Early in June 1916, Franklin Roosevelt sat in his office doggedly working his way through a somewhat hysterical intelligence report evaluating purportedly secret Japanese political activities in Mexico and how they might relate to General Pershing’s pursuit of Pancho Villa south of the Mexican border. As was often the case with compilations of raw intelligence hurriedly thrown together from various different sources, the report was written in a disjointed style, rife with innuendo and unsubstantiated rumor.
“By secret methods on or about April 21 last,” it reported breathlessly, “Viscount Chinda, Japanese minister at Washington, notified [Mexico’s] Secretary of Foreign Relations at Mexico City—that Japan objected to the United States troops invading Mexico beyond Parral, Mexico, in pursuit of Villa. Secretary Aguilar issued an order to General Louis Gutierrey, Military Commander of the Mexican troops, so directing this order as if it originated through Mexican decision.” The report detailed purported close cooperation between the Mexicans under Villa and Japanese emissaries. “It was this order that caused the ambush of the United States troops when they arrived at Parral in search of Villa.… When the time was favorable for Villa to leave the protection of the Mayor’s home, he was disguised as a Jap—his moustache, etc. removed—and under cover of the night and assisted by friendly Japs—he made his way North and safety—in Sonora.”
In occasionally garbled prose, the report discussed some of “the obstacles with which the German-Jap-Villa-Carranza combination has to contend,” the most significant obstacle being “the treachery of the average Mexican.” In another section it described how “the Japanese spy system—under German advice” sent “skilled Japanese Navy and Army officers” to the United States disguised as “agricultural agents,” purportedly to investigate American food production, but in actuality to spy on America’s defenses.
Despite the almost comically shrill tenor of the report, Roosevelt read it carefully through to the end and ordered it filed for future reference. He did not necessarily believe the questionable details of sinister Oriental plots. What interested him were the repeated rumors gathered in the field suggesting cooperation between Japanese, German, and Mexican nationals which may or may not have had any basis in fact but which had been at the heart of an enduring American suspicion for years, simply because the likelihood of such an alliance was so logical. The fact that Germany and Japan were enemies in the current war, and that Mexico was a neutral party, had done little to discredit the suspicion. Everyone in Washington recognized that all it would take to create an international conspiracy would be a hastily arranged secret agreement between the three countries—or any two of them—to turn their adversarial relationship into a very powerful alliance. Only months earlier, Wilson had sent Marines into Haiti on the suspicion that German and French bankers were working in concert to collect on debts owed by the Haitian government, this despite the fact that Germany and France were locked in a war to the death. It is worth noting that within a year, every aspect of that improbable American nightmare would be confirmed.
That summer, Roosevelt was principally occupied with helping Josephus Daniels prepare the large new naval expansion bill called for by Wilson. “Our poor old Naval bill is still a bill and not a law,” FDR wrote Eleanor, “but it looks as if the House would adopt the Senate increases when it comes up next Tuesday. They have agreed on a fool personnel provision that won’t work as in practice it will create retirements, block promotions and do just the things it aims to prevent. They worked it out without consulting any of my board which had become expert in the figures.”
Roosevelt’s letters that summer express his mingled personal feelings about Josephus Daniels. At times he seems amused by his superior’s deliberate ways, and at other times he expresses angry contempt at what he regards as his rustic simplemindedness and naïveté. Yet for all his condescension toward Daniels, there remains in FDR’s comments a great affection, a great respect for Daniels’s character and integrity. Throughout their years together in the Navy Department, their relationship continued to gravitate between sweet and sour. During the sunny times, they could exchange bits of nonsense that expressed their shared sense of humor. One example, found among Roosevelt’s personal correspondence, was scribbled on a piece of official stationery labeled MEMORANDUM OFFICE OF THE ASSISTANT SECRETARY. Roosevelt, addressing his boss by his official acronym of “Secnav,” wrote, “1. I beg to report (a) That I have just signed a requisition (with four copies attached) calling for the purchase of 8 Carpet Tacks. (Signed) Astnav,” to which Josephus Daniels has appended, “Why such wanton extravagance? I am sure that two would suffice.”
One particularly delicate congressional issue unique to the Navy Department involved the naming of vessels. Most warships were given geographic names—battleships were named for states, cruisers for cities, many lesser vessels for rivers, regions, and smaller towns— and the choice of names was a matter of vital concern for members of Congress, which in 1916 included a certain Representative J. Fred Talbott of Maryland, who was determined to have the name of his hometown immortalized on a warship. Talbott was making life difficult for Assistant Secretary Roosevelt, who was only too happy to turn the matter over to Daniels:
My dear Chief:
… In regard to the names … I am somewhat up a tree and am withholding the announcement … until I hear from you. Congressman Talbott wants the armored cruiser named Towson. I am ashamed to say that I never heard of Towson before! It turns out that it is the Congressman’s county town—twenty-five hundred inhabitants—but really a suburb of Baltimore, the buildings being practically continuous between the two. I fear that we would get into a good deal of trouble if we took that name. About the only two places in Maryland that are possible, it seems to me, are Hagerstown and Frederick. We already have an Annapolis and Cumberland, and I have turned down the suggestion of certain people in the Department that she be called the Chevy Chase! I hate to go against Talbott’s wishes, but suppose that the best thing to do is to do nothing for a while and I have merely told him that I would take the matter up with you.…
The name eventually agreed upon was USS Frederick.
The work in Congress continued into some of the summer’s hottest, most stifling weather. “The Sec’y is still busy with the Naval Bill,” Franklin wrote Eleanor, “and I am trying though I fear in vain to eliminate a number of fool features in it and to get into it a few more really constructive items.”
Late in August, Congress finally approved a bill providing for the construction of 156 vessels of all classes—including sixteen capital ships—within three years, and an increase in naval enlisted strength to 67,800 men. The total cost came to $600,000,000, the largest appropriation ever devoted to naval expansion by any country. Roosevelt could take note that within a month Wilson had become almost as hawkish as he was. Never before had America challenged Britain’s position as the primary sea power, but with the passage of the naval bill Wilson told a confidant, “Let us build a navy bigger than hers and do what we please.”
The summer of 1916 was also notable for bringing with it the worst ever outbreak of poliomyelitis, the mysterious and frightening viral disease that attacked the nervous system. Known to the public as “infantile paralysis” because it primarily attacked children, it struck down twenty-seven thousand victims that summer, of whom some six thousand died and thousands more were left permanently crippled.
Since the disease seemed to concentrate in cities, Roosevelt was anxious to get his family out of Washington as soon as practicable. He accompanied Eleanor and “the chicks” (now augmented by the infant John Aspinwall Roosevelt, born March 13, 1916, the final member of Franklin and Eleanor’s family) to Campobello. There was a theory that the dread disease might be carried by houseflies, and Franklin spent hours swatting them there before returning to Washington. Only a few years into the future, FDR would become the world’s most famous victim of polio, and there is a poignancy in the earnest letter he wrote to Eleanor on his return to Washington: “The infantile paralysis in N. Y. and vicinity is appalling. Please kill all the flies I left. I think it really important.”
The epidemic raged long past the end of summer, and because Franklin and Eleanor were afraid to expose the children to the threat of catching the disease as a result of traveling on public transport, they did not want the children to return to Washington until FDR could commandeer a naval vessel to carry them south, which he was not able to arrange until October.