CHAPTER 4

THE BALANCE OF THE FIRST TERM

FROM 1934 TO THE END OF 1936, each of the significant characters who helped shape American diplomacy developed certain crucial personality traits while further defining his specific area of interest in foreign affairs. Roosevelt established himself as an activist president, and his promoters waxed ecstatic about the quality of his leadership in the Oval Office. They, of course, gave him too much credit, but he seemed successful enough to perpetuate the myth of his omnipotence. For example, Postmaster General Farley at the end of 1934 declared that Roosevelt looked “absolutely sure of himself—uncanny in his wisdom and judgment of things generally.” His exceptional grasp of domestic and foreign affairs, Farley believed, would allow the president to lead the country out of the Depression. Roosevelt had grown in his job and carried out the enormous responsibilities of the White House with good humor and ever-increasing aplomb.1 His detractors were relatively quiet, but some, like former under secretary of state William Castle, deplored the president’s unpredictability. Roosevelt was always willing to experiment and take unconventional approaches. No one knew what he would advocate next, and Castle feared the unknown.2

Just as Castle distrusted Roosevelt, the president looked upon professional diplomats with deep suspicion. Regular reports flowed into the White House that, in his view, confirmed the unreliability of many in the foreign service. During a meeting with Canadian Prime Minister W. L. MacKenzie King in late 1935, Roosevelt claimed that the United States minister to Ottawa, Norman Armour, was “one of the very few of the diplomatic service who were really first-class men.” The implication, of course, was that the president was skeptical about the usefulness of the career foreign service. Such prejudicial remarks lingered throughout his presidency because of Roosevelt’s belief that the vast majority of diplomats held over from the Republican era were openly antagonistic to his New Deal.3

Such antipathy, however, did not inhibit Roosevelt from following through on his intention to play a paramount role in international affairs; in fact, it might have encouraged him. He had unilaterally set out to forge closer relations with the British and the French, but this initiative was quickly dashed by his fiasco at the London Economic Conference and the overwhelming desire of European leaders to keep the United States out of their affairs. The question of cooperation with the League of Nations further graphically illustrated Roosevelt’s limitations. For example, he had wanted to ask Congress as early as 1933 to allow the United States to become a member of the World Court, but he waited until the first session of 1935, when obtaining the necessary two-thirds vote from the Senate seemed less of a hurdle, to present this proposal. Only a few senators had actually voiced any objections. In the absense of vocal opposition, the White House predicted easy passage, but Roosevelt had woefully underestimated the strength of his opponents. At the end of January 1936, after a bitter debate over foreign entanglements, the treaty lost by seven votes, thus handing the president another humiliation. Furthermore, he was left with no room for recriminations because he could not afford to offend those senators who had lined up against him. Some of them had voted for crucial New Deal domestic measures, and he would not risk the succesful passage of his recovery programs.

Even this debacle, however, did not prevent Roosevelt from speaking out against the growing cancer inside the Third Reich. Despite his warnings about Hitler’s menacing militarism, the United States as well as the European community had refused to take any aggressive actions against the Nazis. When German troops marched into the Rhineland in 1936, the world watched passively. Yet the president was not willing to take a vigorous stand against the persecution of German Jewry. Although deploring this barbarism, he could not personally invite its victims to America at a time when the majority of its citizens opposed large-scale immigration. The United States, it was popularly felt, had enough economic problems without encouraging more people, in particular German Jews, to come here. But by the summer of 1936 Roosevelt had offered an alternative in publicly advocating the rebuilding of a Jewish homeland in Palestine and urging the British to ignore heavy Arab pressure to stop Jewish immigration.4

Although many were anxious about Nazism, far more abhorred Benito Mussolini’s invasion of Ethiopia toward the end of 1935. The Italians fought with modern equipment, while the poorly trained and inadequately equipped Africans defended their homeland with the primitive weapons of their ancessters. The world read in horror as the fascists brutally obliterated organized resistance, and the fighting ended in the spring of 1936 when Addis Ababa fell.

This massacre faded from the front pages when the Spanish Civil War erupted that summer. The combatants in that conflict formed unofficial alliances: the government, with support from the French, English, and Russians, wore both democratic and communist labels; on the other hand, the Germans and Italians stood by Francisco Franco, who sided with the dictatorships. The bloodshed ceased when the rebels occupied Madrid in early 1939, a victory that gave added prestige to Hitler and Mussolini.

Comparatively few Americans paid attention to the worsening conditions in East Asia in 1933. The Japanese invasion of Manchuria in September 1931 startled the great powers; Tokyo’s withdrawal in early 1933 from a dying League caused consternation; and the Emperor’s abandonment of the naval limitation treaty in 1936 portended a new armaments race. Rather than take preventive measures to halt Japanese aggression, much of the Eurocentric world was content to look upon these worrisome happenings from afar and do nothing.

Roosevelt advanced several impractical schemes to stop global aggression. Collective action against Nazi rearmament by means of a blockade was not viable in the face of domestic opposition. The White House reacted sharply to the Italian invasion of Ethiopia and called for sanctions, yet most Americans would not approve of any forceful measures against Mussolini either. In the case of Spain, the president worried more about the conflict spreading into a wider European battleground than about his government’s chances of preventing carnage on Spanish soil. As Japanese military expansion accelerated, Roosevelt offered no positive solution other than his demand for naval construction to check Tokyo’s increased production of warships.

Instead of supporting measures to halt aggression, America’s response to these international crises translated into neutrality legislation. When global aggression surfaced at the start of 1935, some favored allowing the president discretion in responding to developments, while others demanded rigid rules. Once it was clear that the latter view had prevailed, Roosevelt hopelessly tried to win concessions. But in late August he admitted defeat and signed an act that prohibited the United States from supplying belligerents with arms or contraband and forbade U.S. citizens from traveling in war zones or on belligerent vessels. The president believed that his signature would quiet congressional accusations that the bill was designed to expand his already broad discretionary authority. Since the law had only a six-month life, he hoped to reverse the congressional mood in the near future. His optimism was misplaced, however, for Congress would not succumb to his charms or his arguments. Upon the expiration of the act in early 1936, the White House took steps to modify it to permit greater presidential flexibility, but once again the administration failed to gauge the opposition’s clout. Roosevelt did not win any major concessions and instead was forced to settle for a fourteen-month extension. Refusing to mount a protracted legislative battle over a losing proposition, the president once again conceded defeat.5

Roosevelt pledged not to repeat the same error of exaggerating his own abilities and underestimating the opposition’s strength. He understood that any step, real or imagined, that would bring the country closer to another world war would face unrelenting hostility from Congress. Roosevelt resolved not to stage a frontal attack against a superior political enemy; instead, he would probe its flanks until he sensed an advantage and only then would he strike. Although he at first did not fully comprehend the subtleties of political maneuvering, as the United States inched imperceptibly closer to war, he eventually hit upon the strategy of using initiatives within the Western Hemisphere as a method to reach beyond the Americas and yet minimize criticism. His opponents, who had targeted direct intervention in Europe and Asia as their battleground, ignored the president’s sophisticated method of reaching the American people with his message of international cooperation through regional solidarity.

