Mac took the train to Poughkeepsie the next morning, repeating the same performances of Thanksgiving, complete with the hugs and tears from his parents. His mother made him a beautiful welcome home dinner, as she poured over the pictures of Carla, and their Italian families, that Mac had brought home.
“She is beautiful, Mac,” remarked his mother, as his father nodded his head in agreement. “Your father's cousin has written to tell us that she is a wonderful young lady, from a good family,” continued Mrs. Martini. “I am so pleased, Mac, and so happy for you, for the both of you.”
“Thanks, Mom. I really love her, and I believe she loves me. We want to be married.”
“Yes, I know, son,” said the mother, with tears in her eyes. “Are you sure, Mac, an Italian girl, from Italy?”
“Yes, Mom, I am sure. Don’t worry. I intend to bring her here to raise our family once my time in Rome is finished.”
Mrs. Martini started to cry, as she reached into the pocket of her housedress, pulling out a rolled-up piece of tissue.
“Here, this was my mother's,” she whispered through her tears, as she unrolled the tissue, pulling out a stunning diamond ring. “She would have wanted you to have it. You give it to your girl; bring our families together.”
“Thank you, Mom, she will love it. More so, as it was your mother's ring.”
Mrs. Martin shook her head in acknowledgment, as his father wiped a tear from his eye.
“Pass the potatoes,” interrupted Mr. Martini, as everyone laughed.
Mac spent the next two days with his parents, doing the things they did when he was a little boy, swimming in the Hudson, barbequing, and watching a pre-Fourth of July fireworks display on a blanket up on the Vassar College campus.
Monday morning there was an excitement in the Martini home, as the three rushed through breakfast, and then prepared for their afternoon trip to Hyde Park. Mac decided to wear a pale blue striped, seersucker suit, in deference to the heat, a white button-down shirt, a matching silk tie and braces, and his white buck shoes. He carried a straw hat of his father, at the insistence of his mother, which he was determined not to wear on his head. His father wore a blue, lightweight suit, with a tie and matching pocket square, while his mother had on a pastel blue suit, to the knee, white shoes, and she carried a white clutch bag.
The family piled into the DeSoto for the fifteen-minute trip north along Route 9 to Hyde Park, the site of the Roosevelt summer residence, and the newly built Presidential Library. As they arrived, New York State Troopers directed them to the left off Route 9, down a long, tree lined grass and crushed stone driveway, toward the Hudson River, with the main house, a yellowish tan and white mansion, with a columned front overhang, directly in front of them. Other Troopers directed the family to make a right at the end of the driveway, in front of the yellow and white horse barn, parking behind the new, field stone structure that was about to be dedicated as the Roosevelt Presidential Library.
The hundred or so guests in attendance were directed to the front of the U-shaped building, to white wooden folding chairs that had been set up outside on the green sod lawn, facing to the left side of the horseshoe. Under the overhang, beneath the slate roof, a podium had been set up, with a bevy of microphones pointing in the direction of where a speaker would stand. Eleanor Roosevelt, the wife of the President, was walking in and out of the open door behind the podium, nervously checking on the progress of the guests being seated on the soft grass.
“Mac!” yelled Foster Dulles. “Over here, Mac!”
“Hello, Foster. Hello, Mr. Donavan. Gentlemen, these are my parents, Margaret, and Giuseppe Martini.”
Both men shook the hands of Mac's parents, along with Mac, as they made their way to seats up front, by the podium. Mostly neighbors had been invited to the dedication, as the president did not want to make a spectacle out of the ceremony. Yet, the neighbors included the Vanderbilts, the Astors, and other highbrow residents of Hyde Park, summering up from New York City. Dulles and Donavan had invited themselves, as they had to see the President anyway, to fill him in on what was happening in Europe, particularly with the Russian situation, and they knew they could catch him here, without having to brave Washington in the summer heat.
“Your son is very talented, sir,” said Dulles, to Mr. Martini. “He told you that we have made him the youngest partner in the history of Sullivan & Cromwell?”
“Yes, he did tell us, Mr. Dulles. That is quite an honor. Thank you. We are very proud of him. He seems to be enjoying his time in Rome.”
Just then, there was a commotion by the open door behind the podium. President Roosevelt was making his way to the microphones, swinging one leg at a time on steel braces, while being held at the elbow by an apparent Secret Service agent. Harry Hopkins walked out behind the President, taking a seat alongside Mrs. Roosevelt, their backs to the library wall, behind the podium.
