Memories of a Bad Hand

1939 was a bad year for James Aloysius Farley. He was against a third term for Franklin Roosevelt. He had a yearning to be President himself. But Roosevelt had held all the cards.

In the most recent installments of "Why I Broke With Roosevelt" in Collier's,* Farley sounds as though he still hurt in every one of his 216 pounds at the very memory.

Poor Relations. In the summer of 1939 Farley got an invitation to call on Chicago's late George Cardinal Mundelein. By Farley's account the Cardinal said to him:

"I had a most enjoyable visit with the President. It is my belief that he will run for a third term."

"Did he say so?" Farley asked.

"No," the Cardinal answered, "but I hope you will support him if he does. James, I hope you will do nothing to involve the Catholics of this country in another debacle such as we experienced in 1928."

Farley bristled, pointed out that the Democratic Party was in power, that the Republicans were weak. "I will not let myself be kicked around by Roosevelt or anyone else," he told the Cardinal. "Loyalty is not all on one side. It's time for the President to be loyal to me."

Farley recalled: "I had the feeling that the President ... had flattered this Prince of the Church into doing his bidding."

Cardinal Mundelein brought up the subject of Mrs. Farley. "There has been some criticism of Mrs. Farley--some things she is supposed to have said about the President."

"That's all right," Farley told him. "Mrs. Farley is a loyal wife. . . . Bess feels we have been treated like poor relations. We are never invited to the White House except for purely official functions."

In a Whisper. Newspapers, after that, were full of stories of a rift between Farley and Roosevelt, who finally summoned Farley to Hyde Park. After dinner they talked.

"Jim," said Roosevelt, "I am going to tell you something I have never told another living soul." Roosevelt dropped his voice to a whisper. "Of course I will not run for a third term."

But a little later, at a White House dinner at which Mrs. Farley was seated next to Roosevelt, he turned to her and remarked: "I'm having a terrible time, Bess; they're trying to make me run and I don't want to."

"Well," Mrs. Farley answered, "you're the President, aren't you? All you have to do is tell them you won't run." Roosevelt blinked.

What General Sherman Did. In 1940, he summoned Farley to Hyde Park again.

"I don't want to run," he said, "and I'm going to tell the convention so."

Farley replied that the President had "permitted, if not encouraged a situation . . . under which he would be nominated unless he refused to run."

"Jim, what would you do if you were in my place?" he asked.

"In your position I would do exactly what General Sherman did--issue a statement saying I would refuse to run if nominated and would not serve if elected."

"Jim, if nominated and elected I could not, in these times, refuse to take the inaugural oath, even if I knew I would be dead in thirty days."

Then came what to Farley was "the final shock." Roosevelt said: "By the way, Jim, the family is not going to the convention. Undoubtedly I will accept the nomination by radio and will arrange to talk to the delegates before they leave the convention hall after the nomination."

Out on his Uvalde, Tex. pecan farm last week, "Cactus Jack" Garner, Roosevelt's old Vice President, dropped a bit of news calculated to discourage publishers, biographers, and ghostwriters. Not only had he decided not to write his memoirs, he had dumped the letters and records of his 38 years in Washington into a big bonfire and burned them all up.

* Ghostwritten by the Chicago Tribune's Washington hatchetman, Walter Trohan.

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