in our charges, ‘while under the influence of intoxicants, made improper advances’ upon you ‘and did commit bodily harm’ to you.”
“It was an ugly experience.”
“The Senate and public will judge fairly the degree of the President’s degradation of his office, Miss Watson. I know their decision will never free your mind of the nightmare visited upon you, but you will know justice has been served. Let us, then, quickly and briefly recapitulate the events of that night. It was the evening of the dinner you had arranged on his behalf for the Joint Chiefs of Staff. There was a movie shown after dinner which you did not attend. Why did you not attend?”
“As we were leaving for the movie, the President drew me aside and whispered to me. He had a private conversation with me.”
“Yes, General Fortney has attested to that. What was the nature of the conversation?”
“The President said he wanted me to get out files on several of T. C.’s dinners given for the legislators, and review them with me, because he thought it was time to start buttering them up. He said he wanted to go over our future social program that very evening. He asked me to get the material and meet him in an hour in the Lincoln Bedroom. I had misgivings, because I could smell alcohol on his breath, but I had no choice. So I was there when he came.”
“What transpired next, Miss Watson? I know this is painful to you, and the evidence has already been introduced, but I desire that the Senate hear it from your own lips.”
“He came in-”
“President Dilman?”
“Yes, the President. He came in, and mumbled something about the movie, and brought out drinks, and kept insisting I have a drink of whiskey with him. I didn’t want to, but he forced one on me. He must have had three in the next fifteen or twenty minutes. I was sitting in a chair next to the bed, and he was sitting on the bed. He was babbling on about his life, what it was like to be Negro, how he was going to prove a Negro and other Negroes he’d bring into the Cabinet could run the government better than white politicians-then suddenly he asked to know if I had anything against him because of his color. I said no. There was more of this, his wanting to know how I felt toward him, then he began saying how he felt toward me, that I reminded him of his wife who was practically as white as I am. Then, suddenly, he asked me to bring him the papers I had in my hand, bring them to where he was sitting on the bed. So I did.”
“And then, Miss Watson?”
“He took the papers, threw them aside, and grabbed hold of me. He tried to kiss me. I refused, and that enraged him. He wouldn’t let go of me, and I tried to get free. He tore my dress, and then he became brutal, and I slapped him, and he pushed me down on the bed. Then he was after me again, and his hands, he bruised and scratched me-you have the photographs the doctor took that night-and finally I said I’d scream if he wouldn’t let go, and pulled away and stumbled to the door, unlocked it, and escaped. I never went back to the White House again.”
“What happened immediately afterward, Miss Watson?”
“I-I told some people high up in government-I was afraid to tell my father-I didn’t want him to do something terrible-and my friends then acted, decided to take action, against the President, and they told my father, and he agreed, and that was all.”
“You’ve been under the strict care of your family physician ever since?”
“I was in a state of shock. I have been confined to our house. The doctor comes by daily.”
“Miss Watson, you have performed a service to your country. Thank you for your soul-rending testimony.”
Zeke Miller bowed his head, and then turned away. Keeping his head low, shaking it sorrowfully, he returned to his table.
There was a buzzing through the Senate Chamber, much twisting, turning, consultation, as Sally Watson rose from her chair to leave.
Chief Justice Johnstone’s stentorian voice halted her. “The witness will remain in her place for the cross- examination by the President’s managers.”
Surprised, Sally Watson sat down.
The Chief Justice called out, “The senators will please be attentive. Gentlemen of counsel for the President, if you desire to cross-examine, you will proceed.”
Nat Abrahams had taken up a manila folder of documents and come out of his seat. “Mr. Chief Justice, by your leave, the defense does have a number of inquiries to make of the witness.”
Abrahams confronted Sally Watson. He had in his mind Dilman’s story of the night in question. He had, in his folder, the thorough research accomplished by Priest and Hart. Abrahams knew that he would not be able to shake her from her story, for as one psychiatrist had pointed out to him, by now she believed it to be true, as was often the case with latent paranoid schizophrenics. If he attacked her ego, her id would make the response. His task was formidable. If he overplayed, and she became hysterical, she might gain sympathy for herself while building more resentment toward President Dilman. Abrahams knew that he would have to feel his way, push where there was give, withdraw where there was resistance, and stop hastily if she got out of hand.
“Miss Watson,” he said, his tone chatty rather than severe, “like the honorable manager who preceded me, I appreciate what an ordeal this appearance must be for a young lady such as yourself. I will do my part in making it as endurable, and brief, as possible.”
Sally Watson eyed Abrahams suspiciously. “Thank you.”
“Be tolerant of me if I cover some of the same ground covered by the learned House manager. Now let me see, according to my notes, you stated that you volunteered, applied, to the President for the position of his social secretary, because-what was it now? Oh, yes-because you wished to serve your country. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very laudable. When you applied in person-I believe you saw President Dilman in the Oval Office of the White House-did he hire you immediately? Or do I understand correctly that he had some doubts about your qualifications until you said that there was a personage of importance in the government who would give you the strongest of recommendations? Is that true?”
“Yes-yes, it is.”
“Who was the person in government who recommended you?”
“The Secretary of State.”
“Secretary of State Arthur Eaton? I see. He recommended you for the position? He knew you personally and said you would be perfect for it?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“As a result of Secretary Eaton’s favorable recommendation, you were hired as White House social secretary?”
“Well, there were also my other qualifications.”
“Of course, Miss Watson, your other qualifications. Let me see.” Abrahams opened his folder and examined the photocopies of documents already entered as exhibits in the trial. “Miss Watson, you spoke of attending Radcliffe. The record shows you attended the college for ten months, and then you were dropped, no cause for the school’s action being given. Can you enlighten us?”
“I tested very well, or I wouldn’t have been there, but my grades slipped. I was impatient with school. The girls were too immature. My mind was on a career. I wanted to go out and have a career. So I moved to New York.”
“Yes, I see. You had one job there. With the advertising agency, which is headed by Senator Hoyt Watson’s former law partner. You received a sizable salary for a young lady who had no advertising experience. Yes, an excellent job, I must say. I am surprised it lasted only six months. Why was that, Miss Watson?”
“There was too much drinking and fooling around. I couldn’t stand it. Besides, I wanted to take voice lessons. I was told I could sing unusually well, and that I might have a future in that field.”
“Yes, there is some evidence you possessed a devotion to popular music. I see here that you were married to a young man connected with a Greenwich Village orchestra. Further documentation makes it clear that the marriage was annulled two weeks later. The young man with whom you eloped, evidently he was deported to his native Puerto Rico.”