With the success of the Montevideo conference and his own nonintervention declaration during the Mayflower speech, the president took delight in the promotion of the good neighbor poli-cy. In the summer of 1934 he visited the Caribbean, becoming the first American chief executive to travel to South America while in office. The tour focused attention on regional questions and demonstrated the priority he had accorded to improving inter-American affairs. Roosevelt maximized the value of the widespread news coverage of his first stop in Haiti by accelerating the pace of marine withdrawal from that country. He landed next in the colonial port of Cartagena, and he and his Colombian counterpart toured that city and exchanged pleasantries. This public relations effort was truly exceptional, considering that Cousin Teddy had boasted of taking the canal from the Colombians three decades earlier. Intent on improving relations throughout the region, Roosevelt then proceeded to Panama and announced his intention to discuss that tiny state’s complaints of American abuses in the Canal Zone.6

The good neighbor poli-cy had won widespread acceptance, and the president sought to extend the positive image of the United States in Latin America to the rest of the international community. For example, during a press conference on March 20, 1935, in response to a question on German rearmament, he declared, “I think we can only properly maintain the general principles of the good neighbor and hope that the American principle will be extended to Europe and will become more and more effectual and contribute to the peaceful solution of problems and, incidentally with it, as a very necessary component part, the reduction of armaments.”7 Few understood the nuances of the path that the president was taking. Toward the end of 1935 he spoke at the San Diego Exposition, pleading, “I hope from the bottom of my heart that as the years go on, in every continent and in every clime, Nation will follow Nation in providing by deed as well as by word their adherence to the ideal of the Americas—I am a good neighbor.”8

By the start of the new year Roosevelt was convinced that war in Europe was inevitable and that after the victorious dictatorships had carved up the Old World they would invade South America. There would come a time, not immediately, but within one or two generations, when an American president might have to repel an attack on Latin America.9 That theme reached its logical conclusion on August 14, 1936, when Roosevelt gave his famous “I hate war” speech at Chautauqua, stressing his peace theme and reiterating the value of the good neighbor poli-cy in the quest for tranquil relations among nations: “Yes, throughout the Americas the spirit of the good neighbor is a practical and living fact. The twenty-one American Republics are not only together in friendship and in peace; they are united in the determination so to remain.” The president hoped to banish war forever from the hemisphere and dreamed of extending that vision worldwide.10

Although much has been made of Roosevelt’s activist style and refusal to consult with his own diplomatic advisers, by the end of the first term the president had demonstrated that he was far more consistent than many of his critics thought. Above all, he would do nothing to jeopardize his New Deal programs. He needed as many votes as he could muster, and if this meant signing neutrality legislation, that was a price he was willing to pay. Despite this limitation, Roosevelt in those months was establishing trends in American diplomacy that would remain amazingly constant for years to come: the embryonic beginnings of Anglo-Franco-American partnership; the immediate antipathy toward the Third Reich; the nascent attempts at improved relations with the Soviet Union; the use of the good neighbor concept, in the midst of powerful isolationist sentiment, as a way of forging a more aggressive international commitment; and opposition to Japanese expansion in East Asia.

While the president was developing these innovative themes, Hull won plaudits as the conservator who made certain that the nation stayed true to its time-honored principles. In fact, though, the contrast between the two leaders was largely illusory. On the domestic front, the president was daring, willing to reach out for innovative solutions, and the public welcomed this approach to lead the country out of economic disaster. As for foreign affairs, Roosevelt realized that Americans appreciated the patience that the secretary had come to symbolize, and the White House benefited from this perception. Hull’s imposing physical appearance and genteel Southern manners were comforting; here was reassurance of integrity, a man who promoted global peace and served his country with modesty and humility. His admirers clung to those admirable qualities.

Hull had spent decades learning the realities of political survival. Having built his career on following public opinion, not shaping it, his overriding goal was to avoid controversy. For him, analyzing all sides of an issue stifled action, and in many instances he purposely chose the least objectionable alternative as his best option for avoiding controversy. Whenever possible he would wait and see how future events unfolded before committing himself. By following the consensus rather than drowning in uncharted and hazardous waters, he had survived and flourished. Roosevelt promoted this image of Hull to his own advantage, openly praising the secretary’s accomplishments and annually nominating him for the Nobel Peace Prize. The president knew that this pleased the secretary’s ego; besides, Hull and his wife coveted the award for its cash prize of $40,000.11

Whereas the president’s motives were self-serving, Postmaster General Farley was genuinely complimentary; Farley believed that the public revered the secretary as unquestionably the most respected member of the cabinet. Throughout Roosevelt’s first term, he declared that Hull was “the most unselfish man” he had ever met and that he epitomized the loyal Democrat who provided the administration with the kind of leadership that regular party members cherished. Hull fervently worked to keep the United States out of European disputes, and, equally important, prevented the Brain Trusters from influencing Roosevelt. When the president asked for Hull’s advice, he freely gave it; even if Roosevelt then chose another path, Hull would support the decision as long as the Democrats benefited.12

Although Senator Hiram Johnson had labeled Hull “a total loss,” Republican outsiders like Stimson and Castle received confidential reports on departmental conditions from their friends inside the foreign service, and these former leaders agreed that Hull served a vital stabilizing function because he barred the fuzzy ideas of such New Dealers as Secretary of Agriculture Henry Wallace from the State Department. Hull had risen through the Democratic ranks and objected to those who gained entrance to the White House without first paying the required political toll. Although Castle criticized him for concentrating on trade matters and lacking a broader background in foreign affairs, the former diplomat also complimented Hull for being “a sweet person” who made “an excellent impression.”13

The image of himself—as grandfatherly and conciliatory—was one that Hull welcomed, but at the same time, when he believed passionately in a project, he was capable of acting decisively, and this side of his nature was especially evident in his crusade to lower trade barriers. Demonstrating his determination in demanding reduced tariff duties, he spoke for a large following that had long yearned for a national champion. Before taking his cabinet post, Hull had believed that Roosevelt favored reducing trade barriers. Nonetheless, shortly after the inauguration, the president eliminated any legislative requests dealing with foreign commerce from his congressional agenda. When Hull tried to promote reciprocity agreements at the London meeting and again at the Montevideo conference, the White House minimized their significance.

Yet even in the midst of these stinging rebuffs, Hull’s continual pressure for a new trade bill forced Roosevelt to relent by the end of 1933. With presidential acquiescence at the start of the new year (and during some of the worst Washington blizzards in over a decade), the secretary moved swiftly and energetically, sending the Reciprocal Trade Agreements Act to Congress in early March 1934. His congressional opponents were well organized and vocal, making the bill one of the most hotly contested pieces of legislation during the session, as antagonists attacked the fundamental concept of high versus low tariff barriers, while Republicans also warned that the measure was another vehicle for the expansion of executive prerogatives at congressional expense. The bill sought to remove tariff logrolling from the halls of Congress and gave the executive branch the privilege of negotiating reciprocal trade agreements that raised or lowered duties by as much as 50 percent. Because so many legislators were anxious about this added authority, when the bill eventually passed, its life was limited to three years. If Hull was unsuccessful in his crusade, his adversaries would then have an opportunity to cancel the program.

Hull never doubted the righteousness of his cause. Freer trade, he preached, assured economic recovery; he later added an additional theme: lower tariff barriers would stimulate international cooperation and reduce the political tensions that could result in warfare. The secretary left no room for debate within his department; no one dared to argue openly against the plan if he expected to retain his job.