Harry Hopkins, Roosevelt's closest advisor, had been one of the principal architects of the New Deal, and the Lend Lease Program. Mac had met him before, at the Room. Now, he was the President's chief diplomatic advisor and troubleshooter, not to mention his best friend and confidant. Harry Hopkins rarely, if ever, left the side of the president.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your seats,” started the president, holding on to the podium to keep steady. “You’re lucky, today. I cannot stand up here too long in this heat, so I will keep this short,” he said, laughing along with the small crowd. “This library is being dedicated at a time when government of the people by themselves is being attacked everywhere, and we must be wary of accepting information as fact just because it is given out by certain types of self-constituted leaders.”
The president went on, hitting upon democracy as the theme of his speech, yet certainly getting his swings in on the fascist despots’ intent upon ruling the world. He closed his fifteen-minute talk with a reference to the importance of this library for the future.
“The dedication of a library is, in itself, an act of faith. To bring together the records of the past and to house them in buildings where they will be preserved for the use of men and women in the future, a nation must believe in three things. It must believe in the past. It must believe in the future. It must, above all, believe in the capacity of its own people to learn from the past so that they can gain in judgment in creating their own future.”
“Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, please feel free to browse around in your Library.”
Mac and his parents entered the open door behind the podium, and walked through the newly constructed building, viewing the exhibits on the opening years of the Roosevelt Presidency, on the harshness of the Depression, on the public works projects, and then on to the different elections, run and won.
“Commander Martin,” a Secret Service agent approached Mac. “The Commander in Chief would like a word with you. He said to bring your parents.”
Mac, and the Martinis, followed the agent to the middle of the building, where they were led into a hallway, which ended at a closed wooden door. The agent knocked, motioning Mac and his family to follow him inside, Mrs. Martini gasping at the sight of the president seated at his mahogany desk.
“Well, well, you must be young Commander Martin,” said Franklin Roosevelt, sitting in a rolling caned chair, with Harry Hopkins, an unlit pipe in his mouth, seated in an overstuffed chair to his left side.
The office had a red Persian rug on the wood floor, with gold drapes hanging to each side of two windows facing the rear of the library. Into the matching valances were stitched the presidential seal set in the center of each window. There were built-in white bookshelves on the right wall, a free-standing mahogany one behind his desk. A painting of Mrs. Roosevelt, the president's mother, and the owner of the Hyde Park mansion, stood on an easel behind the chair where Harry Hopkins sat. An American flag draped down off a flagpole behind the president's desk, while a painting of a steamship hung on the wall, by its side. The light streaming in through the curtains made the man look God-like, despite his being relegated to a rather small wheelchair behind a massive desk.
“It is such an honor to meet you, son, a true American hero. And I take it that these are your parents?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Welcome to the northern White House,” chuckled the president. “It's not much, but it is my mother's.”
“It is a wonderful office, sir,” said Mac, as a little black dog starting sniffing at Mac's trouser leg.
“We do the fireside chats from in here in the summer, without the fire, of course, if you can believe that? Falla!” yelled the president. “Sit down, Falla! That is a true American hero you’re sniffing. You will have to excuse my dog, Commander. Falla is not used to heroes, around here.”
“Oh, he's alright, sir. He must smell my girl on me,” laughed Mac, as his mother gently hit his arm, smiling uncomfortably at the president.
“That's funny, son. I have read your reports. Such a sense of humor! And, yet, they are serious pieces of intelligence, all of which will help our boys prepare for what is coming. I loved the one about your families. So rich in its content and delivery! I felt like I was sitting around the table with all of you. And the Origos, priceless! I met Virginia Woolf once, by the way, a real character, that one. Remember, Harry? Virginia Woolf, the writer. You were there with us. It was at some White House dinner party, I believe,” said the president, as he put his cigarette holder in his mouth, unlit. It is a shame she is gone now, the poor thing. She drowned herself, I heard.”
“Yes, sir. It was a tragedy. We were with her only the week before. Well, I love writing those reports. I feel like I am writing them to you, sir. It motivates me.”
“Well, Mac, may I call you Mac? I hear everyone else does.”
“I would be honored, Mr. President.”
“Well, Mac, we need to talk some more about all this. I want to hear more about your visitors to the Vatican, and what they showed you. Today is obviously not the time for such talk. But perhaps we can get together before you leave your parents home up here. Hey, I have an idea! Why don’t you travel back to the city on the train with me? I have a swell car, you know. We could go together, and you could entertain me with your stories.”
“I would be delighted, sir. When are you leaving?”
