Boardwalk Empire (3)
Around February 1920—
[WILSON QUITS!]
[WILSON RESIGNS!]
[The puppet without a master leaves the White House!]
Woodrow Wilson had finally recovered slightly from his paralysis, and not long after, he announced his resignation.
While he had been bedridden, public sentiment had already deteriorated beyond repair. What remained of him was no longer a dignified legacy, but the reputation of a senile old man who had sold the United States to his second wife, sixteen years his junior.
"The First Lady and the staff merely followed my instructions, yet they are being subjected to excessive personal attacks. Please direct the blame toward me—"
"Don't give me that nonsense!"
"Then why do you think we elected a vice president?!"
"Since when does the First Lady outrank the vice president?! Enough already!"
Wilson desperately tried to shift the blame onto others, but the more he did, the colder the public response became.
"Citizens of the United States, although I step down bearing an unforgivable fault, I urge you to support the Treaty of Versailles for the dignity of our nation and the ethics of Christianity.
This is the first step toward advancing from an age of barbarism into civilization, and for the United States to be absent from this treaty would be a great disgrace."
"Shut up! What 'advance toward civilization' are you talking about?!"
"You're trying to drag us into another European war again?!"
And just like that—he was finished.
At that level of condemnation, he would never return. He had become, in the eyes of the people, a national traitor.
As the cold February air made visible puffs of breath—
My father-in-law, Congressman Curtis, came to visit our house.
"We seem to be meeting quite often these days, son-in-law."
"Haha. Please, come in."
"Where is my adorable grandson?"
"Grandpa!! Grandpa!!!"
"Oh my, come here. Let your grandfather hold you."
After briefly fussing over Henry—like kneading a soft rice cake—my father-in-law glanced at me.
"You've been stirring things up like a storm, so we haven't had the chance to talk properly."
"Haha…"
"You show up out of nowhere and throw a lit stick of dynamite into my hands—what was I supposed to do with that? The results turned out well, so it's fine, but I thought my heart would stop."
Setting Henry down, he patted my shoulder and said,
"You returned alive from Europe and even brought honor to the United States. As a representative citizen of this nation, let me say again—thank you."
"It's nothing. I simply did what I had to do."
"Indeed."
With a broad smile still on his face, he suddenly pulled me into a tight embrace.
"But do you think a father with a daughter would forgive you?"
"S-save me."
"I warned you, and yet you still made my daughter cry. Let's see whether my shotgun forgives this damned son-in-law."
"D-didn't you just thank me?"
"That was Congressman Curtis speaking. Charles here feels a bit differently."
Finally releasing me, he dusted off my shoulder again.
"Got a bit of dirt on you. Take better care of yourself."
"Yes, sir. Yes, yes. Let's head to the study."
If I wanted to survive today, I'd better choose my words carefully.
***
"The dynamite you handed me proved extremely useful."
"What happened to the Democratic Party?"
"It's finished. They're currently in a heated battle over who's to blame, but at the very least, the Wilson faction is done for. They'll sacrifice them to find a way to survive—that's the nature of politics."
My father-in-law lit a cigar, and I pulled out a cigarette of my own.
"We're guaranteed to win this presidential election."
"Indeed."
"And so, naturally, there's a fierce struggle over who will become the party's candidate."
"Do you have any intention of running?"
"Me? Not yet."
Congressman Curtis explained his position with striking clarity.
"Anyone who wants to run for president needs a power base."
"That's true."
"I have good relations with many people in politics and plenty of friends, but I'm not the head of any faction. Me, run for president? Do I have some monumental achievement? Or overwhelming name recognition? A presidential election isn't a joke."
"Then what are you aiming for in this election?"
"A kingmaker. I'll sell my political influence to the one who enters the White House."
Having this kind of conversation in a private home in Washington, D.C.—it was absurd in its own way.
"When I first met you, I thought you were born to be a soldier. But I was wrong. You should be in politics."
"How would a 'yellow monkey' ever make it into Congress?"
"You're a war hero. If you start building your base now and aim for a California House seat, it's not impossible."
"It's still too early. I need more time."
He toyed with his glass for a moment before changing the subject.
"Fine. Then let me ask you something else. In this election—whose side should I take?"
"You've navigated every twist and turn in that den of devils called Washington. Do you really need my opinion?"
"I know Congress well, but you have insight. I'd like to make use of that insight."
This is bad.
I don't have any 'insight'—I've just been using half-baked future knowledge.
Well… I do have some future knowledge.
A few years from now, a man named Hoover will become president, then the Great Depression will hit, and he'll completely botch things. He'll probably get cursed out even worse than Wilson.
After that, FDR—Franklin Roosevelt—will be elected and go on to lead through World War II, remaining president for years. That's about the extent of what I remember, and none of it is immediately useful right now.
But if I try to dodge the question here, the best I'll get is being told to stop pretending to be modest. I should at least act like I'm considering it.
"Then perhaps you could first tell me the current situation."
"Very well. The most likely candidate right now is Leonard Wood."
Leonard Wood.
A former Army Chief of Staff who inherited the line of former President Theodore Roosevelt, he was a hardline interventionist who argued that the United States should actively involve itself across the world. With Roosevelt dead, he had emerged as the icon of the hawkish faction.
After World War I broke out, this man had loudly insisted that America should prepare for war as well, organizing various military training camps.
Yeah… that "30-day camp" that shoved me and Marshall straight into hell? That was Wood's doing too. Just thinking about it still makes my teeth grind.
Congressman Curtis listed several leading primary candidates—Wood, Lowden, Johnson—but unfortunately, I didn't recognize a single name.
I'm sorry, Father-in-law. I'm not an American history major. I want a piece of the action too, but this time I genuinely don't know.