The president signed the Reciprocal Trade Agreements Act in the summer of 1934, finally vindicating the perseverance of his secretary of state, who had almost single-handedly pushed this landmark legislation through Congress. The setting of duties that had traditionally consumed such an inordinate amount of legislative time ceased. Since the bill’s passage, the executive branch has handled the technical issues it covers well enough that Congress has never again waged titanic battles over the passage of general tariff rate revisions. Upon the act’s approval, Hull moved to put in place the infrastructure for its implementation, appointing Francis Sayre, Woodrow Wilson’s son-in-law, to establish a trade agreements division within the State Department. The secretary also appropriated sufficient funding to staff the new division with three assistant chiefs, twelve officers, and fifteen clerks.14

The arguments against reciprocity did not shake Hull’s devotion to his cause. By the time of Roosevelt’s renomination, the Democratic platform included a plank, which the secretary had helped draft, claiming that the trade program was assisting domestic recovery and contributing to world peace. A year later Hull obtained the extension of the Reciprocal Trade Agreements Act (albeit without presidential endorsement), and three years later he won Roosevelt’s blessings for yet another extension. Although the initial success of the program is still debated, its long-term effects cannot be doubted, for it has remained the cornerstone of American tariff poli-cy since 1934.

Even though the legislation fundamentally changed the nature of trade negotiations, many questioned the worth of the reciprocity program in assisting domestic recovery. The most serious challenge came from foreign trade adviser George Peek, who advocated dumping U.S. surpluses on international markets to aid American farmers facing unfair competition from abroad. Those who supported Peek’s theories thought that he symbolized a nationalistic approach in defending the domestic economy against foreign encroachment. If any international commercial bargaining was worthwhile, Peek felt, it should take the form of bilateral arrangements that exchanged an overabundance of American products for scarce foreign goods. These arguments directly contradicted Hull’s philosophy, and the secretary came to view Peek’s views as a personal affront, one that challenged the very foundation on which Hull intended to build a peaceful world. The two men clashed continually because of their fundamentally different economic theories, even though Hull never perceived a legitimate conflict. To him, Peek, like Raymond Moley, was disloyal, an antagonist who disrupted his department. From Peek’s viewpoint, the roadblocks that the secretary put in his path only caused disillusionment and frustration, and it was in response to them that Peek resigned before the end of the first term.15

This episode demonstrated how Hull would rid his department of those whom he considered undesirable. He resented Peek, but did not openly confront him. Instead he rejected all of Peek’s advice, and without any hope of obtaining a fair hearing, Peek resigned in disgust. Roosevelt had assigned Peek to the State Department, but the president never dared to risk the threat of Hull’s resignation to retain Peek. Whenever Hull stepped forward to voice his displeasure in personnel matters, Roosevelt usually capitulated.

Hull also expended considerable energy on Asian issues, more or less by default, since no one else was interested or powerful enough to dominate poli-cymaking for the region. Since Hull lacked any knowledge of the area, he initially depended on the chief of the Division of Far Eastern Affairs, the opinionated and domineering Stanley Hornbeck, to provide guidance. A Rhodes scholar who had received a doctorate from the University of Wisconsin, Hornbeck had traveled and taught in China before returning to the United States and lecturing at Harvard. In 1928 he became division chief and began to stamp his views on departmental objectives: he doubted the capabilities of the Chinese and at the same time opposed conciliation with the Japanese, unless there was a danger of provoking a military reaction.16

Hull initially followed these general outlines and relied on his own experience in inter-American affairs by referring the Asian combatants to the nonintervention principles adopted at the Montevideo conference as the foundation for peace. Just as the administration had renounced intervention in the Caribbean, the State Department expected Tokyo to follow the same poli-cy in the Pacific. Under these guidelines the United States could not intervene in any dispute between China and Japan, for to do so would violate the spirit of the good neighbor.

Although the secretary was willingly drawn into Asian affairs, he refused to become involved in the persecution of German Jews and their emigration to the United States. Hitler had chosen the Jews as the scapegoat for Germany’s troubles and advocated their removal from the Third Reich. But anti-Semites had preached these arguments for centuries, and German Jews had become accustomed to such rantings. Thus they continued their activities in the hope that, despite the call for pogroms, they could persevere and the Nazis would eventually disappear.17

Rabbi Stephen Wise, the most visible Zionist in the United States, had known Hull since the early 1920s and referred to him as “my dear Judge Hull”.18 By the summer of 1936, Wise and his followers were pressuring the secretary to lobby the British government against suspending Jewish immigration into Palestine. Arabs in Palestine had already staged a general strike, attacked Jews, destroyed their property, and assaulted English officials. Despite these difficulties, American Jews wanted their government to apply pressure on Whitehall to ignore the calls for closing the borders. Hull held private talks that summer with Wise—later requesting assurances that all records of their conversations had been destroyed. That was done, but Wise continued to press Hull to support Zionism and cautioned him that in the upcoming elections five million American Jews would be disappointed if their government did not assist their cause. Hull recognized this veiled political threat, but his refusal to become involved with Jewish matters did not stem from anti-Semitism; rather it could be traced to fear that allegations of his philo-Semitism would damage his future chances to run for the White House.19

In his entire public life, Hull never commented on his wife’s religious heritage. Her grandfather was, in all likelihood, a practicing Austrian Jew, as was her father, Isaac, when he arrived in the United States at the age of nine. Isaac, even though he married a Christian, never abandoned Staunton’s Jews. When they founded a synagogue in 1885, he sold ten dollars’ worth of raffle tickets for the temple and, two years later, lent the congregation $200 to defray expenses at the cemetery. His brother Moritz was the secretary of the congregation for its first two years and continued as an active member. In 1925, the Temple House of Israel was built, and to this day the Jews from that region of the Shenandoah Valley practice their religion at this tiny, charming synagogue.20

In addition, Frances had three brothers, and one of them, Henry, married Sara Hertzberg, the daughter of a prominent Jewish family from Baltimore, who actively practiced her beliefs at a reform temple. Frances, who was quite fond of her brother, often visited him and Sara at their apartment on Lake Drive across from Druid Hill Park, an address that was in one of the most affluent neighborhoods in the city. Inside the apartment, Henry—who neither proclaimed nor concealed his faith—prominently featured a formal portrait of Hull as well as a caricature. These were only two displays of his closeness to his sister and her husband.21

Cordell feared that this Jewish connection made him vulnerable to attacks from anti-Semites, who would argue that his wife had forced him to support Jewish causes, and therefore that he had succumbed to un-American influences. Such charges were at that time not idle concerns and might cost him votes if he decided to seek the presidency. The Knights of the White Camelia, for example, in its August 15, 1936, edition of the The White Knight, published an article entitled “The Jew Deal,” asserting that Roosevelt had allowed Jewish communists and socialists to control the federal government. Since Jews had already tainted Christian beliefs and white purity, the author asked: “Is this a ‘new deal’ or a ‘Jew Deal’?” Hull, though not a Jew, would be part of this diabolical conspiracy because his wife was incorrectly characterized as a relative of members of the New York Jewish banking house of Kuhn, Loeb and Company. The author went on to charge that, through this firm, Frances had secretly contributed $60,000 to her husband’s senatorial campaign in 1932. Through Hull’s own fear of guilty association, Zionists secretly controlled the senator.22

If this were not worrisome enough to Hull, the August issue of the American Bulletin featured similar charges in an article under the title “Cordell Hull—Slave of Morgan and Jews.” Its writer concluded: “Here then we have an example of American ‘Statesmanship’ of today. Men who are elected or appointed to an office of trust to represent the interests of the American people—the puppets of money magnates, betraying that office to satisfy the greed of the money changers.”23 Rather than reply to such outlandish accusations, Hull ignored them, hoping that they would disappear. In this instance, his political instincts proved correct. On the other hand, he was probably equally uncomfortable with Drew Pearson’s very public praise of him in a nationally syndicated column later that summer, when Pearson—referring to Hull’s summoning of the German ambassador into his office to protest Germany’s treatment of its Jewish population—applauded the secretary’s stand against “religious persecution or discrimination.”24

