Chapter 16

Truman’s suddenly solicitous staff escorted me to the Cabinet Room and the place was filled. Not only did the Secretaries come in for the crisis briefing, but they brought their Undersecretaries and key assistants. The room was packed. I refused to take Truman’s seat at the center and deliberately stood to address everyone. That was another indicator to everyone that I was not seeking to take Truman’s place.

“Folks, I am sorry to have such a small amount of information to share with you at this time, but I’ve asked Mrs. Rothwell to get the head of the Secret Service Detail protecting President Truman to give us an update. As you can imagine, it is hard to get information while surgery in going on, but if there is any news to be known, I want it for you all.

“In the next few days we will be tested by employees and key leaders that want to use this event as a chance to expand their authority, ignore protocols and orders, and generally circumvent the wishes of President Truman. Do not allow it on your watch. The President will be back in the Oval Office soon and will not take it kindly if his Cabinet shirks their responsibility while he is injured.”

I looked around the room and saw a little of everything. Several Secretaries were clearly worried about their President and one stood to lead us in a prayer for Truman’s recovery. Several Secretaries looked they were counting the minutes until they could lobby for a better position in the White House. Several were all business and duly noted my warning.

I categorized them all for future reference.

Finished with the Cabinet, I asked Stoner, Truman’s Chief-of-Staff if there were any pressing issues that couldn’t wait for the President to return to power. The weasel looked like he just belched in the confessional before answering. “The President wouldn’t want anyone touching his private things. I won’t even go into the Oval Office while he is out of town, so I don’t have any idea what is done and what is hanging, Mr. Vice President.”

The President had a good point. I wouldn’t want the Weasel in my office, either.

It was apparent that the staff needed a primer on the new Amendment. “Please find the Attorney General for me. I know he was in the building a few minutes ago and should still be here.”

Thomas Campbell Clark was Attorney General until Truman appointed him later to the Supreme Court in nineteen-forty nine. He was a southern attorney and a soft spoken man. His resume was legendary, having headed up alien control during World War Two and served as Assistant Attorney General before being elevated by Truman in nineteen-forty five. He found me still standing near the Oval Office.

“Mr. Attorney General. Thank you for coming, Sir.”

“You are very welcome, Mr. Vice President. How may I help you, Sir?”

“Can you fill me on my obligations while the President is incapacitated? I do not wish to exceed my authority in any way. Neither do I wish to be delinquent in my obligations.” That should satisfy the weasel.

“Mr. Vice President. Once the President was found to be unconscious, or unresponsive, you by the standing order of the Supreme Court, must fulfill his every obligation. You are the acting President in every way until such time as the President is pronounced fit to resume command and control.

“Does that answer your question, Mr. Vice President?” We exchanged handshakes and he took his leave.

“Mr. Stoner, did you hear what I heard? I am relying upon you to make certain that I am properly briefed and prepared so that the President has no reason to hold us accountable for anything that went off the rails while he was injured. Please reassure me that you will conduct yourself in the proper way, at all times while President Truman is out of touch.”

Stoner knew I had him by the balls, and he knew the Attorney General would note that he instructed me on my obligations and responsibilities in the presence of the Chief-of-Staff. I had him hemmed in until things changed. It didn’t much matter, because the Attorney General returned at that instant and insisted I accompany him to the Cabinet Room. Stoner trailed along behind us like a good little weasel.

Arrayed around the room were only the Secretaries. No assistants or undersecretaries. The Attorney General apparently wanted it that way. As we entered a small crowd exited the room and headed to other areas to await instructions. I took a seat at the far end of the table, as far as possible from the seat Harry Truman occupied when he addressed the Cabinet, and waited.

The door opened and Fred M. Vinson, Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court walked in. That scared me. If he was here then the news was grave.

“Mr. Vice President, members of the Cabinet, it is my very sad duty to inform you that President Truman died a few moments ago from a gunshot wound to the chest...” There was a barrage of response, including questions that would not be answered by anyone in that room.

When order was returned to the room he continued. “Vice President Phillip Rasmussen, it is my responsibility to administer the Oath of Office to you at this time. Please come with me, Sir. We have arranged everything in the Oval Office for your swearing in.” He gave me no chance to speak, respond, deny, or refuse. Justice Vinson simply turned around and headed towards the Oval Office.

‘Why does this keep happening to me?’ That was the only thing going through my head as I followed the crowd to my new office. There were throngs of White House and administration flunkies present as I headed inside. Each one would no doubt dine out on being present when Truman died and Rasmussen took over. I looked at their faces as I passed. They were an eclectic lot. Some were lifers, serving in the White House for decades. Some were here because Harry Truman brought them here. The rest were somewhere in between.

And then there was me...

Before stepping inside the office, I asked an aide, “Please send Corbin Wilder to my home and have him bring in my wife and children and their two nannies. I will call and let them know that the Secret Service is on the way.”

She looked at me, almost in tears, and said, “Of course, Mr. President.”

That’s when I knew it was really true.

The Oath took no time and the newsreel and photographers got it all on film. The press corps waited in the White House Press Room and I was escorted in to address them and the rest of the world.

The White House Press Officer, Charles Ross, gave the country the bad news. He was a classmate of Harry’s in Independence Missouri and they graduated high school together in nineteen one.

“Ladies and Gentlemen; Early this afternoon, at a campaign rally in Springfield, Illinois, an unidentified gunman shot and killed Senate Majority Leader Alben Barkley, the presumptive Vice President and running mate of President Truman. The Senator was treated by medical personnel at the time of his shooting but it was determined that the single bullet had killed him instantly.

“President Truman was also wounded and rushed to University Hospital for emergency surgery. The President entered surgery at approximately two P.M. and surgeons were unable to repair the damage to his heart and lungs. The President was pronounced dead at approximately three-twenty four P.M.” There was that time, again...

“Vice President Phillip Rasmussen was rushed to the White House when news of the President’s injuries reached the White House and was here to be sworn in by Chief Justice of the Supreme Court Justice Fred M. Vinson, as President of the United States at three-fifty one P.M...” I tuned the rest out, until it was my turn to speak.