Ted Cruz

On this day in 1944, Theodore Roosevelt Jr. died in his sleep in a stone farmhouse in Normandy. He was 56 years old, and he had spent almost his entire adult life trying to be worthy of a famous last name. He was the eldest son of President Theodore Roosevelt. In the First World War he went to France and was gassed and badly wounded at Soissons leading his men. That same summer his younger brother Quentin, a pilot, was shot down and killed over France. Ted came home with lungs and a leg that never fully recovered, and before he even left Europe he helped found the American Legion so that ordinary soldiers would have someone looking out for them. Between the wars he did almost everything. Governor of Puerto Rico. Governor General of the Philippines. Businessman, explorer, writer. He could have spent the Second World War safe behind a desk. Instead, at 54, arthritic and walking with a cane, he talked his way back into uniform and into combat. By 1943 he was fighting in North Africa and Sicily under Terry Allen, and their loose, unpolished, soldier-first style rubbed General Patton the wrong way. Patton had them both relieved of command. Roosevelt didn't sulk. He asked for another job, any job, as long as it kept him near the fighting. They made him assistant commander of the 4th Infantry Division. Then came D-Day. He hid a heart condition from the Army doctors. He wrote to his commander three separate times, in writing, begging to go in with the very first wave rather than watch from a ship. He was the only general to land in the first wave on any beach that morning, the oldest man in the invasion, walking through machine gun fire with a cane in one hand and a pistol in the other. The boats came in a mile off course. Officers froze. Roosevelt limped up and down the beach under fire, studied the ground, and said, "We'll start the war from right here." Then he spent the morning waving men forward and sorting out the chaos so calmly that terrified 20 year olds looked at this old man with a cane and decided that if he wasn't scared, they wouldn't be either. His son Quentin, named for the uncle killed in the last war, landed at Omaha Beach the same morning. They were the only father and son to come ashore together on D-Day. He died a month later. A heart attack in his sleep. And here is the part that gets me. On the very day he died, the orders had just come through promoting him to major general and giving him his own division. He never saw the paperwork. He never knew he'd earned the Medal of Honor either. At his funeral his pallbearers were seven of the most famous generals of the war, Bradley, Hodges, Collins, Barton, Huebner, and George Patton. The same Patton who had fired him. Patton wrote in his diary that Roosevelt was one of the bravest men he had ever known. Years later Omar Bradley was asked to name the single most heroic thing he witnessed in all of World War II. He didn't pause. He said, "Ted Roosevelt on Utah Beach."

This was Lindsey Graham's peak

At the end of a particularly thrilling and rollicking meeting in the Oval Office, Lindsey Graham turned to the room and said: “I’ve never had this much fun in my life.” I cannot describe to you how much joy President Trump’s leadership and friendship brought to Lindsey. Meetings with Graham at the White House were filled with camaraderie, kinship and uproarious laughter. As heartbreaking as his sudden passing is, I hope it will bring some measure of comfort to those who cherished him to know just how much he was living his dream every day. Very rarely in life do you get to be exactly where you want to be, when you want to be there, with who you want to be with, doing precisely what you want to do — that was every moment for Lindsey. When President Trump won in Nov 2024, Lindsey was exultant. Elated. And determined. He couldn’t wait to spearhead work, as the Budget Chairman, on the reconciliation bill that would cement President Trump’s most important campaign promises. I’ll never forget the senate lunch, when a couple Senators were a tad off the program, and Lindsey — in his inimitable way — made sure everyone was onside by the time we left. It was a glorious thing to witness. He knew how to move a room. Lindsey was a senator’s senator. The job was everything to him. Truly did he believe in the splendor of the office and the noble lineage behind it, of which he was the worthy heir. He was a senator in the mold of those who fashioned the institution, someone who still had the ability, in a heated exchange, to use rhetorical power to change the course of events. Which is why we will never forget his legendary Kavanaugh moment. We rarely think that we are out of time with our friends, so while there is a lot more I wish I could have said to Lindsey, I am glad that more than once I told him what that moment meant to the whole nation and why he was the only Senator who could have done it with such utter perfection. Most importantly, I had the chance to tell him on many occasions what his friendship meant to me and to us all. There was never once a time he didn’t answer a phone call and lend whatever assistance was required. It was never a question with Lindsey. He believed deeply in the code of friendship and loyalty. The fact that Lindsey started out as a political opponent only to become one the President’s most steadfast and faithful supporters underscores that Lindsey believed emphatically in the voice of the people. There is a lot more I would like to say. His passing, at a time when he had never been more dynamic, is as unexpected as it is shocking. In many respects, Lindsey was the last of a breed of American Senator whose like we may not yet see again for a long time. He lived every minute in the arena, a political gladiator to the very last. More than anything now, our thoughts are with his Sister, nieces and loved ones. We pray that God will ease their sorrow and heal their pain. Lindsey can never be replaced and will never be forgotten. Godspeed, my friend.