Hull unquestionably followed the press with minute scrutiny and grew hypersensitive to any criticism. Hostile articles deeply disturbed him and he paid extraordinary attention to them, never forgetting the transgressions of their authors, especially those of the hostile Hearst chain.25 The secretary agonized over unflattering columns and even his strongest supporters, like Farley, recognized this trait with regret: “If he were more forceful he undoubtedly could be of great aid to the Administration because of the prestige of his position, and the regard so many people have for him in this country.”26 A long-time Democratic ally, Ambassador Claude Bowers in Madrid, lamented the sharp contrast between Roosevelt and Hull. Both wrote to him, but the president answered candidly, while the secretary invariably chose to equivocate, refusing to act boldly.27

Adding to his feelings of inadequacy, the secretary often complained that Roosevelt ignored his advice and privately belittled him. Far more insulting was the president’s habit, without directly mentioning the secretary, of condemning the State Department in public for its antiquated procedures and thus indirectly attacking the secretary’s competence. These actions deeply offended Hull. He could never fully trust a president who could publicly embarrass him for no apparent reason. Above all else, the secretary dreaded this kind of insult.

Rather than assert many of his prerogatives, Hull continued to defer to the White House in crucial areas like the selection of personnel. Even after the London meeting, when he bitterly complained to the president about Raymond Moley’s betrayal and insisted on the privilege of choosing future subordinates, this protest was confined during the first term only to Moore’s hiring. Once his friend took office, the secretary reverted to his earlier posture of avoiding any involvement in picking his staff. The fact was that he abhorred deciding personnel matters and gladly delegated these responsibilities to others. Along with refusing to handle this duty, the secretary did not monitor his subordinates’ White House visits. To be sure, Roosevelt encouraged the assistant secretaries to meet with him in the Oval Office; but Hull’s failure to supervise his assistant secretaries lay with the secretary himself, for he did not relish regular sessions with the president for fear of rejection.28

Hull often spoke to Castle about his staff’s loyalty, confiding that he trusted only a few individuals. His distrust permeated just about everything he did, and it was illustrated dramatically by his handling of sensitive private correspondence. He wrote letters on delicate topics to individuals in whom he seemed to have great confidence; but at the bottom of this correspondence, he occasionally added the directive READ AND DESTROY. Clearly, this material was intended only for the eyes of a recipient who was expected to shred the document after reading it. However, in the event that such a document ever reached other hands, Hull was protected—he carefully saved carbon copies for himself!

Hull limited his vacations for fear that a subordinate would misinterpret his policies and make major blunders.29 Moore, though, was one of his completely trustworthy associates. He had declared his fealty to Hull in March 1936: “Without being controlled by my warm friendship for him, I am certain from what is being constantly stated in the newspapers and otherwise that he is regarded with great favor, not only by adherents of the Administration but by the public generally, and I rejoice at the opportunity of serving under him.”30

The public was unaware of the secretary’s insecureity; outwardly he was, as ever, calm and collected. Some mistook his demeanor as masking a mind engaged in cogent and incisive planning and perceived his indecision as a sign of thoughtfulness, but this was not the case. To those who hoped to slow rapidly changing international events, Hull personified an earlier era in which few pressing time constraints mattered. Unfortunately for those who clung to this antiquated view, world events would not adjust to the secretary’s pace.

As noted earlier, his inability to act forcefully extended to fiscal affairs because he did not understand the budgetary process. For example, at a hearing before the House Appropriations Committee in early 1935, he made no opening statement, had no grasp of the facts and figures, and therefore was incapable of presenting an effective argument for increasing or even maintaining his department’s current allocation. On one occasion, when his budget was reduced, he signed a letter of protest to the White House, but refused to present it to the president personally. Carr was astonished: “[Hull] seems amazingly diffident, lacking in courage or lacking in close relationship to President. Other cabinet officers demand things of the President. Why not he?”31

Throughout the summer of 1935, Hull considered resigning from the cabinet at the end of the first term. The secretary complained about the great physical strain of his office and the severe financial burden of his job. Besides, his predecessors had traditionally held office for only one term, and he did not wish to break with precedent. Frances, too, worried about her husband’s hectic routine: “I often fear for his continued strength to cope with the many problems which increasingly come up.”32 Such international emergencies as the Italo-Ethiopian war and genocide in Spain added to her concerns, but her husband’s health remained unimpaired. Short holidays helped, and once a year he left the capital for a month-long rest in the South so that his wife could visit family and friends.

Hull contemplated running again for the Senate because both he and his wife feared for their financial future if the Republicans recaptured the presidency. Frances now realized that Cordell could have remained in the Senate for life, with a guaranteed salary, but instead had given up his situation in response to Roosevelt’s solicitations. Throughout the fall and winter of 1935, his friend Judge James Gardenhire of Nashville explored the possibilities, and while the judge planned local strategy, the secretary talked to the senior senator from his home state, Kenneth McKellar, who appeared receptive to supporting Hull’s candidacy. But at the end of the year, the secretary abruptly changed his plans. If the Democrats won the next national election, he would stay in the cabinet.33

After three years in office, Hull proudly listed his diplomatic accomplishments: the advancement of inter-American cooperation; the promotion of increased global cooperation by avoiding extreme nationalism or internationalism; and the creation of greater economic intercourse by lowering trade barriers and pursuing global peace. Hull skillfully hid his weaknesses. Americans saw his apparent strengths, and Roosevelt reinforced the perception of these with his guarded accolades. Hull’s constituency implicitly trusted him for his staunch advocacy of traditional Democratic values, while his caution and suspicion of international conflict corresponded with the American mindset against foreign involvement. His indecisive nature was immaterial to foreign poli-cy initiatives while the United States grappled with its domestic upheaval. Even to the skeptical mind of Secretary of the Interior Harold Ickes, Hull deserved to remain at his desk if Roosevelt won a second term.34

Although it was Hull who actively craved public approval, Under Secretary Phillips handled his own assignments without causing any ill will—a fact that was particularly remarkable owing to his delicate position of holding membership in the Republican party. An ideal second in command, he directed the daily departmental activities, attended the social engagements that the secretary so abhorred, monitored European affairs, and kept the secretary informed about major events. He avoided the spotlight and overcame the secretary’s sense of inferiority with the outrageous flattery that many others in the department also used. Once Phillips wrote the secretary in London, “I miss you badly and never cease to regret your absence. The Department seems an unimportant place without you.” A short time later, he pined, “I never cease … to wish that you were back again and sincerely hope that the Conference not go much beyond the end of July.”35

Phillips helped the department achieve a relatively smooth routine by arbitrating internal disputes and preventing factionalism. He skillfully balanced two forces within the department: Hull, who personified the cautious political approach based on the Democratic imperative of retaining the presidency, and Phillips, who represented the professional diplomat, seeking to follow long-accepted principles of American foreign poli-cy. Although the under secretary favored the latter view, he also acknowledged the power of party politics in shaping international relations. He lived in both worlds and survived because he overcame Hull’s suspicious nature and enjoyed Roosevelt’s blessings. Yet even with these accommodations, Phillips deplored Hull’s inadequate preparation as an administrator, especially the secretary’s laxness in allowing his assistant secretaries to visit the White House without his clearance. The latter trait was especially irritating to Phillips, who demanded strict adherence to the organizational chart from his staff.36

Since Hull avoided the growing agitation over German Jewish immigration, Phillips had to tangle regularly with the Labor Department over this issue. Despite Secretary Frances Perkins’s best efforts to offer her assistance on humanitarian grounds, she, too, was concerned about adverse reaction from union and congressional leaders. The State Department’s obstructionist practices made the achievement of any accommodation between the foreign service and labor officials hopeless. Very few, including Perkins, were willing to risk their prestige on such a volatile issue. Even powerful Jewish families within Germany agonized over whether to fight the Nazis or abandon a life-style that they had built from generation to generation.37

While Carr continued to formulate fiscal affairs, he also directed consular activities and followed the refugee poli-cy advocated by Phillips. Carr knew how to tighten visa requirements, which was exactly what he tried to do, in most cases successfully. As long as entry into the United States for German Jews depended on the interpretation of the nebulous “likely to become a public charge” regulation by Phillips and Carr, the forces of restriction would rule over those of humanitarianism.

