What I Meant to Say . . .

There had not been such a howl from the bleachers since Fred ("Bonehead") Merkle failed to touch second base.

Harry Truman had started the week prosaically, greeting 21 Democratic candidates who had come to the White House for his blessing. "The first business of mine, of course," he said, "is being President of the United States, and working for all of the people of the country. My second business is to head the Democratic Party and I think the Democratic Party is the only party that has ever worked for all the people of the United States."

But before the week was out he had blown his lines as President and perhaps blown the Democratic Party out of office.

That Is Correct. He had been pretty busy with the maritime strike (see Labor) and just ordinary politicking, when Secretary of Commerce Henry Wallace brought around a speech he had written. The speech was to be delivered at a joint Manhattan rally of C.LO.'s P.A.C. and the Independent Citizens Committee of the Arts, Sciences and Professions. Harry Truman, looking toward November, felt he ought to cultivate those fellows a little. They had grown a little cool toward him. He glanced at the speech, told Mr. Wallace it was O.K. and hardly gave it another thought.

But at his Thursday press conference he was reminded of the speech again. Bill Mylander of the Cowles newspapers had an advance copy of it in his hand. "In a speech for delivery tonight," said Mylander, "Secretary of State--I mean of Commerce--Wallace says that--"

Did Mylander say the speech is to be delivered? Harry Truman said he could not answer questions on a speech that had not been delivered.

"Well, it's about you," said Mylander. "That's why I asked."

Well, all right, Harry Truman said good-naturedly, what's the question?

Mylander quoted from the Wallace speech: ". . . 'When President Truman read these words he said that they represented the policy of his administration.' "

That is correct, the President said.

"Does that apply just to that paragraph or to the whole speech?"

It applies to the whole speech, the President said.

Did it not represent a departure from Secretary of State Byrnes's policy, another reporter asked.

No, said Mr. Truman, it was right in line.

"Make No Mistake." That night, before a mixture of liberal and radical Democrats, well peppered with Reds, Henry Wallace made his speech. The rally was to open the campaign in New York. Florida's Russophile Senator Claude Pepper had brought down the house when he cried: "With conservative Democrats and reactionary Republicans making our foreign policy ... it is all we can do to keep foolish people from having us ... drop our atomic bombs on the Russian people." (His speech was much more fully reported in Moscow than Wallace's.)

Then up rose Henry Wallace, while the spotlights beat down upon his earnest face and his cowlick. Almost at once he plunged into foreign policy:

"Make no mistake about it. The British imperialistic policy in the Near East alone, combined with Russian retaliation, would lead the United States straight to war. ... I am neither anti-British nor pro-British; neither anti-Russian nor pro-Russian. And just two days ago, when President Truman read these words he said that they represented the policy of his Administration. . . .

"We are reckoning with a force which cannot be handled successfully by a 'Get tough with Russia' policy. . . . Throughout the world there are numerous reactionary elements which had hoped for Axis victory . . . [and] continually try to provoke war."

No Twists, No Turns? "We most earnestly want peace with Russia but we want to be met halfway. We want cooperation and I believe that we can get cooperation once Russia understands that our primary objective is neither saving the British Empire nor purchasing oil in the Near East with the lives of American soldiers. . . .

"We have no more business in the political affairs of Eastern Europe than Russia has in the political affairs of ... the United States. . . . We are striving to democratize Japan and our area of control in Germany while Russia strives to socialize eastern Germany. . . ."

If Mr. Wallace did not know why a halfway meeting with Marxist Russia has proved impossible, the reaction of his audience might have given him a clue. Communists hissed every criticism of Russia. Obviously taken aback, he flinched. Once he looked up from his text and said imploringly: "I realize that the danger of war is much less from Communism than it is from imperialism." He was apparently frightened out of using at least one phrase in his prepared text--a reference to "native Communists faithfully following every twist and turn in the Moscow party line." He was also going to say: "The Russians should stop teaching that their form of Communism must . . . ultimately triumph over democratic capitalism." but thought better of it.

Two Secretaries? The speech was such a mouthful that it took a while to digest it. New York Daily News's John O'Donnell, who knows an isolationist when he sees one, cheered Wallace as a repentant arrival in the isolationist fold. The New York Times wondered how good an internationalist Mr. Wallace really was. Reaction in the foreign press ranged from perplexity and amazement to cheers from the London Daily Worker (see INTERNATIONAL).

As for Secretary of State Byrnes, he was shocked and angered--and with good reason. Thanks to his stand in Paris, capped by his Stuttgart speech (TIME, Sept. 16), he had almost begun to persuade the world that such a thing as a U.S. foreign policy exists, and that it is beginning to be both clear and firm: 1) play a strong hand in Europe, 2) check the spread of Russia's totalitarian ideology in Europe and Asia. And now a fellow Cabinet officer, apparently backed by the President, had blown the gaff: there was no U.S. foreign policy after all--just conflicting opinions.

Had no one in the State Department cleared the speech? Acting Secretary of State Will Clayton, no top policymaker, had read it and had voiced a protest to the presidential Press Secretary, Charlie Ross. Had Ross carried that protest to Mr. Truman? Charlie Ross ducked out of sight.

In Paris, Senator Arthur Vandenberg summed up the wrath of Harry Truman's advisers on foreign affairs: "We can only cooperate with one Secretary of State at a time."

The Lie. There was only one thing for Harry Truman to do, and he did it. He called an extraordinary press conference. No questions were permitted this time. Amazingly unabashed, even jaunty, he read a statement:

"There has been a natural misunderstanding. . . . [Mylander's] question was answered extemporaneously and my answer did not convey the thought that I intended it to convey. It was my intention to express the thought that I approved the right of the Secretary of Commerce to deliver that speech. I did not intend to indicate that I approved the speech. . . . There has been no change in the established foreign policy of our Government. . . ."

By this clumsy lie, the President of the United States got himself out of the impossible situation in which his clumsiness had landed him.

The worst effect of the speech had been corrected. But U.S. prestige and standing --not to mention Harry Truman's--had been irreparably damaged at home and abroad. Around the world, people were shaking their heads over that U.S. President. And what had begun as a naive domestic political maneuver--an attempt to be all things to all men--had ended in a howling flop.

The stupid blunder would not be forgotten. Republicans would remember it, of course. Democrats had not heard the last of it. Said Henry Wallace: "I stand upon my New York speech. I shall speak on this subject again."

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