“How is Wednesday morning for you? This way you can spend another day with your lovely parents here.”
“Sounds great, sir. What time, and where?”
“Ten in the morning, at the Hyde Park station. No real rush to get down to the city heat. Perhaps your parents can give you a ride to the station? We can give them a tour of the Ferdinand Magellan. Can you imagine they have built a railcar just for me? It is not quite done yet, but I steal it whenever I can to ride up to Hyde Park. Mom and dad will love it!”
“Sounds great, Mr. President,” said Mac, as his parents nodded their assent. “We will be there, sir,” as Mac turned to start to leave.
“Oh, wait a minute, Commander, not so fast. We have some unfinished business here with you today. You see, I heard about your exploits in getting us that directive from that SOB Hitler, and can you imagine that it turns out that it was real, and the damn Germans have now attacked the Soviets. This man has no limit to what he will do. When I first saw the directive, I did not believe it was real. We sent people out to test its authenticity. It was a good thing to know what was going to happen, before it did happen. I will tell you that it gave Churchill some restful nights knowing that Hitler was going in the other direction, and not crossing the channel.”
“In any event, young Commander Martin, I have something for you, as your Commander in Chief. I hereby bestow upon you the Distinguished Service Medal for valor in the face of terrifying threats to your life and wellbeing. Your service to your country is appreciated son and will not be forgotten. I would pin this on your uniform, if you had one on,” laughed Roosevelt, “but you can do it yourself when you get home, I suppose.”
“Thank you, sir, I am honored, and I am touched. My country is my first love, and I would gladly give my life to protect it.”
“Well, let's hope it does not come to that,” said Mrs. Martini, as the President and Harry Hopkins chuckled.
“Such exuberance in our youth, no, Mrs. Martini?” asked the President. “You have a wonderful son. May God bless him, and may God bless these United States of America. Now, you can go, Mac!” laughed the president. “Take your parents outside and get some refreshments. It is a beautiful day. Introduce yourself to my wife. She knows all about you. She reads your reports as well. I will see you Wednesday,” said the president, with a wave, as he put a cigarette in its holder, Harry Hopkins lighting it with a match.
Mac and his parents left the president's office in the new library building, and they walked through the grass to the barbeque set up on the front lawn of the main house.
“I’ll bet you we are having hot dogs,” kidded Mr. Martini. “If he served them to the King of England, he sure as hell would serve them to us.”
“Yoo hoo! Oh, Commander!” yelled a woman in a taupe polka dot dress, across the front lawn of the mansion. “Yoo hoo! Oh, Commander, over here!” crooned the First Lady.
“Mrs. Roosevelt, it is so good to meet you. These are my parents, Giuseppe, and Margaret Martini,” Mac said, as they all shook hands, Mac's father bowing at the waist to the First Lady.
“I so enjoy your reports, Commander. They are so rich and endearing. You could turn them into a book after the war. Ooops, did I say that? I mean after all this is over with. You should consider writing for a living, Commander. Such a way with words!”
“Thank you, ma’am. Please call me Mac, Mrs. Roosevelt. Everyone does.”
“Very well, Mac, but only if you call me Eleanor.”
“Eleanor it is, then.”
“Margaret, I hear that you and your husband are professors over at Vassar? How divine! We have readings at my home, across the main road, if you would like to attend sometime. It really is quite lovely, to get the girls together, and talk books and poetry. It would be nice to have a romance language person around. Care to join us sometime?”
“I would be delighted to join you, Mrs. Roosevelt.”
“Eleanor, please. I will have my assistant give you a call, telling you when our next get together is. You would be welcome, Giuseppe, but no men allowed,” laughed Eleanor, as Mr. Martini smiled at the ladies.
“It will be a good opportunity for me to get some fishing in, Eleanor. Thanks for getting my wife out of the house,” he laughed.
“Alright all, let's go refresh ourselves. I understand that my husband has put hot dogs on the menu again, ugh, but I insisted that there be civilized food as well. Please enjoy, and Mac, please keep your reports coming. I love them so! Thank you!”
“I will, Eleanor. And thank you for your hospitality.”
“What is this about putting yourself in harm's way?” Mrs. Martini asked her son when Mrs. Roosevelt was out of earshot.
“It is an exaggeration, Mom. They like to give out medals. What can I tell you? I assure you that I did not know what I was doing was dangerous, or I would not have done it. Well, maybe not, anyway.”
“You promised me that you would come home to me,” said his mother.
“And I did, Mom; see, I did!”