being in the presence of the Leavitts.
Finally, James announced that dinner was ready to be served, and they all moved into the dining room. As they walked through the hallway from the parlor, Morrison noted the opulence of their home. It reminded him a little of his home in New York City. Momentarily, they all sat at the dining room table with Oscar Leavitt at the head of the table and Sadie at the opposite end. Morrison sat facing Helen. He smiled and gave her a wink when her parents weren’t looking. She blushed slightly and looked down at the table, hoping her parents wouldn’t notice. When the kitchen staff brought the first course and began to serve, Leavitt turned to Morrison and said, “As our guest, Lieutenant Morrison, I want you to feel comfortable and at home with us. Please feel free to say grace before we begin, if you’d like.”
“Thank you so much, sir. I believe I will.” He bowed his head slightly and spoke, “Baruch atah Adonai, Elohaynu melekh ha-olam, ha-motzi lechem min ha-aretz.” When he finished, he looked up and saw three looks of utter astonishment on the faces of the Leavitt family. Finally, Helen broke the silence after a few seconds. “You speak Hebrew? You know the blessing for bread?” she asked incredulously.
“Why not?” he replied, smiling slightly. “I’m Jewish.” A few more seconds of stunned silence followed. Oscar Leavitt spoke first.
“But I don’t understand! Your name is Morrison; your father was Caleb Morrison. I met him years ago. I know he was an Irishman. And if you don’t mind my saying, you certainly don’t look like a Jew. How is this possible? Are you joking, because if — ”
“Sir,” interrupted Morrison, “Caleb Morrison was my adoptive father. My actual father was named Zvi Kambotchnik, and he was a rabbi. I was born in Perm, Russia, and my family immigrated to the United States, to New York City, when I was eleven years old.” He then proceeded to fill in several key details about his life.
As each course was being served, his hosts continued to pepper him with questions. He couldn’t help noticing that they seemed to warm up to him immensely as the meal progressed. Throughout the dinner, Helen Leavitt said practically nothing. Her father and mother did a fine job interrogating her naval officer. Intermittently, their eyes would meet, and she could sense the communication between them. She was absolutely ecstatic over the developments of the evening.
After dinner was over, Leavitt directed his butler to have dessert served to them in the parlor where the delighted parents continued to press Stephen with questions about his life. Ocasionally, they let their guest ask a few questions himself. “Tell me, Stephen, why would a young Jewish boy, an immigrant, want to be an officer in the United States Navy?”
“It’s always been a dream of mine, a goal or a quest if you will,” replied the young officer. “I suppose one could also ask why a Jewish immigrant from Germany would want to serve as a minister to a Muslim country not once, but twice.” The young man’s knowledge and wit impressed Leavitt.
“It would be hard to be a religious Jew in the navy, given the lifestyle. Are you a religious man, Stephen? Do you ever go to synagogue?” As Leavitt finished his question, Morrison could almost sense them all leaning forward in anticipation of his answer.
“No, I don’t go to synagogue. That’s a personal choice I made years ago. Am I a religious person?” He stopped and chose his words carefully. “Yes, I believe I am a religious person. I believe that the inner core beliefs are what make a person religious, not the outer or superficial trappings. I’ve seen too many people, Jews and gentiles, who think that showing up in a place of worship once a week cancels out the hypocritical lifestyles they live the rest of the week. God can’t be so naïve that He accepts the idea that mere attendance in a church or synagogue constitutes a religious person.”
“Hmm, interesting,” mused the elder man. “Care to expound on that philosophy for us? I don’t mean to put you on the spot, but you are certainly one of the more unique and interesting people I’ve met, Jew or gentile.”
“I’m probably not that eloquent, sir. Are you familiar with the British poet, James Leigh Hunt, and his poem Abou Ben Adhem?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Well, let me recite it. It’s short, but I think it sums up my philosophy on religion better than I can express it.”
“Please do,” interjected Helen.
“All right, here we go then.
Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An Angel writing in a book of gold:
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,
“What writest thou?” The Vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord
Answered, “The names of those who love the Lord.”
“And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,”
Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said, “I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men.”
The Angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And it showed the names whom the love of God had blessed,
And, lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest!”
“Stephen, that is so beautiful,” Helen said softly.
“Thank you,” he replied.
“No, thank you,” retorted Oscar Leavitt. “Thank you for sharing that with us. I think I understand now what your core beliefs are. A beautiful poem, Stephen. You are right. It really says it all.”
By this time, the atmosphere in the room was much more relaxed. Morrison felt as if he was with his own family. Finally, as the evening grew late, he announced that he had better be leaving. He thanked his hosts profusely, and they invited him to return any time he wanted. After a firm handshake from Oscar, Sadie gave him a big hug. He then turned to Helen, took her right hand, and brought it to his lips. Kissing it gently, he announced, “Thank you, Miss Leavitt, for the pleasure of your company. I hope I can see you in the very near future.”
With her eyes glistening with tears of joy, she replied, “You can count on it, sailor!” Her parents erupted into laughter as they escorted him to the door. James returned his cover to him, and with a final word of thanks to his hosts, he departed into the chilly night.
“Well, Mother, Father, what did you think of my naval officer?” asked the giddy daughter as they lingered in the foyer. She still hadn’t come down from the euphoria of the evening. In response, both of her parents hugged her. “Helen, he’s wonderful,” said her father. “A dream come true,” added her mother.
“Well, I’m glad you approve of him,” she announced delightedly, “because he’s the man I’m going to marry!”
“Really now, Helen,” replied the amused Oscar Leavitt. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit premature with — ” He was interrupted by a firm knocking on the front door.
Leavitt opened the door to find Lieutenant Junior Grade Stephen Morrison standing there. “Stephen!” exclaimed Leavitt. “Did you forget something?”
“Well, uh, yes, I did, sir.” Clearing his throat, Stephen continued. “Mr. Leavitt, I forgot to ask you for the hand of your daughter in marriage.”