Nervous? Perhaps I felt a little nervous, yes. The leader of our country was about to enter my home along with a thousand other luminaries in order to attend a party over which I would preside. But who could do this better than I?
* * *
No sooner did I put my house back in order and catch my breath from Roosevelt’s inaugural festivities than I was invited to speak in New York to a crowd of thousands on the topic of American-Soviet relations and America’s place in the war-torn world. Though I was well versed in hosting and could now boast that I’d entertained presidents, royals, and movie stars, speaking onstage in such a massive forum would be out of my depth, and so I brought Adelaide and Eleanor with me to help calm my nerves.
Sitting in a private dressing room before my speech, halfheartedly sipping from my glass of ice water, I trembled. Adelaide noticed, and she put a hand on top of mine, speaking in a low, steady voice: “Mother, you’ve been practicing for days. You know the entire speech by heart.”
I looked at my daughter a moment as I took in a slow, fortifying breath. Then I managed a smile, saying, “You’re right, dear.”
A staffer entered the room just then. “Mrs. Davies? It’s time for your speech.”
I rose from the chair and left my dressing room, butterflies dancing in my belly as Eleanor and Adelaide remained at my side all the way down the long hallway. Bright bulbs poured white-hot light on the stage. I heard my name, but I barely heard the words of introduction or the rumble of polite applause as I climbed to the podium and looked out over a field of attentive faces. The crackle of flash powder, cameras clicking as journalists scratched away with their pencils. I could no longer see Adelaide or Eleanor. Mother, you’ve been practicing for days. You know the entire speech by heart. She was right. I did. And the words came to me then. I opened my mouth, reminding myself to speak into the microphone, to speak clearly and slowly, even though my stomach felt like it might flip itself. I began: “To none in this world is the outcome of this war more vital than to women.”
I saw my daughters just then, seated in the front row, their pale, beautiful eyes fixed squarely on me, their mother. Their faces proud and encouraging.
I went on: “If the Nazi totalitarian system should dominate our world, the status of women would be horrible to contemplate.”
Ladies seated throughout the audience nodded, agreeing. I was speaking for them. And for Deenie, Adelaide, and Eleanor. For myself. For all the women who would be affected by what I had seen on the border of Germany and through the waters of the Nazi-patrolled Atlantic. “Those of us who believe in freedom, who believe in opportunity, who believe in the innate goodness of the human race, we will not allow the conditions that would crush our rights, that would bring an end to self-respect and liberty for all, and especially for women.”
At the end of my remarks, the audience leapt to its feet, roaring in approval. I could see my daughters where they stood in the front, beaming. The flash of more cameras, and I thanked the audience. I had dreaded making that speech, but now that it was over, I was certain that it had been the right thing to do, if for no other reason than to show my daughters that it was right to speak for what they believed in. That was what I had done: Marjorie Merriweather Post was a mother who wanted to make the world better for her children. A wife who championed the cause of women. I hoped my words would matter.
Just months later, Hitler did the unthinkable and turned on his Russian allies. Though stunned, Joe and I could not help but feel immense relief, even though we knew it spelled terrible things for the Russian people in the short term. In the long term, it would ultimately be good for the entire world. “Hitler, in his egotistical mania, has pushed the Russian bear right into the Allied camp,” Joe noted as we stared, breathless, at the news reports. And that meant that my husband was suddenly the undisputed expert on our new military ally. His work at the State Department was both exciting and endless.
And yet, as busy as we already were, our lives turned upside down yet again at the end of that year. It happened just before Christmas, the world growing even more frightening and unknowable with the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. Joe and I huddled beside the radio as our president shared the grim news: thousands of innocent and unsuspecting Americans dead, our Pacific base turned into a wasteland of flames, so much blood and treasure lost in mere hours. And no matter how hard Joe and I had worked for friendship and peace, America was going to war.
Chapter 43
Washington, D.C.
January 1942