Chapter 50: Fireside Chat

It took about half an hour for Ernie to finish writing his piece, *Testimony from the Dust*.

He stretched lazily and walked over to the window to rest his eyes by gazing out at the night view of Manhattan’s Lower East Side.

Just as he was about to return to his desk to revise the article, he heard Mary’s voice drift in: “Ernie, are you done yet? *Fireside Chats* is starting.”

Roosevelt was going to give a radio broadcast?

No wonder Mary, who usually never disturbed his writing, had come over to remind him.

*Fireside Chats* was a series of radio addresses hosted by President Roosevelt, running continuously from the Great Depression of the 1930s up to the present. Although these broadcasts were not frequent, there had already been more than a dozen of them.

Whenever a major crisis arose, President Roosevelt would sit before the fireplace in the reception room for foreign guests on the ground floor of the presidential residence, accepting recorded interviews from the National Broadcasting Company, the Columbia Broadcasting System, and the Mutual Broadcasting System. He would then communicate with the American public through these stations in the format of a "Fireside Chat."

Before every broadcast of *Fireside Chats*, practically the entire American population would gather around their radios, waiting to hear the President's address.

It had to be said that ever since the Great Depression, this method of communication—whereby the President addressed the entire nation via radio in an informal manner—had achieved remarkable success. During the worst stages of the Depression, when the public distrusted the government, this deeply approachable political method successfully reshaped the relationship between the people and the government, while also giving Americans a clearer understanding of current policies.

For instance, when Roosevelt introduced the "New Deal" back then, it was through this deeply intimate and approachable form of communication that the public was able to understand, accept, and support it.

George and Mary were already clustered around the radio, waiting for the *Fireside Chats* to begin. Mitch was also holding a piece of candy in his mouth, chewing on the end of his fountain pen while pondering how to write his novel, waiting for the program to start.

Ernie reached into the candy jar, pulled out a lollipop, peeled off the wrapper, and popped it into his mouth.

"How is the novel coming along?" he asked Mitch, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

"Still thinking!" Mitch used the most distressed expression to utter the most unrepentant words.

"..." Ernie.

A moment later, the radio broadcast began!

A faint sound of FM static crackled softly in the background of the program, lasting only a few seconds before fading away. It was replaced by a soothing and steady piano melody that gradually tapered off, giving way to a warm, confident voice with a slight hint of fatigue.

"My friends,

Tonight, I want to speak to you. Not as your President, but as your neighbor, as one of the hundreds of millions of ordinary people across this world who yearn for peace and security, to talk about the grave hour we face together.

Just a few weeks ago, we witnessed a great European nation—France—kneel in surrender beneath the crushing treads of merciless tanks. The beacons of freedom have been extinguished one by one across the European continent, and the darkness is spreading at an unprecedented speed.

...

At this very moment, the men, women, and children of London, Coventry, and Portsmouth are taking shelter in bomb shelters and subway stations, enduring the most barbaric and cruel aerial bombardment in human history. They are holding the line for all of us. They are fighting not only for their own homes, but for a civilization, for a faith, for the inherent rights of everyone born into this world—the freedom of speech, the freedom of worship, and freedom from fear.

Those who launched this aggression adhere to an evil philosophy. They attempt to impose their 'new order' upon the entire world with iron hooves and bombs. This is an order built upon fear, oppression, and relentless conquest, running entirely counter to everything we believe in and to the foundational bedrock of human morality.

...

No one can afford the luxury of thinking safety can be found by remaining uninvolved. An ostrich burying its head in the sand does not avert the impending danger.

We in the Americas, this free New World, are by no means an isolated island cut off from the rest of the world. We shall be the final bastion in this storm, and we must bravely reach out a helping hand to support those fighting on the front lines, shedding their blood for our shared ideals.

I have said it countless times, and tonight I repeat it to you once more with even greater conviction: The United States will never recognize nations born of aggression. We will never give a consenting nod to that 'new order.'

...

Let us prepare ourselves for the trials ahead, but at the same time, let us remain filled with confidence—confidence in freedom, confidence in our shared cause, and confidence in the ultimate and inevitable victory.

May God bless you, and may God bless the United States of America."

As the final notes of the speech faded, the piano melody of *America the Beautiful* softly rose.

On this night, countless American citizens fell into deep contemplation after listening to President Roosevelt's address.

Without a doubt, the core message conveyed by President Roosevelt was singular—America could not remain aloof.

Yet, Ernie knew clearly that hesitation did not mean a change of heart... Without paying a bitter price, the American public would not realize that even the largest and deepest oceans in the world could not keep war at bay forever.

...

The next morning, early.

Asimov, who had no classes today, called Ernie early in the morning and dragged him out of the house.

The two met at the candy store.

Asimov was holding the latest issue of *The Saturday Evening Post*, looking thoroughly indignant: "The *Post*'s review of you is utterly devoid of character, completely baseless, and a shockingly impolite slander!"

Though naturally socially anxious, when Asimov attended his university lectures yesterday, he had recommended Ernie’s *A Bronx Tale*, published in *The Atlantic*, to many of his classmates, receiving widespread acclaim among the student body.

However, an institution of higher learning like Columbia University was, after all, an ivory tower, and the white students studying there belonged to an elite class that would not easily engage in blatant "racial attacks," which was why they gave Ernie's novel such high praise.

Yet stepping outside the school, Asimov had felt the malice directed by *The Saturday Evening Post* and traditional white society toward outsiders by the very same evening.

In fact, aside from feeling indignant on behalf of his friend, Asimov, as an outsider himself, felt profound disgust toward such crude "traditional American values."

"Stop getting so worked up. How about I treat you to dinner at the Oak Room tonight?" Ernie patted his shoulder in consolation. "Isn't there a saying that a broad mind leads to a plump body? How come you're so angry yet haven't lost a single pound?"

"Is this supposed to be comforting?" Asimov patted his belly with fierce resentment. "Let me say this again: I'm not fat, I'm just high-density."

Interrupted like this, Asimov found it hard to stay angry.

Yet, looking at Ernie’s nonchalant demeanor, he pushed up his glasses, somewhat puzzled: "You've been slandered like this, and you aren't angry at all?"