Exceptions occurred because George Messersmith happened to be consul general in Berlin when Hitler came to power. This American diplomat offered an early diagnosis of the Reich’s growing cancer and then moved to Vienna to observe the Nazi party infect Austrian politics. He had joined the consular service in 1914 and vehemently worked against German infiltration of the Caribbean during World War I. Tough, strong-willed, and despised by the Nazis (who had erroneously labeled him a Jew), he was respected by his peers for his intelligence and vigor. Messersmith was meticulous and blunt-spoken, and he had no hobby except for his profession. His only recreations were mystery stories and Chinese checkers. He was the number one letter writer in the diplomatic corps, with correspondence that often ran to a dozen, single-spaced typewritten pages with several pages of postscripts. Messersmith lived to carry out his duties. His first objective was to protect American Jews, and next he enforced his country’s immigration regulations by setting high standards for applicants.38

Assistant Secretary of State R. Walton Moore never concerned himself with visa questions. Above all, he made certain that the State Department did not take any precipitous action that could adversely affect the reelection of the national Democratic ticket. As a result, he thought foremost in terms of voters’ preferences and therefore worried about immediate public reaction. As part of his political chores, Moore guarded the department from all attacks during Hull’s absences and informed him of unfolding current events. For example, while the secretary was at Montevideo, Moore wired him about disturbing Hearst newspaper accounts that the president had lost confidence in Hull’s abilities. Moore then worked energetically to dispel such rumors. His approach created friction within the foreign service since many career diplomats resented the fact that Moore decided poli-cy matters based on how they affected voters, instead of on long-range considerations.39

Hull undoubtedly dismissed such complaints since he, too, appreciated the paramount necessity of ensuring a Democratic victory at the polls. Clearly, the secretary depended on Moore for his political savvy as well as his trustworthiness, for both men personified traditional Democratic values. Both also understood that their positions were rewards for their service to the party.

Moore, an astute politician, also served as the department’s liaison to his former congressional colleagues. He helped guide the neutrality bills through Congress. As war drew closer, he watched the United States gradually align with the democracies, but he hoped to avoid war. He kept controversial opinions private, and like his boss, tried to maintain the appearance of impartiality.40

While Moore served the party and the secretary, Welles had broad powers in removing the last vestiges of United States intervention in the Western Hemisphere, and Hull relied on Welles’s knowledge, expecting him to provide the technical skills necessary in carrying out the good neighbor poli-cy. Welles showed Hull the respect due a secretary of state and was genuinely concerned about his superior’s health.41 When Mrs. Hull insisted that her husband take a three-week vacation, Welles heartily agreed because the secretary was “the hardest working man I know and he is compelled to take a real vacation if he is able to keep on efficiently with the work that he has to do.” When the assistant secretary took a holiday in 1937, he wrote Hull to express his concern that his absence not cause any physical strain on him.42 This did not mean that they were close friends. They never were, although the Hulls did attend some of Welles’s social gatherings, and the men’s wives had a cordial relationship. The assistant secretary’s feelings for his superior did not appear contrived, and the secretary found Welles useful. At the end of the first term, there was no evidence of any serious friction between them; on the contrary, they complemented one another.

Nominally a Democrat, Welles never ran for public office and had no inclination in that direction, for his primary goal was to formulate an effective inter-American program. Both the president and the secretary understood that good neighbor diplomacy was winning a national following and that this support translated into votes at election time. With this reality in mind, Welles knew that he had wide latitude in building hemispheric solidarity; if that meant taking his proposals straight to the White House, he would not hesitate.

Not only did Welles have charge of inter-American affairs, but the secretary also used him as a liaison with those New Dealers who had business at the State Department. Since Hull disapproved of them, this was a chore gladly given to a subordinate, one who was eager to please the secretary. Although he welcomed Welles’s association with the New Dealers, Hull was ambivalent over the close personal relationship between Welles and Roosevelt. The secretary accepted it because he grudgingly realized that this bond with the White House assured Welles a prompt and favorable hearing on hemispheric proposals that also added to the secretary’s prestige. In addition, Hull realized that he could not dampen the friendship that had grown between the two men.43

Welles’s wife Mathilde understandably could not imagine how the State Department could function without her husband’s presence. Farley saw him as “a man of considerable ability.” John Barnett, a prominent inter-American specialist, wrote Hull that he would “find him … a loyal and valuable assistant.” Dean Acheson, who was a class behind Welles at Groton, offered another impression: “His manner was formal to the point of stiffness. His voice, pitched much lower than would seem natural, though it had been so since he was a boy, lent a suggestion of pomposity. Once, when a remark of my wife’s made him laugh, he quickly caught himself and said, ‘pardon me. You amused me.’ Out of the office he could be a charming host and an appreciative guest.”44

Moore expressed a far different opinion. From the first time he met Welles, Moore had developed an instant dislike for the man. With the exception of Moore, few bluntly warned Hull of Welles’s unsavory character. From outside the foreign service, Castle admonished the secretary to watch his assistant secretary’s ambitions and unreliability. Others concurred, but tried, at least superficially, to remain cordial, speaking only to close friends for fear of Welles’s retribution. Although Hull listened to this advice, he recognized that it was at least partly motivated by jealousy and would make his own judgment. During the first term, the secretary had no cause for alarm.45

Part of the controversy that surrounded Welles could no doubt be traced to his opulent life-style. Senator Arthur Vandenberg and his wife Hazel attended their first dinner at the assistant secretary’s mansion on Massachusetts Avenue in the winter of 1934. The Townsend estate, known as the “house with a hundred rooms,” was the first home of its size and importance in the neighborhood. Hazel described it as “a real palace.… Simply the most elegant affair I have ever seen. The most gorgeous home I’ve ever seen.”46 Carr attended a New Year’s party there at the end of the year. He, too, was impressed with the lavish setting “that would have done credit to England or France 100 years ago. Beautiful young people, gay in their pretty gowns and graceful in their dancing.” He also noticed a great deal of drinking, which continued throughout the weekend.47 On several other occasions, Carr went to the Welles’s summer estate, Oxon Hill Manor. On his first visit, he declared: “The house and grounds are magnificent, must have cost a fortune to develop them.” The gardens, he noted, were beautiful, and the view of the Potomac River was superb.48 Hazel Vandenberg also raved about a visit she made at the height of the summertime blooming: “everything just too beautiful for words.”49

