He smiled and raised his glass toward Washington’s estate and said, “Indeed. Knowlton’s Rangers, in 1776. Here’s to General Washington, who declared, ‘The necessity of procuring good intelligence is apparent and need not be further urged.’”
Not lost on Donovan was the connection that Roosevelt was making between FDR and George Washington.
Two years earlier, FDR had asked Donovan to take leave of his successful New York City law firm and become head of the United States’ new intelligence organization. It had the innocuous name of the Office of Coordinator of Information, but the Top Secret COI was anything but innocent or harmless.
As its spy chief, Donovan had been a civilian using the title of “colonel,” which he’d been in the First World War. But two months ago, in late March 1943, FDR had given Donovan his new commission. COI had become the Office of Strategic Services, and its director was now Brigadier General William Joseph Donovan, USA, a rank more appropriate for America’s spymaster.
* * *
Roosevelt, whose long history with Donovan dated back to their days as classmates at Columbia Law School, knew that “Wild Bill” was one
helluva soldier. The rare kind of leader who men faithfully followed without question. That had been proven without question on the battlefields of France in World War One. Donovan had been with the “Fighting 69th,” the National Guard regiment from New York City.
In one particularly bloody engagement, Donovan, his troops taking great casualties and himself badly wounded by machine-gun fire, continually had exposed himself to enemy bullets as he moved among his men. He reorganized the battered platoons, then led them in assault after assault on the enemy. Refusing to be evacuated for his wounds, Donovan continued fighting until confident that his men could withdraw to a less exposed position.
That had earned him the Medal of Honor—America’s highest award for valor.
Despite their many differences—FDR was the product of moneyed privilege, while scrappy Donovan’s wealth was self-made—Roosevelt recognized that he and Wild Bill shared more than a few qualities, chief among them being tough, intelligent, shrewd sonsofbitches.
This wasn’t lost on Donovan, either, but being a tough, intelligent, shrewd sonofabitch, he understood that their relationship, based on genuine mutual respect, was far more professional than an actual close friendship. While they did call themselves pals, Donovan knew that FDR used people—indeed was an unapologetic Machiavellian who took great pleasure in quietly playing people against one another—and was careful not to confuse FDR’s attention as anything more than FDR working to get what FDR wanted.
And what FDR always wanted—whether for professional or personal reasons, or both—was solid, truthful information.
In 1920, Roosevelt, then serving as assistant secretary of the Navy, attached Wild Bill to the Office of Naval Intelligence and sent him to collect intelligence in Siberia. Donovan, long the world traveler as he managed the interests of his law firm’s international clients, found that he enjoyed being FDR’s envoy.
Wild Bill had found a new calling—and Roosevelt had found a source he could trust.
In his first term as President, FDR sent Donovan to get him the facts on Italian dictator Benito Mussolini’s invasion of Ethiopia. (Donovan reported back that the helpless Africans were being slaughtered in the one-sided “war.”) And then, in 1940, Donovan was sent by FDR to do the same as another charismatic European leader—this one the chancellor of Germany—was spreading the evil of Fascism.
Adolf Hitler threatened all of Europe—and, Roosevelt feared, maybe beyond.
After a quick trip to England to answer FDR’s question—“Can our cousins beat back that bastard Hitler?”—Donovan said the British could not take on the Nazis alone, but for the present they should be able to protect themselves—if aided by the United States.
That wasn’t the good news that Roosevelt wanted to hear. But then that was why he had sent Donovan: to get the facts and deliver them unadulterated.
Roosevelt immediately sent Donovan on a longer trip to gather intelligence in the Mediterranean and the Baltics. Three months later, Donovan’s report found FDR, now in his third term as President, calculating how a neutral America could help stop the spreading of Fascism and Communism.
He knew only one thing for sure: It would be anything but easy.
FDR solemnly believed in the oath of defending the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic. Yet in order to protect the U.S.—as well as effectively deal with America’s isolationists who vehemently opposed the U.S. getting involved in another world war—he needed not just more intelligence but more solid intelligence.
He was up to his ears in the former. It came from the vast U.S. government agencies—starting with the Federal Bureau of Investigation and its director, the relentless J. Edgar Hoover—set up to collect exactly that. But when combined with intel provided by others, such as the Office of Naval Intelligence and the Military Intelligence Division, a perfectly clear picture rarely came into focus.
The reason for this was because of each organization’s first priority: self-preservation. Intelligence provided to the President, they deeply believed, should always shine a favorable light on the agency and, conversely, should never ever make said agency look bad. And the way to do that was to provide the President with what he wanted to hear—thus making the agency appear brilliant—and squash anything that didn’t.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who from time to time admitted having an ego, thought it remotely possible that he might, key word might, suffer some failing—but being a naive fool certainly wasn’t one. He understood what was going on, and what he needed, and who could get it for him.
Thus, in July of 1941, using his presidential emergency unvouchered funds, he created the secret new office of Coordinator of Information, and named Wild Bill Donovan its chief. He then quietly announced to the heads of the various intelligence agencies that Donovan’s office would collect all national security information from them, analyze it, and deliver his findings directly to the President.
In FDR’s mind, this of course would be just as Donovan had done since FDR, as assistant secretary of the Navy, had sent him around the world to serve as his eyes and ears.
The heads of the various intelligence agencies, however, were of a different mind. Put mildly, they were less than pleased. Turf battles reached a fevered pitch. And Donovan found his COI more or less shunned.
After almost a year, FDR relented to the argument of the Joint Chiefs of Staff that highly sensitive military intelligence should not be evaluated by an organization outside the military. The President ordered that the COI become the Office of Strategic Services, complete with the ability to collect its own intel, and that Donovan report to General George Catlett Marshall, chairman of the JCS.
Now it was Wild Bill Donovan who made the expected noises to demonstrate his displeasure. But no more than necessary. Because, being a tough, intelligent, shrewd sonofabitch, he was well aware that his relationship with another tough, intelligent, shrewd sonofabitch really had not changed.
He would always have direct access to the President.