Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America

7. From Berlin

September 9, 1924

The White House

Washington, D.C., United States

As memories of the war quickly faded, diplomatic ties reformed and immigration resumed. An economic crisis in Germany rendered them unable to make war reparation payments, requiring the US to step in and broker a deal. This closed the chapter on our involvement once and for all.

The French were not so easily satisfied. Still occupying much of the Rhineland in the west, they aggressively extracted their reparations by force. Somehow, the British were able to strike a settlement between the two. I was happy to remain an observer.

As was my habit, I cleared my desk and sorted my morning mail into domestic and international. I always started with the latter.

There was a letter from Italy, no doubt asking for more money. There was one from France, likely complaining about Germany, and one from Ireland, likely complaining about England. Hers was postmarked from Geneva, Switzerland—the headquarters of the League of Nations, a brand-new peacekeeping organization. I opened it first.

"Aye, your absence echoes loudly in this dumb hall," Ireland wrote near the end. "Most meetings turn into a cockfight between England and Russia, which is less fun than you might reckon."

I smiled, pleased to know that I was missed. As I folded the note, my smile faded when I saw the return address on the next letter.

Berlin, Germany

Immediately, I reached for the rotary telephone on my desk and dialed the number of the White House wireless operator. She picked up right away.

"Wireless, how may I help you?"

"Miss Parks, it's Mary. Could you send a cable to London for me?" I asked, trying to open the letter with one hand. 

"Of course, ma'am." I heard some shuffling noises over the line. "Ready."

"'Did you receive a letter from Berlin, question mark, stop,'" I dictated.

There was a pause. "That's all?"

"That's all," I confirmed with a smile.

"To whom?"

"To Edward..." I reached for a recent letter from England. Flipping it over, I located the return address on the back of the envelope. "Taylor."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Thank you, Miss Parks."

Clunk.

I sloppily finished the job of tearing the envelope. The letter was a single, typewritten paragraph with a penned signature at the bottom.

America,

I am writing to thank you for the United States' role in devising the Dawes Plan. These difficult times would be impossible to weather under the weight of reparations. With your consent, I wish to commence correspondence with you.

Respectfully,
Germany

I cleared my desk to make room for my dusty typewriter. After the long setup process, my fingers hovered over the keys as I struggled to find the right words. Twenty minutes later, I sat back and read what I had so far.

Dear Germa

Crumbling the paper into a ball, I tossed it into a nearby trash can. I rolled a new paper into place irritably. I set my fingers on the keys and started typing from the top of my head.

Germany,

Thank you for your lett

I jumped when the telephone rang. Sighing, I reached over and answered it.

"Cable back from London already," Miss Parks said. "It says, 'Call,' followed by a very long telephone number."

I deadpanned.

"Shall I send it up, ma'am?"

I kneaded my forehead with my fingers. "Please, thank you."

As I set up yet another sheet of paper, I wondered how England would respond to such a letter. Forgiving and generous? Stern and indifferent? I still hadn't written a single word by the time a clerk dropped the telegram off at my desk. I leaned forward to read it.

CALL 442756213475!!

I shook my head. I had never taken advice from any Nation on foreign affairs, and I wasn't about to start now. I pulled my typewriter forward decisively.

Germany,

The United States does not condone innocent civilians starving for the crimes of their leaders. Do not allow the absence of reparations to coincide with the absence of memory on your part. Please contact me only regarding important affairs of state.

--America