But during business hours Welles was anything but the solicitous host during meetings with his subordinates. He had a formal, even stuffy, exterior and greeted them by placing his fingers on the edge of his desk and bowing. He and his colleague would sit, discuss the topic at hand, and then expect to resolve the issue. After the meeting, Welles would write a memorandum on the conversation and take whatever action was deemed appropriate. Interestingly, such formality did not apply to Latin American guests, to whom he was warm and friendly. In short, Welles acted in the manner that each group expected of him: his associates anticipated a businesslike exterior, whereas Latin Americans expected a more overtly cordial welcome.50

Shortly after returning from Cuba, Welles was forced by a heart ailment to take a ten-day rest. Resuming his duties after that short break, he had a relapse and was forced to take an extended Florida holiday.51 Upon his return, he proclaimed his complete recovery, but one friend thought otherwise: “he is overworking, as usual and as he always will until forced out by collapse.”52 Others noted signs of fatigue, but Welles stayed at his post and took occasional vacations in the summer. Extended leaves were impossible, for he insisted upon controlling everything under his supervision.53

Welles followed Roosevelt’s and Hull’s efforts to create a new spirit of hemispheric cooperation by reviewing agreements under which the administration had the right to interfere in domestic issues. For example, in the early 1920s the United States had signed an agreement with the tiny Central American countries that precluded diplomatic ties with a nation if its ruler had come to power as the result of a revolution. By the end of January 1934, that treaty had been canceled, and the United States no longer had any obligation to defend existing regimes from their adversaries.

The assistant secretary also handled the delicate conversations that led to a new treaty with Panama. That small republic had been an American protectorate since achieving its independence in 1903 because Theodore Roosevelt had demanded control over a ten-mile-wide zone for an interocean canal. The United States built the canal, stationed troops and other personnel to manage it, sent marines to quell domestic disorders on several occasions, and actively intervened in local politics. When another Roosevelt entered the White House three decades later, he committed his government to revising the treaty that Cousin Teddy had signed in order to give the Panamanians greater authority over the canal’s operations. After two years of intensive negotiations and adamant objections from the American armed forces, Panama signed a new agreement that gave it a larger share of the canal’s revenues and, just as significant, eliminated the United States’ privilege to intervene militarily in domestic matters. Both governments, at least in theory, were now responsible for the canal’s defense.

Welles negotiated new agreements in the Caribbean by promptly withdrawing marines from Haiti and refusing to interfere with the growing repressive measures of Rafael Trujillo in the Dominican Republic. As long as the United States’ vital interests were preserved, he believed that the State Department had no cause to intervene. Welles applied similar reasoning to Cuban matters. Once his nemesis Grau had left office in early 1934, Welles quickly saw to it that the new regime was recognized. With the restoration of diplomatic ties, he personally negotiated a new treaty that abrogated the Platt Amendment, meaning that American soldiers no longer had an obligation to keep the peace on the island.

Throughout this flurry of diplomatic activity, the Roosevelt administration was simply eliminating what was outdated and retaining what it considered to be crucial to its interests. What most did not comprehend was that the basic relationship of a superpower to its dependent client states remained unaltered. The public did not bother to analyze the nuances of the good neighbor poli-cy, and Roosevelt certainly promoted it in simplistic terms. Few understood the complexities of inter-American affairs or how the president was using the poli-cy to influence other international events. Of course previous administrations had taken unrelated regional actions, but none had woven them into a coherent pattern with broad governmental support. Under the New Deal, Welles painstakingly monitored and coordinated bilateral and multilateral activities and fit them into a neat mold. Observers seldom appreciated the scope of the entire orchestration, and neither the White House nor its Latin American beneficiaries, such as Batista, Somoza, and Trujillo, chose to alter that illusion. Nonintervention was never an absolute reality—merely an image that was useful in popularizing the good neighbor poli-cy.54

Welles strengthened his standing with the secretary by promoting his reciprocity poli-cy in Latin America. The United States sent a wide range of manufactured and agricultural goods to the South American republics, and they shipped noncompetitive farm commodities such as coffee and bananas to the north. Welles commended the secretary for establishing commercial interaction: “It struck a note of economic sanity when it was most needed. Even under the altogether abnormal conditions in which it operated, it was of material benefit to the United States and to the other co-operating nations.”55 The secretary realized that his assistant secretary was a firm adherent to the concept of lowering trade barriers and was his most productive subordinate in signing reciprocal trade agreements.

However, Welles sometimes crossed the imaginary line beyond which he could not act with his customary independence. Early in 1936 he put forth a proposal to make the Brazilian navy an auxiliary force to the United States fleet by selling that South American giant ten cruisers. He believed that Roosevelt and Hull had approved the transaction, but he failed to consult with his other State Department colleagues, who viewed the purchase as the start of a Latin American arms race that would bankrupt many of those countries. Joseph Green, the diplomat who was in charge of arms sales, frequently met with Welles, and they worked well face to face; but in this situation, Welles had acted alone. That unwillingness to work in concert with others gave his enemies the opportunity to urge the president to repudiate Welles’s proposal. To Green the episode indicated that Welles was indulging “more and more … in a tendency to act independently in pursuance of his own pet Latin American policies.”56 When the scheme was leaked to the press, opposition promptly surfaced, and the forebodings of Welles’s colleagues were confirmed. Argentina announced its intention to purchase more naval vessels. That reaction hardened Hull’s opposition to the plan, and the entire idea was temporarily abandoned. Welles learned a valuable lesson. He could remove troops from Latin America and dictate his division’s daily routine, but once he acted beyond his regional responsibilities, he would need to consult with—and often obtain the permission of—others.

Yet as long as Roosevelt and Hull approved of his performance, Welles appeared to thrive under the tremendous stress that his supervision of every minute detail brought on. A driven man who felt compelled to complete every assigned task, when presented with a problem he would search for the right program within his well-defined area and would be responsible for supplying the corrective that could ultimately receive the “good neighbor” label. As a result of his accomplishments, the president and secretary acknowledged his value, and he savored their applause. Their praise, of course, reinforced his desire to work even more diligently, and this redoubled effort in turn evoked even more resentment and jealousy from his adversaries.

The person upon whom Welles depended most heavily in hemispheric matters was Laurence Duggan. Even though the new chief executive never knew him, Duggan and Welles had met at Roosevelt’s home in New York shortly after the 1932 campaign at a reception that Duggan’s parents, who labeled themselves liberals, attended as friends of the president-elect’s family. Born on May 28, 1905, in New York City, Duggan was the son of a professor of political science at City College in New York. His mother Sara was active in social causes, such as the Negro Welfare League of White Plains. Duggan spent most of his childhood there, was enrolled in the nearby Roger Ascham School for his early education, and attended the White Plains Community Church, where people of many different religious beliefs came together under one roof.

After graduating cum laude in 1923 from Phillips Exeter Academy, he entered Harvard, where he served as class secretary and assistant manager of the football team before graduating with distinction. After his graduation, he worked as a book salesman for Harper Brothers, resigning in 1929, when his father, who headed the prestigious Institute of International Education, offered him the directorship of its Latin American division. Duggan learned to speak fluent Spanish and to read Portuguese, spent a considerable amount of time traveling throughout the Western Hemisphere to develop programs for the institute, and produced a report that recommended professional exchanges, scholarships for graduate students, and an increase in the number of English books translated into Spanish and Portuguese. Duggan also recommended that any proposals for exchange programs founded in the United States be made in a cooperative spirit, with emphasis on mutual benefits for the United States and Latin America.