"And… hmm, there's Harding."
"Harding?"
For some reason, the name made me crave something sweet, like pudding. But at the same time, it sounded oddly familiar.
"Warren Gamaliel Harding. A senator who served as governor of Ohio. His strength is that he's well-liked and agreeable, but as I said, he lacks political magnetism."
Harding. Harding.
I've heard that name before.
A legendary figure who always shows up in rankings of the most incompetent presidents in American history—alongside Hoover and Bush.
I don't know exactly how incompetent someone has to be to be ranked alongside Hoover and Bush, but one thing is certain: if he's on that list, it means he did become president.
"Harding… Harding…"
"What is it? Don't tell me—oh, for heaven's sake—don't say Harding will win. That man has no chance."
My father-in-law shook his head firmly, but I couldn't answer right away. I had to think this through carefully.
Harding becomes president?
Then how do I frame this?
No—how do I even know if it's this election or the next?
After organizing my thoughts, I slowly spoke.
"Why do you think he has no chance?"
"He's got a handsome face, but no substance. He talks as if he carries some grand cause, but it's all hollow. A man with no backbone—he sways with whatever the person next to him says, like a balloon. Not someone worth your attention."
"…Isn't that exactly the kind of person you need right now?"
Too easy.
He fit perfectly into my image of the "worst kind of president."
"You said earlier that Wood is the most likely candidate, right?"
"I did."
"But he has many enemies?"
"A man who once left the party with Roosevelt is now running as the party's candidate? There are plenty of die-hard members who dislike him."
"And usually, in that case, wouldn't candidates promise to share power and join forces with another strong contender?"
"But Wood's policies differ quite a bit from those of the average Republican."
Then the conclusion was obvious.
"Then wouldn't it be more appealing… to seat a puppet president—someone who looks easy for anyone to control—rather than letting Wood take the presidency?"
"Madman."
Curtis let out a short, incredulous laugh and took a puff of his cigar.
Three seconds.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
"…Seriously?"
"Isn't it an attractive negotiating position? I've used figurehead bosses before—there's nothing more convenient."
I picked up the newspapers beside me—The Sun and The New York Times—and handed them to Curtis.
"What do you think the American people want right now?"
"You're asking me about public sentiment? That's a new one."
"It's the same reason I could bring down Wilson. The American people… are simply tired."
It's very simple.
In a nation full of contrarians, the government keeps pushing this and that—constantly stirring things up—and people are just fed up.
And it's not just talk. If you don't listen, they beat it into you.
At first, it was—"You're a German spy, aren't you?"
Now it's—"You're a communist, aren't you?"
They can talk all they want about grand ideals and morality—but in the end, all that came back were corpses.
And I knew that better than anyone—I had gone to Europe for those very ideals.
Now, people just want to forget it all—war, ideals, everything.
But Wood keeps talking about American interests and ideals, pushing for even more active involvement abroad. That's not exactly a vote-winner.
"So in the end, Wood will have difficulty securing the nomination on his own. And that trend will only become more solid over time."
"So that leaves the pretty-faced Harding?"
"If I can see this so clearly, do you think a man aiming for the presidency can't? He surely knows—but as Roosevelt's successor, he can't abandon interventionism. That man won't become president."
I said it firmly.
After all, I had never heard the phrase "President Wood" in my memory.
I only act on what I know for certain.
Wood is not presidential material.
Harding—I'm not entirely sure, but he does seem like someone who'll end up becoming president at least once.
At my short and straightforward presentation, my father-in-law looked stunned.
"Aren't you underestimating the American people a bit too much?"
"Underestimating them? The American people are, of course… well… not very educated. But even an ignorant country farmer can calculate profit and loss."
It's not that they don't realize Harding is hollow.
It's that someone like him—like one of those inflatable tube men in front of a gas station—doesn't look like he'll start trouble over war or morality. That's why they like him.
He won't openly say, "I'll just breathe and play poker in the White House for four years and leave," but everyone already knows—that's exactly the kind of man Harding is.
Curtis quickly stubbed out his cigar and put on his coat.
"You're leaving already?"
"Time is money. I need to secure my position before the others latch onto him."
"Shouldn't you at least review this? I'm just an ordinary man who knows nothing about politics."
"If I couldn't tell the difference between nonsense and something plausible at a glance, I wouldn't be in this position, son-in-law. I'll bring a toy for my grandson next time. I'll be going now."
Before I could even stand, he vanished like the wind.
Well… at least I didn't get shot. But in the end, I didn't hear anything about Dorothy's older brother. That's what I actually wanted to ask today.
If my prediction was right, and siding with Harding was the correct move, then Congressman Curtis would be able to extract quite a lot in return.
Of course, getting entangled with the "worst president" isn't exactly ideal… but if you can't handle that, you've got no business being a politician. I trust my father-in-law's experience.
That said, if I tap into political power, what can I extract for myself?
***
January 16, 1920.
The United States of America—a nation devoted to God—finally expelled alcohol, the product of Satan, forever from this land through the 18th Amendment.
Most people raised their glasses in celebration that day.
"Now our children will grow up in a world without alcohol!"
"There will be no more drunks or criminals. We did it!"
"Those who oppose Prohibition are obvious—servants of Satan. We must drive them out to purify this country."
But human nature is such that the moment something is forbidden, it becomes even more tempting.
"If we can just cross the Canadian border, we could mark it up twenty times."
"I hear our friends in Mexico are already moving. Let's go big on this."
The United States had roughly 30,000 kilometers of borders and coastline.
And the number of personnel assigned to monitor all of it? Just 1,520.
Avoiding these men—each earning $1,200 a year—and smuggling alcohol was absurdly easy.
And so—
The era of gangs and the mafia had begun.
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