The date was October 27, 1916.
It was a birthday party, but it resembled a wake.
The President had invited only his family and a few close friends to his retreat at Sagamore Hill on this, his 58th birthday. He walked from room to room in the huge old mansion, greeting them, trying to joke with them, but unable to keep a dark scowl from periodically crossing his face. Even Alice, his oldest daughter, who had distracted her share of cabinet meetings and press conferences, seemed unable to distract him tonight.
"Well?" demanded the President at last.
"Well, what, Theodore?" asked his wife.
"Why is everyone tiptoeing around me?" he demanded. "I'm not dead yet. There are worse things than taking an enforced vacation." He paused. "Maybe I'll go back to Africa again, or explore that river the Brazilian government has been asking me to map for them."
"What are you talking about, Mr. President?" said Elihu Root. "You're going to spend the next four years in the White House."
"This isn't a political rally, Elihu," answered Roosevelt. "It's a quiet party, and you're among friends." He sighed deeply. "You've seen the papers, you've heard what the pundits say: I'll be lucky to win six states."
"I believe in you, Mr. President," insisted Root.
"You're my Secretary of War," said Roosevelt, managing one of his famous grins. "You're supposed to believe in me." The grin vanished, to be replaced by a frown. "I wish I could say the same of the Republican Party."
"They're still angry at you for running and winning as a Bull Moose four years ago," said Edith, standing in front of her husband and stroking his hair lovingly. "Some of them probably wish that fanatic who tried to shoot you in Milwaukee had been a better shot. But when they're faced with a choice between you and Mr. Wilson, they'll do what's right."
Roosevelt shook his head. "If I can't win the Congress to my cause, how can I expect to win the people?" He strode restlessly across the parlor. "The choice isn't between me and Mr. Wilson; if it was that simple, I'd have no fear of the outcome. It's a choice between their principles and their prejudices, and given the splendid example of the Congress"--he spat out the word--"it would appear that their prejudices are going to win, hands down."
"I just can't believe it," said Gifford Pinchot.
"Gifford, you're a good man and a loyal man," said Roosevelt, "and I thank you for the sentiment." He paused. "But you're my Director of National Parks, and trees don't vote. What do you know about it?"
"I know that you came into office as the most popular American since Abraham Lincoln--probably since Jefferson, in fact--and that you managed to win the war with Germany in less than a year. We've become a true world power, the economy's never been stronger, and there aren't any more trusts left to bust. How in God's name can they vote you out of office? I simply refuse to believe the polls."
"Believe them, Gifford," said Roosevelt. "You've got less than three months to find employment elsewhere."
"I've spoken to Hughes, and he thinks you're going to win," persisted Pinchot.
"Charlie Hughes is my running mate. It's in his best interest to believe we're going to win." Roosevelt paused. "That's one thing I'm especially sorry about. Charlie is a good man, and he would have made an excellent President in 1920. A lot better than that fat fool from Ohio," he added, grimacing at the thought of William Howard Taft, who had succeeded him the first time he had left office.
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