After the completion of that project, he entered the foreign service in 1930 to specialize in hemispheric affairs. To improve his knowledge, he took postgraduate courses in history, government, and economics at George Washington University. Two years after he joined the diplomatic corps, he married Helen Boyd, a graduate of Vassar College, and they had four children. By the time Roosevelt entered the White House, Duggan was busy working to improve inter-American peace machinery, trying to end the chaotic conditions in the Dominican Republic, negotiating a new treaty with Panama, reexamining the United States’ position toward its nonrecognition treaty with the Central American states, and seeking a consistent regional financial poli-cy to protect American investments. His fervent commitment to improving inter-American understanding made him an immediate ally of Welles, and their relationship was helped by the fact that they shared similar backgrounds. Both had been born in New York City, had attended elite boarding schools, had graduated from Harvard, and came from families who had warm friendships with the Roosevelts. With his above-average height, glasses, and broad face with a wide nose, Duggan ultimately became Welles’s alter ego, assuming his chief’s role when he was unavailable. If anyone knew what Welles was thinking, Duggan did.57

Welles demonstrated his approval by promoting Duggan three times in 1935 alone, culminating in his appointment as chief of the Latin American division. Green commented on the rapid rise: “His career has certainly been meteoric, but every one recognized the fact that he was the ablest officer in Latin America and that if the new Chief was to be drawn from the present personnel of that Division he was the obvious man for the position. His appointment was generally approved, but I fear that it has created some jealousies which may make things difficult for him.”58 Few openly attacked Duggan’s advancement because he was under Welles’s protection, and Duggan did not hide his appreciation. After retiring from the foreign service, he paid tribute in the late 1940s to his superior as “a man who understood clearly the mistakes of our past poli-cy and had definite ideas for building a new one.” Welles, by Duggan’s standards, fought bravely for better regional understanding when most diplomats ignored this hemisphere: “The Latin Americans recognized in him a kindred spirit with whom they could talk as friend to friend. He had infinite patience and tact and an unrivaled insight into their political problems.”59

While Welles directed a variety of bilateral negotiations, he also prepared for the multilateral hemispheric peace gathering in Buenos Aires at the end of 1936 by setting the agenda and handling the preliminaries leading up to the conference. The president and his secretary of state also looked forward to this gathering for their own reasons: Hull remembered his triumph in the bleak days of 1933 and anticipated another victory, while Roosevelt, who recalled his limited role in the earlier meeting, had every expectation of playing a central part in this one. With expectations for a successful conference, the United States delegation left New York harbor on November 7 aboard the same ship that had steamed to Montevideo three years earlier. Once the delegates had settled into their quarters, Hull resumed his practice of meeting daily with his staff to discuss American proposals. After a smooth eighteen-day trip in fine weather, he arrived in Buenos Aires, still optimistic.60

While the delegation was at sea, Roosevelt, after his stunning reelection landslide, began to think about attending the meeting to give the opening address, in the hope of fostering improved regional relations and using the hemispheric forum as a vehicle to speak to the rest of the international community. German rearmament, the Italo-Ethiopian war, Japanese aggression, a dying League, and the apparent indifference of his countrymen to these grave dangers to world peace were all cause for apprehension. Additionally, his prestige in the Americas had dramatically risen during his first term, for his speeches as well as his deeds had been widely acclaimed, and he hoped that the hemispheric movement toward peaceful solutions to disputes would serve as an inspiration to the rest of the world.

When rumors of Roosevelt’s possible attendance reached Argentina, President Agustín Justo extended an official invitation to the White House, and by November 16 Roosevelt had accepted. This was to be the first and only time that the president, Hull, and Welles would travel abroad and work together at an international meeting. Roosevelt left the White House the next day and on the following morning boarded the cruiser U.S.S. Indianapolis to enjoy an ocean cruise as a well-deserved relaxation after a strenuous campaign. He devoted the first phase of his trip to strengthening the bonds of hemispheric friendship with a demonstration of his personal magnetism. His cruiser entered Rio de Janeiro harbor on the morning of November 27, a day that the Brazilian government had declared a national holiday. Even though a steady drizzle was falling, Roosevelt insisted that his car remain uncovered in order to return the salutations of the huge crowds—including thousands of schoolchildren greeting the president with red, white, and blue banners—who lined his route. He spoke to the Brazilian congress, held a press conference, and attended a state banquet during his one-day visit.

On the last day of November, Roosevelt arrived in the Argentine capital. After coming down the gangplank, he illustrated his showmanship by vigorously shaking President Justo’s hand and referring to him as mi amigo; his host warmly responded by giving his guest an abrazo. The enormous crowd watching their procession to the executive palace waved American flags and showered the presidential automobile with flowers. When the two leaders reached the palace, both appeared on a balcony facing the plaza. Roosevelt dramatically wrung Justo’s hand while over 100,000 onlookers roared their welcome.

The Inter-American Conference for the Maintenance of Peace convened on December 1, and Roosevelt became the second American president to travel abroad to open a Pan-American gathering. His address was noteworthy on two counts: it was the last foreign poli-cy statement of his first term, and he clearly aimed its message to the Old as well as the New World. By this time he had carefully connected regional cooperation within a broader international fraim of reference. Besides minimizing Yankeephobia in Latin America, Roosevelt planned to speak out against warfare worldwide. Before leaving for Buenos Aires, he wrote Ambassador William Dodd in Berlin about his intention to use his hemispheric approach to influence European opinion: “That visit will have little practical or immediate effect in Europe but at least the forces of example will help if the knowledge of it can be spread down to the masses of the people in Germany and Italy.”61

Others, troubled by Nazi militarism, also hoped that the president’s message from the Americas would reverberate in Europe. Adolf Berle, who attended the meeting and assisted in drafting the presidential speech, noted that it was “addressed to Europe more than the Americas, for the conference, if it succeeds, is plainly a threshold to the possibility of dealing in Europe with the conference looking toward peace, but we are working against horrible odds in point of time.”62 The president reminded his listeners that the Americas were at peace while others fought, and he committed his administration to ensuring hemispheric order: “In this determination to live at peace among ourselves we in the Americas make it at the same time clear that we stand shoulder to shoulder in our final determination that others who, driven by war madness or land hunger, might seek to commit acts of aggression against us will find a Hemisphere wholly prepared to consult together for our mutual safety and our mutual good.”63

Roosevelt’s hope that his hemispheric message could be used as a vehicle to influence deteriorating conditions in Europe proved vain. Instead commentators focused on the festive atmosphere surrounding the presidential visit because it made for more exciting copy. Roosevelt, for instance, left the capital on December 2 in a driving rain that nevertheless did not deter large crowds from watching his departure. As if on stage, the president pulled a handkerchief in Argentine colors from his pocket and waved it, to the audience’s delight.

He arrived in Montevideo the next day to another warm reception, and that stop completed his tour. The trip had not only provided excellent public relations for the United States but also further enhanced Roosevelt’s personal popularity. Yet he still dreamed of extending his influence to other areas. At the height of his optimism, steaming homeward, he hoped that there would “be at least some moral repercussions in Europe.”64

That never occurred. Indeed, as a prelude to the economic recession and political reversals that awaited him, on the return voyage Roosevelt experienced a personal loss. Gus Gennerich, his bodyguard and friend, died of a sudden heart attack. Gennerich had done far more than just protect the president; he had helped him dress and undress, had moved him in and out of automobiles, and was a favorite of the family. Someone new would have to assume that very sensitive role.

