UNITED STATES—“There is a caveat,” Sam said. Not his way of speaking, but he wanted to be respectful toward Weisshaus. “The votes are going to cost. Every vote from Mexico to Ecuador.”
“How much.”
“A lot.”
“Like how much. . .?”
“A lot a lot.”
“Up in the clouds?”
“Like outer space.”
Then Sam threw out a ballpark figure and, though he couldn’t see it, 1000 miles away in a dumpy neighborhood of Brooklyn, Weisshaus waved his hands as if stung by nettles. This moment unleashed a storm of bribery, lobbying, strong-arming such as Washington had never seen. It offended the current resident of the White House, Harry Truman. (Not to be confused with the Harry Truman near erupting Mt. St. Helens who refused to leave his cabin, there one day on everybody’s TV set, this feisty old man, and then he went the way of denizens of Pompeii. And one day, his and the outlines of his dogs would be found by archeologists.)
The intense feeding frenzy unleashed became so much that Truman complained about the down and dirty tactics that Truman found unbecoming. That is quite a feat, to offend a well-ventilated cesspool like Washington, but there it was.
Truman wrote when it came time for his memoirs that the pressure was unlike anything seen there before. It had no precedent. “Why I never saw the like of it.” In no other instance had Truman seen as much “pressure and propaganda aimed at the White House,” said the current tenant. Heaven knows he was up against PR Wiz Bernie Lukasey, who turned down the Nazis for a client and now took on the nascent Jewish republic, and then there was Sam the Banana Man working behind the scenes, where he liked to be. Truman pilloried the persistence of a few extreme Zionist Leaders “actuated by political motives and engaging in political threats,” that left Truman, the former clothing salesman, disturbed and annoyed.
Weissmann passed over the matter in silence, he knew where the pressure was coming from. It wasn’t zealous Zionists, it was that international man in the shadows, Sam Delaney, whose middle initial changed according to whim. Sam did something extraordinary, tapping the energy not tapped since he’d arrived in Selma as a young teen and discovered his first banana; he worked big days, survived on a few hours’ sleep and steam baths. Robert made sure there were plenty of towels and the water was hot.
He talked and talked. He lost Friday and most of Saturday. Getting nowhere with Haiti, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Guatemala, Ecuador and Panama. It was clear that time was running out in the windowed office that over the portico at top of the portico, like the final touch on the remodeling of Sam’s first retirement.
“I will have a cigar box of money for you, Senor Presidente.”
Suddenly it was working. He was enough of a Gringo that he knew now what he always suspected, the goyim tread over their hired thugs or they didn’t talk about their tricks. In no time Sam had closed in support from Central America.
“Pleasure doing business…” he said, “Excuse me. Giving gifts.”
Prime Minister Nehru of India, known to history as the namesake of the Nehru jacket, claimed he had been offered money, millions, by a Louisiana businessman associated with the Zionist cause, to vote in favor of partition. India voted against. Generally accurate in what he said, Weisshaus passed over in silence activities on behalf of Jewish statehood not associated with Jewish Agency, which included Sam Delaney, who knew how to get things done.
“It’s a great moment, Sam,” said Weisshaus. He felt surge within himself those four countdown days before the final vote on UN resolution 181.
To be continued…
Grady is the Wizard of Fiction.
