Free The Illusion of Victory by Thomas Fleming

fell silent and the weary Clark called for a vote.
    The voices reciting yes and no echoed dully in the empty galleries and drifted eerily into the darkness around the skylight. The count went swiftly until the clerk of the house reached the name Rankin. There was a strained silence—and the clerk went on to other names. Uncle Joe Cannon hobbled from his seat to where Representative Jeannette Rankin of Montana sat virtually paralyzed. As the first woman elected to Congress, she had received a bouquet of flowers and an ovation when the House convened on April 2. Now, confronting her first vote, she was in torment.
    Cannon leaned over her and said,“Little woman, you cannot afford not to vote. You represent the womanhood of the country. I shall not advise you how to vote but you should vote, one way or another, as your conscience dictates.”
    On the second call, when the clerk reached her name, Rankin was again speechless. Finally, she struggled to her feet and said,“I want to stand by my country, but I cannot vote for war. I vote no.”
    She sank into her seat and began to sob. The roll call continued until the clerk reached the last name and reported the tally to the speaker. The House of Representatives had voted for war, 373 to 50. Over half the nays were from progressive Republicans in the West, political blood brothers of Robert La Follette and George Norris. The Northeast produced only one negative vote—Meyer London, the socialist member from New York City. Four of the Democratic no votes came from Mississippi, somewhat dulling the edge of John Sharp Williams’s rhetoric. Nine of Wisconsin’s eleven representatives supported La Follette. 87
    Speaker Clark signed the war resolution on the spot, but Vice President Marshall, whose signature was also needed as president of the Senate, had long since gone to bed. He signed it the next day, a little after 12 noon. The resolution was immediately rushed to the White House, where the president was having lunch with his wife and his cousin Helen Woodrow Bones. They put down their knives and forks and hurried to the chief usher’s desk in the lobby. There, Rudolph Forster, the White House’s executive clerk, was waiting for them with the document. Edith Galt Wilson handed the president a gold pen he had given her as a gift, and he signed the document without the slightest fanfare or ceremony.
    Forster dashed off to notify reporters. They raced to their telephones. A young naval officer ran out on the sidewalk in front of the White House. Looking like someone fighting off a swarm of insects, he waved his arms to send a semaphore message to an officer in the State, War and Navy Building. Within minutes, wireless operators were flashing the news to navy ships and shore stations around the world. It was 1:18 P.M. on April 6, 1917—which happened to be Good Friday. The United States of America was at war with Germany. 88

Chapter 9
PEACE THAT SURPASSES UNDERSTANDING
    For Woodrow Wilson, sour notes began to appear in the peace process soon after people stopped dancing in the streets. The president assumed that the Allied leaders would welcome his announcement that he was coming to Europe for the peace conference. Instead, they advised Colonel House that they would be much happier if he stayed home. Georges Clemenceau, in his blunt way, told House that Wilson’s presence “seems to be neither desirable nor possible.” The Allied leaders cooked up an argument that was legalistic and ultimately silly. As president of the United States, Wilson was a head of state, on a par with kings and emperors. If one head of state came to the conference, they would also have to invite the kings of England, Italy, Greece, and perhaps Montenegro, as well as President Poincaré of France, whom Clemenceau despised. 1
    Behind this political hot air was a deep suspicion and not a little dislike of Wilson’s overbearing political style. To the president’s dismay, this negative attitude coalesced