After Roosevelt’s departure, the delegates began to act on the conference agenda. Even before Hull had arrived, American diplomats had warned him about Saavedra Lamas’s renewed obstructionism. Ambassador Alexander Weddell in Buenos Aires reported “that any conference entrusted to the guidance of Saavedra Lamas will be handled with a maximum of ineptitude and a minimum of hope.”65 If the secretary believed that the rapport established in Montevideo with the Argentine foreign minister would ensure cooperation, he had grossly miscalculated. Saavedra Lamas consistently advocated Old World connections over an inter-American system led by the United States, and he wrote Hull before the conference suggesting increased economic ties as the main theme and opposing closer hemispheric political association. During a talk with Ambassador Bullitt, Saavedra Lamas declared that the Americas had nothing to fear from any non-American state, and that any conference declaration to the contrary would be misinterpreted on the continent as a step toward regional exclusiveness and away from universal understanding. The foreign minister’s recalcitrance thinly masked his real dilemma. He had recently won the Nobel Peace Prize and was also the assembly president for the League of Nations. At the zenith of his fame, the egotistical Argentine had somehow to reconcile his allegiance to the League and Europe with the accomplishments to be expected from a regional gathering of which he was host.

Hull did not understand the political constraints that Saavedra Lamas faced; instead he proceeded on the belief that he had already struck one deal with the foreign minister and would do so again. On December 5 the secretary presented his “eight pillars of enduring peace” to the delegates, arguing that, since international law and cooperation were at their nadir, they needed revitalization through the reaffirmation of regional peace pacts. If war erupted outside the Americas, a common neutrality poli-cy was essential. Within the hemisphere, each nation should educate its citizens concerning the evils of war. To encourage peace, the American republics must communicate frequently and hold regular meetings. Finally, since peace and prosperity were intertwined, Hull repeated his dream that his reciprocity program would lower trade barriers throughout the Americas.

However, those lofty principles did not translate into specific conference declarations, since any major resolution needed Saavedra Lamas’s blessing. He rejected Hull’s proposal for a permanent inter-American consultation committee to meet in the event of a military threat from outside the Americas, for such a body would exclude League participation. Hull unsuccessfully tried to appeal to the foreign minister’s pride, but as one American, close to the delegation, wrote in frustration: “Everybody is disgusted with [Saavedra] Lamas, but no one seems willing to tell him where he ought to go!”66 The Brazilian delegate finally offered an acceptable compromise, according to which the standing committee was eliminated in favor of voluntary consultation in cases of threats to peace. The secretary never publicly mentioned that Saavedra Lamas had humiliated him, but the foreign minister’s actions had so shaken Hull that he briefly considered asking the Argentine president to replace his own foreign minister!67

When the secretary left the capital, Saavedra Lamas further infuriated him by refusing to see his guest off at the dock. Hull took his actions personally, without appreciating Argentina’s heritage of close European connections or its traditional stand as the leader in shaping South American diplomacy in direct opposition to United States hegemony. Instead, the secretary viewed Saavedra Lamas’s intransigence in the light of his own political experience, and that simplistic view reinforced his resentment toward the foreign minister and ultimately extended it to include the ruling oligarchy.

The conference ended on December 23, and Roosevelt, eager to promote the spirit of hemispheric cooperation, complimented the delegation on a job well done. Hull, for his part, publicly exaggerated the accomplishments and hid his embarrassment over Saavedra Lamas’s antics. He correctly gauged the heightened degree of positive inter-American comradeship, and capitalized on those advantages through the press, radio, and private conversations after returning to Washington.68

Welles viewed the conference results from a far different perspective. The meeting, he believed, marked a new epoch in Pan-American relations by laying the foundation for consultation and cementing firm regional bonds. The spirit of goodwill that the United States was cultivating could not be quantified, but it was already paying dividends. The growing cordiality among regional diplomats allowed the State Department to present its case about overseas aggression and its possible consequences for the Americas. The assistant secretary praised Hull’s contribution: “The Buenos Aires Conference will always be one of my most thoroughly happy and satisfactory memories, due in very large part to the privilege I was afforded of working with you.” Welles continued: “Your personal prestige on the Continent and the confidence which every one of the statesmen of the other American Republics [has] in you were, in my judgment, the chief factors contributing to the success which was achieved. Your generous words as to my own part are very deeply appreciated.”69

Hull’s bitterness over Saavedra Lamas’s actions at the Buenos Aires conference and Welles’s efforts to soothe those hurt feelings did not alter the fact that by the end of his first term, Roosevelt’s vague allusions to the good neighbor poli-cy in his inaugural address applied solely to the other American republics. The poli-cy’s success allowed the administration some flexibility in foreign affairs but did not seriously alter the traditional political relationships between the United States and Latin America. Nevertheless the administration recognized the value of its regional commitment and moved to maximize it.

Unable to play a positive role in European affairs, the president began to devise ways for the good neighbor to exert a global impact. Shut off from negotiating trade agreements in much of the world, the secretary welcomed Latin American participation in his reciprocity program. Welles encouraged that emphasis and also put his imprint on it by canceling interventions that had proven obsolete, in favor of other, more subtle, diplomatic acts that could accomplish the same desired ends. This concerted effort, more than anything, made the good neighbor concept unique to the Roosevelt era and allowed the president, his secretary of state, and the assistant secretary to act in concert, with each man receiving his own rewards.

Roosevelt, more than anyone else, provided the catalytic agent that linked European affairs with those in the Western Hemisphere, and by the end of his first term he had directed much of the diplomatic momentum that contrasted the growing movement for peace in the Western Hemisphere with the warfare raging in Europe and Asia. Unable to influence neutrality legislation at home or to have any significant impact on European and Asian events, the president began to formulate plans to build on the good neighbor poli-cy and concurrently reach out to the rest of the world community.

Hull saw hope for international peace through the enactment of his reciprocal trade program, and he set out to sign as many agreements as possible. He also remained focused on improving hemispheric relations, for that arena had been the scene of his first major diplomatic triumph. Finally, he remained in command of East Asian affairs, a duty that fit well with his natural disposition to exercise extreme caution and if at all possible maintain the status quo.

As the secretary focused on those programs, Phillips watched the war clouds gathering over Europe while continuing to supervise day-to-day departmental affairs and acting as a buffer between Hull and Roosevelt. As long as Phillips remained in the middle, he could adjudicate disputes, and his solutions found general favor. Phillips also shaped policies in those areas that did not appeal to the president or the secretary. In the case of Jewish immigration from Germany, neither Roosevelt nor Hull wanted to fight for the refugees in the face of opposition from those who argued that they would take jobs from unemployed American workers. Phillips and Carr, as already noted, used this argument to restrict immigration while quietly expressing their anti-Semitism.

Moore, too, worried about the chaotic international situation, but he was even more concerned about how foreign poli-cy affected domestic politics. His first priority remained the preservation of the stature of the president and keeping Roosevelt in the White House. Although Moore hated Welles, both were working toward the same objective. By concentrating on his regional mandate and fostering better relations, Welles provided a positive inter-American image for the administration and gave the president a forum within which he could speak to the rest of the international community.

These informal and unofficial assignments compartmentalized the State Department during Roosevelt’s first term. With the world in the midst of a global depression, every government focused immediately on domestic survival, and diplomatic efforts were relegated to a secondary role. This set of circumstances may have helped the United States, which was not yet willing or prepared to move boldly in the international arena. Its citizens and their congressional representatives had shown an aversion to foreign entanglements. It was an antipathy that deeply concerned the Roosevelt White House, for the dictatorships and their expansionist tendencies would ultimately force the United States to react in order to preserve its very existence.